Volume Two
The Tatler
Edited with Introduction & Notes
by George A. Aitken
_Author of_ "The Life of Richard Steele," &c.
Vol. II
New York Hadley & Mathews 156 Fifth Avenue
London: Duckworth & Co. 1899
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. At the Ballantyne Press
_To_ Edward Wortley Montagu,[1] Esq.
SIR,
When I send you this volume, I am rather to make you a request than a Dedication. I must desire, that if you think fit to throw away any moments on it, you would not do it after reading those excellent pieces with which you are usually conversant. The images which you will meet with here, will be very faint, after the perusal of the Greeks and Romans, who are your ordinary companions. I must confess I am obliged to you for the taste of many of their excellences, which I had not observed until you pointed them to me. I am very proud that there are some things in these papers which I know you pardon;[2] and it is no small pleasure to have one's labours suffered by the judgment of a man, who so well understands the true charms of eloquence and poesy. But I direct this address to you, not that I think I can entertain you with my writings, but to thank you for the new delight I have, from your conversation, in those of other men.
May you enjoy a long continuance of the true relish of the happiness Heaven has bestowed upon you. I know not how to say a more affectionate thing to you, than to wish that you may be always what you are; and that you may ever think, as I know you now do, that you have a much larger fortune than you want.
I am, Sir, Your most obedient, and most humble Servant, ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Edward Wortley Montagu, an intimate friend of Addison and Steele, was the second son of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and grandson of Edward Montagu, the first Earl of Sandwich. He was chosen a Member of Parliament for Huntingdon in 1705, and in all other parliaments but two to the end of her reign. On the accession of George I. he became one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and was afterwards Ambassador-Extraordinary to the Porte. He set out, January 27, 1716, and having finished his negotiations returned in 1718. In the first parliament called by King George I. he was chosen for the city of Westminster, and afterwards served for Huntingdon. He was a member for the city of Peterborough when he died, January 22, 1761, aged 80 years, before he was able to alter his will, as he intended, in favour of his son. He married the famous Lady Mary Pierrepont, eldest daughter of the Duke of Kingston, in 1712, and by her he had issue an only son, Edward Wortley Montagu, who was M.P. in three parliaments for Bossiney, in Cornwall; and a daughter Mary, married to John Stuart, Earl of Bute, August 24, 1736.
[2] There is no doubt that Wortley Montagu contributed papers and hints for the _Tatler_ ("Letters of Lady M. W. Montagu," ed. Moy Thomas, i. 5, 10, 62). See specially No. 223.
THE TATLER
BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESQ.
No. 50. [STEELE.[3]
From _Tuesday, August 2_, to _Thursday, August 4, 1709_.
Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.
JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 2._
_The History of Orlando the Fair. Chap. I._
Whatever malicious men may say of our lucubrations, we have no design but to produce unknown merit, or place in a proper light the actions of our contemporaries who labour to distinguish themselves, whether it be by vice or virtue. For we shall never give accounts to the world of anything, but what the lives and endeavours of the persons (of whom we treat) make the basis of their fame and reputation. For this reason it is to be hoped, that our appearance is reputed a public benefit; and though certain persons may turn what we mean for panegyric into scandal, let it be answered once for all, that if our praises are really designed as raillery, such malevolent persons owe their safety from it only to their being too inconsiderable for history. It is not every man who deals in ratsbane, or is unseasonably amorous, that can adorn story like Æsculapius;[4] nor every stockjobber of the India Company can assume the port, and personate the figure of Aurengezebe.[5] My noble ancestor, Mr. Shakespeare, who was of the race of the Staffs, was not more fond of the memorable Sir John Falstaff, than I am of those worthies; but the Latins have an admirable admonition expressed in two words, to wit, _nequid nimis_, which forbids my indulging myself on those delightful subjects, and calls me to do justice to others, who make no less figures in our generation: of such, the first and most renowned is, that eminent hero and lover, Orlando[6] the handsome, whose disappointments in love, in gallantry, and in war, have banished him from public view, and made him voluntarily enter into a confinement, to which the ungrateful age would otherwise have forced him. Ten _lustra_ and more are wholly passed since Orlando first appeared in the metropolis of this island: his descent noble, his wit humorous, his person charming. But to none of these recommendatory advantages was his title so undoubted as that of his beauty. His complexion was fair, but his countenance manly; his stature of the tallest, his shape the most exact; and though in all his limbs he had a proportion as delicate as we see in the works of the most skilful statuaries, his body had a strength and firmness little inferior to the marble of which such images are formed. This made Orlando the universal flame of all the fair sex: innocent virgins sighed for him, as Adonis; experienced widows, as Hercules. Thus did this figure walk alone the pattern and ornament of our species, but of course the envy of all who had the same passions, without his superior merit and pretences to the favour of that enchanting creature, woman. However, the generous Orlando believed himself formed for the world, and not to be engrossed by any particular affection. He sighed not for Delia, for Chloris, for Chloe, for Betty, nor my lady, nor for the ready chambermaid, nor distant baroness: woman was his mistress, and the whole sex his seraglio. His form was always irresistible: and if we consider, that not one of five hundred can bear the least favour from a lady without being exalted above himself; if also we must allow, that a smile from a side-box[7] has made Jack Spruce half mad, we can't think it wonderful that Orlando's repeated conquests touched his brain: so it certainly did, and Orlando became an enthusiast in love; and in all his address, contracted something out of the ordinary course of breeding and civility. However (powerful as he was), he would still add to the advantages of his person that of a profession which the ladies favour, and immediately commenced soldier. Thus equipped for love and honour, our hero seeks distant climes and adventures, and leaves the despairing nymphs of Great Britain to the courtship of beau and witlings till his return. His exploits in foreign nations and courts have not been regularly enough communicated unto us, to report them with that veracity which we profess in our narrations: but after many feats of arms (which those who were witnesses to them have suppressed out of envy, but which we have had faithfully related from his own mouth in our public streets) Orlando, returns home full, but not loaded with years. Beau born in his absence made it their business to decry his furniture, his dress, his manner; but all such rivalry he suppressed (as the philosopher did the sceptic, who argued there was no such thing as motion) by only moving. The beauteous Villaria,[8] who only was formed for his paramour, became the object of his affection. His first speech to her was as follows:
"Madam,--It is not only that nature has made us two the most accomplished of each sex, and pointed to us to obey her dictates in becoming one; but that there is also an ambition in following the mighty persons you have favoured. Where kings and heroes, as great as Alexander, or such as could personate Alexander,[9] have bowed, permit your general to lay his laurels."
According to Milton:
_The fair with conscious majesty approved His pleaded reason;_[10]
and fortune had now supplied Orlando with necessaries for his high taste of gallantry and pleasure: his equipage and economy had something in them more sumptuous and gallant than could be received in our degenerate age; therefore his figure (though highly graceful) appeared so exotic, that it assembled all the Britons under the age of sixteen, who saw his grandeur, to follow his chariot with shouts and acclamations, which he regarded with the contempt which great minds affect in the midst of applauses. I remember I had the honour to see him one day stop, and call the youths about him, to whom he spake as follows:
"Good bastard,--Go to school, and don't lose your time in following my wheels: I am loth to hurt you, because I know not but you are all my own offspring: hark'ee, you sirrah with the white hair, I am sure you are mine: there is half-a-crown. Tell your mother, this, with the half-crown I gave her when I got you, comes to five shillings. Thou hast cost me all that, and yet thou art good for nothing. Why, you young dogs, did you never see a man before?" "Never such a one as you, noble general," replied a truant from Westminster. "Sirrah, I believe thee: there is a crown for thee. Drive on, coachman."
This vehicle, though sacred to love, was not adorned with doves: such an hieroglyphic denoted too languishing a passion. Orlando therefore gave the eagle,[11] as being of a constitution which inclined him rather to seize his prey with talons, than pine for it with murmurs.
_From my own Apartment, August 2._
I have received the following letter from Mr. Powell of the Bath,[12] who, I think, runs from the point between us, which I leave the whole world to judge.
_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._
"SIR,
"Having a great deal of more advantageous business at present on my hands, I thought to have deferred answering your _Tatler_ of the 21st instant, till the company was gone, and season over; but having resolved not to regard any impertinences of your paper, except what relate particularly to me, I am the more easily induced to answer you (as I shall find time to do it): First, partly lest you should think yourself neglected, which I have reason to believe you would take heinously ill. Secondly, partly because it will increase my fame, and consequently my audience, when all the quality shall see with how much wit and raillery I show you--I don't care a farthing for you. Thirdly, partly because, being without books,[13] if I don't show much learning, it will not be imputed to my having none.
"I have travelled Italy, France, and Spain, and fully comprehend what any German artist in the world can do; yet cannot I imagine, why you should endeavour to disturb the repose and plenty which (though unworthy) I enjoy at this place. It cannot be, that you take offence at my prologues and epilogues, which you are pleased to miscall foolish and abusive. No, no, until you give a better,[14] I shall not forbear thinking, that the true reason of your picking a quarrel with me was, because it is more agreeable to your principles, as well as more to the honour of your assured victory, to attack a governor. Mr. Isaac, Mr. Isaac, I can see into a millstone as far as another (as the saying is). You are for sowing the seeds of sedition and disobedience among my puppets, and your zeal for the (good old) cause would make you persuade Punch to pull the string from his chops, and not move his jaw when I have a mind he should harangue. Now I appeal to all men, if this is not contrary to that uncontrollable, unaccountable dominion, which by the laws of nature I exercise over them; for all sorts of wood and wire were made for the use and benefit of man: I have therefore an unquestionable right to frame, fashion, and put them together, as I please; and, having made them what they are, my puppets are my property, and therefore my slaves: nor is there in nature anything more just, than the homage which is paid by a less to a more excellent being: so that, by the right therefore of a superior genius, I am their supreme moderator, although you would insinuate (agreeably to your levelling principles) that I am myself but a great puppet, and can therefore have but a co-ordinate jurisdiction with them. I suppose I have now sufficiently made it appear, that I have a paternal right[15] to keep a puppet-show, and this right I will maintain in my prologues on all occasions.
"And therefore, if you write a defence of yourself against this my self-defence, I admonish you to keep within bounds; for every day will not be so propitious to you as the 29th of April; and perhaps my resentment may get the better of my generosity, and I may no longer scorn to fight one who is not my equal with unequal weapons: there are such things as _scandalums magnatums_;[16] therefore take heed hereafter how you write such things as I cannot easily answer, for that will put me in a passion.
"I order you to handle only these two propositions, to which our dispute may be reduced: the first, whether I have not an absolute power, whenever I please, to light a pipe with one of Punch's legs, or warm my fingers with his whole carcass? The second, whether the devil would not be in Punch, should he by word or deed oppose my sovereign will and pleasure? And then, perhaps, I may (if I can find leisure for it) give you the trouble of a second letter.
"But if you intend to tell me of the original of puppet-shows, and the several changes, and revolutions that have happened in them, since Thespis, and I don't care who, that's _noli me tangere_; I have solemnly engaged to say nothing of what I can't approve. Or, if you talk of certain contracts with the mayor and burgesses, or fees to the constables, for the privilege of acting, I will not write one single word about any such matters;[17] but shall leave you to be mumbled by the learned and very ingenious author of a late book, who knows very well what is to be said and done in such cases.[18] He is now shuffling the cards, and dealing to Timothy; but if he wins the game, I will send him to play at backgammon with you; and then he will satisfy you, that deuce-ace makes five.
"And so, submitting myself to be tried by my country, and allowing any jury of twelve good men, and true, to be that country; not excepting any (unless Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff) to be of the panel,[19] for you are neither good nor true; I bid you heartily farewell; and am,
"Sir, Your loving Friend, POWELL.[20]
"Bath, _July 28_."
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Nichols suggests that this and the following number were by Addison, who had sent Steele another packet or two from Ireland since the appearance of No. 32. Perhaps Steele made one paper, headed "The History of Orlando the Fair," serve for two numbers (50, 51). The personal character of these papers may have caused Steele to omit them in the list of Addison's papers which he gave to Tickell. See _Tatler_, No. 32.
[4] Dr. Radcliffe; see Nos. 44, 46, 47.
[5] See No. 46.
[6] Robert Feilding, commonly known by the name of Beau Feilding, a handsome and very comely gentleman, was tried for felony at the Old Bailey, December 4, 1706. He had married, as the indictment sets forth, on November 25, 1705, Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, having a former wife then living. In the course of the evidence at this trial, it appears, that sixteen days before, viz. November 9, 1705, Mrs. Villars, a very bad woman, had artfully drawn him into a marriage with one Mary Wadsworth, spinster, in the mistaken belief of her being Mrs. Deleau, a widow, with a fortune of £60,000. His marriage with the duchess was therefore set aside, and her Grace was allowed the liberty of marrying again. He craved the benefit of his clergy, and when sentence was given, that he should be burnt in his hand, produced the Queen's warrant to suspend execution, and was admitted to bail. In his will, dated April 9, 1712, and proved on May 12 following, he is styled "Robert Feilding, of Feilding Hall, in the county of Warwick, Esq.," and appears to have had some estates at Lutterworth. He is mentioned by Swift among those who have made "mean figures" on some remarkable occasions. Feilding, having injured his fortune by his gallantry and extravagance in early life, repaired the breaches he had made in it, by his first marriage with the Countess of Purbeck, a widow lady of an ancient and noble family in Ireland, who had a large fortune of her own, to which she had added considerably by a former marriage; she was the only daughter and heiress of Barnham Swift, Lord Carlingford, who was of the same family with the Dean of St. Patrick's. Feilding is said to have lived happily for some years with this lady, who was a zealous Roman Catholic, and could have no great difficulty in inducing a man who had no religion to profess himself a proselyte to her religious persuasion. See No. 51 (Nichols).--On July 29, 1706, Lady Wentworth wrote to Lord Raby that the Duchess of Cleveland had got Feilding sent to Newgate "for threatning to kill her two sons for taking her part, when he beet her and broke open her closet door and took four hundred pd. out.... He beat her sadly and she cried out murder in the street out of the window, and he shot a blunderbuss at the people" ("Wentworth Papers," pp. 58-9). See, too, Luttrell's "Diary," June, July, and October, 1706, _passim_.
[7] The side-boxes were usually reserved for men, ladies sitting in the front boxes, and Pope describes men ogling and bowing from the side boxes. See, too, the _Spectator_, Nos. 311, 377. But Swift ("Polite Conversation," 1738) writes: "Pray, Mr. Neverout, what lady was that you were talking with in the side box?" A wench in a side-box was looked upon with suspicion. See Nos. 145, 217. In the _Theatre_ (No. 3) Steele says: "Three of the fair sex for the front boxes, two gentlemen of wit and pleasure for the side boxes, and three substantial citizens for the pit!"
[8] Barbara, daughter and heiress to William Villiers, Viscount Grandison. She became the mistress of Charles II., who made her husband--Roger Palmer--Earl of Castlemain, and afterwards made her Duchess of Cleveland. On Lord Castlemain's death in 1705 she married Beau Feilding, from whom she was subsequently divorced. She died of dropsy on October 9, 1709.
[9] An allusion to Cardell Goodman, the actor (died 1699), one of the "mighty persons" favoured by the duchess, whose paramour he became. His chief parts were Julius Cæsar and Alexander the Great.
[10]
"She what was honour knew, And with obsequious majesty approved My pleaded reason."
"Paradise Lost," viii. 507-9.
[11] The Feildings were Counts of the German Empire.
[12] See No. 44: "Our friend the _Tatler_, under the notion of Mr. Powell at the Bath, has, in my mind, entered into the depth of the argument in dispute [between Hoadly and the Bishop of Exeter] and given a complete answer to all that the reverend Bishop either can or will say upon the subject; and Ben should have referred his lordship to be mumbled, as he calls it, by Mr. Bickerstaff, as his lordship had threatened him with that usage, from the worthy author of Timothy and Philatheus." (Letter from Thomas Sergeant, Esq. to Hughes; "Correspondence of John Hughes, Esq.," 1772, i. 38.)--[Nichols.] A MS. note, which may have been written any time after 1734, when Hoadly was made Bishop of Winchester, has been added in my copy of the original folio number, at the end of this letter: "Written by Dr. Hoadly, Bp: of Winchster." It seems not improbable that Hoadly did himself write this letter.
[13] These words occur in the "Bishop of Exeter's Answer to Mr. Hoadly's Letter," 1709, p. 3.
[14] "And till I can hear of a better reason, &c., I shall not forbear thinking that the true reason of it was, because I am (though unworthy, yet by God's permission and the Queen's favour) a Bishop; and a Bishop is thought by some people to be a sort of an ecclesiastical governor."--("Answer," p. 5.)
[15] Filmer, in his work on Patriarchal Government, contended that all government ought to be absolute and monarchical.
[16] "Why, sir, 1. As to other answer, I don't know but that I might answer it by an action of _scand. mag._, but that I should scorn to fight an adversary with unequal weapons."--("Bishop of Exeter's Answer," &c., p. 27.)
[17] "If your reply shall be about original contracts, revolutions, &c., I tell you plainly that I ain't at leisure, nor I shan't be at leisure, nor I won't be at leisure, to write you so much as one single line about such matters."--("Answer to Mr. Hoadly's Considerations," &c.)
[18] The allusion is to Oldisworth's "Timothy and Philatheus, in which the principles and projects of a late whimsical book, entitled, 'The Rights of the Christian Church,' &c. [by Dr. Tindal] are fairly stated and answered in their kinds. Written by a Layman." London, three vols. 1709.
[19] "Referring myself to be tried by God and my country, not excepting against any one person's being on the panel, but only Mr. Benjamin Hoadly, Rector of St. Peter's Poor."--("Answer," p. 22.)
[20] "Note: that proper cuts for the historical part of the paper are now almost finished, by an engraver lately arrived from Paris, and will be sold at all the toy shops in London and Westminster." (Folio.)
No. 51. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, August 4_, to _Saturday, August 6, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 5._
_The History of Orlando the Fair.[21] Chap. II._
Fortune being now propitious to the gay Orlando, he dressed, he spoke, he moved, as a man might be supposed to do in a nation of pigmies, and had an equal value for our approbation or dislike. It is usual for those who profess a contempt of the world, to fly from it and live in obscurity; but Orlando, with a greater magnanimity, contemned it, and appeared in it to tell them so. If therefore his exalted mien met with an unwelcome reception, he was sure always to double the cause which gave the distaste. You see our beauties affect a negligence in the ornament of their hair, and adjusting their head-dresses, as conscious that they adorn whatever they wear. Orlando had not only this humour in common with other beauties, but also had a neglect whether things became him or not, in a world he contemned. For this reason, a noble particularity appeared in all his economy, furniture, and equipage. And to convince the present little race, how unequal all their measures were to an antediluvian, as he called himself, in respect of the insects which now appear for men, he sometimes rode in an open tumbril,[22] of less size than ordinary, to show the largeness of his limbs, and the grandeur, of his personage, to the greater advantage: at other seasons, all his appointments had a magnificence, as if it were formed by the genius of Trimalchio[23] of old, which showed itself in doing ordinary things with an air of pomp and grandeur.[24] Orlando therefore called for tea by beat of drum; his valet got ready to shave him by a trumpet "To horse"; and water was brought for his teeth when the sound was changed to "Boots and saddle."
In all these glorious excesses from the common practice, did the happy Orlando live and reign in an uninterrupted tranquillity, till an unlucky accident brought to his remembrance, that one evening he was married before he courted the nuptials of Villaria.[25] Several fatal memorandums were produced to revive the memory of this accident, and the unhappy lover was for ever banished her presence, to whom he owed the support of his just renown and gallantry. But distress does not debase noble minds; it only changes the scene, and gives them new glory by that alteration. Orlando therefore now raves in a garret,[26] and calls to his neighbour-skies to pity his dolors, and find redress for an unhappy lover. All high spirits, in any great agitation of mind, are inclined to relieve themselves by poetry. The renowned porter of Oliver[27] had not more volumes around his cell in the College of Bedlam, than Orlando in his present apartment. And though inserting poetry in the midst of prose be thought a licence among correct writers not to be indulged, it is hoped, the necessity of doing it to give a just idea of the hero of whom we treat, will plead for the liberty we shall hereafter take, to print Orlando's soliloquies in verse and prose, after the manner of great wits, and such as those to whom they are nearly allied.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 5._
A great deal of good company of us were this day to see, or rather to hear, an artful person[28] do several feats of activity with his throat and windpipe. The first thing wherewith he presented us, was a ring of bells, which he imitated in a most miraculous manner; after that he gave us all the different notes of a pack of hounds, to our great delight and astonishment. The company expressed their applause with much noise; and never was heard such an harmony of men and dogs: but a certain plump merry fellow, from an angle of the room, fell a crowing like a cock so ingeniously, that he won our hearts from the other operator in an instant. As soon as I saw him, I recollected I had seen him on the stage, and immediately knew it to be Tom Mirrour, the comical actor.[29] He immediately addressed himself to me, and told me, he was surprised to see a _virtuoso_ take satisfaction in any representations below that of human life; and asked me, whether I thought this acting bells and dogs was to be considered under the notion of wit, humour, or satire? "Were it not better," continued he, "to have some particular picture of man laid before your eyes, that might incite your laughter?" He had no sooner spoke the word, but he immediately quitted his natural shape, and talked to me in a very different air and tone from what he had used before; upon which all that sat near us laughed; but I saw no distortion in his countenance, or anything that appeared to me disagreeable. I asked Pacolet, what meant that sudden whisper about us? For I could not take the jest. He answered: "The gentleman you were talking to, assumed your air and countenance so exactly, that all fell a laughing to see how little you knew yourself, or how much you were enamoured with your own image. But that person," continued my monitor, "if men would make the right use of him, might be as instrumental to their reforming errors in gesture, language, and speech, as a dancing-master, linguist, or orator. You see he laid yourself before you with so much address, that you saw nothing particular in his behaviour: he has so happy a knack of representing errors and imperfections, that you can bear your faults in him as well as in yourself: he is the first mimic that ever gave the beauties, as well as the deformities, of the man he acted. What Mr. Dryden said of a very great man[30] may be well applied to him:
_He is Not one, but all mankind's epitome._"
You are to know, that this pantomime may be said to be a species of himself. He has no commerce with the rest of mankind, but as they are the objects of imitation; like the Indian fowl, called the mock-bird, who has no note of his own, but hits every sound in the wood as soon as he hears it; so that Mirrour is at once a copy and an original. Poor Mirrour's fate (as well as talent) is like that of the bird we just now spoke of. The nightingale, the linnet, the lark, are delighted with his company; but the buzzard, the crow, and the owl, are observed to be his mortal enemies. Whenever Sophronius meets Mirrour, he receives him with civility and respect, and well knows, a good copy of himself can be no injury to him; but Bathillus shuns the street where he expects to meet him; for he that knows his every step and look is constrained and affected, must be afraid to be rivalled in his action, and of having it discovered to be unnatural, by its being practised by another as well as himself.
_From my own Apartment, August 5._
Letters from Coventry and other places have been sent to me, in answer to what I have said in relation to my antagonist Mr. Powell,[31] and advise me, with warm language, to keep to subjects more proper for me than such high points. But the writers of these epistles mistake the use and service I propose to the learned world by such observations: for you are to understand, that the title of this paper gives me a right in taking to myself, and inserting in it, all such parts of any book or letter which are foreign to the purpose intended, or professed by the writer: so that suppose two great divines should argue, and treat each other with warmth and levity unbecoming their subject or character, all that they say unfit for that place is very proper to be inserted here. Therefore from time to time, in all writings which shall hereafter be published, you shall have from me extracts of all that shall appear not to the purpose; and for the benefit of the gentle reader, I will show what to turn over unread and what to peruse. For this end I have a mathematical sieve preparing, in which I will sift every page and paragraph, and all that falls through I shall make bold with for my own use. The same thing will be as beneficial in speech; for all superfluous expressions in talk fall to me also: as, when a pleader at the Bar designs to be extremely impertinent and troublesome, and cries, "Under favour of the Court----With submission, my lord----I humbly offer----" and, "I think I have well considered this matter; for I would be very far from trifling with your lordship's time, or trespassing upon your patience----However, thus I will venture to say"--and so forth. Or else, when a sufficiently self-conceited coxcomb is bringing out something in his own praise, and begins, "Without vanity, I must take this upon me to assert." There is also a trick which the fair sex have, that will greatly contribute to swell my volumes: as, when a woman is going to abuse her best friend, "Pray," says she, "have you heard what I said of Mrs. such a one: I am heartily sorry to hear anything of that kind, of one I have so great a value for; but they make no scruple of telling it; and it was not spoken of to me as a secret, for now all the town rings of it." All such flowers in rhetoric, and little refuges for malice, are to be noted, and naturally belong only to Tatlers. By this method you will immediately find volumes contract themselves into octavos, and the labour of a fortnight got over in half a day.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 5._
Last night arrived a mail from Lisbon, which gives a very pleasing account of the posture of affairs in that part of the world, the enemy having been necessitated wholly to abandon the blockade of Olivenza. These advices say that Sir John Jennings[32] was arrived at Lisbon. When that gentleman left Barcelona, his Catholic Majesty was taking all possible methods for carrying on an offensive war. It is observed with great satisfaction in the Court of Spain, that there is a very good intelligence between the general officers; Count Staremberg and Mr. Stanhope[33] acting in all things with such unanimity, that the public affairs receive great advantages from their personal friendship and esteem to each other, and mutual assistance in promoting the service of the common cause.
This is to give notice that if any able-bodied Palatine will enter into the bonds of matrimony with Betty Pepin,[34] the said Palatine shall be settled in a freehold of 40s. per annum in the County of Middlesex.[35]
FOOTNOTES:
[21] Beau Feilding. See No. 50.
[22] Properly speaking, the tumbril was a truck, the contents of which could be easily shot out. It was often used for the conveyance of corpses.
[23] The "Banquet of Trimalchio" is the most complete and best known of the fragments of Petronius Arbiter's satiric romance "Saturæ."
[24] Egerton (or whoever wrote the "Memoirs of Gamesters") confirms what is here said of Feilding's vanity in displaying his figure (p. 70). Feilding was not a man of real courage; his dress was always extraordinary, and the liveries of his footmen were equally fantastical; they generally wore yellow coats, with black feathers in their hats, and black sashes.--("Memoirs of Gamesters," pp. 208-211.)
[25] The Duchess of Cleveland. See No. 50.
[26] Feilding died of fever, at the age of 61, in a house in Scotland Yard.
[27] Cromwell's porter, Daniel, who was for many years in Bedlam, is said to have been the original from whom Caius Gabriel Cibber copied a figure of a lunatic on the gate of the hospital. He was given to the study of mystical divines. See Dr. King's Works, 1776, i. 217, and Granger's "Biog. Hist." 1824, vi. 12.
[28] Probably Clinch, of Barnet. From the _London Daily Post_, 1734, it appears that on December 11, in that year, died, aged about 70, the famous Mr. Clinch, of Barnet, who diverted the town many years with imitating a drunken man, old woman, pack of hounds, &c. He exhibited at the corner of Bartholomew Lane, by the Royal Exchange. See _Spectator_, No. 24.
[29] Estcourt. See No. 20.
[30] George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. See "Absalom and Architophel," p. 545:
"A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome; Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts, and nothing long."
[31] Dr. Blackall. See No. 45.
[32] Admiral Sir John Jennings (1664-1743) was employed during 1709-10 in watching the Straits of Gibraltar. Afterwards he was made one of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, and Governor of Greenwich Hospital.
[33] In August James Stanhope, afterwards first Earl Stanhope (1673-1721), went to Gibraltar to command an expedition against Cadiz; but the idea was abandoned.
[34] See No. 24, and "Pylades and Corinna," i. 67.
[35] This is an animadversion, says Nichols, on the method of securing votes, and extending his influence in Middlesex, adopted by a knight near Brentford. In the copy of the _Tatler_, in folio, with old MS. notes, mentioned in a note to No. 4, Palatine is said to have been "Mr. A--- n, K--- t of the shire"; and this appears to be correct, for on March 3, 1708-9, at Brentford, John Austin, Esq., was unanimously chosen knight of the shire for Middlesex, in the room of Sir John Wolstenholm, deceased (Luttrell's "Diary," vi. 414). Mr. Austin was not re-elected after the dissolution in 1710.
No. 52. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, August 6_, to _Tuesday August 9, 1709_.
* * * * *
_White's Chocolate-house, August 7._
_Delamira resigns her Fan._[36]
Long had the crowd of the gay and young stood in suspense as to their fate in their passion to the beauteous Delamira; but all their hopes are lately vanished by the declaration that she has made of her choice to take the happy Archibald[37] for her companion for life. Upon her making this public, the expense of sweet powder and jessamine[38] are considerably abated; and the mercers and milliners complain of her want of public spirit, in not concealing longer a secret which was so much to the benefit of trade. But so it has happened; and no one was in confidence with her in carrying on this treaty but the matchless Virgulta, whose despair of ever entering the matrimonial state, made her, some nights before Delamira's resolution was made known to the world, address herself to her in the following manner:
"Delamira, you are now going into that state of life, wherein the use of your charms is wholly to be applied to the pleasing only one man. That swimming air of your body; that jaunty bearing of your head over one shoulder; and that inexpressible beauty in your manner of playing your fan, must be lowered into a more confined behaviour, to show that you would rather shun than receive addresses in the future. Therefore, dear Delamira, give me those excellences you leave, and acquaint me with your manner of charming. For I take the liberty of our friendship to say, that when I consider my own stature, motion, complexion, wit or breeding, I cannot think myself any way your inferior; yet do I go through crowds without wounding a man, and all my acquaintance marry round me, while I live a virgin unasked, and (I think) unregarded."
Delamira heard her with great attention, and with that dexterity which is natural to her, told her, that all she had above the rest of her sex and contemporary beauties was wholly owing to a fan[39] (which was left her by her mother, and had been long in the family), which whoever had in possession, and used with skill, should command the hearts of all her beholders: "And since," said she, smiling, "I have no more to do with extending my conquests or triumphs, I'll make you a present of this inestimable rarity." Virgulta made her expressions of the highest gratitude for so uncommon a confidence in her, and desired she would show her what was peculiar in the management of that utensil, which rendered it of such general force while she was mistress of it. Delamira replied, "You see, madam, Cupid is the principal figure painted on it; and the skill in playing this fan is, in several motions of it, to let him appear as little as possible; for honourable lovers fly all endeavours to ensnare them; and your Cupid must hide his bow and arrow, or he'll never be sure of his game. You may observe," continued she, "that in all public assemblies, the sexes seem to separate themselves, and draw up to attack each other with eyeshot: that is the time when the fan, which is all the armour of woman, is of most use in our defence; for our minds are construed by the waving of that little instrument, and our thoughts appear in composure or agitation according to the motion of it. You may observe, when Will Peregrine comes into the side-box,[40] Miss Gatty flutters her fan[41] as a fly does its wings round a candle; while her elder sister, who is as much in love with him as she is, is as grave as a vestal at his entrance, and the consequence is accordingly. He watches half the play for a glance from her sister, while Gatty is overlooked and neglected. I wish you heartily as much success in the management of it as I have had: if you think fit to go on where I left off, I will give you a short account of the execution I have made with it. Cymon, who is the dullest of mortals, and though a wonderful great scholar, does not only pause, but seems to take a nap with his eyes open between every other sentence in his discourse: him have I made a leader in assemblies; and one blow on the shoulder as I passed by him, has raised him to a downright impertinent in all conversations. The airy Will Sampler is become as lethargic by this my wand, as Cymon is sprightly. Take it, good girl, and use it without mercy; for the reign of beauty never lasted full three years, but it ended in marriage, or condemnation to virginity. As you fear therefore the one, and hope for the other, I expect an hourly journal of your triumphs; for I have it by certain tradition, that it was given to the first who wore it by an enchantress, with this remarkable power, that it bestows a husband in half a year to her who does not overlook her proper minute; but assigns to a long despair the woman who is well offered, and neglects that proposal. May occasion attend your charms, and your charms slip no occasion. Give me, I say, an account of the progress of your forces at our next meeting; and you shall hear what I think of my new condition. I should meet my future spouse this moment. Farewell. Live in just terror of the dreadful words, SHE WAS."
_From my own Apartment, August 8._
I had the honour this evening to visit some ladies, where the subject of the conversation was Modesty, which they commended as a quality quite as becoming in men as in women. I took the liberty to say, it might be as beautiful in our behaviour as in theirs; yet it could not be said, it was as successful in life; for as it was the only recommendation in them, so it was the greatest obstacle to us both in love and business. A gentleman present was of my mind, and said, that we must describe the difference between the modesty of women and that of men, or we should be confounded in our reasonings upon it; for this virtue is to be regarded with respect to our different ways of life. The woman's province is to be careful in her economy, and chaste in her affection: the man's to be active in the improvement of his fortune, and ready to undertake whatever is consistent with his reputation for that end. Modesty therefore in a woman has a certain agreeable fear in all she enters upon; and in men it is composed of a right judgment of what is proper for them to attempt. From hence it is, that a discreet man is always a modest one. It is to be noted that modesty in a man is never to be allowed as a good quality, but a weakness, if it suppresses his virtue, and hides it from the world, when he has at the same time a mind to exert himself. A French author says very justly, that modesty is to the other virtues in a man, what shade in a picture is to the parts of the thing represented: it makes all the beauties conspicuous which would otherwise be but a wild heap of colours. This shade on our actions must therefore be very justly applied; for if there be too much, it hides our good qualities, instead of showing them to advantage. Nestor[42] in Athens was an unhappy instance of this truth; for he was not only in his profession the greatest man of that age, but had given more proofs of it than any other man ever did; yet for want of that natural freedom and audacity which is necessary in commerce with men, his personal modesty overthrew all his public actions. Nestor was in those days a skilful architect, and in a manner the inventor of the use of mechanic powers, which he brought to so great perfection that he knew to an atom what foundation would bear such a superstructure: and they record of him that he was so prodigiously exact that for the experiment-sake he built an edifice of great beauty, and seeming strength; but contrived so as to bear only its own parts, and not to admit the addition of the least particle. This building was beheld with much admiration by all the _virtuosi_ of that time; but fell down with no other pressure but the settling of a wren upon the top of it.[43] But Nestor's modesty was such that his art and skill were soon disregarded for want of that manner with which men of the world support and assert the merit of their own performances. Soon after this example of his art Athens was, by the treachery of its enemies, burnt to the ground. This gave Nestor the greatest occasion that ever builder had to render his name immortal, and his person venerable: for all the new city rose according to his disposition, and all the monuments of the glories and distresses of that people were erected by that sole artist. Nay, all their temples, as well as houses, were the effects of his study and labour; insomuch, that it was said by an old sage, "Sure, Nestor will now be famous; for the habitations of gods, as well as men, are built by his contrivance." But this bashful quality still put a damp upon his great knowledge, which has as fatal an effect upon men's reputation as poverty; for as it was said, the poor man saved the city, and the poor man's labour was forgot; so here we see, the modest man built the city, and the modest man's skill was unknown.[44] Thus we see every man is the maker of his own fortune; and what is very odd to consider, he must in some measure be the trumpet of his fame: not that men are to be tolerated who directly praise themselves, but they are to be endued with a sort of defensive eloquence, by which they shall be always capable of expressing the rules and arts by which they govern themselves. Varillus was the man of all I have read of the happiest in the true possession of this quality of modesty. My author says of him, Modesty in Varillus is really a virtue; for it is a voluntary quality, and the effect of good sense. He is naturally bold and enterprising; but so justly discreet, that he never acts or speaks anything, but those who behold him know he has forborne much more than he has performed or uttered, out of deference to the persons before whom he is. This makes Varillus truly amiable, and all his attempts successful; for as bad as the world is thought to be by those who are perhaps unskilled in it, want of success in our actions is generally owing to want of judgment in what we ought to attempt, or a rustic modesty which will not give us leave to undertake what we ought. But how unfortunate this diffident temper is to those who are possessed with it may be best seen in the success of such as are wholly unacquainted with it. We have one peculiar elegance in our language above all others, which is conspicuous in the term "fellow." This word added to any of our adjectives extremely varies, or quite alters the sense of that with which it is joined. Thus, though a modest man is the most unfortunate of all men, yet a modest fellow is as superlatively happy. A modest fellow is a ready creature, who with great humility, and as great forwardness, visits his patrons at all hours, and meets them in all places, and has so moderate an opinion of himself, that he makes his court at large. If you won't give him a great employment, he will be glad of a little one. He has so great a deference for his benefactor's judgment, that as he thinks himself fit for anything he can get, so he is above nothing which is offered; like the young bachelor of arts, who came to town recommended to a chaplain's place; but none being vacant, modestly accepted of that of a postillion. We have very many conspicuous persons of this undertaking yet modest turn; I have a grandson who is very happy in this quality: I sent him at the time of the last peace into France. As soon as he landed at Calais, he sent me an exact account of the nature of the people, and the policies of the King of France. I got him since chosen a member of a corporation: the modest creature, as soon as he came into the Common Council, told a senior burgess, he was perfectly out in the orders of their house. In other circumstances, he is so thoroughly modest a fellow, that he seems to pretend only to things he understands. He is a citizen only at Court, and in the city a courtier. In a word, to speak the characteristical difference between a modest man and a modest fellow; the modest man is in doubt in all his actions; a modest fellow never has a doubt from his cradle to his grave.
FOOTNOTES:
[36] This article may be by Addison; see note to No. 50.
[37] Probably Lord Archibald Hamilton, son to William, third Duke of Hamilton. He was M.P. for Lanarkshire, and afterwards Governor of Jamaica. He married Lady Jane Hamilton, youngest daughter of James, sixth Earl of Abercorn, and died in 1754.
[38] Charles Lillie ("British Perfumer," p. 191) gives directions for making jessamine hair powder. It was usually prepared from orange flowers, which had been sifted from orange-flower hair powder, placed between alternate layers of starch powder.
[39] Gay wrote a poem on "The Fan," in three books, and Addison devoted a paper (_Spectator_, No. 102) to an elaborate account of the exercise of this female weapon.
[40] See No. 50.
[41] "The Fluttering of the Fan is the last, and, indeed, the masterpiece of the whole exercise.... There is an infinite variety of motions to be made use of in the Flutter of a Fan" (_Spectator_, No. 102).
[42] The allusion is to Sir Christopher Wren, who died in 1723, in his ninety-first year. He lived, according to the inscription by his son in St. Paul's Cathedral, _non sibi, sed bono publico_.
[43] This passage alludes to an opposition which was made to a digest of designs for the reparation of St. Paul's, laid before the King and the commissioners in the beginning of 1666, which, the author insinuates, was rather an opposition to Sir C. Wren, than to his plan; it continued, however, till within a few days of the fire on September 2 in that year, which put the reparation of the cathedral out of the question. There was likewise another model of St. Paul's, to which Sir Christopher (certainly the best judge, and far from being mercenary) gave the preference, and which he would have executed with more cheerfulness and satisfaction, had he not been overruled by those whom it was his duty to obey. (Nichols.)
[44] Wren was not able to carry out the scheme for rebuilding the City in the way he had hoped. It appears that he received only about £200 a year for building St. Paul's, and £100 a year for rebuilding the other City churches.
No. 53. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, August 9_, to _Thursday, August 10, 1709_.
* * * * *
_White's Chocolate-house, August 10._
_The Civil Husband._[45]
The fate and character of the inconstant Osmyn, is a just excuse for the little notice taken by his widow, of his departure out of this life, which was equally troublesome to Elmira his faithful spouse, and to himself. That life passed between them after this manner, is the reason that the town has just now received a lady with all that gaiety, after having been a relict but three months, which other women hardly assume under fifteen after such a disaster. Elmira is the daughter of a rich and worthy citizen, who gave her to Osmyn with a portion which might have obtained her an alliance with our noblest houses, and fixed her in the eye of the world, where her story had not been now to be related: for her good qualities had made her the object of universal esteem among the polite part of mankind, from whom she has been banished and immured till the death of her gaoler. It is now full fifteen years since that beauteous lady was given into the hands of the happy Osmyn, who in the sense of all the world received at that time a present more valuable than the possession of both the Indies. She was then in her early bloom, with an understanding and discretion very little inferior to the most experienced matrons. She was not beholden to the charms of her sex, that her company was preferable to any Osmyn could meet with abroad; for were all she said considered, without regard to her being a woman, it might stand the examination of the severest judges: for she had all the beauty of her own sex, with all the conversation-accomplishments of ours. But Osmyn very soon grew surfeited with the charms of her person by possession, and of her mind by want of taste; for he was one of that loose sort of men, who have but one reason for setting any value on the fair sex, who consider even brides but as new women, and consequently neglect them when they cease to be such. All the merit of Elmira could not prevent her becoming a mere wife within few months after her nuptials; and Osmyn had so little relish for her conversation, that he complained of the advantages of it. "My spouse," said he to one of his companions, "is so very discreet, so good, so virtuous, and I know not what, that I think her person is rather the object of esteem than of love; and there is such a thing as a merit, which causes rather distance than passion." But there being no medium in the state of matrimony, their life began to take the usual gradations to become the most irksome of all beings. They grew in the first place very complaisant; and having at heart a certain knowledge that they were indifferent to each other, apologies were made for every little circumstance which they thought betrayed their mutual coldness. This lasted but few months, when they showed a difference of opinion in every trifle; and as a sign of certain decay of affection, the word "perhaps" was introduced in all their discourse. "I have a mind to go to the Park," says she; "but perhaps, my dear, you will want the coach on some other occasion." He would very willingly carry her to the play; but perhaps, she had rather go to Lady Centaur's[46] and play at ombre.[47] They were both persons of good discerning, and soon found that they mortally hated each other, by their manner of hiding it. Certain it is, that there are some genios which are not capable of pure affection, and a man is born with talents for it as much as for poetry or any other science. Osmyn began too late to find the imperfection of his own heart, and used all the methods in the world to correct it, and argue himself into return of desire and passion for his wife, by the contemplation of her excellent qualities, his great obligations to her, and the high value he saw all the world except himself did put upon her. But such is man's unhappy condition, that though the weakness of the heart has a prevailing power over the strength of the head, yet the strength of the head has but small force against the weakness of the heart. Osmyn therefore struggled in vain to revive departed desire; and therefore resolved to retire to one of his estates in the country, and pass away his hours of wedlock by the noble diversions of the field; and in the fury of a disappointed lover, made an oath, to leave neither stag, fox, nor hare living, during the days of his wife. Besides that country sports would be an amusement, he hoped also, that his spouse would be half killed by the very sense of seeing this town no more, and would think her life ended as soon as she left it. He communicated his design to Elmira, who received it (as now she did all things) like a person too unhappy to be relieved or afflicted by the circumstance of place. This unexpected resignation made Osmyn resolve to be as obliging to her as possible; and if he could not prevail upon himself to be kind, he took a resolution at least to act sincerely, and to communicate frankly to her the weakness of his temper, to excuse the indifference of his behaviour. He disposed his household in the way to Rutland, so as he and his lady travelled only in the coach for the convenience of discourse. They had not gone many miles out of town, when Osmyn spoke to this purpose:
"My dear, I believe I look quite as silly, now I am going to tell you I do not love you, as when I first told you I did. We are now going into the country together, with only one hope for making this life agreeable, survivorship: desire is not in our power; mine is all gone for you. What shall we do to carry it with decency to the world, and hate one another with discretion?"
The lady answered without the least observation on the extravagance of his speech:
"My dear, you have lived most of your days in a Court, and I have not been wholly unacquainted with that sort of life. In Courts, you see good-will is spoken with great warmth, ill will covered with great civility. Men are long in civilities to those they hate, and short in expressions of kindness to those they love. Therefore, my dear, let us be well-bred still, and it is no matter, as to all who see us, whether we love or hate: and to let you see how much you are beholden to me for my conduct, I have both hated and despised you, my dear, this half year; and yet neither in language nor behaviour has it been visible but that I loved you tenderly. Therefore, as I know you go out of town to divert life in pursuit of beasts, and conversation with men just above them; so, my life, from this moment, I shall read all the learned cooks who have ever writ, study broths, plaisters, and conserves, till from a fine lady I become a notable woman. We must take our minds a note or two lower, or we shall be tortured by jealousy or anger. Thus I am resolved to kill all keen passions by employing my mind on little subjects, and lessening the easiness of my spirit; while you, my dear, with much ale, exercise, and ill company, are so good as to endeavour to be as contemptible as it is necessary for my quiet I should think you."
To Rutland they arrived, and lived with great, but secret impatience for many successive years, till Osmyn thought of a happy expedient to give their affairs a new turn. One day he took Elmira aside, and spoke as follows:
"My dear, you see here the air is so temperate and serene, the rivulets, the groves, and soil, so extremely kind to nature, that we are stronger and firmer in our health since we left the town; so that there is no hope of a release in this place: but if you will be so kind as to go with me to my estate in the Hundreds of Essex, it is possible some kind damp may one day or other relieve us. If you will condescend to accept of this offer, I will add that whole estate to your jointure in this county."
Elmira, who was all goodness, accepted the offer, removed accordingly, and has left her spouse in that place to rest with his fathers.
This is the real figure in which Elmira ought to be beheld in this town, and not thought guilty of an indecorum, in not professing the sense, or bearing the habit of sorrow, for one who robbed her of all the endearments of life, and gave her only common civility, instead of complacency of manners, dignity of passion, and that constant assemblage of soft desires and affections which all feel who love, but none can express.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 10._
Mr. Truman, who is a mighty admirer of dramatic poetry, and knows I am about a tragedy, never meets me, but he is giving admonitions and hints for my conduct. "Mr. Bickerstaff," said he, "I was reading last night your second act you were so kind to lend me; but I find you depend mightily upon the retinue of your hero to make him magnificent. You make guards, and ushers, and courtiers, and commons, and nobles, march before, and then enters your prince, and says they can't defend him from his love. Why, prithee Isaac, who ever thought they could? Place me your loving monarch in a solitude; let him have no sense at all of his grandeur, but let it be eaten up with his passion. He must value himself as the greatest of lovers, not as the first of princes: and then let him say a more tender thing than ever man said before--for his feather and eagle's beak is nothing at all. The man is to be expressed by his sentiments and affections, and not by his fortune or equipage. You are also to take care, that at his first entrance he says something which may give us an idea of what we are to expect in a person of his way of thinking. Shakespeare is your pattern."[48] In the tragedy of "Cæsar," he introduces his hero in his nightgown. He had at that time all the power of Rome: deposed consuls, subordinate generals, and captive princes, might have preceded him; but his genius was above such mechanic methods of showing greatness. Therefore he rather presents that great soul debating upon the subject of life and death with his intimate friends, without endeavouring to prepossess his audience with empty show and pomp. When those who attend him talk of the many omens which had appeared that day, he answers:
_Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come, when it will come.[49]_
When the hero has spoken this sentiment, there is nothing that is great which cannot be expected, from one whose first position is the contempt of death to so high a degree, as making his exit a thing wholly indifferent, and not a part of his care, but that of heaven and fate.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 10._
Letters from Brussels of the 15th instant, N.S., say, that Major-General Ravignan returned on the 8th with the French king's answer to the intended capitulation for the citadel of Tournay; which is, that he does not think fit to sign that capitulation, except the Allies will grant a cessation of arms in general, during the time in which all acts of hostility were to have ceased between the citadel and the besiegers. Soon after the receipt of this news, the cannon on each side began to play. There are two attacks against the citadel, commanded by General Lottum and General Schuylemberg, which are both carried on with great success; and it is not doubted but the citadel will be in the hands of the Allies before the last day of this month. Letters from Ipres say, that on the 9th instant, part of the garrison of that place had mutinied in two bodies, each consisting of two hundred; who being dispersed the same day, a body of eight hundred appeared in the market-place at nine the night following, and seized all manner of provisions; but were with much difficulty quieted. The governor has not punished any of the offenders, the dissatisfaction being universal in that place; and it is thought, the officers foment those disorders; that the Ministry may be convinced of the necessity of paying those troops, and supplying them with provisions. These advices add, that on the 14th the Marquis d'Este passed express through Brussels from the Duke of Savoy, with advice, that the army of his royal highness had forced the retrenchments of the enemy in Savoy, and defeated that body of men which guarded those passes under the command of the Marquis de Thouy.
FOOTNOTES:
[45] Perhaps this article is by Addison; see note to No. 50.
[46] The name of a character in Jonson's "Silent Woman."
[47] A game of cards played by three persons, of which particulars will be found in Pope's "Rape of the Lock."
[48] In the _Spectator_, No. 42, Addison ridiculed the way in which dignity was sought for the hero on the stage by means of grand dresses and guards with halberts and battleaxes. "Can all the trappings or equipage of a king or hero give Brutus half that pomp and majesty which he receives from a few lines in Shakespeare?"
[49] "Julius Cæsar," act ii. sc. 2.
No. 54. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, August 11_, to _Saturday, August 13, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 12._
_Of the Government of Affection._[50]
When labour was pronounced to be the portion of man, that doom reached the affections of his mind, as well as his person, the matter on which he was to feed, and all the animal and vegetable world about him. There is therefore an assiduous care and cultivation to be bestowed upon our passions and affections; for they, as they are the excrescences of our souls, like our hair and beards, look horrid or becoming, as we cut or let them grow. All this grave preface is meant to assign a reason in nature for the unaccountable behaviour of Duumvir,[51] the husband and keeper. Ten thousand follies had this unhappy man escaped, had he made a compact with himself to be upon his guard, and not permitted his vagrant eye to let in so many different inclinations upon him, as all his days he has been perplexed with. But indeed at present he has brought himself to be confined only to one prevailing mistress; between whom and his wife, Duumvir passes his hours in all the vicissitudes which attend passion and affection, without the intervention of reason. Laura his wife, and Phyllis his mistress, are all with whom he has had, for some months, the least amorous commerce. Duumvir has passed the noon of life; but cannot withdraw from those entertainments which are pardonable only before that stage of our being, and which after that season are rather punishments than satisfaction: for palled appetite is humorous, and must be gratified with sauces rather than food. For which end Duumvir is provided with an haughty, imperious, expensive, and fantastic mistress, to whom he retires from the conversation of an affable, humble, discreet, and affectionate wife. Laura receives him after absence with an easy and unaffected complacency; but that he calls insipid: Phyllis rates him for his absence, and bids him return from whence he came: this he calls spirit and fire. Laura's gentleness is thought mean; Phyllis' insolence, sprightly. Were you to see him at his own home, and his mistress's lodgings, to Phyllis he appears an obsequious lover, to Laura an imperious master. Nay, so unjust is the taste of Duumvir, that he owns Laura has no ill quality, but that she is his wife; Phyllis no good one, but that she is his mistress. And he has himself often said, were he married to any one else, he would rather keep Laura than any woman living; yet allows at the same time, that Phyllis, were she a woman of honour, would have been the most insipid animal breathing. The other day Laura, who has a voice like an angel, began to sing to him: "Fie, madam," he cried, "we must be past all these gaieties." Phyllis has a note as rude and as loud as that of a milkmaid: when she begins to warble, "Well," says he, "there is such a pleasing simplicity in all that wench does." In a word, the affectionate part of his heart being corrupted, and his true taste that way wholly lost, he has contracted a prejudice to all the behaviour of Laura, and a general partiality in favour of Phyllis. It is not in the power of the wife to do a pleasing thing, nor in the mistress to commit one that is disagreeable. There is something too melancholy in the reflection on this circumstance to be the subject of raillery. He said a sour thing to Laura at dinner the other day; upon which she burst into tears. "What the devil, madam," says he, "can't I speak in my own house?" He answered Phyllis a little abruptly at supper the same evening; upon which she threw his periwig into the fire. "Well," said he, "thou art a brave termagant jade; do you know, hussy, that fair wig cost forty guineas?" O Laura! is it for this that the faithful Chromius sighed for you in vain? How is thy condition altered, since crowds of youth hung on thy eye, and watched its glances? It is not many months since Laura was the wonder and pride of her own sex, as well as the desire and passion of ours. At plays and at balls, the just turn of her behaviour, the decency of her virgin charms, chastised, yet added to diversions. At public devotions, her winning modesty, her resigned carriage, made virtue and religion appear with new ornaments, and in the natural apparel of simplicity and beauty. In ordinary conversations, a sweet conformity of manners, and a humility which heightened all the complacencies of good breeding and education, gave her more slaves than all the pride of her sex ever made woman wish for. Laura's hours are now spent in the sad reflections on her choice, and that deceitful vanity (almost inseparable from the sex) of believing, she could reclaim one that had so often ensnared others; as it now is, it is not even in the power of Duumvir himself to do her justice: for though beauty and merit are things real, and independent on taste and opinion, yet agreeableness is arbitrary, and the mistress has much the advantage of the wife. But whenever fate is so kind to her and her spouse as to end her days, with all this passion for Phyllis, and indifference for Laura, he has a second wife in view, who may avenge the injuries done to her predecessor. Aglaura is the destined lady, who has lived in assemblies, has ambition and play for her entertainment, and thinks of a man, not as the object of love, but the tool of her interest or pride. If ever Aglaura comes to the empire of this inconstant, she will endear the memory of her predecessor. But in the meantime, it is melancholy to consider, that the virtue of a wife is like the merit of a poet, never justly valued till after death.
_From my own Apartment, August 11._
As we have professed, that all the actions of men are our subject, the most solemn are not to be omitted, if there happen to creep into their behaviour anything improper for such occasions. Therefore the offence mentioned in the following epistles (though it may seem to be committed in a place sacred from observation) is such, that it is our duty to remark upon it; for though he who does it is himself only guilty of an indecorum, he occasions a criminal levity in all others who are present at it.
* * * * *
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
"It being mine, as well as the opinion of many others, that your papers are extremely well fitted to reform any irregular or indecent practice, I present the following as one which requires your correction. Myself, and a great many good people who frequent the divine service at St. Paul's, have been a long time scandalised by the imprudent conduct of Stentor[52] in that cathedral. This gentleman, you must know, is always very exact and zealous in his devotion, which, I believe, nobody blames; but then he is accustomed to roar and bellow so terribly loud in the responses, that he frightens even us of the congregation, who are daily used to him; and one of our petty canons, a punning Cambridge scholar,[53] calls his way of worship, a bull offering. His harsh untunable pipe is no more fit than a raven's to join with the music of a choir; yet nobody having been enough his friend, I suppose, to inform him of it, he never fails, when present, to drown the harmony of every hymn and anthem, by an inundation of sound beyond that of the bridge at the ebb of the tide, or the neighbouring lions in the anguish of their hunger. This is a grievance which, to my certain knowledge, several worthy people desire to see redressed; and if by inserting this epistle in your paper, or by representing the matter your own way, you can convince Stentor, that discord in a choir is the same sin that schism is in the Church in general, you would lay a great obligation upon us, and make some atonement for certain of your paragraphs which have not been highly approved by us. I am,
"Sir, Your most humble Servant, JEOFFRY CHANTICLEER.
"St. Paul's Churchyard, _August 11_."
It is wonderful there should be such a general lamentation, and the grievance so frequent, and yet the offender never know anything of it. I have received the following letter from my kinsman at the Heralds' Office, near the same place:
"DEAR COUSIN,
"This office, which has had its share in the impartial justice of your censures, demands at present your vindication of their rights and privileges. There are certain hours when our young heralds are exercised in the faculties of making proclamation, and other vociferations, which of right belong to us only to utter: but at the same hours, Stentor in St. Paul's Church, in spite of the coaches, carts, London cries, and all other sounds between us, exalts his throat to so high a key, that the most noisy of our order is utterly unheard. If you please to observe upon this, you will ever oblige, &c."
There have been communicated to me some other ill consequences from the same cause; as, the overturning of coaches by sudden starts of the horses as they passed that way, women pregnant frightened, and heirs to families lost; which are public disasters, though arising from a good intention: but it is hoped, after this admonition, that Stentor will avoid an act of so great supererogation, as singing without a voice.
But I am diverted from prosecuting Stentor's reformation, by an account, that the two faithful lovers, Lysander and Coriana, are dead; for no longer ago than the 1st of the last month they swore eternal fidelity to each other, and to love till death. Ever since that time, Lysander has been twice a day at the chocolate-house, visits in every circle, is missing four hours in four and twenty, and will give no account of himself. These are undoubted proofs of the departure of a lover; and consequently Coriana is also dead as a mistress. I have written to Stentor to give this couple three calls at the church door, which they must hear if they are living within the bills of mortality; and if they do not answer at that time, they are from that moment added to the number of my defunct.[54]
FOOTNOTES:
[50] This article may be by Addison; see note to No. 50.
[51] It has been suggested that Duumvir is meant for the Duke of Ormond, and this view is supported by the MS. annotator mentioned in a note to No. 4. James Butler, second Duke of Ormond, married, at the age of eighteen, Anne, daughter of Lord Hyde, afterward Earl of Rochester. After her death in 1685 he married Lady Mary Somerset, daughter of Henry, first Duke of Beaufort. In 1711 he became Captain-General and Commander-in-Chief of the land forces, but after the accession of George I. he was impeached of high treason, and attainted. He died in exile in 1745.
[52] Dr. William Stanley, Dean of St. Asaph and Canon of St. Paul's, where he was buried on his death in 1731. The loudness of his voice is alluded to again in Nos. 56, 61, 67, 70, and 241.
[53] "Mr. C--l--n" (MS. note).--This was probably John Colson (1680-1760), who became Lucasian professor of mathematics in 1739. He is described by Cole, the antiquary, as "an humourist and peevish."
No. 55. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, August 13_, to _Tuesday, August 16, 1709_.
----Paulo majora canamus.--VIRG., Ecl. iv. 1.
* * * * *
_White's Chocolate-house, August 15._
While others are busied in relations which concern the interests of princes, the peace of nations, and revolutions of empire, I think (though these are very large subjects) my theme of discourse is sometimes to be of matters of a yet higher consideration. The slow steps of Providence and Nature, and strange events which are brought about in an instant, are what, as they come within our view and observation, shall be given to the public. Such things are not accompanied with show and noise, and therefore seldom draw the eyes of the unattentive part of mankind; but are very proper at once to exercise our humanity, please our imaginations, and improve our judgments. It may not therefore be unuseful to relate many circumstances, which were observable upon a late cure done upon a young gentleman who was born blind, and on the 29th of June last received his sight at the age of twenty years, by the operation of an oculist. This happened no farther off than Newington, and the work was prepared for in the following manner: The operator, Mr. Grant,[55] having observed the eyes of his patient, and convinced his friends and relations, among others the Rev. Mr. Caswell, minister of the place, that it was highly probable he should remove the obstacle which prevented the use of his sight; all his acquaintance, who had any regard for the young man, or curiosity to be present when one of full age and understanding received a new sense, assembled themselves on this occasion. Mr. Caswell[56] being a gentleman particularly curious, desired the whole company, in case the blindness should be cured, to keep silence, and let the patient make his own observations, without the direction of anything he had received by his other senses, or the advantage of discovering his friends by their voices. Among several others, the mother, brethren, sisters, and a young gentlewoman for whom he had a passion, were present. The work was performed with great skill and dexterity. When the patient first received the dawn of light, there appeared such an ecstasy in his action, that he seemed ready to swoon away in the surprise of joy and wonder. The surgeon stood before him with his instruments in his hand. The young man observed him from head to foot; after which he surveyed himself as carefully, and seemed to compare him to himself; and observing both their hands, seemed to think they were exactly alike, except the instruments, which he took for parts of his hands. When he had continued in this amazement some time, his mother could not longer bear the agitations of so many passions as thronged upon her, but fell upon his neck, crying out, "My son! my son!" The youth knew her voice, and could speak no more than, "Oh me! are you my mother?" and fainted. The whole room, you will easily conceive, were very affectionately employed in recovering him; but above all, the young gentlewoman who loved him, and whom he loved, shrieked in the loudest manner. That voice seemed to have a sudden effect upon him as he recovered, and he showed a double curiosity in observing her as she spoke and called to him; till at last he broke out, "What has been done to me? Whither am I carried? Is all this about me, the thing I have heard so often of? Is this the light? Is this seeing? Were you always thus happy, when you said you were glad to see each other? Where is Tom, who used to lead me? But I could now, methinks, go anywhere without him." He offered to move, but seemed afraid of everything around him. When they saw his difficulty, they told him, till he became better acquainted with his new being, he must let the servant still lead him. The boy was called for, and presented to him. Mr. Caswell asked him, what sort of thing he took Tom to be before he had seen him. He answered, he believed there was not so much of him as of himself; but he fancied him the same sort of creature. The noise of this sudden change made all the neighbourhood throng to the place where he was. As he saw the crowd thickening, he desired Mr. Caswell to tell him how many there were in all to be seen. The gentleman, smiling, answered him, that it would be very proper for him to return to his late condition, and suffer his eyes to be covered, till they had received strength; for he might remember well enough, that by degrees he had from little and little come to the strength he had at present in his ability of walking and moving; and that it was the same thing with his eyes, which, he said, would lose the power of continuing to him that wonderful transport he was now in, except he would be contented to lay aside the use of them, till they were strong enough to bear the light without so much feeling, as he knew he underwent at present. With much reluctance he was prevailed upon to have his eyes bound, in which condition they kept him in a dark room, till it was proper to let the organ receive its objects without further precaution. During the time of this darkness, he bewailed himself in the most distressed manner, and accused all his friends, complaining, that some incantation had been wrought upon him, and some strange magic used to deceive him into an opinion, that he had enjoyed what they called sight. He added, that the impressions then let in upon his soul would certainly distract him, if he were not so at that present. At another time he would strive to name the persons he had seen among the crowd after he was couched, and would pretend to speak (in perplexed terms of his own making) of what he in that short time observed, But on the 6th instant it was thought fit to unbind his head, and the young woman whom he loved was instructed to open his eyes accordingly, as well to endear herself to him by such a circumstance, as to moderate his ecstasies by the persuasion of a voice, which had so much power over him as hers ever had. When this beloved young woman began to restore him, she talked to him as follows:
"Mr. William, I am now taking the binding off, though when I consider what I am doing, I tremble with the apprehension, that (though I have from my very childhood loved you, dark as you were, and though you had conceived so strong a love for me) yet you will find there is such a thing as beauty, which may ensnare you into a thousand passions of which you now are innocent, and take you from me for ever. But before I put myself to that hazard, tell me in what manner that love you always professed to me entered into your heart; for its usual admission is at the eyes."
The young man answered, "Dear Lydia, if I am to lose by sight the soft pantings which I have always felt when I heard your voice; if I am no more to distinguish the step of her I love when she approaches me, but to change that sweet and frequent pleasure for such an amazement as I knew the little time I lately saw: or if I am to have anything besides, which may take from me the sense I have of what appeared most pleasing to me at that time (which apparition it seems was you): pull out these eyes, before they lead me to be ungrateful to you, or undo myself. I wished for them but to see you; pull them out, if they are to make me forget you."
* * * * *
Lydia was extremely satisfied with these assurances; and pleased herself with playing with his perplexities. In all his talk to her, he showed but very faint ideas of anything which had not been received at the ear; and closed his protestation to her by saying, that if he were to see Valentia and Barcelona, whom he supposed the most esteemed of all women, by the quarrel there was about them, he would never like any but Lydia.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 15._
We have repeated advices of the entire defeat of the Swedish army near Pultowa[57] on the 27th June, O.S., and letters from Berlin give the following account of the remains of the Swedish army since the battle: Prince Menzikoff being ordered to pursue the victory, came up with the Swedish army (which was left to the command of General Lewenhaupt) on the 30th of June, O.S., on the banks of the Boristhenes; whereupon he sent General Lewenhaupt a summons to submit to his present fortune: Lewenhaupt immediately despatched three general officers to that prince, to treat about a capitulation; but the Swedes, though they consisted of 15,000 men, were in so great want of provision and ammunition, that they were obliged to surrender themselves at discretion. His Czarish Majesty despatched an express to General Goltz, with an account of these particulars, and also with instructions to send out detachments of his cavalry to prevent the King of Sweden's joining his army in Poland. That prince made his escape with a small party by swimming over the Boristhenes; and it was thought, he designed to retire into Poland by the way of Volhinia. Advices from Berne of the 11th instant say, that the General Diet of the Helvetic Body held at Baden concluded on the 6th; but the deputies of the six cantons, who are deputed to determine the affair of Tockenburg, continue their application to that business, notwithstanding some new difficulties started by the Abbot of St. Gall. Letters from Geneva of the 9th say, that the Duke of Savoy's cavalry had joined Count Thaun, as had also two Imperial regiments of hussars; and that his royal highness's army was disposed in the following manner: the troops under the command of Count Thaun are extended from Constans to St. Peter de Albigni. Small parties are left in several posts from thence to Little St. Bernard, to preserve the communication with Piedmont by the Valley of Aosta. Some forces are also posted at Taloir, and in the Castle of Doin, on each side of the Lake of Anneci. General Rhebinder is encamped in the Valley of Oulx with 10,000 foot, and some detachments of horse: his troops are extended from Exilles to Mount Genevre, so that he may easily penetrate into Dauphine on the least motion of the enemy; but the Duke of Berwick takes all necessary precautions to prevent such an enterprise. That General's headquarters are at Francin; and he hath disposed his army in several parties, to preserve a communication with the Maurienne and Briançon. He hath no provisions for his army but from Savoy; Provence and Dauphine being unable to supply him with necessaries. He left two regiments of dragoons at Annen, who suffered very much in the late action at Tessons, where they lost 1500 who were killed on the spot, 4 standards, and 300 prisoners, among whom were 40 officers. The last letters from the Duke of Marlborough's camp at Orchies of the 19th instant advise, that Monsieur Ravignan being returned from the French Court with an account, that the King of France refused to ratify the capitulation for the surrender of the citadel of Tournay, the approaches have been carried on with great vigour and success: our miners have discovered several of the enemy's mines, who have sprung divers others, which did little execution; but for the better security of the troops, both assaults are carried on by the cautious way of sapping. On the 18th, the confederate army made a general forage without any loss. Marshal Villars continues in his former camp, and applies himself with great diligence in casting up new lines behind the old on the Scarp. The Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene designed to begin a general review of the army on the 20th.
FOOTNOTES:
[54] "Deceased" (folio).
[55] Roger Grant was sworn oculist and operator in ordinary to Queen Anne, September 27, 1710; and on the death of Sir William Read, he was sworn oculist in ordinary to George I. in 1715 (_Weekly Packet_, No. 159). He died in 1724. A pamphlet, published in 1709, price 2d., called, "A full and true Account of a Miraculous Cure of a Young Man in Newington, that was born Blind, and was in Five Minutes brought to perfect Sight. By Mr. Roger Grant, Oculist," was in reality intended to expose Grant as an impostor. William Jones, son of Annabella Jones, of Newington, Surrey, was, in the twentieth year of his age, couched by Grant, on June 19, 1709. On Sunday, July 24, he went, we are told, to the parish church of St. Mary, Newington, and requested the minister to offer up thanks for his recovery; and next day he and his mother went to the minister to ask him to certify a statement to the effect that Jones was born blind and now had his sight very well. The minister objected to doing this, although Jones and his mother urged that Grant would charge for the cure if they did not get the certificate. The pamphlet states that at last they got the minister's signature forged, and then Grant published the certificate in the _Daily Courant_ for July 30, 1709. On August 16 another paper came out, stating that the minister was present at the operation. The minister told all who made inquiries the truth; that the boy was not born blind, but only with an imperfection in his sight; and that now he saw very little with the left eye, and not at all with the right. On August 8, Grant got the mother to make an affidavit respecting her son's blindness and cure before a magistrate. This affidavit is printed in the "British Apollo," vol. ii. No. 91 (January 20 to 23, 1710). The following advertisement is taken from the same periodical, vol. ii. No. 39 (August 5 to 10, 1709): "As it would be no less disrespectful and injurious to the public, to conceal the merits of Mr. Grant, oculist; therefore, we, the Minister, Churchwardens, and Overseers of the poor of the parish of St. Mary, Newington Butts, do certify, that William Jones, of the same parish, aged twenty years, who was born blind, on his application to Mr. Grant aforesaid, who dwells in St. Christopher's Court, behind the Royal Exchange, was by him couched on Wednesday, June 29, 1709, and by the blessing of God, on the skilful hand of Mr. Grant, the said Jones, in five minutes' time, was brought to see, and at this time hath his sight very well. This case being so particularly remarkable, and gratisly performed, we do, therefore, give this public testimony under our hands, this 25th of July, 1709.--Minister, William Taswell; Churchwardens, James Comber, William Dale; Overseers, Francis Trosse, William Benskin, Walker Wood, John Ship." The Jones case is included in a list of Grant's cures, "Account of some Cures," &c., printed on a folio sheet which is supposed to have been issued in 1713 (Brit. Mus. 1830, c. (18)). The pamphleteer from whom I have quoted, adds that Grant was bred up a cobbler, or, as some say, a tinker; and he was an Anabaptist preacher. Nichols says that "Grant seems to have been more ingenious and reputable than most of his brother and sister oculists; but, if we may judge from his very numerous advertisements, he was not less vain, or less indelicate." A correspondent of the _Spectator_ (see No. 472) bore testimony to the benefit he had himself derived from Grant, and said that many blind persons had been cured.
[56] Dr. William Taswell (here called Caswell), king's scholar at Westminster, was elected student of Christ Church in 1670. He became M.A. in 1677, B.D. in 1685, and D.D. in 1698.
[57] Charles XII. of Sweden was defeated by the Czar at Pultowa in July 1709, and was wounded by a musket-ball in the heel. After the defeat of his army he crossed the Boristhenes with three hundred men. Two thousand Swedes under General Lewenhaupt surrendered to Prince Menzikoff on the banks of the Boristhenes after the battle. Charles XII. sought refuge among the Turks, and retired to Bender.
No. 56. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, August 16_, to _Thursday, August 18, 1709_.
Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.
JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 17._
There is a young foreigner committed to my care, who puzzles me extremely in the questions he asks about the persons of figure we meet in public places. He has but very little of our language, and therefore I am mightily at a loss to express to him things, for which they have no word in that tongue to which he was born. It has been often my answer, upon his asking, who such a fine gentleman is? that he is what we call a "sharper," and he wants my explication. I thought it would be very unjust to tell him, he is the same the French call Coquin; the Latins, Nebulo; or the Greeks, #Raskal#.[58] For as custom is the most powerful of all laws, and that the order of men we call sharpers are received amongst us, not only with permission, but favour, I thought it unjust to use them like persons upon no establishment. Besides that, it would be an unpardonable dishonour to our country, to let him leave us with an opinion, that our nobility and gentry kept company with common thieves and cheats; I told him, they were a sort of tame hussars that were allowed in our cities, like the wild ones in our camp, who had all the privileges belonging to us, but at the same time were not tied to our discipline or laws. Aletheus, who is a gentleman of too much virtue for the age he lives in, would not let this matter be thus palliated, but told my pupil, that he was to understand, that distinction, quality, merit, and industry, were laid aside amongst us by the incursions of these civil hussars, who had got so much countenance, that the breeding and fashion of the age turned their way to the ruin of order and economy in all places where they are admitted. But Sophronius, who never falls into heat upon any subject, but applies proper language, temper, and skill, with which the thing in debate is to be treated, told the youth, that gentleman had spoken nothing, but what was literally true; but fell upon it with too much earnestness to give a true idea of that sort of people he was declaiming against, or to remedy the evil which he bewailed: for the acceptance of these men being an ill which hath crept into the conversation part of our lives, and not into our constitution itself, it must be corrected where it began, and consequently is to be amended only by bringing raillery and derision upon the persons who are guilty, or converse with them. "For the sharpers," continued he, "at present are not as formerly, under the acceptation of pickpockets; but are by custom erected into a real and venerable body of men, and have subdued us to so very particular a deference to them, that though they are known to be men without honour or conscience, no demand is called a debt of honour so indisputably as theirs. You may lose your honour to them, but they lay none against you: as the priesthood in Roman Catholic countries can purchase what they please for the Church, but they can alienate nothing from it. It is from this toleration, that sharpers are to be found among all sorts of assemblies and companies, and every talent amongst men is made use of by some one or other of the society for the good of their common cause: so that an unexperienced young gentleman is as often ensnared by his understanding as his folly: for who could be unmoved, to hear the eloquent Dromio explain the constitution, talk in the key of Cato, with the severity of one of the ancient sages, and debate the greatest question of State in a common chocolate or coffee-house; who could, I say, hear this generous declamator, without being fired at his noble zeal, and becoming his professed follower, if he might be admitted. Monoculus'[59] gravity would be no less inviting to a beginner in conversation, and the snare of his eloquence would equally catch one who had never seen an old gentleman so very wise, and yet so little severe. Many other instances of extraordinary men among the brotherhood might be produced; but every man who knows the town, can supply himself with such examples without their being named." Will. Vafer, who is skilful at finding out the ridiculous side of a thing, and placing it in a new and proper light (though he very seldom talks), thought fit to enter into this subject. He has lately lost certain loose sums, which half the income of his estate will bring in within seven years: besides which, he proposes to marry to set all right. He was therefore indolent enough to speak of this matter with great impartiality. "When I look round me," said this easy gentleman, "and consider in a just balance us bubbles, elder brothers, whose support our dull fathers contrived to depend upon certain acres; with the rooks, whose ancestors left them the wide world; I cannot but admire their fraternity, and contemn my own. Is not Jack Heyday much to be preferred to the knight he has bubbled? Jack has his equipage, his wenches, and his followers: the knight so far from a retinue, that he is almost one of Jack's. However, he is gay, you see, still; a florid outside--his habit speaks the man--and since he must unbutton, he would not be reduced outwardly, but is stripped to his upper coat. But though I have great temptation to it, I will not at this time give the history of the losing side, but speak the effects of my thoughts, since the loss of my money, upon the gaining people. This ill fortune makes most men contemplative and given to reading; at least it has happened so to me; and the rise and fall of the family of sharpers in all ages has been my contemplation."
* * * * *
I find, all times have had of this people; Homer, in his excellent heroic poem, calls them Myrmidons, who were a body who kept among themselves, and had nothing to lose; therefore never spared either Greek or Trojan, when they fell in their way, upon a party. But there is a memorable verse which gives us an account of what broke that whole body, and made both Greeks and Trojans masters of the secret of their warfare and plunder. There is nothing so pedantic as many quotations; therefore I shall inform you only, that in this battalion there were two officers called Thersites and Pandarus; they were both less renowned for their beauty than their wit; but each had this particular happiness, that they were plunged over head and ears in the same water, which made Achilles invulnerable; and had ever after certain gifts which the rest of the world were never to enjoy. Among others, they were never to know they were the most dreadful to the sight of all mortals, never to be diffident of their own abilities, never to blush, or ever to be wounded but by each other. Though some historians say, gaming began among the Lydians to divert hunger, I could cite many authorities to prove it had its rise at the siege of Troy; and that Ulysses won the sevenfold shield at hazard. But be that as it may, the ruin of the corps of the myrmidons proceeded from a breach between Thersites and Pandarus. The first of these was leader of a squadron, wherein the latter was but a private man; but having all the good qualities necessary for a partisan, he was the favourite of his officer. But the whole history of the several changes in the order of sharpers, from those myrmidons to our modern men of address and plunder, will require that we consult some ancient manuscripts. As we make these inquiries, we shall diurnally communicate them to the public, that the knights of the industry may be better understood by the good people of England. These sort of men in some ages, were sycophants and flatterers only, and were endued with arts of life to capacitate them for the conversation of the rich and great; but now the bubble courts the impostor, and pretends at the utmost to be but his equal. To clear up the reasons and causes in such revolutions, and the alteration of conduct between fools and cheats, shall be one of our labours for the good of this kingdom. How therefore pimps, footmen, fiddlers, and lackeys, are elevated into companions in this present age, shall be accounted for from the influence of the planet Mercury[60] on this island; the ascendency of which sharper over Sol, who is a patron of the Muses, and all honest professions, has been noted by the learned Job Gadbury[61] to be the cause, that cunning and trick are more esteemed than art and science. It must be allowed also, to the memory of Mr. Partridge, late of Cecil Street in the Strand, that in his answer to an horary question, at what hour of the night to set a foxtrap in June 1705, he has largely discussed, under the character of Reynard, the manner of surprising all sharpers as well as him. But of these great points, after more mature deliberation.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 17._
"_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._
"SIR,
"We have nothing at present new, but that we understand by some owlers,[62] old people die in France. Letters from Paris of the 10th instant, N.S., say, that Monsieur d'André Marquis d'Oraison died at 85; Monsieur Brumars, at 102 years, died for love of his wife, who was 92 at her death, after seventy years' cohabitation. Nicolas de Boutheiller, parish preacher of Sasseville, being a bachelor, held out till 116. Dame Claude de Massy, relict of Monsieur Peter de Monceaux, Grand Audiencer of France, died on the 7th instant, aged 107. Letters of the 17th say, Monsieur Chrestien de Lamoignon died on the 7th instant, a person of great piety and virtue; but having died young, his age is concealed for reasons of State. On the 15th his most Christian Majesty, attended by the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Duke and Duchess of Berry, assisted at the procession which he yearly performs, in memory of a vow made by Lewis XIII. 1638: for which act of piety, his Majesty received absolution of his confessor, for the breach of all inconvenient vows made by himself. I am,
"Sir, Your most humble Servant, HUMPHREY KIDNEY."[63]
_From my own Apartment, August 17._
I am to acknowledge several letters which I have lately received; among others, one subscribed "Philanthropis," another "Emilia," both which shall be honoured. I have a third from an officer of the army, wherein he desires I would do justice to the many gallant actions which have been done by men of private characters, or officers of lower stations, during this long war; that their families may have the pleasure of seeing we lived in an age wherein men of all orders had their proper share in fame and glory. There is nothing I should undertake with greater pleasure than matter of this kind: if therefore they who are acquainted with such facts, would please to communicate them, by letter directed to me at Mr. Morphew's, no pains should be spared to put them in a proper and distinguishing light.
* * * * *
This is to admonish Stentor,[64] that it was not admiration of his voice, but my publication of it, which has lately increased the number of his hearers.
FOOTNOTES:
[58] "Rascal," in Greek letters.
[59] See No. 36.
[60] Mercury was the god of thieves.
[61] An astrologer and almanac maker, who died in 1715. John Gadbury, an older astrologer, was his master.
[62] Persons who carry contraband goods.
[63] A waiter; see No. 1.
[64] See No. 54.
No. 57. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, August 18_, to _Saturday, August 20, 1709_.
Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.
JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 19._
I was this evening representing a complaint sent me out of the country from Emilia. She says, her neighbours there have so little sense of what a refined lady of the town is, that she, who was a celebrated wit in London, is in that dull part of the world in so little esteem, that they call her in their base style a tongue-pad. Old Truepenny bid me advise her to keep her wit till she comes to town again, and admonish her, that both wit and breeding are local; for a fine Court lady is as awkward among country housewives, as one of them would appear in a drawing-room. It is therefore the most useful knowledge one can attain at, to understand among what sort of men we make the best figure; for if there be a place where the beauteous and accomplished Emilia is unacceptable, it is certainly a vain endeavour to attempt pleasing in all conversations. Here is Will. Ubi, who is so thirsty after the reputation of a companion, that his company is for anybody that will accept of it; and for want of knowing whom to choose for himself, is never chosen by others. There is a certain chastity of behaviour which makes a man desirable, and which, if he transgresses, his wit will have the same fate with Delia's beauty, which no one regards, because all know it is within their power. The best course Emilia can take, is, to have less humility; for if she could have as good an opinion of herself for having every quality, as some of her neighbours have of themselves with one, she would inspire even them with a sense of her merit, and make that carriage (which is now the subject of their derision) the sole object of their imitation. Till she has arrived at this value of herself, she must be contented with the fate of that uncommon creature, a woman too humble.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 19._
Since my last, I have received a letter from Tom Trump, to desire that I would do the fraternity of gamesters the justice to own, that there are notorious sharpers who are not of their class. Among others, he presented me with the picture of Harry Coppersmith in little, who (he says) is at this day worth half a plum,[65] by means much more indirect than by false dice. I must confess, there appeared some reason in what he asserted; and he met me since, and accosted me in the following manner: "It is wonderful to me, Mr. Bickerstaff, that you can pretend to be a man of penetration, and fall upon us knights of the industry as the wickedest of mortals, when there are so many who live in the constant practice of baser methods unobserved. You cannot (though you know the story of myself and the North Briton) but allow I am an honester man than Will. Coppersmith, for all his great credit among the Lombards. I get my money by men's follies, and he gets his by their distresses. The declining merchant communicates his griefs to him, and he augments them by extortion. If therefore regard is to be had to the merit of the persons we injure, who is the more blamable, he that oppresses an unhappy man, or he that cheats a foolish one? All mankind are indifferently liable to adverse strokes of fortune; and he who adds to them, when he might relieve them, is certainly a worse subject, than he who unburdens a man whose prosperity is unwieldy to him. Besides all which, he that borrows of Coppersmith, does it out of necessity; he that plays with me, does it out of choice." I allowed Trump there are men as bad as himself, which is the height of his pretensions; and must confess, that Coppersmith is the most wicked and impudent of all sharpers: a creature that cheats with credit, and is a robber in the habit of a friend. The contemplation of this worthy person made me reflect on the wonderful successes I have observed men of the meanest capacities meet with in the world, and recollected an observation I once heard a sage man make, which was, that he had observed, that in some professions, the lower the understanding, the greater the capacity. I remember, he instanced that of a banker, and said, "That the fewer appetites, passions, and ideas a man had, he was the better for his business." There is little Sir Tristram,[66] without connection in his speech, or so much as common sense, has arrived by his own natural parts at one of the greatest estates amongst us. But honest Sir Tristram knows himself to be but a repository for cash: he is just such a utensil as his iron chest, and may rather be said to hold money, than possess it. There is nothing so pleasant as to be in the conversation of these wealthy proficients. I had lately the honour to drink half a pint with Sir Tristram, Harry Coppersmith, and Giles Twoshoes. These wags give one another credit in discourse according to their purses; they jest by the pound, and make answers as they honour bills. Without vanity, I thought myself the prettiest fellow of the company; but I had no manner of power over one muscle in their faces, though they sneered at every word spoken by each other. Sir Tristram called for a pipe of tobacco; and telling us tobacco was a pot-herb, bid the drawer bring in the other half-pint. Twoshoes laughed at the knight's wit without moderation. I took the liberty to say, it was but a pun. "A pun!" says Coppersmith: "you would be a better man by £10,000 if you could pun like Sir Tristram." With that, they all burst out together. The queer curs maintained this style of dialogue till we had drunk our quarts apiece by half-pints. All I could bring away with me, is, that Twoshoes is not worth £20,000; for his mirth, though he was as insipid as either of the others, had no more effect upon the company, than if he had been a bankrupt.
_From my own Apartment, August 19._
I have heard, it has been advised by a Diocesan to his inferior clergy, that instead of broaching opinions of their own, and uttering doctrines which may lead themselves and hearers into errors, they would read some of the most celebrated sermons printed by others for the instruction of their congregations. In imitation of such preachers at second-hand, I shall transcribe from Bruyère one of the most elegant pieces of raillery and satire which I have ever read. He describes the French, as if speaking of a people not yet discovered, in the air and style of a traveller.
* * * * *
"I have heard talk of a country where the old men are gallant, polite and civil: the young men, on the contrary, stubborn, wild, without either manners or civility. They are free from passion for women, at the age when in other countries they begin to feel it; and prefer beasts, victuals, and ridiculous amours, before them. Amongst these people, he is sober who is never drunk with anything but wine; the too frequent use of it has rendered it flat and insipid to them: they endeavour by brandy, and other strong liquors, to quicken their taste, already extinguished, and want nothing to complete their debauches, but to drink aqua fortis. The women of that country hasten the decay of their beauty, by their artifices to preserve it: they paint their cheeks, eyebrows, and shoulders, which they lay open, together with their breasts, arms and ears, as if they were afraid to hide those places which they think will please, and never think they show enough of them. The physiognomies of the people of that country are not at all neat, but confused and embarrassed with a bundle of strange hair, which they prefer before their natural: with this they weave something to cover their heads, which descends half-way down their bodies, hides their features, and hinders you from knowing men by their faces. This nation has besides this, their God and their king. The grandees go every day at a certain hour to a temple they call a church: at the upper end of that temple there stands an altar consecrated to their God, where the priest celebrates some mysteries which they call holy, sacred and tremendous. The great men make a vast circle at the foot of the altar, standing with their backs to the priest and the holy mysteries, and their faces erected towards their king, who is seen on his knees upon a throne, and to whom they seem to direct the desires of their hearts, and all their devotion. However, in this custom there is to be remarked a sort of subordination; for the people appear adoring their prince and their prince adoring God. The inhabitants of this region call it----It is from forty-eight degrees of latitude, and more than eleven hundred leagues by sea, from the Iroquois and Hurons."
* * * * *
Letters from Hampstead[67] say, there is a coxcomb arrived there, of a kind which is utterly new. The fellow has courage, which he takes himself to be obliged to give proofs of every hour he lives. He is ever fighting with the men, and contradicting the women. A lady who sent him to me, superscribed him with this description out of Suckling:
"_I am a man of war and might, And know thus much, that I can fight, Whether I am in the wrong or right, Devoutly._
"_No woman under heaven I fear, New oaths I can exactly swear; And forty healths my brains will bear, Most stoutly._"
FOOTNOTES:
[65] A plum is £100,000.
[66] Sir Francis Child, according to the annotator mentioned in a note to No. 4. Sir Francis Child, the founder of the banking-house, was elected Lord Mayor in 1698, and was afterwards M.P. for the City and for Devizes. He died in 1713.
[67] Hampstead was quite a health resort, with chalybeate springs. The following advertisement appeared in No. 201: "A consort of music will be performed in the Great Room at Hampstead, this present Saturday, the 22nd inst., at the desire of the gentlemen and ladies living in and near Hampstead, by the best masters. Several of the opera songs, by a girl of nine years, a scholar of Mr. Tenoe's, who never performed in public, but once at York Buildings, with very good success. To begin exactly at five, for the conveniency of gentlemen's returning. Tickets to be had only at the Wells, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each. For the benefit of Mr. Tenoe."
No. 58. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, August 20_, to _Tuesday, August 23, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 22._
Poor Cynthio[68] (who does me the honour to talk to me now and then very freely of his most secret thoughts, and tells me his most private frailties) owned to me, that though he is in his very prime of life, love had killed all his desires, and he was now as much to be trusted with a fine lady, as if he were eighty. "That one passion for Clarissa has taken up," said he, "my whole soul, and all my idle flames are extinguished, as you may observe, ordinary fires are often put out by the sunshine." This was a declaration not to be made, but upon the highest opinion of a man's sincerity; yet as much a subject of raillery as such a speech would be, it is certain, that chastity is a nobler quality, and as much to be valued in men as in women. The mighty Scipio, who (as Bluffe[69] says in the comedy) was a pretty fellow in his time, was of this mind, and is celebrated for it by an author of good sense. When he lived, wit, and humour, and raillery, and public success, were at as high a pitch in Rome, as at present in England; yet I believe, there was no man in those days thought that general at all ridiculous in his behaviour in the following account of him: Scipio, at four and twenty years of age,[70] had obtained a great victory, and a multitude of prisoners of each sex, and all conditions, fell into his possession: among others, an agreeable virgin in her early bloom and beauty. He had too sensible a spirit to see the most lovely of all objects without being moved with passion: besides which, there was no obligation of honour or virtue to restrain his desires towards one who was his by the fortune of war. But a noble indignation, and a sudden sorrow, which appeared in her countenance, when a conqueror cast his eyes upon her, raised his curiosity to know her story. He was informed, that she was a lady of the highest condition in that country, and contracted to Indibilis, a man of merit and quality. The generous Roman soon placed himself in the condition of that unhappy man, who was to lose so charming a bride; and though a youth, a bachelor, a lover, and a conqueror, immediately resolved to resign all the invitations of his passion, and the rights of his power, to restore her to her destined husband. With this purpose he commanded her parents and relations, as well as her husband, to attend him at an appointed time. When they met, and were waiting for the general, my author frames to himself the different concern of an unhappy father, a despairing lover, and a tender mother, in the several persons who were so related to the captive. But for fear of injuring the delicate circumstances with an old translation, I shall proceed to tell you, that Scipio appears to them, and leads in his prisoner into their presence. The Romans (as noble as they were) seemed to allow themselves a little too much triumph over the conquered; therefore, as Scipio approached, they all threw themselves on their knees, except the lover of the lady: but Scipio observing in him a manly sullenness, was the more inclined to favour him, and spoke to him in these words: "It is not the manner of the Romans to use all the power they justly may: we fight not to ravage countries, or break through the ties of humanity; I am acquainted with your worth, and your interest in this lady: fortune has made me your master; but I desire to be your friend. This is your wife; take her, and may the gods bless you with her. But far be it from Scipio to purchase a loose and momentary pleasure at the rate of making an honest man unhappy." Indibilis' heart was too full to make him any answer, but he threw himself at the feet of the general and wept aloud. The captive lady fell into the same posture, and they both remained so till the father burst into the following words: "O divine Scipio! The gods have given you more than human virtue. O glorious leader! O wondrous youth! Does not that obliged virgin give you, while she prays to the gods for your prosperity, and thinks you sent down from them, raptures, above all the transports which you could have reaped from the possession of her injured person?" The temperate Scipio answered him without much emotion, and, saying, "Father, be a friend to Rome," retired. An immense sum was offered as her ransom; but he sent it to her husband, and smiling, said, "This is a trifle after what I have given him already; but let Indibilis know, that chastity at my age is a much more difficult virtue to practise than generosity." I observed, Cynthio was very much taken with my narrative; but told me, this was a virtue that would bear but a very inconsiderable figure in our days. However I took the liberty to say, that we ought not to lose our ideas of things, though we had debauched our true relish in our practice. For after we have done laughing, solid virtue will keep its place in men's opinions: and though custom made it not so scandalous as it ought to be, to ensnare innocent women, and triumph in the falsehood; such actions as we have here related, must be accounted true gallantry, and rise the higher in our esteem, the farther they are removed from our imitation.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 22._
A man would be apt to think in this laughing town, that it were impossible a thing so exploded as speaking hard words should be practised by any one that had ever seen good company; but as if there were a standard in our minds as well as bodies, you see very many just where they were twenty years ago, and more they cannot, will not arrive at. Were it not thus, the noble Martius would not be the only man in England whom nobody can understand, though he talks more than any man else, Will. Dactyle the epigrammatist, Jack Comma the grammarian, Nick Cross-grain who writes anagrams, and myself, made a pretty company at a corner of this room, and entered very peaceably upon a subject fit enough for us; which was, the examination of the force of the particle "for," when Martius joined us. He being well known to us all, asked what we were upon? For he had a mind to consummate the happiness of the day, which had been spent among the stars of the first magnitude, among the men of letters; and therefore, to put a period to it, as he had commenced it, he should be glad to be allowed to participate of the pleasure of our society. I told him the subject. "Faith, gentlemen," said Martius, "your subject is humble; and if you would give me leave to elevate the conversation, I should humbly offer, that you would enlarge your inquiries to the word 'forasmuch': for though I take it," said he, "to be but one word; yet, the particle 'much' implying quantity, the particle 'as' similitude, it will be greater, and more like ourselves, to treat of 'forasmuch.'" Jack Comma is always serious, and answered, "Martius, I must take the liberty to say, that you have fallen into all this error and profuse manner of speech by a certain hurry in your imagination, for want of being more exact in the knowledge of the parts of speech; and it is so with all men who have not well studied the particle 'for.' You have spoken 'for' without making any inference, which is the great use of that particle. There is no manner of force in your observation of quantity and similitude in the syllables 'as' and 'much.' But it is ever the fault of men of great wit to be incorrect; which evil they run into by an indiscreet use of the word 'for.' Consider all the books of controversy which have been written, and I'll engage you will observe, that all the debate lies in this point, whether they brought in 'for' in a just manner, or forced it in for their own use, rather than as understanding the use of the word itself? There is nothing like familiar instances: you have heard the story of the Irishman, who reading, 'Money for Live Hair,' took a lodging and expected to be paid for living at that house. If this man had known 'for' was in that place, of a quite different signification from the particle 'to,' he could not have fallen into the mistake of taking 'live' for what the Latins call _vivere_, or rather _habitare_" Martius seemed at a loss; and admiring his profound learning, wished he had been bred a scholar, for he did not take the scope of his discourse. This wise debate, of which we had much more, made me reflect upon the difference of their capacities, and wonder that there could be as it were a diversity in men's genius for nonsense; that one should bluster, while another crept in absurdities. Martius moves like a blind man, lifting his legs higher than the ordinary way of stepping; and Comma, like one who is only short-sighted, picking his way when he should be marching on. Want of learning makes Martius a brisk entertaining fool, and gives himself a full scope; but that which Comma has, and calls learning, makes him diffident, and curb his natural misunderstanding, to the great loss of the men of raillery. This conversation confirmed me in the opinion, that learning usually does but improve in us what nature endowed us with. He that wants good sense, is unhappy in having it, for he has thereby only more ways of exposing himself; and he that has sense, knows that learning is not knowledge, but rather the art of using it.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 22._
We[71] have undoubted intelligence of the defeat of the King of Sweden; and that prince (who for some years had hovered like an approaching tempest, and was looked up at by all the nations of Europe, which seemed to expect their fate according to the course he should take), is now, in all probability, an unhappy exile, without the common necessaries of life. His Czarish Majesty treats his prisoners with great gallantry and distinction. Count Rheinsfeldt has had particular marks of his Majesty's esteem, for his merit and services to his master; but Count Piper, whom his Majesty believes author of the most violent councils into which his prince entered, is disarmed and entertained accordingly. That decisive battle was ended at nine in the morning, and all the Swedish generals dined with the Czar that very day, and received assurances that they should find Muscovy was not unacquainted with the laws of honour and humanity.
FOOTNOTES:
[68] Lord Hinchinbroke; see Nos. 5, 22, 35.
[69] Captain Bluffe, in Congreve's "Old Bachelor," act ii. sc. 2: "Faith, Hannibal was a very pretty fellow; but, Sir Joseph, comparisons are odious; Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days, it must be granted; but, alas, sir, were he alive now, he would be nothing, nothing in the earth."
[70] He was really 27 at this time. Steele seems to have based this article on a translation of Valerius Maximus. Florus says that Scipio declined to see the lady; Livy's account is in his twenty-sixth book, chap. 50.
[71] "Though we have men of intelligence that have spoken of the proposals of peace and conferences which have been held at Tournay, there are no certain advices of any such treaty. We" (folio).
No. 59. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, August 23_, to _Thursday, August 25, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 24._
Æsop has gained to himself an immortal renown for figuring the manners, desires, passions, and interests of men, by fables of beasts and birds: I shall in my future accounts of our modern heroes and wits, vulgarly called "sharpers," imitate the method of that delightful moralist; and think, I cannot represent those worthies more naturally than under the shadow of a pack of dogs; for this set of men are like them, made up of finders, lurchers, and setters. Some search for the prey, others pursue others take it; and if it be worth it, they all come in at the death, and worry the carcass. It would require a most exact knowledge of the field, and the harbours where the deer lie, to recount all the revolutions in the chase: but I am diverted from the train of my discourse of the fraternity about this town by letters from Hampstead, which give me an account, there is a late institution there, under the name of a raffling-shop, which is, it seems, secretly supported by a person who is a deep practitioner in the law, and, out of tenderness of conscience, has, under the name of his maid Sisly, set up this easier way of conveyancing and alienating estates from one family to another. He is so far from having an intelligence with the rest of the fraternity, that all the humbler cheats who appear there, are faced by the partners in the bank, and driven off by the reflection of superior brass. This notice is given to all the silly faces that pass that way, that they may not be decoyed in by the soft allurement of a fine lady, who is the sign to the pageantry. And at the same time Signior Hawksly, who is the patron of the household, is desired to leave off this interloping trade, or admit, as he ought to do, the knights of the industry to their share in the spoil. But this little matter is only by way of digression. Therefore to return to our worthies: the present race of terriers and hounds would starve, were it not for the enchanted Actæon, who has kept the whole pack for many successions of hunting seasons. Actæon has long tracts of rich soil; but had the misfortune in his youth to fall under the power of sorcery, and has been ever since, some parts of the year, a deer, and in some parts a man. While he is a man (such is the force of magic), he no sooner grows to such a bulk and fatness, but he is again turned into a deer, and hunted till he is lean; upon which he returns to his human shape. Many arts have been tried, and many resolutions taken by Actæon himself, to follow such methods as would break the enchantment; but all have hitherto proved ineffectual. I have therefore, by midnight watchings and much care, found out, that there is no way to save him from the jaws of his hounds, but to destroy the pack, which, by astrological prescience, I find I am destined to perform. For which end I have sent out my familiar, to bring me a list of all the places where they are harboured, that I may know where to sound my horn, and bring them together, and take an account of their haunts and their marks, against another opportunity.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 24._
The author of the ensuing letter, by his name, and the quotations he makes from the ancients, seems a sort of spy from the old world, whom we moderns ought to be careful of offending; therefore I must be free, and own it a fair hit where he takes me, rather than disoblige him.[72]
"SIR,
"Having a peculiar humour of desiring to be somewhat the better or wiser for what I read, I am always uneasy when, in any profound writer (for I read no others), I happen to meet with what I cannot understand. When this falls out, it is a great grievance to me that I am not able to consult the author himself about his meaning; for commentators are a sect that has little share in my esteem. Your elaborate writings have, among many others, this advantage, that their author is still alive, and ready (as his extensive charity makes us expect) to explain whatever may be found in them too sublime for vulgar understandings. This, sir, makes me presume to ask you, how the Hampstead hero's[73] character could be perfectly new when the last letters came away, and yet Sir John Suckling so well acquainted with it sixty years ago? I hope, sir, you will not take this amiss: I can assure you, I have a profound respect for you; which makes me write this, with the same disposition with which Longinus bids us read Homer and Plato. 'When in reading,' says he, 'any of those celebrated authors, we meet with a passage to which we cannot well reconcile our reasons, we ought firmly to believe, that were those great wits present to answer for themselves, we should to our wonder be convinced, that we only are guilty of the mistakes we before attributed to them.' If you think fit to remove the scruple that now torments me, it will be an encouragement to me to settle a frequent correspondence with you, several things falling in my way which would not, perhaps, be altogether foreign to your purpose, and whereon your thoughts would be very acceptable to
"Your most humble Servant, OBADIAH GREENHAT."
I own this is clean, and Mr. Greenhat has convinced me that I have writ nonsense; yet am I not at all offended at him.
_Scimus, et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim._[74]
This is the true art of raillery, when a man turns another into ridicule, and shows at the same time he is in good humour, and not urged by malice against the person he rallies. Obadiah Greenhat has hit this very well: for to make an apology to Isaac Bickerstaff, an unknown student and horary historian, as well as astrologer, and with a grave face to say, he speaks of him by the same rules with which he would treat Homer or Plato, is to place him in company where he cannot expect to make a figure; and makes him flatter himself, that it is only being named with them which renders him most ridiculous. I have not known, and I am now past my grand climacteric, being sixty-four years of age, according to my way of life, or rather (if you will allow punning in an old gentleman) according to my way of pastime; I say, old as I am, I have not been acquainted with many of the Greenhats. There is indeed one Zedekiah Greenhat, who is lucky also in his way. He has a very agreeable manner; for when he has a mind thoroughly to correct a man, he never takes from him anything, but he allows him something for it; or else, he blames him for things wherein he is not defective, as well as for matters wherein he is. This makes a weak man believe he is in jest in the whole. The other day he told Beau Prim, who is thought impotent, that his mistress had declared she would not have him, because he was a sloven, and had committed a rape. The beau bit at the banter, and said very gravely, he thought to be clean was as much as was necessary; and that as to the rape, he wondered by what witchcraft that should come to her ears; but it had indeed cost him a hundred pounds to hush the affair. The Greenhats are a family with small voices and short arms, therefore they have power with none but their friends: they never call after those who run away from them, or pretend to take hold of you if you resist. But it has been remarkable, that all who have shunned their company, or not listened to them, have fallen into the hands of such as have knocked out their own brains, or broken their bones. I have looked over our pedigree upon the receipt of this epistle, and find the Greenhats are akin to the Staffs. They descend from Maudlin, the left-handed wife of Nehemiah Bickerstaff, in the reign of Harry II. And it is remarkable, that they are all left-handed, and have always been very expert at single rapier. A man must be very much used to their play to know how to defend himself; for their posture is so different from that of the right-handed, that you run upon their swords if you push forward; and they are in with you, if you offer to fall back without keeping your guard. There have been other letters lately sent to me which relate to other people: among others, some whom I have heretofore declared to be so, are deceased. I must not therefore break through rules so far, as to speak ill of the dead. This maxim extends to all but the late Partridge, who still denies his death. I am informed indeed by several, that he walks; but I shall with all convenient speed lay him.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 24._
We hear from Tournay, that on the night between the 22nd and 23rd, they went on with their works in the enemy's mines, and levelled the earth which was taken out of them. The next day, at eight in the morning, when the French observed we were relieving our trenches, they sprung a larger mine than any they had fired during this siege, which killed only four private sentinels. The ensuing night, we had three men and two officers killed, as also seven men wounded. Between the 24th and 25th, we repaired some works, which the enemy had ruined. On the next day, some of the enemy's magazines blew up; and it is thought they were destroyed on purpose by some of their men, who are impatient of the hardships of the present service. There happened nothing remarkable for two or three days following. A deserter, who came out of the citadel on the 27th, says, the garrison is brought to the utmost necessity; that their bread and water are both very bad; and that they were reduced to eat horse-flesh. The manner of fighting in this siege has discovered a gallantry in our men unknown to former ages; their meeting with adverse parties underground, where every step is taken with apprehensions of being blown up with mines below them, or crushed by the fall of the earth above them, and all this acted in darkness, has something in it more terrible than ever is met with in any other part of a soldier's duty. However, this is performed with great cheerfulness. In other parts of the war we have also good prospects: Count Thaun has taken Annecy, and the Count de Merci marched into Franche Comté, while his Electoral Highness is much superior in number to Monsieur d'Harcourt; so that both on the side of Savoy and Germany, we have reason to expect very suddenly some great event.
FOOTNOTES:
[72] This letter was by Swift, and is printed in Scott's edition of his works. The remainder of the article may be by either Swift or Addison.
[73] See No. 57.
[74] Horace, "Ars Poetica," II.
No. 60. [STEELE.[75]
From _Thursday, August 25_, to _Saturday, August 27_, 1709.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 26._
To proceed regularly in the history of my worthies, I ought to give you an account of what has passed from day to day in this place; but a young fellow of my acquaintance has so lately been rescued out of the hands of the knights of the industry, that I rather choose to relate the manner of his escape from them, and the uncommon way which was used to reclaim him, than to go on in my intended diary. You are to know then, that Tom Wildair is a student of the Inner Temple, and has spent his time, since he left the university for that place, in the common diversions of men of fashion; that is to say, in whoring, drinking, and gaming. The two former vices he had from his father; but was led into the last by the conversation of a partisan of the Myrmidons, who had chambers near him. His allowance from his father was a very plentiful one for a man of sense, but as scanty for a modern fine gentleman. His frequent losses had reduced him to so necessitous a condition, that his lodgings were always haunted by impatient creditors, and all his thoughts employed in contriving low methods to support himself, in a way of life from which he knew not how to retreat, and in which he wanted means to proceed. There is never wanting some good-natured person to send a man an account of what he has no mind to hear; therefore many epistles were conveyed to the father of this extravagant, to inform him of the company, the pleasures, the distresses, and entertainments, in which his son passed his time. The old fellow received these advices with all the pain of a parent, but frequently consulted his pillow to know how to behave himself on such important occasions, as the welfare of his son, and the safety of his fortune. After many agitations of mind, he reflected, that necessity was the usual snare which made men fall into meanness, and that a liberal fortune generally made a liberal and honest mind; he resolved therefore to save him from his ruin, by giving him opportunities of tasting what it is to be at ease, and enclosed to him the following order upon Sir Tristram Cash:[76]
"SIR,
"Pray pay to Mr. Tho. Wildair, or order, the sum of one thousand pounds, and place it to the account of,
"Yours, HUMPHREY WILDAIR."
Tom was so astonished at the receipt of this order, that though he knew it to be his father's hand, and that he had always large sums at Sir Tristram's; yet a thousand pounds was a trust of which his conduct had always made him appear so little capable, that he kept his note by him, till he writ to his father the following letter:
"HONOURED FATHER,
"I have received an order under your hand for a thousand pounds, in words at length, and I think I could swear it is your hand. I have looked it over and over twenty thousand times. There is in plain letters, T, H, O, U, S, A, N, D,: and after it, the letters P, O, U, N, D, S. I have it still by me, and shall, I believe, continue reading it till I hear from you."
The old gentleman took no manner of notice of the receipt of his letter; but sent him another order for three thousand pounds more. His amazement on this second letter was unspeakable. He immediately double-locked his door, and sat down carefully to reading and comparing both his orders. After he had read them till he was half mad, he walked six or seven turns in his chamber, then opens his door, then locks it again; and to examine thoroughly this matter, he locks his door again, puts his table and chairs against it; then goes into his closet, and locking himself in, read his notes over again about nineteen times, which did but increase his astonishment. Soon after, he began to recollect many stories he had formerly heard of persons who had been possessed with imaginations and appearances which had no foundation in nature, but had been taken with sudden madness in the midst of a seeming clear and untainted reason. This made him very gravely conclude he was out of his wits; and with a design to compose himself, he immediately betakes him to his nightcap, with a resolution to sleep himself into his former poverty and senses. To bed therefore he goes at noonday, but soon rose again, and resolved to visit Sir Tristram upon this occasion. He did so, and dined with the knight, expecting he would mention some advice from his father about paying him money; but no such thing being said, "Look you, Sir Tristram," said he, "you are to know, that an affair has happened, which----" "Look you," says Tristram, "I know, Mr. Wildair, you are going to desire me to advance; but the late call of the bank, where I have not yet made my last payment, has obliged me----" Tom interrupted him, by showing him the bill of a thousand pounds. When he had looked at it for a convenient time, and as often surveyed Tom's looks and countenance; "Look you, Mr. Wildair, a thousand pounds----" Before he could proceed, he shows him the order for three thousand more. Sir Tristram examined the orders at the light, and finding at the writing the name, there was a certain stroke in one letter, which the father and he had agreed should be to such directions as he desired might be more immediately honoured, he forthwith pays the money. The possession of four thousand pounds gave my young gentleman a new train of thoughts: he began to reflect upon his birth, the great expectations he was born to, and the unsuitable ways he had long pursued. Instead of that unthinking creature he was before, he is now provident, generous, and discreet. The father and son have an exact and regular correspondence, with mutual and unreserved confidence in each other. The son looks upon his father as the best tenant he could have in the country, and the father finds the son the most safe banker he could have in the City.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 26._
There is not anything in nature so extravagant, but that you will find one man or other that shall practise or maintain it; otherwise, Harry Spondee could not have made so long an harangue as he did here this evening concerning the force and efficacy of well-applied nonsense. Among ladies, he positively averred, it was the most prevailing part of eloquence; and had so little complaisance as to say, a woman is never taken by her reason, but always by her passion. He proceeded to assert, the way to move that, was only to astonish her. "I know," continued he, "a very late instance of this; for being by accident in the next room to Strephon, I could not help overhearing him as he made love to a certain great lady's woman. The true method in your application to one of this second rank of understanding, is not to elevate and surprise, but rather to elevate and amaze. Strephon is a perfect master in this kind of persuasion: his way is, to run over with a soft air a multitude of words, without meaning or connection, but such as do each of them apart give a pleasing idea, though they have nothing to do with each other as he assembles them. After the common phrases of salutation, and making his entry into the room, I perceived he had taken the fair nymph's hand, and kissing it, said, 'Witness to my happiness ye groves! Be still ye rivulets! Oh! woods, caves, fountains, trees, dales, mountains, hills, and streams! Oh! fairest, could you love me?' To which I overheard her answer, with a very pretty lisp, 'Oh! Strephon, you are a dangerous creature: why do you talk these tender things to me? But you men of wit----' 'Is it then possible,' said the enamoured Strephon, 'that she regards my sorrows? Oh! Pity, thou balmy cure to an heart overloaded. If rapture, solicitation, soft desire, and pleasing anxiety----But still I live in the most afflicting of all circumstances, doubt----Cannot my charmer name the place and moment?
_There all those joys insatiably to prove, With which rich beauty feeds the glutton love._
Forgive me, madam, it is not that my heart is weary of its chain, but----' This incoherent stuff was answered by a tender sigh, 'Why do you put your wit to a weak woman?' Strephon saw he had made some progress in her heart, and pursued it, by saying that he would certainly wait upon her at such an hour near Rosamond's Pond;[77] and then----The sylvian deities, and rural powers of the place, sacred and inviolable to love; love, the mover of all noble hearts, should hear his vows repeated by the streams and echoes. The assignation was accordingly made." This style he calls the unintelligible method of speaking his mind; and I'll engage, had this gallant spoken plain English, she had never understood him half so readily: for we may take it for granted, that he'll be esteemed as a very cold lover, who discovers to his mistress that he is in his senses.
_From my own Apartment, August 26._
The following letter came to my hand, with a request to have the subject recommended to our readers, particularly the smart fellows, who are desired to repair to Major Touchhole,[78] who can help them to firelocks that are only fit for exercise.
_Just ready for the Press_,
"Mars Triumphant, or, London's Glory: being the whole art of Encampment, with the method of embattling Armies, marching them off, posting the Officers, forming Hollow Squares, and the various Ways of paying the Salute with the Halfpike; as it was performed by the Trained-bands of London this year One thousand seven hundred and nine, in that Nursery of Bellona the Artillery-ground.[79] Wherein you have a new method how to form a strong line of foot, with large intervals between each platoon, very useful to prevent the breaking in of horse. A civil way of performing the military ceremony; wherein the major alights from his horse, and at the head of his company salutes the lieutenant-colonel; and the lieutenant-colonel, to return the compliment, courteously dismounts, and after the same manner salutes his major: exactly as it was performed, with abundance of applause, on the 5th of July last. Likewise an account of a new invention made use of in the Red Regiment to quell mutineering captains; with several other things alike useful for the public. To which is added, An Appendix by Major Touchhole; proving the method of discipline now used in our armies to be very defective. With an essay towards an amendment. Dedicated to the Lieutenant-Colonel of the First Regiment."
* * * * *
Mr. Bickerstaff has now in the press, "A Defence of awkward Fellows against the Class of the Smarts: with a Dissertation upon the Gravity which becomes weighty Persons. Illustrated by way of Fable, and a Discourse on the Nature of the Elephant, the Cow, the Dray-horse, and the Dromedary, which have motions equally steady and grave. To this is added, a Treatise written by an Elephant (according to Pliny) against receiving Foreigners into the Forest. Adapted to some present Circumstances. Together with Allusions to such Beasts as declare against the poor Palatines."
FOOTNOTES:
[75] See No. 56.
[76] See No. 57.
[77] This "lake of love" (No. 170) was a sheet of water in the south-west corner of St. James's Park, "long consecrated," as Warburton says, "to disastrous love and elegiac poetry." It is frequently mentioned in plays of the time as a place of assignation. See Pope's "Rape of the Lock":
"This the blest lover shall for Venus take, And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake."
The anxious father of an heiress, who had given him the slip, says (_Spectator_, No. 311), "After an hour's search she returned of herself, having been taking a walk, as she told me, by Rosamond's Pond." The pond was filled up in 1770.
[78] Said to be a Mr. Gregory, of Thames Street, a train-band major. See also No. 265.
[79] See Nos. 28, 41.
No. 61. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, August 27_, to _Tuesday, August 30, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 29._
Among many phrases which have crept into conversation, especially of such company as frequent this place, there is not one which misleads me more, than that of a fellow of a great deal of fire. This metaphorical term, "fire," has done much good in keeping coxcombs in awe of one another; but at the same time it has made them troublesome to everybody else. You see in the very air of a fellow of fire, something so expressive of what he would be at, that if it were not for self-preservation, a man would laugh out. I had last night the fate to drink a bottle with two of these firemen, who are indeed dispersed like the myrmidons[80] in all quarters, and to be met with among those of the most different education. One of my companions was a scholar with fire; the other a soldier of the same complexion. My learned man would fall into disputes, and argue without any manner of provocation or contradiction: the other was decisive without words, and would give a shrug or an oath to express his opinion. My learned man was a mere scholar, and my man of war as mere a soldier. The particularity of the first was ridiculous; that of the second, terrible. They were relations by blood, which in some measure moderated their extravagances towards each other: I gave myself up merely as a person of no note in the company, but as if brought to be convinced, that I was an inconsiderable thing, any otherwise than that they would show each other to me, and make me spectator of the triumph they alternately enjoyed. The scholar has been very conversant with books, and the other with men only; which makes them both superficial: for the taste of books is necessary to our behaviour in the best company, and the knowledge of men is required for a true relish of books: but they have both fire, which makes one pass for a man of sense, and the other for a fine gentleman. I found I could easily enough pass my time with the scholar; for if I seemed not to do justice to his parts and sentiments, he pitied me, and let me alone. But the warrior could not let it rest there; I must know all that happened within his shallow observations of the nature of the war: to all which he added, an air of laziness, and contempt of those of his companions who were eminent for delighting in the exercise and knowledge of their duty. Thus it is, that all the young fellows of much animal life, and little understanding, that repair to our armies, usurp upon the conversation of reasonable men, under the notion of having fire. The word has not been of greater use to shallow lovers, to supply them with chat to their mistresses, than it has been to pretended men of pleasure to support them in being pert and dull, and saying of every fool of their order, "Such a one has fire." There is a Colonel Truncheon, who marches with divisions ready on all occasions; a hero who never doubted in his life, but is ever positively fixed in the wrong, not out of obstinate opinion, but invincible stupidity. It is very unhappy for this latitude of London, that it is possible for such as can learn only fashion, habit, and a set of common phrases of salutation, to pass with no other accomplishments in this nation of freedom for men of conversation and sense. All these ought to pretend to, is, not to offend; but they carry it so far, as to be negligent, whether they offend or not; for they have fire. But their force differs from true spirit, as much as a vicious from a mettlesome horse. A man of fire is a general enemy to all the waiters where you drink, is the only man affronted at the company's being neglected, and makes the drawers abroad, his _valet-de-chambre_ and footman at home, know, he is not to be provoked without danger. This is not the fire that animates the noble Marinus,[81] a youth of good nature, affability, and moderation. He commands his ship, as an intelligence moves its orb; he is the vital life, and his officers the limbs of the machine. His vivacity is seen in doing all the offices of life with readiness of spirit, and propriety in the manner of doing them. To be ever active in laudable pursuits, is the distinguishing character of a man of merit; while the common behaviour of every gay coxcomb of fire is to be confidently in the wrong, and dare to persist in it.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 29._
It is a common objection against writings of a satirical mixture, that they hurt men in their reputations, and consequently in their fortunes and possessions; but a gentleman who frequents this room declared, he was of opinion it ought to be so, provided such performances had their proper restrictions. The greatest evils in human society are such as no law can come at; as in the case of ingratitude, where the manner of obliging very often leaves the benefactor without means of demanding justice, though that very circumstance should be the more binding to the person who has received the benefit. On such an occasion, shall it be possible for the malefactor to escape?
And is it not lawful to set marks upon persons who live within the law, and do base things? Shall not we use the same protection of those laws to punish them, which they have to defend themselves? We shall therefore take it for a very moral action to find a good appellation for offenders, and to turn them into ridicule under feigned names. I am advertised by a letter of August the 25th, that the name of Coppersmith[82] has very much wanted explanation in the city, and by that means unjustly given, by those who are conscious they deserve it themselves, to an honest and worthy citizen[83]--belonging to the Copper Office; but that word is framed out of a moral consideration of wealth amongst men, whereby he that has gotten any part of it by injustice and extortion, is to be thought in the eye of virtuous men so much the poorer for such gain. Thus all the gold which is torn from our neighbours, by making advantage of their wants, is copper; and I authorise the Lombards to distinguish themselves accordingly. All the honest, who make a reasonable profit, both for the advantage of themselves and those they deal with, are goldsmiths; but those who tear unjustly all they can, coppersmiths. At the same time I desire him who is most guilty, to sit down satisfied with riches and contempt, and be known by the title of the Coppersmith; as being the chief of that respected, contemptible fraternity.
This is the case of all others mentioned in our lucubrations, particularly of Stentor,[84] who goes on in his vociferations at St. Paul's with so much obstinacy, that he has received admonition from St. Peter's for it from a person of eminent wit and piety;[85] but who is by old age reduced to the infirmity of sleeping at a service, to which he had been fifty years attentive, and whose death, whenever it happens, may, with that of the saints, well be called, falling asleep; for the innocence of his life makes him expect it as indifferently as he does his ordinary rest. This gives him a cheerfulness of spirit to rally his own weakness, and hath made him write to Stentor to hearken to my admonitions. "Brother Stentor," said he, "for the repose of the church, hearken to Bickerstaff, and consider, that while you are so devout at St. Paul's, we cannot sleep for you at St. Peter's."
_From my own Apartment, August 29._
There has been lately sent me a much harder question than was ever yet put to me since I professed astrology; to wit, how far, and to what age, women ought to make their beauty their chief concern? The regard and care of their faces and persons are as variously to be considered, as their complexions themselves differ; but if one may transgress against the careful practice of the fair sex so much as to give an opinion against it, I humbly presume, that less care, better applied, would increase their empire, and make it last as long as life. Whereas now, from their own example, we take our esteem of their merit; for it is very just, that she who values herself only on her beauty, should be regarded by others on no other consideration. There is certainly a liberal and pedantic education among women as well as men, and the merit lasts accordingly. She therefore that is bred with freedom, and in good company, considers men according to their respective characters and distinctions; while she that is locked up from such observations, will consider her father's butler not as a butler, but as a man. In like manner, when men converse with women, the well-bred and intelligent are looked upon with an observation suitable to their different talents and accomplishments, without respect to their sex; while a mere woman can be observed under no consideration but that of a woman; and there can be but one reason for placing any value upon her, or losing time in her company. Wherefore I am of opinion, that the rule for pleasing long, is, to obtain such qualifications as would make them so were they not women. Let the beauteous Cleomira then show us her real face, and know, that every stage of life has its peculiar charms, and that there is no necessity for fifty to be fifteen: that childish colouring of her cheeks is as ungraceful, as that shape would have been when her face wore its real countenance. She has sense, and ought to know, that if she will not follow nature, nature will follow her. Time then has made that person, which had (when I visited her grandfather) an agreeable bloom, sprightly air, and soft utterance, now no less grateful in a lovely aspect, an awful manner, and maternal wisdom. But her heart was so set upon her first character, that she neglects and repines at her present; not that she is against a more staid conduct in others, for she recommends gravity, circumspection, and severity of countenance, to her daughter. Thus, against all chronology, the girl is the sage, the mother the fine lady. But these great evils proceed from an unaccountable wild method in the education of the better half of the world, the women. We have no such thing as a standard for good breeding. I was the other day at my Lady Wealthy's, and asked one of her daughters, how she did? She answered, she never conversed with men. The same day I visited at Lady Plantwell's, and asked her daughter the same question. She answers, "What's that to you, you old thief?" and gives me a slap on the shoulders. I defy any man in England, except he knows the family before he enters, to be able to judge whether he shall be agreeable or not, when he comes into it. You find either some odd old woman, who is permitted to rule as long as she lives, in hopes of her death, and to interrupt all things; or some impertinent young woman, who will talk sillily upon the strength of looking beautifully. I will not answer for it, but that it may be, that I (like all other old fellows) have a fondness for the fashions and manners which prevailed when I was young and in fashion myself: but certain it is, that the taste of grace and beauty is very much lowered! The fine women they show me nowadays, are at best but pretty girls to me, who have seen Sacharissa,[86] when all the world repeated the poems she inspired; and Villaria,[87] when a youthful king was her subject. The things you follow and make songs on now, should be sent to knit, or sit down to bobbing or bone-lace: they are indeed neat, and so are their sempstresses; they are pretty, and so are their handmaids. But that graceful motion, that awful mien, and that winning attraction, which grew upon them from the thoughts and conversations they met with in my time, are now no more seen. They tell me I am old: I am glad I am so; for I don't like your present young ladies. Those among us who do set up for anything of decorum, do so mistake the matter, that they offend on the other side. Five young ladies who are of no small fame for their great severity of manners and exemplary behaviour, would lately go nowhere with their lovers but to an organ-loft in a church, where they had a cold treat, and some few opera songs, to their great refreshment and edification. Whether these prudent persons had not been as much so if this had been done at a tavern, is not very hard to determine. It is such silly starts and incoherences which undervalue the beauteous sex, and puzzle us in our choice of sweetness of temper and simplicity of manners, which are the only lasting charms of woman. But I must leave this important subject at present, for some matters which press for publication; as you will observe in the following letter:
"DEAR SIR,
"It is natural for distant relations to claim kindred with a rising family; though at this time, zeal to my country, not interest, calls me out. The City forces[88] being shortly to take the field, all good Protestants would be pleased that their arms and valour should shine with equal lustre. A council of war was lately held, the Honourable Colonel Mortar being president. After many debates, it was unanimously resolved, that Major Blunder, a most expert officer, should be detached for Birmingham to buy arms, and to prove his firelocks on the spot, as well to prevent expense, as disappointment in the day of battle. The major being a person of consummate experience, was invested with a discretionary power. He knew from ancient story, that securing the rear, and making a glorious retreat, was the most celebrated piece of conduct. Accordingly such measures were taken to prevent surprise in the rear of his arms, that even Pallas herself, in the shape of rust, could not invade them. They were drawn into close order, firmly embodied, and arrived securely without touch-holes. Great and national actions deserve popular applause; and as praise is no expense to the public, therefore, dearest kinsman, I communicate this to you, as well to oblige this nursery of heroes, as to do justice to my native country. I am
"Your most Affectionate Kinsman, OFFSPRING TWIG.
"London, _August 26_, Artillery Ground.
"A war-horse, belonging to one of the colonels of the artillery, to be let or sold. He may be seen, adorned with ribands, and set forth to the best advantage, the next training day."
FOOTNOTES:
[80] See No. 56.
[81] Perhaps Lord Forbes (afterwards third Earl of Granard), a naval officer on friendly terms with Swift. (See "Journal to Stella," July 21-23, 1711, and No. 271, note.) He was born in 1685, and was therefore only 24 in 1709.
[82] See No. 57.
[83] Probably Sir Humphrey Mackworth (1657-1727), the governor of a company formed for working copper mines in England. Yalden wrote verses "To Sir Humphrey Mackworth on working the mines." In 1709, after internal quarrels in the Corporation, Mackworth was accused of peculation, and in 1710 the House of Commons voted him guilty of fraud; but a bill alienating his estates fell through owing to the failing power of the Whigs. Mackworth was one of the founders of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, and published some books on religious subjects, besides many political pamphlets.
[84] See No. 54.
[85] Dr. Robert South, who was, when this paper was written, nearly 75, and in bad health. In January 1709, Swift wrote to Lord Halifax, "Pray, my lord, desire Dr. South to die about the fall of the leaf," and in October Halifax wrote, "Dr. South holds out still, but he cannot be immortal." He lived until 1716.
[86] Waller's "Sacharissa" was Lady Dorothy Sidney (1617-1684), daughter of Robert, second Earl of Leicester, and wife of Robert, second Earl of Sunderland.
[87] The Duchess of Cleveland; see No. 50.
[88] See No. 60.
No. 62. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, August 30_, to _Thursday, September 1, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 31._
This place being frequented by persons of condition, I am desired to recommend a dog kennel to any who shall want a pack. It lies not far from Suffolk Street,[89] and is kept by two who were formerly dragoons in the French service; but left plundering for the more orderly life of keeping dogs: besides that, according to their expectation, they find it more profitable, as well as more conducing to the safety of their skin, to follow this trade, than the beat of drum. Their residence is very convenient for the dogs to whelp in, and bring up a right breed to follow the scent. The most eminent of the kennel are bloodhounds, which lead the van, and are as follow:
_A List of the Dogs._
Jowler, of a right Irish breed, called Captain.
Rockwood, of French race, with long hair, by the courtesy of England called also Captain.
Pompey, a tall hound, kennelled in a convent in France, and knows a rich soil.
The two last hunt in couple, and are followed by,
Ringwood, a French black whelp of the same breed, a fine open-mouthed dog; and an old sick hound, always in kennel; but of the true blood, with a good nose, French breed.
There is also an Italian greyhound, with good legs, and knows perfectly the ground from Ghent to Paris.
Ten setting dogs, right English.
Four mongrels, of the same nation.
And twenty whelps, fit for any game.
These curs are so extremely hungry, that they are too keen at the sport, and worry their game before the keepers can come in. The other day a wild boar from the north rushed into the kennel, and at first indeed defended himself against the whole pack; but they proved at last too many for him, and tore twenty-five pounds of flesh from off his back, with which they filled their bellies, and made so great a noise in the neighbourhood, that the keepers are obliged to hasten the sale. That quarter of the town where they are kennelled is generally inhabited by strangers, whose blood the hounds have often sucked in such a manner, that many a German count, and other _virtuosi_, who come from the Continent, have lost the intention of their travels, and been unable to proceed on their journey.
If these hounds are not very soon disposed of to some good purchaser, as also those at the kennels nearer St. James's, it is humbly proposed, that they may be altogether transported to America, where the dogs are few, and the wild beasts many. Or, that during their stay in these parts, some eminent justice of the peace may have it in particular direction to visit their harbours; and that the Sheriff of Middlesex may allow him the assistance of the common hangman to cut off their ears, or part of them, for distinction-sake, that we may know the bloodhounds from the mongrels and setters. Till these things are regulated, you may inquire at a house belonging to Paris at the upper end of Suffolk Street, or a house belonging to Ghent, opposite to the lower end of Pall Mall, and know further.
It were to be wished that these curs were disposed of; for it is a very great nuisance to have them tolerated in cities. That of London takes care, that the common hunt, assisted by the Sergeants and bailiffs, expel them wherever they are found within the walls; though it is said, some private families keep them, to the destruction of their neighbours: but it is desired, that all who know of any of these curs, or have been bit by them, would send me their marks, and the houses where they are harboured, and I do not doubt but I shall alarm the people so well, as to have them used like mad dogs wherever they appear. In the meantime, I advise all such as entertain this kind of vermin, that if they give me timely notice that their dogs are dismissed, I shall let them go unregarded, otherwise am obliged to admonish my fellow subjects in this behalf, and instruct them how to avoid being worried, when they are going about their lawful professions and callings. There was lately a young gentleman bit to the bone; who has now indeed recovered his health, but is as lean as a skeleton. It grieved my heart to see a gentleman's son run among the hounds; but he is, they tell me, as fleet and as dangerous as the best of the pack.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 31._
This evening was spent at our table in discourse of propriety of words and thoughts, which is Mr. Dryden's definition of wit;[90] but a very odd fellow, who would intrude upon us, and has a briskness of imagination more like madness than regular thought, said,[91] that Harry Jacks was the first who told him of the taking of the citadel of Tournay,[92] "and," says he, "Harry deserves a statue more than the boy who ran to the Senate with a thorn in his foot to tell of a victory." We were astonished at the assertion, and Spondee asked him, "What affinity is there between that boy and Harry, that you say their merit resembles so much as you just now told us?" "Why," says he, "Harry you know is in the French interest, and it was more pain to him to tell the story of Tournay, than to the boy to run upon a thorn to relate a victory which he was glad of." The gentleman who was in the chair upon the subject of propriety of words and thoughts, would by no means allow, that there was wit in this comparison; and urged, that to have anything gracefully said, it must be natural; and that whatsoever was introduced in common discourse with so much premeditation, was insufferable. That critic went on: "Had Mr. Jacks," said he, "told him the citadel was taken, and another had answered, 'He deserves a statue as well as the Roman boy, for he told it with as much pain'; it might have passed for a sprightly expression: but there is a wit for discourse, and a wit for writing. The easiness and familiarity of the first, is not to savour in the least of study; but the exactness of the other, is to admit of something like the freedom of discourse, especially in discourses of humanity, and what regards the Belles Lettres. I do not in this allow, that Bickerstaff's _Tatlers_, or discourses of wit by retail, and for the penny, should come within the description of writing." I bowed at his compliment, and--but he would not let me proceed.
You see in no place of conversation the perfection of speech so much as in an accomplished woman. Whether it be, that there is a partiality irresistible when we judge of that sex, or whatever it is, you may observe a wonderful freedom in their utterance, and an easy flow of words, without being distracted (as we often are who read much) in the choice of dictions and phrases. My Lady Courtly is an instance of this: she was talking the other day of dress, and did it with so excellent an air and gesture, that you would have sworn she had learned her action from our Demosthenes. Besides which, her words were particularly well adapted to the matter she talked of, that the dress was a new thing to us men. She avoided the terms of art in it, and described an unaffected garb and manner in so proper terms, that she came up to that of Horace's "_simplex munditiis_";[93] which, whoever can translate in two words, has as much eloquence as Lady Courtly. I took the liberty to tell her, that all she had said with so much good grace, was spoken in two words in Horace, but would not undertake to translate them; upon which she smiled, and told me, she believed me a very great scholar, and I took my leave.
_From my own Apartment, August 31._
I have been just now reading the introduction to the History of Catiline by Sallust, an author who is very much in my favour; but when I reflect upon his professing himself wholly disinterested, and at the same time see how industriously he has avoided saying anything to the praise of Cicero, to whose vigilance the commonwealth owed its safety, it very much lessens my esteem for that writer; and is one argument, among others, for laughing at all who pretend to be out of the interests of the world, and profess purely to act for the service of mankind, without the least regard to themselves. I do not deny but that the rewards are different; some aim at riches, others at honour, by their public services. However, they are all pursuing some end to themselves, though indeed those ends differ as much as right and wrong. The most graceful way then, I should think, would be to acknowledge, that you aim at serving yourselves; but at the same time make it appear, it is for the service of others that you have these opportunities. Of all the disinterested professors I have ever heard of, I take the boatswain of Dampier's ship to be the most impudent, but the most excusable.[94] You are to know, that in the wild searches that navigator was making, they happened to be out at sea, far distant from any shore, in want of all the necessaries of life; insomuch, that they began to look, not without hunger, on each other. The boatswain was a fat, healthy, fresh fellow, and attracted the eyes of the whole crew. In such an extreme necessity, all forms of superiority were laid aside: the captain and lieutenant were safe only by being carrion, and the unhappy boatswain in danger only by being worth eating. To be short, the company were unanimous, and the boatswain must be cut up. He saw their intention, and desired he might speak a few words before they proceeded; which being permitted, he delivered himself as follows:
"GENTLEMEN SAILORS,
"Far be it that I should speak it for any private interest of my own, but I take it, that I should not die with a good conscience, if I did not confess to you that I am not sound. I say, gentlemen, justice, and the testimony of a good conscience, as well as love of my country, to which I hope you will all return, oblige me to own, that Black Kate at Deptford has made me very unsafe to eat; and (I speak it with shame) I am afraid, gentlemen, I should poison you."
This speech had a good effect in the boatswain's favour; but the surgeon of the ship protested, he had cured him very well, and offered to eat the first steak of him himself.
The boatswain replied (like an orator, with a true notion of the people, and in hopes to gain time) that he was heartily glad if he could be for their service, and thanked the surgeon for his information. "However," said he, "I must inform you, for your own good, that I have ever since my cure been very thirsty and dropsical; therefore I presume it would be much better to tap me, and drink me off, than eat me at once, and have no man in the ship fit to be drank." As he was going on with his harangue, a fresh gale arose, and gave the crew hopes of a better repast at the nearest shore, to which they arrived next morning.
Most of the self-denials we meet with are of this sort; therefore I think he acts fairest who owns, he hopes at least to have brother's fare, without professing that he gives himself up with pleasure to be devoured for the preservation of his fellows.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 31._
Letters from the Hague of the 6th of September, N.S., say, that the governor of the citadel at Tournay having offered their highnesses the Duke of Marlborough and the Prince of Savoy to surrender that place on the 31st of the last month, on terms which were not allowed them by those princes, hostilities were thereupon renewed; but that on the 3rd the place was surrendered, with a seeming condition granted to the besieged above that of being prisoners of war; for they were forthwith to be conducted to Condé, but were to be exchanged for prisoners of the Allies, and particularly those of Warneton were mentioned in the demand. Both armies having stretched towards Mons with the utmost diligence, that of the Allies, though they passed the much more difficult road, arrived first before that town, which they have now actually invested; and the quartermaster-general was, at the time of despatching these letters, marking the ground for the encampment of the covering army.
_To the Booksellers, or others whom this Advertisement may concern._
Mr. Omicron,[95] the unborn poet, gives notice, that he writes all treatises as well in verse as prose, being a ninth son, and translates out of all languages, without learning or study.
If any bookseller will treat for his pastoral on the "Siege and Surrender of the Citadel of Tournay," he must send in his proposals before the news of a capitulation for any other town.
The undertaker for either play-house may have an opera written by him; or, if it shall suit their design, a satire upon operas; both ready for next winter.
This is to give notice, that Richard Farloe, M.A., well known for his acuteness in dissection of dead bodies, and his great skill in osteology, has now laid by that practice; and having, by great study, and much labour, acquired the knowledge of an antidote for all the most common maladies of the stomach, is removed, and may be applied to, at any time of the day, in the south entrance from Newgate Street into Christ's Hospital.
FOOTNOTES:
[89] Gambling-houses were very numerous at this time; they were largely supported by foreign adventurers, many of whom lived in Suffolk Street, Haymarket.
[90] Dryden defines wit as "a propriety of thoughts and words; or, in other terms, thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the subject" (Preface to "The State of Innocence"). Addison observes that this "is not so properly a definition of wit, as of good writing in general" (_Spectator_, No. 62).
[91] "Told us" (folio).
[92] See news paragraph below.
[93] I Od. v. 5. See No. 212, for Steele's remarks on a well-dressed woman, in reply to a lady who asked what was the meaning of these words.
[94] William Dampier (1652-1715), captain, traveller and buccaneer, tells another story of a voyage in 1686, when provisions were nearly exhausted. "The men had contrived first to kill Captain Swan and eat him when the victuals were gone, and after him all of us who were accessory in promoting the undertaking this voyage. This made Captain Swan say to me, after our arrival at Guam, 'Ah, Dampier, you would have made them but a poor meal'; for I was as lean as the captain was lusty and fleshy."
[95] It has been suggested that there is here a reference to John Oldmixon, the Whig historian and journalist; but in No. 71 Steele seems to disclaim such an intention.
No. 63. [STEELE, ETC.
From _Thursday September 1_, to _Saturday, September 3, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, September 2._
_Of the Enjoyment of Life with Regard to others._[96]
I have ever thought it the greatest diminution to the Roman glory imaginable, that in their institution of public triumphs, they led their enemies in chains when they were prisoners. It is to be allowed, that doing all honour to the superiority of heroes above the rest of mankind, must needs conduce to the glory and advantage of a nation; but what shocks the imagination to reflect upon, is, that a polite people should think it reasonable, that an unhappy man, who was no way inferior to the victor, but by the chance of war, should be led like a slave at the wheels of his chariot. Indeed these other circumstances of a triumph, that it was not allowed in a civil war, lest part of it should be in tears, while the other was making acclamations; that it should not be allowed, except such a number were slain in battle; that the general should be disgraced who made a false muster of his dead: these, I say, had great and politic ends in their being established, and tended to the apparent benefit of the commonwealth. But this behaviour to the conquered had no foundation in nature or policy, only to gratify the insolence of a haughty people, who triumphed over barbarous nations, by acting what was fit only for those very barbarians to practise. It seems wonderful, that they who were so refined as to take care, that to complete the honour done to the victorious officer, no power should be known above him in the Empire on the day of his triumph, but that the consuls themselves should be but guests at his table that evening, could not take it into thought to make the man of chief note among his prisoners one of the company. This would have improved the gladness of the occasion, and the victor had made a much greater figure, in that no other man appeared unhappy on his day, than in that no other man appeared great. But we will waive at present such important incidents, and turn our thoughts rather to the familiar part of human life, and we shall find, that the great business we contend for, is in a less degree what those Romans did on more solemn occasions, to triumph over our fellow creatures; and there is hardly a man to be found, who would not rather be in pain to appear happy, than be really happy and thought miserable. This men attempt by sumptuous equipages, splendid houses, numerous servants, and all the cares and pursuits of an ambitious or fashionable life. Bromeo and Tabio are particularly ill-wishers to each other, and rivals in happiness. There is no way in nature so good to procure the esteem of the one, as to give him little notices of certain secret points wherein the other is uneasy. Gnatho has the skill of doing this, and never applauds the improvements Bromeo has been many years making, and ever will be making; but he adds, "Now this very thing was my thought when Tabio was pulling up his underwood, yet he never would hear of it; but now your gardens are in this posture, he is ready to hang himself. Well, to be sincere, that situation of his can never make an agreeable seat: he may make his house and appurtenances what he pleases; but he cannot remove them to the same ground where Bromeo stands. But of all things under the sun, a man that is happy at second-hand is the most monstrous." "It is a very strange madness," answers Bromeo, "if a man on these occasions can think of any end but pleasing himself. As for my part, if things are convenient, I hate all ostentation: there is no end of the folly of adapting our affairs to the imagination of others." Upon which, the next thing he does, is to enlarge whatever he hears his rival has attempted to imitate him in; but their misfortune is, that they are in their time of life, in their estates, and in their understandings equal; so that the emulation may continue to the last day of their lives. As it stands now, Tabio has heard Bromeo has lately purchased two hundred a year in the annuities since he last settled the account of their happiness, in which he thought himself to have the balance. This may seem a very fantastical way of thinking in these men; but there is nothing so common, as a man's endeavouring rather to go farther than some other person towards an easy fortune, than to form any certain standard that would make himself happy.
_Will's Coffee-house, September 2._
Mr. Dactile has been this evening very profuse of his eloquence upon the talent of turning things into ridicule; and seemed to say very justly, that there was generally in it something too disingenuous for the society of liberal men, except it were governed by the circumstances of persons, time, and place. "This talent," continued he, "is to be used as a man does his sword, not to be drawn but in his own defence, or to bring pretenders and impostors in society to a true light." But we have seen this faculty so mistaken, that the burlesque of Virgil himself has passed, among men of little taste, for wit; and the noblest thoughts that can enter into the heart of man, levelled with ribaldry and baseness: though by the rules of justice, no man ought to be ridiculed for any imperfection, who does not set up for eminent sufficiency in that way wherein he is defective. Thus cowards, who would hide themselves by an affected terror in their mien and dress; and pedants, who would show the depth of their knowledge by a supercilious gravity, are equally the objects of laughter. Not that they are in themselves ridiculous for their want of courage, or weakness of understanding, but that they seem insensible of their own place in life, and unhappily rank themselves with those, whose abilities, compared to their defects, make them contemptible. At the same time, it must be remarked, that risibility being the effect of reason, a man ought to be expelled from sober company who laughs without it. "Ha! ha!" says Will. Truby, who sat by, "will any man pretend to give me laws when I should laugh, or tell me what I should laugh at?" "Look ye," answered Humphrey Slyboots, "you are mightily mistaken; you may, if you please, make what noise you will, and nobody can hinder an English gentleman from putting his face into what posture he thinks fit; but, take my word for it, that motion which you now make with your mouth open, and the agitation of your stomach, which you relieve by holding your sides, is not laughter: laughter is a more weighty thing than you imagine; and I'll tell you a secret, you never did laugh in your life; and truly I am afraid you never will, except you take great care to be cured of those convulsive fits." Truby left us, and when he had got two yards from us, "Well," said he, "you are strange fellows," and was immediately taken with another fit.
The Trubies are a well-natured family, whose particular make is such, that they have the same pleasure out of good Will, which other people have in that scorn which is the cause of laughter: therefore their bursting into the figures of men when laughing, proceeds only from a general benevolence they are born with; as the Slyboots smile only on the greatest occasion of mirth; which difference is caused rather from a different structure of their organs, than that one is less moved than the other. I know Sowerly frets inwardly when Will. Truby laughs at him; but when I meet him, and he bursts out, I know it is out of his abundant joy to see me, which he expresses by that vociferation which is in others laughter. But I shall defer considering this subject at large, till I come to my treatise of oscitation, laughter, and ridicule.
_From my own Apartment, September 2._
The following letter being a panegyric upon me for a quality which every man may attain, an acknowledgment of his faults; I thought it for the good of my fellow writers to publish it.[97]
"SIR,
"It must be allowed, that Esquire Bickerstaff is of all authors the most ingenuous. There are few, very few, that will own themselves in a mistake, though all the world see them to be in downright nonsense. You'll be pleased, sir, to pardon this expression, for the same reason for which you once desired us to excuse you when you seemed anything dull. Most writers, like the generality of Paul Lorrain's Saints,[98] seem to place a peculiar vanity in dying hard. But you, sir, to show a good example to your brethren, have not only confessed, but of your own accord mended the indictment. Nay, you have been so good-natured as to discover beauties in it, which, I'll assure you, he that drew it never dreamed of: and to make your civility the more accomplished, you have honoured him with the title of your kinsman, which, though derived by the left hand, he is not a little proud of. My brother (for such Obadiah is) being at present very busy about nothing, has ordered me to return you his sincere thanks for all these favours; and, as a small token of his gratitude to communicate to you the following piece of intelligence, which, he thinks, belongs more properly to you than to any other of our modern historians. Madonella,[99] who as it was thought had long since taken her flight towards the ethereal mansions, still walks, it seems, in the regions of mortality; where she has found, by deep reflections on the revolution mentioned in yours of June 23rd, that where early instructions have been wanting to imprint true ideas of things on the tender souls of those of her sex, they are never after able to arrive at such a pitch of perfection, as to be above the laws of matter and motion; laws which are considerably enforced by the principles usually imbibed in nurseries and boarding-schools. To remedy this evil, she has laid the scheme of a college for young damsels; where, instead of scissors, needles, and sampler; pens, compasses, quadrants, books, manuscripts, Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, are to take up their whole time. Only on holidays the students will, for moderate exercise, be allowed to divert themselves with the use of some of the lightest and most voluble weapons; and proper care will be taken to give them at least a superficial tincture of the ancient and modern Amazonian tactics. Of these military performances, the direction is undertaken by Epicene,[100] the writer of Memoirs from the Mediterranean, who, by the help of some artificial poisons conveyed by smells, has within these few weeks brought many persons of both sexes to an untimely fate; and, what is more surprising, has, contrary to her profession, with the same odours, revived others who had long since been drowned in the whirlpools of Lethe. Another of the professors is to be a certain lady,[101] who is now publishing two of the choicest Saxon novels, which are said to have been in as great repute with the ladies of Queen Emma's Court, as the Memoirs from the new Atalantis are with those of ours. I shall make it my business to inquire into the progress of this learned institution, and give you the first notice of their philosophical transactions, and searches after nature.
"Yours, &c., TOBIAH GREENHAT."
_St. James's Coffee-house, September 2._
This day we have received advices by the way of Ostend, which give an account of an engagement between the French and the Allies on the 11th instant, N.S.[102] Marshal Boufflers arrived in the enemy's camp on the 5th, and acquainted Marshal Villars, that he did not come in any character, but to receive his commands for the king's service, and communicate to him his orders upon the present posture of affairs. On the 9th, both armies advanced towards each other, and cannonaded all the ensuing day till the close of the evening, and stood on their arms all that night. On the day of battle, the cannonading was renewed about seven: the Duke of Argyle had orders to attack the wood Saar on the right, which he executed so successfully, that he pierced through it, and won a considerable post. The Prince of Orange had the same good fortune in a wood on the left: after which, the whole body of the confederates, joined by the forces from the siege, marched up, and engaged the enemy, who were drawn up at some distance from these woods. The dispute was very warm for some time; but towards noon the French began to give ground from one wing to the other: which advantage being observed by our generals, the whole army was urged on with fresh vigour, and in a few hours the day ended with the entire defeat of the enemy.
FOOTNOTES:
[96] Probably this article is by Addison; see note to No. 50.
[97] Nichols suggested that this letter was by Swift, and it is printed in Scott's edition of his works.
[98] Paul Lorrain (died 1719) was the Ordinary of Newgate. In their "dying speeches," compiled by Lorrain, criminals commonly professed to be penitent, and were thus called "Lorrain's Saints." See _Spectator_, Nos. 338, 341.
[99] Mary Astell; see No. 32.
[100] Mrs. de la Rivière Manley (1672-1724), who afterwards attacked Steele, without ground, as the author of this article. Subsequently she became a writer for the Tories. She is best known by her scandalous "Secret Memoirs and Manners of several Persons of Quality, of both Sexes, from the New Atalantis," 1709, which was continued in "Memoirs of Europe towards the close of the Eighth Century," 1710.
[101] Elizabeth Elstob published, in 1709, an excellent English translation of an Anglo-Saxon homily. In 1715 she brought out "English Rudiments of Grammar for the Anglo-Saxon Tongue." Afterwards, being in poor circumstances, she kept a school with indifferent success, until 1739, when she was appointed governess to the Duchess of Portland's children. She died in 1756, aged 73, and was buried at St. Margaret's, Westminster.
[102] The Battle of Malplaquet.
No. 64. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, September 3_, to _Tuesday, September 6, 1709_.
Quæ caret ora cruore nostro?--HOR. I Od. ii. 36.
_From my own Apartment, September 5._
When I lately spoke of triumphs, and the behaviour of the Romans on those occasions,[103] I knew by my skill in astrology, that there was a great event approaching to our advantage; but not having yet taken upon me to tell fortunes, I thought fit to defer the mention of the battle of Mons[104] till it happened; which moderation was no final pain to me: but I should wrong my art, if I concealed that some of my aërial intelligencers had signified to me the news of it even from Paris, before the arrival of Lieutenant-Colonel Graham[105] in England. All nations, as well as persons, have their good and evil genius attending them; but the kingdom of France has three, the last of which is neither for it nor against it in reality, but has for some months past acted an ambiguous part, and attempted to save its ward from the incursion of its powerful enemies, by little subterfuges and tricks, which a nation is more than undone when it is reduced to practise. Thus, instead of giving exact accounts and representations of things, they tell what is indeed true, but at the same time a falsehood when all the circumstances come to be related.
Pacolet was at the Court of France on Friday night last, when this genius of that kingdom came thither in the shape of a post-boy, and cried out, that Mons was relieved, and the Duke of Marlborough marched. Pacolet was much astonished at this account, and immediately changed his form, and flew to the neighbourhood of Mons, from whence he found the Allies had really marched, and began to inquire into the reasons of this sudden change, and half feared he had heard a truth of the posture of the French affairs, even in their own country. But upon diligent inquiry among the aërials who attend these regions, and consultation with the neighbouring peasants, he was able to bring me the following account of the motions of the armies since they retired from about that place, and the action which followed thereupon.
On Saturday the 7th of September, N.S., the confederate army was alarmed in their camp at Havre by intelligence, that the enemy were marching to attack the Prince of Hesse. Upon this advice, the Duke of Marlborough commanded that the troops should immediately move, which was accordingly performed, and they were all joined on Sunday the 8th at noon. On that day in the morning it appeared, that instead of being attacked, the advanced guard of the detachment commanded by the Prince of Hesse had dispersed and taken prisoners a party of the enemy's horse, which was sent out to observe the march of the confederates. The French moved from Quiverain on Sunday in the morning, and inclined to the right from thence all that day. The 9th, the Monday following, they continued their march till on Tuesday the 10th they possessed themselves of the woods of Dour and Blaugies. As soon as they came into that ground, they threw up entrenchments with all expedition. The Allies arrived within few hours after the enemy was posted; but the Duke of Marlborough thought fit to wait for the arrival of the reinforcement which he expected from the siege of Tournay. Upon notice that these troops were so far advanced as to be depended on for an action the next day, it was accordingly resolved to engage the enemy.
It will be necessary for understanding the greatness of the action, and the several motions made in the time of the engagement, that you have in your mind an idea of the place. The two armies on the 11th instant were both drawn up before the woods of Dour, Blaugies, Sart and Jansart; the army of the Prince of Savoy on the right before that of Blaugies; the forces of Great Britain in the centre on his left; those of the High Allies, with the wood Sart, as well as a large interval of plain ground, and Jansart, on the left of the whole. The enemy were entrenched in the paths of the woods, and drawn up behind two entrenchments over against them, opposite to the armies of the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene. There were also two lines entrenched in the plains over against the army of the States. This was the posture of the French and confederate forces when the signal was given, and the whole line moved on to the charge. The Dutch army, commanded by the Prince of Hesse, attacked with the most undaunted bravery; and after a very obstinate resistance, forced the first entrenchment of the enemy in the plain between Sart and Jansart; but were repulsed in their attack on the second with great slaughter on both sides. The Duke of Marlborough, while this was transacting on the left, had with very much difficulty marched through Sart, and beaten the enemy from the several entrenchments they had thrown up in it. As soon as the Duke had marched into the plain, he observed the main body of the enemy drawn up and entrenched in the front of his army. This situation of the enemy, in the ordinary course of war, is usually thought an advantage hardly to be surmounted; and might appear impracticable to any but that army which had just overcome greater difficulties. The Duke commanded the troops to form, but to forbear charging till further order. In the meantime he visited the left of our line, where the troops of the States had been engaged. The slaughter on this side had been very great, and the Dutch incapable of making further progress, except they were suddenly reinforced. The right of our line was attacked soon after their coming upon the plain; but they drove back the enemy with such bravery, that the victory began to incline to the Allies by the precipitate retreat of the French to their works, from whence they were immediately beaten. The Duke upon observing this advantage on the right, commanded the Earl of Orkney to march with a sufficient number of battalions to force the enemy from their entrenchments on the plain between the woods of Sart and Jansart; which being performed, the horse of the Allies marched into the plains, covered by their own foot, and forming themselves in good order, the cavalry of the enemy attempted no more, but to cover the foot in their retreat. The Allies made so good use of the beginning of the victory, that all their troops moved on with fresh resolution, till they saw the enemy fly before them towards Condé and Maubeuge; after whom proper detachments were made, who made a terrible slaughter in the pursuit. In this action it is said Prince Eugene was wounded, as also the Duke of Aremberg, and Lieutenant-General Webb. The Count of Oxenstern, Colonel Lalo, and Sir Thomas Pendergrass, killed. This wonderful success, obtained under all the difficulties that could be opposed in the way of an army, must be acknowledged as owing to the genius, courage and conduct of the Duke of Marlborough, a consummate hero; who has lived not only beyond the time in which Cæsar said, he was arrived at a satiety of life and glory; but also been so long the subject of panegyric, that it is as hard to say anything new in his praise, as to add to the merit which requires such eulogiums.
_Will's Coffee-house, September 5._
The following letter[106] being very explanatory of the true design of our Lucubrations, and at the same time an excellent model for performing it, it is absolutely necessary, for the better understanding our works, to publish it.
"_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._
"SIR,
"Though I have not the honour to be of the family of the Staffs, nor related to any branch of it, yet I applaud your wholesome project of making wit useful.
"This is what has been, or should have been, intended by the best comedies. But nobody (I think) before you thought of a way to bring the stage as it were into the coffee-house, and there attack those gentlemen who thought themselves out of the reach of raillery, by prudently avoiding its chief walks and districts. I smile when I see a solid citizen of threescore read the article from Will's Coffee-house, and seem to be just beginning to learn his alphabet of wit in spectacles; and to hear the attentive table sometimes stop him with pertinent queries which he is puzzled to answer, and then join in commending it the sincerest way, by freely owning he don't understand it.
"In pursuing this design, you will always have a large scene before you, and can never be at a loss for characters to entertain a town so plentifully stocked with them. The follies of the finest minds, which a philosophic surgeon knows how to dissect, will best employ your skill: and of this sort, I take the liberty to send you the following sketch.
"Cleontes is a man of good family, good learning, entertaining conversation, and acute wit. He talks well, is master of style, and writes not contemptibly in verse. Yet all this serves but to make him politely ridiculous; and he is above the rank of common characters, only to have the privilege of being laughed at by the best. His family makes him proud and scornful; his learning, assuming and absurd; and his wit, arrogant and satirical. He mixes some of the best qualities of the head with the worst of the heart. Everybody is entertained by him, while nobody esteems him. I am,
"Sir, Your most affectionate Monitor, _Josiah Couplet._"
Lost from the Tree in Pall Mall, two Irish dogs, belonging to the pack of London; one a tall white wolf-dog; the other a black nimble greyhound (not very sound) and supposed to be gone to the Bath by instinct for cure. The man of the inn from whence they ran being now there, is desired, if he meets either of them, to tie them up. Several others are lost about Tunbridge and Epsom;[107] which whoever will maintain, may keep.
FOOTNOTES:
[103] No. 63.
[104] Now known as the battle of Malplaquet. It was soon followed by the fall of Mons.
[105] Colonel Graham travelled express with a letter from the Duke of Marlborough to Mr. Secretary Boyle. See "Annals of Queen Anne," 1709, p. 64.
[106] By John Hughes; see his "Correspondence," iii. 3.
[107] Bath, Tunbridge, and Epsom were the favourite watering-places of Queen Anne's time, and were naturally frequented by sharpers and adventurers.
No. 65. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, September 6_, to _Thursday, September 8, 1709_.
Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.
JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.
_Will's Coffee-house, September 7._
I came hither this evening, and expected nothing else but mutual congratulations in the company on the late victory; but found our room, which one would have hoped to have seen full of good humour and alacrity upon so glorious an occasion, full of sour animals, inquiring into the action, in doubt of what had happened, and fearful of the success of their countrymen. It is natural to believe easily what we wish heartily; and a certain rule, that they are not friends to a glad occasion, who speak all they can against the truth of it; who end their argument against our happiness, that they wish it otherwise. When I came into the room, a gentleman was declaiming; "If," says he, "we have so great and complete a victory, why have we not the names of the prisoners? Why is not an exact relation of the conduct of our generals laid before the world? Why do we not know where or whom to applaud? If we are victorious, why do we not give an account of our captives and our slain? But we are to be satisfied with general notices we are conquerors, and to believe it so. Sure this is approving the despotic way of treating the world, which we pretend to fight against, if we sit down satisfied with such contradictory accounts, which have the words of triumph, but do not bear the spirit of it." I whispered Mr. Greenhat Pray what can that dissatisfied man be?" "He is," answered he, "a character you have not yet perhaps observed. You have heard of battle-painters, have mentioned a battle-poet; but this is a battle-critic. He is a fellow that lives in a government so gentle, that though it sees him an enemy, suffers his malice because they know his impotence. He is to examine the weight of an advantage before the company will allow it." Greenhat was going on in his explanation, when Sir George England thought fit to take up the discourse in the following manner:
"Gentlemen, the action you are in so great doubt to approve of, is greater than ever has been performed in any age; and the value of it I observe from your dissatisfaction: for battle-critics are like all others; you are the more offended, the more you ought to be, and are convinced you ought to be, pleased. Had this engagement happened in the time of the old Romans, and such things been acted in their service, there would not be a foot of the wood which was pierced but had been consecrated to some deity, or made memorable by the death of him who expired in it for the sake of his country. It had on some monument at the entrance been said, 'Here the Duke of Argyle drew his sword, and said, March. Here Webb, after having an accomplished fame for gallantry, exposed himself like a common soldier. Here Rivet, who was wounded at the beginning of the day, and carried off as dead, returned to the field, and received his death.'[108] Medals had been struck for our general's behaviour when he first came into the plain. Here was the fury of the action, and here the hero stood as fearless as if invulnerable. Such certainly had been the cares of that state for their own honour, and in gratitude to their heroic subjects. But the wood entrenched, the plain made more impassable than the wood, and all the difficulties opposed to the most gallant army and most intrepid leaders that ever the sun shone upon, are treated by the talk of some in this room as objections to the merit of our general and our army; but," continued he, "I leave all the examination of this matter, and a proper discourse on our sense of public actions, to my friend Mr. Bickerstaff, who may let beaus and gamesters rest, till he has examined into the reasons of men's being malcontents in the only nation that suffers professed enemies to breathe in open air."
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 7._
The following letters are sent to me from relations; and though I do not know who and who are intended, I publish them. I have only written nonsense if there is nothing in them; and done a good action if they alarm any heedless men against the fraternity of the knights whom the Greeks call #Raskals#.[109]
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
"It is taken very ill by several gentlemen here, that you are so little vigilant as to let the dogs run from their kennels to this place. Had you done your duty, we should have had notice of their arrival; but the sharpers are now become so formidable here, that they have divided themselves into nobles and commons. Beau Bogg, beau Pert, Rake, and Tallboy are of their upper house; broken captains, ignorant attorneys, and such other bankrupts from industrious professions, compose their lower order. Among these two sets of men, there happened here lately some unhappy differences: Squire Humphry came down among us with four hundred guineas. His raw appearance, and certain signals in the good-natured muscles of Humphry's countenance, alarmed the societies. For sharpers are as skilful as beggars in physiognomy, and know as well where to hope for plunder, as the others to ask for alms. Pert was the man exactly fitted for taking with Humphry as a fine gentleman; for a raw fool is ever enamoured with his contrary, a coxcomb; and a coxcomb is what the booby, who wants experience, and is unused to company, regards as the first of men. He ever looks at him with envy, and would certainly be such, if he were not oppressed by his rusticity or bashfulness. There arose an entire friendship by this sympathy between Pert and Humphry, which ended in stripping the latter. We now could see this forlorn youth for some days moneyless, without sword, and one day without his hat, and with secret melancholy pining for his snuff-box; the jest of the whole town, but most of those who robbed him. At last fresh bills came down, when immediately their countenances cleared up, ancient kindnesses and familiarity renewed, and to dinner he was invited by the fraternity. You are to know, that while he was in his days of solitude, a commoner who was excluded from his share of the prey, had whispered the squire, that he was bit, and cautioned him of venturing again. However, hopes of recovering his snuff-box, which was given him by his aunt, made him fall to play after dinner; yet mindful of what he was told, he saw something that provoked him to tell them they were a company of sharpers. Presently Tallboy fell on him, and being too hard at fisticuffs, drove him out of doors. The valiant Pert followed, and kicked him in his turn; which the squire resented, as being nearer his match; so challenged him: but differing about time and place, friends interposed (for he had still money left) and persuaded him to ask pardon for provoking them to beat him, and they asked his for doing it. The house consulting whence Humphry could have his information, concluded it must be from some malicious commoner; and to be revenged, beau Bogg watched their haunts, and in a shop where some of them were at play with ladies, showed dice which he found, or pretended to find upon them; and declaring how false they were, warned the company to take care who they played with. By his seeming candour, he cleared his reputation at least to fools, and some silly women; but it was still blasted by the squire's story with thinking men: however, he gained a great point by it; for the next day he got the company shut up with himself and fellow-members, and robbed them at discretion.
"I cannot express to you with what indignation I behold the noble spirit of gentlemen degenerated to that of private cut-purses. 'Tis in vain to hope a remedy while so many of the fraternity get and enjoy estates of twenty, thirty, and fifty thousand pounds with impunity, creep into the best conversations, and spread the infectious villainy through the nation, while the lesser rogues, that rob for hunger or nakedness, are sacrificed by the blind, and in this respect partial and defective law. Could you open men's eyes against the occasion of all this, the great corrupter of our manners and morality, the author of more bankrupts than the war, and sure bane of all industry, frugality, and good nature; in a word, of all virtues; I mean, public or private play at cards or dice; how willingly would I contribute my utmost, and possibly send you some memoirs of the lives and politics of some of the fraternity of great figure, that might be of use to you in setting this in a clear light against next session; that all who care for their country or posterity, and see the pernicious effects of such a public vice, may endeavour its destruction by some effectual laws. In concurrence to this good design, I remain,
"Your humble Servant, &c.
"Bath, _Aug. 30_."
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
_Friday, Sept. 2._
"I heartily join with you in your laudable design against the myrmidons, as well as your late insinuations against coxcombs of fire;[110] and I take this opportunity to congratulate you on the success of your labours, which I observed yesterday in one of the hottest firemen in town, who not only affects a soft smile, but was seen to be thrice contradicted without showing any sign of impatience. These, I say, so happy beginnings promise fair, and on this account I rejoice you have undertaken to unkennel the curs; a work of such use that I admire[111] it so long escaped your vigilance; and exhort you, by the concern you have for the good people of England, to pursue your design; and that these vermin may not flatter themselves that they pass undiscovered, I desire you'd acquaint Jack Haughty that the whole secret of his bubbling his friend with the Swiss[112] at the Thatched House is well known, as also his sweetening the knight; and I shall acknowledge the favour.
"Your most humble Servant, &c."
FOOTNOTES:
[108] Colonel Rivet was one of the officers killed at the battle of Malplaquet. The Duke of Argyle received seven shots through his clothes, but was unhurt. General Webb, who distinguished himself by his victory at Wynendale in 1708, much to Marlborough's chagrin, was dangerously wounded at Malplaquet.
[109] Rascals. See No. 56.
[110] See No. 61.
[111] Wonder.
No. 66. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Sept. 8_, to _Saturday, Sept. 10, 1709_.
_Will's Coffee-house, Sept. 9._[113]
The subject of the discourse this evening was Eloquence and Graceful Action. Lysander, who is something particular in his way of thinking and speaking, told us, a man could not be eloquent without action: for the deportment of the body, the turn of the eye, and an apt sound to every word that is uttered, must all conspire to make an accomplished speaker. Action in one that speaks in public, is the same thing as a good mien in ordinary life. Thus, as a certain insensibility in the countenance recommends a sentence of humour and jest, so it must be a very lively consciousness that gives grace to great sentiments. The jest is to be a thing unexpected; therefore your undesigning manner is a beauty in expressions of mirth; but when you are to talk on a set subject, the more you are moved yourself, the more you will move others. "There is," said he, "a remarkable example of that kind: Æschines, a famous orator of antiquity, had pleaded at Athens in a great cause against Demosthenes; but having lost it, retired to Rhodes. Eloquence was then the quality most admired among men; and the magistrates of that place having heard he had a copy of the speech of Demosthenes, desired him to repeat both their pleadings. After his own, he recited also the oration of his antagonist. The people expressed their admiration of both, but more of that of Demosthenes. 'If you are,' said he, 'thus touched with hearing only what that great orator said, how would you have been affected had you seen him speak? For he who hears Demosthenes only, loses much the better part of the oration.' Certain it is, that they who speak gracefully, are very lamely represented in having their speeches read or repeated by unskilful people; for there is something native to each man, so inherent to his thoughts and sentiments, which it is hardly possible for another to give a true idea of. You may observe in common talk, when a sentence of any man's is repeated, an acquaintance of his shall immediately observe, 'That is so like him, methinks I see how he looked when he said it.' But of all the people on the earth, there are none who puzzle me so much as the clergy of Great Britain, who are, I believe, the most learned body of men now in the world; and yet this art of speaking, with the proper ornaments of voice and gesture, is wholly neglected among them; and I'll engage, were a deaf man to behold the greater part of them preach, he would rather think they were reading the contents only of some discourse they intended to make, than actually in the body of an oration, even when they are upon matters of such a nature as one would believe it were impossible to think of without emotion. I own there are exceptions to this general observation, and that the Dean[114] we heard the other day together, is an orator. He has so much regard to his congregation, that he commits to his memory what he is to say to them; and has so soft and graceful a behaviour, that it must attract your attention. His person, it is to be confessed, is no small recommendation; but he is to be highly commended for not losing that advantage, and adding to the propriety of speech (which might pass the criticism of Longinus) an action which would have been approved by Demosthenes. He has a peculiar force in his way, and has many of his audience[115] who could not be intelligent hearers of his discourse, were there not explanation as well as grace in his action. This art of his is used with the most exact and honest skill. He never attempts your passions till he has convinced your reason. All the objections which he can form are laid open and dispersed, before he uses the least vehemence in his sermon; but when he thinks he has your head, he very soon wins your heart; and never pretends to show the beauty of holiness till he hath convinced you of the truth of it. Would every one of our clergymen be thus careful to recommend truth and virtue in their proper figures, and show so much concern for them as to give them all the additional force they were able, it is not possible that nonsense should have so many hearers as you find it has in dissenting congregations, for no reason in the world but because it is spoken extempore; for ordinary minds are wholly governed by their eyes and ears, and there is no way to come at their hearts but by power over their imaginations. There is my friend and merry companion Daniel:[116] he knows a great deal better than he speaks, and can form a proper discourse as well as any orthodox neighbour. But he knows very well, that to bawl out, My beloved! and the words, Grace! Regeneration! Sanctification! A new light! The day! the day! ay, my beloved, the day! or rather, the night! the night is coming! and judgment will come, when we least think of it! and so forth--he knows to be vehement is the only way to come at his audience. Daniel, when he sees my friend Greenhat come in, can give him a good hint, and cry out, This is only for the saints! the regenerated! By this force of action, though mixed with all the incoherence and ribaldry imaginable, Daniel can laugh at his diocesan, and grow fat by voluntary subscription, while the parson of the parish goes to law for half his dues. Daniel will tell you, it is not the shepherd, but the sheep with the bell, which the flock follows. Another thing very wonderful this learned body should omit, is, learning to read; which is a most necessary part of eloquence in one who is to serve at the altar: for there is no man but must be sensible, that the lazy tone and inarticulate sound of our common readers, depreciates the most proper form of words that were ever extant in any nation or language, to speak our own wants, or His power from whom we ask relief. There cannot be a greater instance of the power of action than in little Parson Dapper,[117] who is the common relief to all the lazy pulpits in town. This smart youth has a very good memory, a quick eye, and a clean handkerchief. Thus equipped, he opens his text, shuts his book fairly, shows he has no notes in his Bible, opens both palms, and shows all is fair there too. Thus, with a decisive air, my young man goes on without hesitation; and though, from the beginning to the end of his pretty discourse, he has not used one proper gesture, yet at the conclusion the church-warden pulls his gloves from off his head; 'Pray, who is this extraordinary young man?' Thus the force of action is such, that it is more prevalent, even when improper, than all the reason and argument in the world without it." This gentleman concluded his discourse by saying, "I do not doubt but if our preachers would learn to speak, and our readers to read, within six months' time we should not have a dissenter within a mile of a church in Great Britain."
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 9._
I have a letter from a young fellow who complains to me, that he was bred a mercer, and is now just out of his time, but unfortunately (for he has no manner of education suitable to his present estate) an uncle has left him £1000 per annum.
The young man is sensible that he is so spruce, that he fears he shall never be genteel as long as he lives, but applies himself to me, to know what method to take to help his air and be a fine gentleman. He adds, that several of those ladies who were formerly his customers, visit his mother on purpose to fall in his way, and fears he shall be obliged to marry against his will; "for," says he, "if any one of them should ask me, I shall not be able to deny her. I am," says he further, "utterly at a loss how to deal with them; for though I was the most pert creature in the world when I was foreman, and could hand a woman of the first quality to her coach, as well as her own gentleman-usher, I am now quite out of my way, and speechless in their company. They commend my modesty to my face. No one scruples to say, I should certainly make the best husband in the world, a man of my sober education. Mrs. Would-be watches all opportunities to be alone with me. Therefore, good Mr. Bickerstaff, here are my writings enclosed; if you can find any flaw in my title, so as it may go to the next heir, who goes to St. James's Coffee-house, and White's, and could enjoy it, I should be extremely well pleased with two thousand pounds to set up my trade, and live in a way I know I should become, rather than be laughed at all my life among too good company. If you could send for my cousin, and persuade him to take the estate on these terms, and let nobody know it, you would extremely oblige me."
Upon first sight, I thought this a very whimsical proposal; however, upon more mature consideration, I could not but admire the young gentleman's prudence and good sense; for there is nothing so irksome as living in a way a man knows he does not become. I consulted Mr. Obadiah Greenhat on this occasion, and he is so well pleased with the man, that he has half a mind to take the estate himself; but upon second thoughts he proposed this expedient. "I should be very willing," said he, "to keep the estate where it is, if we could make the young man any way easy; therefore I humbly propose he should take to drinking for one half-year, and make a sloven of him, and from thence begin his education anew: for it is a maxim, that one who is ill taught is in a worse condition than he who is wholly ignorant; therefore a spruce mercer is further off the air of a fine gentleman than a downright clown. To make our patient anything better, we must unmake him what he is." I indeed proposed to flux him; but Greenhat answered, that if he recovered, he would be as prim and feat as ever he was: therefore he would have it his way; and our friend is to drink till he is carbuncled, and tun-bellied; after which we will send him down to smoke, and be buried with his ancestors in Derbyshire. I am indeed desirous he should have his life in the estate, because he has such a just sense of himself and his abilities, to know that it is an unhappiness to him to be a man of fortune. This youth seems to understand, that a gentleman's life is that of all others the hardest to pass through with propriety of behaviour; for though he has a support without art or labour, yet his manner of enjoying that circumstance is a thing to be considered; and you see among men who are honoured with the common appellation of gentlemen, so many contradictions to that character, that it is the utmost ill-fortune to bear it: for which reason I am obliged to change the circumstances of several about this town. Harry Lacker is so very exact in his dress, that I shall give his estate to his younger brother, and make him a dancing master. Nokes Lightfoot is so nimble, and values himself so much upon it, that I have thoughts of making him huntsman to a pack of beagles, and give his land to somebody that will stay upon it.
Now I am upon the topic of becoming what we enjoy, I forbid all persons who are not of the first quality, or who do not bear some important office that requires so much distinction, to go to Hyde Park with six horses, for I cannot but esteem it the highest insolence: therefore hereafter no man shall do it merely because he is able, without any other pretension. But what may serve all purposes quite as well, it shall be allowed all such who think riches the chief distinction, to appear in the Ring[118] with two horses only, and a rent-roll hanging out of each side of their coach. This is a thought of Mr. Greenhat's, who designs very soon to publish a sumptuary discourse upon the subject of equipage, wherein he will give us rules on that subject, and assign the proper duties and qualifications of masters and servants, as well as that of husbands and wives; with a treatise of economy without doors, or the complete art of appearing in the world. This will be very useful to all who are suddenly rich, or are ashamed of being poor.
----_Sunt certa piacula, quæ te Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello._[119]
I have notice of a new pack of dogs, of quite another sort than hitherto mentioned. I have not an exact account of their way of hunting, the following letter giving only a bare notice of them.
"SIR,
_September 7._
"There are another pack of dogs to be disposed of, who kennel about Charing Cross, at the old Fat Dog's at the corner of Buckingham Court,[120] near Spring Garden:[121] two of them are said to be whelped in Alsatia,[122] now in ruins; but they, with the rest of the pack, are as pernicious as if the old kennel had never been broken down. The ancients distinguished this sort of curs by the name of Hæredipetes,[123] the most pernicious of all biters, for seizing young heirs, especially when their estates are entailed, whom they reduce by one good bite to such a condition, that they cannot ever after come to the use of their teeth, or get smelling of a crust. You are desired to dispose of these as soon as you can, that the breed may not increase; and your care in tying them up will be acknowledged by,
"SIR, Humble Servant, PHILANTHROPOS."[124]
_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 9._
We have received letters from the Duke of Marlborough's camp, which bring us further particulars of the great and glorious victory obtained over the enemy on the 11th instant, N.S. The number of the wounded and prisoners is much greater than was expected from our first account. The day was doubtful till after twelve o'clock; but the enemy made little resistance after their first line on the left began to give way. An exact narration of the whole affair is expected next post. The French have had two days allowed them to bury their dead, and carry off their wounded men upon parole. Those regiments of Great Britain which suffered most, are ordered into garrison, and fresh troops commanded to march into the field. The States have also directed troops to march out of the towns, to relieve those who lost so many men in attacking the second entrenchment of the French in the plain between Sart and Jansart.
FOOTNOTES:
[112] Probably Heidegger. See No. 1.
[113] This article is printed in Scott's edition of Swift's Works. But Steele cites the character of Atterbury as evidence of his own impartiality (Preface to the _Tatler_); and the passage is quoted in his "Apology for Himself and his Writings" (1714), with a marginal note, "written by Mr. Steele himself." The bulk of this paper on Eloquence and Action may nevertheless be, and probably is, by Swift.
[114] Dr. Francis Atterbury (1662-1732), afterwards Bishop of Rochester (see Steele's Preface). He had been appointed Dean of Carlisle in 1704.
[115] At the chapel of Bridewell Hospital, where Atterbury was preacher for many years.
[116] Daniel Burgess (1645-1713), minister to a congregation of Independents in Carey Street, Lincoln's Inn. His meeting-house was wrecked by the Sacheverell mob in 1710. Tom Brown speaks of his "pop-gun way of delivery."
[117] Joseph Trapp, Professor of Poetry at Oxford, who published, in 1711, "A Character of the Present Set of Whigs." "Your new Lord Chancellor sets out to-morrow for Ireland. I never saw him. He carries over one Trapp, a parson, as his chaplain, a sort of pretender to wit, a second-rate pamphleteer for the cause, whom they pay by sending him to Ireland. I never saw Trapp neither." (Swift's "Journal," Jan. 7, 1711.)
[118] The Ring was a fashionable ride and promenade in Hyde Park, destroyed when the Serpentine was formed. It is often referred to in the _Spectator_. See Nos. 15, 73, &c.
[119] Horace, 1 Ep. i. 36.
[120] Buckingham Court, on the north side of the Admiralty, led into Spring Garden. One of its best known inhabitants was Duncan Campbell, the fortune-teller, whose life was written by Defoe.
[121] Spring Garden, between St. James's Park and Charing Cross, dates from the time of James I. The popular entertainments there provided were moved, after the Restoration, to the New Spring Garden at Vauxhall.
[122] A name given to the precinct of Whitefriars, a place of refuge for debtors. The privilege of sanctuary was abolished in 1697.
[123] Usurers who rob minors. See Moliere's "L'Avare," act ii., sec. I.
[124] Perhaps by John Hughes.
No. 67. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Sept. 10, to Tuesday, Sept. 13, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 12._
No man can conceive, till he comes to try it, how great a pain it is to be a public-spirited person. I am sure I am unable to express to the world, how much anxiety I have suffered, to see of how little benefit my lucubrations have been to my fellow-subjects. Men will go on in their own way in spite of all my labour. I gave Mr. Didapper a private reprimand for wearing red-heeled shoes, and at the same time was so indulgent as to connive at him for fourteen days, because I would give him the wearing of them out; but after all this, I am informed, he appeared yesterday with a new pair of the same sort. I have no better success with Mr. Whatdee'call,[125] as to his buttons: Stentor[126] still roars; and box and dice rattle as loud as they did before I writ against them. Partridge[127] walks about at noonday, and Æsculapius[128] thinks of adding a new lace to his livery. However, I must still go on in laying these enormities before men's eyes, and let them answer for going on in their practice.
My province[129] is much larger than at first sight men would imagine, and I shall lose no part of my jurisdiction, which extends not only to futurity, but also is retrospect to things past; and the behaviour of persons who have long ago acted their parts, is as much liable to my examination as that of my own contemporaries.
In order to put the whole race of mankind in their proper distinctions, according to the opinion their cohabitants conceived of them, I have, with very much care, and depth of meditation, thought fit to erect a Chamber of Fame, and established certain rules, which are to be observed in admitting members into this illustrious society.
In this Chamber of Fame there are to be three tables, but of different lengths: the first is to contain exactly twelve persons; the second, twenty; the third, an hundred. This is reckoned to be the full number of those who have any competent share of fame. At the first of these tables are to be placed in their order the twelve most famous persons in the world, not with regard to the things they are famous for, but according to the degree of their fame, whether in valour, wit, or learning. Thus, if a scholar be more famous than a soldier, he is to sit above him. Neither must any preference be given to virtue, if the person be not equally famous.
When the first table is filled, the next in renown must be seated at the second, and so on in like manner to the number of twenty; as also in the same order at the third, which is to hold an hundred. At these tables no regard is to be had to seniority: for if Julius Cæsar shall be judged more famous than Romulus and Scipio, he must have the precedence. No person who has not been dead an hundred years must be offered to a place at any of these tables; and because this is altogether a lay society, and that sacred persons move upon greater motives than that of fame, no persons celebrated in Holy Writ, or any ecclesiastical men whatsoever, are to be introduced here.
At the lower end of the room is to be a side-table for persons of great fame, but dubious existence, such as Hercules, Theseus, Æneas, Achilles, Hector, and others. But because it is apprehended that there may be great contention about precedence, the proposer humbly desires the opinion of the learned towards his assistance in placing every person according to his rank, that none may have just occasion of offence.
The merits of the cause shall be judged by plurality of voices.
For the more impartial execution of this important affair, it is desired that no man will offer his favourite hero, scholar, or poet; and that the learned will be pleased to send to Mr. Bickerstaff, at Mr. Morphew's, near Stationers' Hall, their several lists for the first table only, and in the order they would have them placed; after which the composer will compare the several lists, and make another for the public, wherein every name shall be ranked according to the voices it has had. Under this chamber is to be a dark vault for the same number of persons of evil fame.
It is humbly submitted to consideration, whether the project would not be better if the persons of true fame meet in a middle room, those of dubious existence in an upper room, and those of evil fame in a lower dark room.
It is to be noted that no historians are to be admitted at any of these tables, because they are appointed to conduct the several persons to their seats, and are to be made use of as ushers to the assemblies.
I call upon the learned world to send me their assistance towards this design, it being a matter of too great moment for any one person to determine. But I do assure them, their lists shall be examined with great fidelity, and those that are exposed to the public, made with all the caution imaginable.
In the meantime, while I wait for these lists, I am employed in keeping people in a right way to avoid the contrary to fame and applause, to wit, blame and derision. For this end I work upon that useful project of the penny-post,[130] by the benefit of which it is proposed that a charitable society be established: from which society there shall go every day circular letters to all parts within the bills of mortality, to tell people of their faults in a friendly and private manner, whereby you may know what the world thinks of them, before it is declared to the world that they are thus faulty. This method cannot fail of universal good consequences: for it is further added, that they who will not be reformed by it, must be contented to see the several letters printed, which were not regarded by them, that when they will not take private reprehension, they may be tried further by a public one. I am very sorry I am obliged to print the following epistles of that kind to some persons, and the more because they are of the fair sex. This went on Friday last to a very fine lady.
"MADAM,
"I am highly sensible that there is nothing of so tender a nature as the reputation and conduct of ladies; and that when there is the least stain got into their fame, it is hardly ever to be washed out. When I have said this, you will believe I am extremely concerned to hear at every visit I make, that your manner of wearing your hair is a mere affectation of beauty, as well as that your neglect of powder has been a common evil to your sex. It is to you an advantage to show that abundance of fine tresses; but I beseech you to consider that the force of your beauty, and the imitation of you, costs Eleonora great sums of money to her tire-woman for false locks, besides what is allowed to her maid for keeping the secret that she is grey. I must take leave to add to this admonition, that you are not to reign above four months and odd days longer. Therefore I must desire you to raise and frizz your hair a little, for it is downright insolence to be thus handsome without art; and you'll forgive me for entreating you to do now out of compassion, what you must soon do out of necessity. I am,
"Madam, Your most obedient and most humble Servant."
This person dresses just as she did before I writ: as does also the lady to whom I addressed the following billet the same day:
"MADAM,
"Let me beg of you to take off the patches at the lower end of your left cheek, and I will allow two more under your left eye, which will contribute more to the symmetry of your face; except you would please to remove the ten black atoms on your ladyship's chin, and wear one large patch instead of them. If so, you may properly enough retain the three patches above-mentioned. I am, &c."
This, I thought, had all the civility and reason in the world in it; but whether my letters are intercepted, or whatever it is, the lady patches as she used to do. It is to be observed by all the charitable society, as an instruction in their epistles, that they tell people of nothing but what is in their power to mend. I shall give another instance of this way of writing: Two sisters in Essex Street are eternally gaping out of the window, as if they knew not the value of time, or would call in companions. Upon which I writ the following line:
"DEAR CREATURES,
"On the receipt of this, shut your casements."
But I went by yesterday, and found them still at the window. What can a man do in this case, but go on, and wrap himself up in his own integrity, with satisfaction only in this melancholy truth, that virtue is its own reward, and that if no one is the better for his admonitions, yet he is himself the more virtuous in that he gave those advices.
_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 12._
Letters of the 18th instant from the Duke of Marlborough's camp at Havre advise, that the necessary dispositions were made for opening the trenches before Mons. The direction of the siege is to be committed to the Prince of Orange, who designed to take his post accordingly with thirty battalions and thirty squadrons on the day following. On the 17th, Lieutenant-General Cadogan set out for Brussels, to hasten the ammunition and artillery which is to be employed in this enterprise; and the confederate army was extended from the Aisne to the Trouille, in order to cover the siege. The loss of the confederates in the late battle is not exactly known; but it appears by a list transmitted to the States-General, that the number of the killed and wounded in their service amounts to about eight thousand. It is computed that the English have lost 1500 men, and the rest of the allies about five thousand, including the wounded. The States-General have taken the most speedy and effectual measures for reinforcing their troops; and 'tis expected that in eight or ten days the army will be as numerous as before the battle. The affairs in Italy afford us nothing remarkable; only that it is hoped the difference between the Courts of Vienna and Turin will be speedily accommodated. Letters from Poland present us with a near prospect of seeing King Augustus re-established on the throne, all parties being very industrious to reconcile themselves to his interests.
_Will's Coffee-house, Sept. 12._
Of all the pretty arts in which our modern writers excel, there is not any which is more to be recommended to the imitation of beginners than the skill of transition from one subject to another. I know not whether I make myself well understood; but it is certain, that the way of stringing a discourse, used in the _Mercury Gallant_,[131] the _Gentleman's Journal_,[132] and other learned writings, not to mention how naturally things present themselves to such as harangue in pulpits, and other occasions which occur to the learned, are methods worthy commendation. I shall attempt this style myself in a few lines. Suppose I were discoursing upon the King of Sweden's passing the Boristhenes. The Boristhenes is a great river, and puts me in mind of the Danube and the Rhine. The Danube I cannot think of without reflecting on that unhappy prince who had such fair territories on the banks of it; I mean the Duke of Bavaria, who by our last letters is retired from Mons. Mons is as strong a fortification as any which has no citadel; and places which are not completely fortified, are, methinks, lessons to princes, that they are not omnipotent, but liable to the strokes of fortune. But as all princes are subject to such calamities, it is the part of men of letters to guard them from the observations of all small writers: for which reason I shall conclude my present remarks by publishing the following advertisement, to be taken notice of by all who dwell in the suburbs of learning.
"Whereas the King of Sweden has been so unfortunate to receive a wound in his heel; we do hereby prohibit all epigrammatists in either language, and both universities, as well as all other poets, of what denomination soever, to make any mention of Achilles having received his death's wound in the same part.
"We do likewise forbid all comparisons in coffee-houses between Alexander the Great and the said King of Sweden, and from making any parallels between the death of Patkul and Philotas;[133] we being very apprehensive of the reflections that several politicians have ready by them to produce on this occasion, and being willing, as much as in us lies, to free the town from all impertinences of this nature."
FOOTNOTES:
[125] See No. 21.
[126] See Nos. 54, 61.
[127] See Nos. 1, 56, 59.
[128] See Nos. 44, 47.
[129] A portion of this paper, commencing here, and ending with "all the caution imaginable" (p. 130), is printed in Scott's edition of Swift's Works, and was no doubt by the Dean. See No. 81, note.
[130] A penny postal system was established in London in 1683 by William Dockwra, a merchant, who was dismissed from his position as comptroller in 1700. In 1709, Charles Povey, a projector, started a halfpenny carriage of letters for the Metropolis, but in November the postmasters-general brought an action against him for an infringement of their monopoly, and Povey was fined £100.
[131] The _Mercure Gallant_ was published in 1673 and following years. A new periodical of the same name was begun in 1710.
[132] The _Gentleman's Journal; or, the Monthly Miscellany_, was published by Motteux between 1692 and 1694, in quarto.
No. 68. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Sept. 13_, to _Thursday, Sept. 15, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 14._[134]
The progress of our endeavours will of necessity be very much interrupted, except the learned world will please to send their lists to the chamber of fame[135] with all expedition. There is nothing can so much contribute to create a noble emulation in our youth, as the honourable mention of such whose actions have outlived the injuries of time, and recommended themselves so far to the world, that it is become learning to know the least circumstance of their affairs. It is a great incentive to see that some men have raised themselves so highly above their fellow-creatures; that the lives of ordinary men are spent in inquiries after the particular actions of the most illustrious. True it is, that without this impulse to fame and reputation, our industry would stagnate, and that lively desire of pleasing each other die away. This opinion was so established in the heathen world, that their sense of living appeared insipid, except their being was enlivened with a consciousness that they were esteemed by the rest of the world. Upon examining the proportion of men's fame for my table of twelve, I thought it no ill way, since I had laid it down for a rule, that they were to be ranked simply as they were famous, without regard to their virtue, to ask my sister Jenny's advice, and particularly mentioned to her the name of Aristotle. She immediately told me, he was a very great scholar, and that she had read him at the boarding-school. She certainly means a trifle sold by the hawkers, called "Aristotle's Problems." But this raised a great scruple in me, whether a fame increased by imposition of others is to be added to his account, or that these excrescences, which grow out of his real reputation, and give encouragement to others to pass things under the cover of his name, should be considered in giving him his seat in the chamber? This punctilio is referred to the learned. In the meantime, so ill-natured are mankind, that I believe I have names already sent me sufficient to fill up my lists for the dark room, and every one is apt enough to send in their accounts of ill deservers. This malevolence does not proceed from a real dislike of virtue, but a diabolical prejudice against it, which makes men willing to destroy what they care not to imitate. Thus you see the greatest characters among your acquaintance, and those you live with, are traduced by all below them in virtue, who never mention them but with an exception. However, I believe I shall not give the world much trouble about filling my tables for those of evil fame, for I have some thoughts of clapping up the sharpers there as fast as I can lay hold of them.
At present, I am employed in looking over the several notices which I have received of their manner of dexterity, and the way at dice of making all rugg,[136] as the cant is. The whole art of securing a die has lately been sent me by a person who was of the fraternity, but is disabled by the loss of a finger, by which means he cannot practise that trick as he used to do. But I am very much at a loss how to call some of the fair sex who are accomplices with the knights of industry; for my metaphorical dogs are easily enough understood; but the feminine gender of dog has so harsh a sound, that we know not how to name it. But I am credibly informed that there are female dogs as voracious as the males, and make advances to young fellows, without any other design but coming to a familiarity with their purses. I have also long lists of persons of condition, who are certainly of the same regimen with these banditti, and instrumental to their cheats upon undiscerning men of their own rank. These add their good reputation to carry on the impostures of others, whose very names would else be defence enough against falling into their hands. But for the honour of our nation, these shall be unmentioned, provided we hear no more of such practices, and that they shall not from henceforward suffer the society of such as they know to be the common enemies of order, discipline, and virtue. If it appear that they go on in encouraging them, they must be proceeded against according to severest rules of history, where all is to be laid before the world with impartiality, and without respect to persons.
_So let the stricken deer go weep._[137]
_Will's Coffee-house, September 14._
I find left here for me the following epistle:
"SIR,
"Having lately read your discourse about the family of Trubies,[138] wherein you observe that there are some who fall into laughter out of a certain benevolence in their temper, and not out of the ordinary motive, viz., contempt and triumph over the imperfections of others, I have conceived a good idea of your knowledge of mankind. And as you have a tragi-comic genius, I beg the favour of you to give us your thoughts of a quite different effect, which also is caused by other motives than what are commonly taken notice of. What I would have you treat of, is, the cause of shedding tears. I desire you would discuss it a little, with observations upon the various occasions which provoke us to that expression of our concern, &c."
To obey this complaisant gentleman, I know no way so short as examining the various touches of my own bosom, on several occurrences in a long life, to the evening of which I am arrived, after as many various incidents as anybody has met with. I have often reflected, that there is a great similitude in the motions of the heart in mirth and in sorrow; and I think the usual occasion of the latter, as well as the former, is something which is sudden and unexpected. The mind has not a sufficient time to recollect its force, and immediately gushes into tears before we can utter ourselves by speech or complaint. The most notorious causes of these drops from our eyes, are pity, sorrow, joy, and reconciliation. The fair sex, who are made of man, and not of earth, have a more delicate humanity than we have, and pity is the most common cause of their tears: for as we are inwardly composed of an aptitude to every circumstance of life, and everything that befalls any one person might have happened to any other of human race, self-love, and a sense of the pain we ourselves should suffer in the circumstances of any whom we pity, is the cause of that compassion. Such a reflection in the breast of a woman immediately inclines her to tears; but in a man, it makes him think how such a one ought to act on that occasion, suitable to the dignity of his nature. Thus a woman is ever moved for those whom she hears lament, and a man for those whom he observes to suffer in silence. It is a man's own behaviour in the circumstances he is under which procures him the esteem of others, and not merely the affliction itself which demands our pity: for we never give a man that passion which he falls into for himself. He that commends himself never purchases our applause; nor he who bewails himself, our pity. Going through an alley the other day, I observed a noisy impudent beggar bawl out, that he was wounded in a merchantman, that he had lost his poor limbs, and showed a leg clouted up. All that passed by, made what haste they could out of sight and hearing. But a poor fellow at the end of the passage, with a rusty coat, a melancholy air, and a soft voice, desired them to look upon a man not used to beg. The latter received the charity of almost every one that went by. The strings of the heart, which are to be touched to give us compassion, are not so played on but by the finest hand. We see in tragical representations it is not the pomp of language, or magnificence of dress, in which the passion is wrought that touches sensible spirits, but something of a plain and simple nature which breaks in upon our souls, by that sympathy which is given us for our mutual good-will and service.[139] In the tragedy of "Macbeth," where Wilks[140] acts the part of a man whose family has been murdered in his absence, the wildness of his passion, which is run over in a torrent of calamitous circumstances, does but raise my spirits, and give me the alarm; but when he skilfully seems to be out of breath, and is brought too low to say more, and upon a second reflection, cry, only wiping his eyes, "What, both children! Both, both my children gone!" there is no resisting a sorrow which seems to have cast about for all the reasons possible for its consolation, but has no recourse. There is not one left, but both, both are murdered![141] Such sudden starts from the thread of the discourse, and a plain sentiment expressed in an artless way, are the irresistible strokes of eloquence and poetry. The same great master, Shakespeare, can afford us instances of all the places where our souls are accessible, and ever commands our tears; but it is to be observed, that he draws them from some unexpected source, which seems not wholly of a piece with the discourse. Thus when Brutus and Cassius had a debate in the tragedy of "Cæsar," and rose to warm language against each other, insomuch that it had almost come to something that might be fatal, till they recollected themselves; Brutus does more than make an apology for the heat he had been in, by saying, "Porcia is dead."[142] Here Cassius is all tenderness, and ready to dissolve, when he considers that the mind of his friend had been employed on the greatest affliction imaginable, when he had been adding to it by a debate on trifles; which makes him in the anguish of his heart cry out, "How scaped I killing when I thus provoked you?"[143] This is an incident which moves the soul in all its sentiments; and Cassius's heart was at once touched with all the soft pangs of pity, remorse, and reconciliation. It is said indeed by Horace, "If you would have me weep, you must first weep yourself."[144] This is not literally true, for it would have been as rightly said, if we observe nature, that I shall certainly weep if you do not; but what is intended by that expression is, that it is not possible to give passion except you show that you suffer yourself. Therefore the true art seems to be, that when you would have the person you represent pitied, you must show him at once, in the highest grief and struggling, to bear it with decency and patience. In this case, we sigh for him, and give him every groan he suppresses.[145] I remember, when I was young enough to follow the sports of the field, I have more than once rode off at the death of a deer, when I have seen the animal in an affliction which appeared human without the least noise, let fall tears when he was reduced to extremity; and I have thought of the sorrow I saw him in when his haunch came to the table. But our tears are not given only to objects of pity, but the mind has recourse to that relief on all occasions which give us much emotion. Thus, to be apt to shed tears is a sign of a great as well as little spirit. I have heard say, the present Pope[146] never passes through the people, who always kneel in crowds and ask his benediction, but the tears are seen to flow from his eyes. This must proceed from an imagination that he is the father of all those people, and that he is touched with so extensive a benevolence that it breaks out into a passion of tears. You see friends, who have been long absent, transported in the same manner: a thousand little images crowd upon them at their meeting, as all the joys and griefs they have known during their separation; and in one hurry of thought, they conceive how they should have participated in those occasions, and weep, because their minds are too full to wait the slow expression of words.
_His lacrimis vitam damus, et miseressimus ultro._[147]
There is lately broke loose from the London Pack[148] a very tall dangerous biter. He is now at the Bath, and it is feared will make a damnable havoc amongst the game. His manner of biting is new, and called the Top. He secures one die betwixt his two fingers: the other is fixed by the help of a famous wax invented by an apothecary, since a gamester; a little of which he puts upon his forefinger, and that holds the die in the box at his devotion. Great sums have been lately won by these ways; but it is hoped that this hint of his manner of cheating will open the eyes of many who are every day imposed upon.
* * * * *
There is now in the press, and will be suddenly published, a book entitled "An Appendix to the Contempt of the Clergy,"[149] wherein will be set forth at large, that all our dissensions are owing to the laziness of persons in the sacred ministry, and that none of the present schisms could have crept into the flock but by the negligence of the pastors. There is a digression in this treatise, proving that the pretences made by the priesthood from time to time that the Church was in danger, is only a trick to make the laity passionate for that of which they themselves have been negligent. The whole concludes with an exhortation to the clergy, to the study of eloquence, and practice of piety, as the only method to support the highest of all honours, that of a priest, who lives and acts according to his character.
FOOTNOTES:
[133] Philotas, son of Parmenion, was one of the generals of Alexander the Great. He was arrested for treason, made a confession under torture, and was stoned before the troops. Jean Reinhold de Patkul (1660-1707), a Livonian nobleman in disgrace at the Swedish Court, found his way to King Augustus, in Poland, and was charged with having instigated that monarch to attack Livonia. When a treaty of peace was drawn up, Charles XII. made the surrender of Patkul one of the conditions; and after much delay he was handed over to General Meyerfeldt, and broken upon the wheel in October 1707. In the _Review_ for August 20, 1709, Defoe criticised the conduct of Charles XII. in this matter, and said that since his barbarous action he had had no success. He paid dear for the blood of Patkul.
[134] This article is printed in Scott's edition of Swift's Works.
[135] See No. 67.
[136] See No. 39.
[137] "Why, let the stricken deer go weep" ("Hamlet," act iii. sc. 2, l. 282.)
[138] See No. 63.
[139] _Cf._ No. 47.
[140] See No. 19.
[141] "Julius Cæsar," act iv. sc. 3.
[142] Steevens brought forward the fact that the author of the _Tatler_ here quotes from Davenant's alteration of Shakespeare's play as an argument to prove how little Shakespeare was read. De Quincey made some excellent remarks on this subject in his "Life of Shakespeare." ("Encyclopædia Britannica," 7th ed.)
[143] "How scaped I killing when I crossed you so?" ("Julius Cæsar,"