act iv. sc. 3.)
[144] _Ars Poetica_, 102.
[145] "There is no criticism of Shakespeare in that day at all comparable to this of Steele's, at the outset and to the close of the _Tatler_. With no set analysis or fine-spun theory, but dropped only here and there, and from time to time with a careless grace, it is yet of the subtlest discrimination.... He ranks him as high in philosophy as in poetry, and in the ethics of human life and passion quotes his authority as supreme. None but Steele then thought of criticising him in that strain." (Forster.)
[146] Clement XI.
[147] Virgil, "Æneid," ii. 145.
[148] See No. 56, &c.
[149] "The Grounds and Occasion of the Contempt of the Clergy and Religion Inquired into" was published by Dr. John Eachard in 1670.
No. 69. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Sept. 15_, to _Saturday, Sept. 17, 1709_.
----Quid oportet Nos facere, a vulgo longe latèque remotos?
HOR., 1 Sat. vi. 18.
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 16._
It is, as far as it relates to our present being, the great end of education to raise ourselves above the vulgar; but what is intended by the vulgar, is not, methinks, enough understood. In me, indeed, that word raises a quite different idea from what it usually does in others; but perhaps that proceeds from my being old, and beginning to want the relish of such satisfactions as are the ordinary entertainment of men. However, such as my opinion is in this case, I will speak it; because it is possible that turn of thought may be received by others, who may reap as much tranquillity from it as I do myself. It is to me a very great meanness, and something much below a philosopher, which is what I mean by a gentleman, to rank a man among the vulgar for the condition of life he is in, and not according to his behaviour, his thoughts and sentiments, in that condition. For if a man be loaded with riches and honours, and in that state of life has thoughts and inclinations below the meanest artificer; is not such an artificer, who within his power is good to his friends, moderate in his demands for his labour, and cheerful in his occupation, very much superior to him who lives for no other end but to serve himself, and assumes a preference in all his words and actions to those who act their part with much more grace than himself? Epictetus has made use of the similitude of a stage-play to human life with much spirit. "It is not," says he, "to be considered among the actors, who is prince, or who is beggar, but who acts prince or beggar best."[150] The circumstance of life should not be that which gives us place, but our behaviour in that circumstance is what should be our solid distinction. Thus, a wise man should think no man above him or below him, any further than it regards the outward order and discipline of the world: for if we take too great an idea of the eminence of our superiors, or subordination of our inferiors, it will have an ill effect upon our behaviour to both. But he who thinks no man above him but for his virtue, none below him but for his vice, can never be obsequious or assuming in a wrong place, but will frequently emulate men in rank below him, and pity those above him. This sense of mankind is so far from a levelling principle, that it only sets us upon a true basis of distinction, and doubles the merit of such as become their condition. A man in power, who can, without the ordinary prepossessions which stop the way to the true knowledge and service of mankind, overlook the little distinctions of fortune, raise obscure merit, and discountenance successful indesert,[151] has, in the minds of knowing men, the figure of an angel rather than a man, and is above the rest of men in the highest character he can be, even that of their benefactor. Turning my thoughts as I was taking my pipe this evening after this manner, it was no small delight to me to receive advice from Felicia,[152] that Eboracensis was appointed a governor of one of their plantations.[153] As I am a great lover of mankind, I took part in the happiness of that people who were to be governed by one of so great humanity, justice, and honour. Eboracensis has read all the schemes which writers have formed of government and order, and been long conversant with men who have the reins in their hands; so that he can very well distinguish between chimerical and practical politics. It is a great blessing (when men have to deal with such different characters in the same species as those of free-men and slaves) that they who command have a just sense of human nature itself, by which they can temper the haughtiness of the master, and soften the servitude of the slave. "Hæ tibi erunt artes."[154] This is the notion with which those of the plantation receive Eboracensis: and as I have cast his nativity, I find it will be a record made of this person's administrations; and on that part of the shore from whence he embarks to return from his government, there will be a monument with these words: "Here the people wept, and took leave of Eboracensis, the first governor our mother Felicia sent, who, during his command here, believed himself her subject."
_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 16._
The following letter wants such sudden despatch, that all things else must wait for this time.
"SIR,
_Sept. 13, equal day and night._
"There are two ladies, who, having a good opinion of your taste and judgment, desire you to make use of them in the following particular, which perhaps you may allow very particular. The two ladies before mentioned have a considerable time since contracted a more sincere and constant friendship than their adversaries the men will allow consistent with the frailty of female nature; and being from a long acquaintance convinced of the perfect agreement of their tempers, have thought upon an expedient to prevent their separation, and cannot think any so effectual (since it is common for love to destroy friendship) as to give up both their liberties to the same person in marriage. The gentleman they have pitched upon, is neither well-bred nor agreeable, his understanding moderate, and his person never designed to charm women; but having so much self-interest in his nature, as to be satisfied with making double contracts, upon condition of receiving double fortunes; and most men being so far sensible of the uneasiness that one woman occasions, they think him for these reasons the most likely person of their acquaintance to receive these proposals. Upon all other accounts, he is the last man either of them would choose, yet for this preferable to all the rest. They desire to know your opinion the next post, resolving to defer further proceeding, till they have received it. I am, Sir,
"Your unknown, unthought-of, Humble Servant, BRIDGET EITHERSIDE."
#/
This is very extraordinary, and much might be objected by me, who am something of a civilian, to the case of two marrying the same man; but these ladies are, I perceive, free-thinkers, and therefore I shall speak only to the prudential part of this design, merely as a philosopher, without entering into the merit of it in the ecclesiastical or civil law. These constant friends, Piledea and Orestea, are at a loss to preserve their friendship from the encroachments of love, for which end they have resolved upon a fellow who cannot be the object of affection or esteem to either, and consequently cannot rob one of the place each has in her friend's heart. But in all my reading (and I have read all that the sages in love have written), I have found the greatest danger in jealousy. The ladies indeed, to avoid this passion, choose a sad fellow; but if they would be advised by me, they had better have each their worthless man; otherwise, he that was despicable while he was indifferent to them, will become valuable when he seems to prefer one to the other. I remember in the history of Don Quixote of the Manca, there is a memorable passage which opens to us the weakness of our nature in such particulars. The Don falls into discourse with a gentleman[155] whom he calls the Knight of the Green Cassock, and is invited to his house. When he comes there, he runs into discourse and panegyric upon the economy, the government and order of his family, the education of his children; and lastly, on the singular wisdom of him who disposed things with that exactness. The gentleman makes a soliloquy to himself, "Oh irresistible power of flattery! Though I know this is a madman, I cannot help being taken with his applause."
The ladies will find this much more true in the case of their lover; and the woman he most likes, will certainly be more pleased; she whom he flights, more offended, than she can imagine before she has tried. Now I humbly propose, that they both marry coxcombs whom they are sure they cannot like, and then they may be pretty secure against the change of affection, which they fear; and by that means, preserving the temperature under which they now write, enjoy during life, "equal day and night."
_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 16._
There is no manner of news; but people now spend their time in coffee-houses in reflections upon the particulars of the late glorious day,[156] and collecting the several parts of the action, as they are produced in letters from private hands, or notices given to us by accounts in public papers. A pleasant gentleman, alluding to the great fences through which we pierced, said this evening, "The French thought themselves on the right side of the hedge, but it proved otherwise." Mr. Kidney, who has long conversed with, and filled tea for the most consummate politicians, was pleased to give me an account of this piece of ribaldry, and desired me on that occasion to write a whole paper on the subject of valour, and explain how that quality, which must be possessed by whole armies, is so highly preferable in one man rather than another, and how the same actions are but mere acts of duty in some, and instances of the most heroic virtue in others. He advised me not to fail in this discourse to mention the gallantry of the Prince of Nassau in this last engagement, who (when a battalion made a halt in the face of the enemy) snatched the colours out of the hands of the ensign, and planted them just before the line of the enemy, calling to that battalion to take care of their colours, if they had no regard to him. Mr. Kidney has my promise to obey him in this particular on the first occasion that offers.
* * * * *
Mr. Bickerstaff is now compiling exact accounts of the pay of the militia, and the commission officers under the respective Lieutenancies of Great Britain: in the first place, of those of London and Westminster; and in regard that there are no common soldiers, but all house-keepers, or representatives of house-keepers in these bodies, the sums raised by the officers shall be looked into, and their fellow-soldiers, or rather fellow-travellers from one part of the town to the other, not defrauded of the ten pounds allowed for the subsistence of the troops.
Whereas not very long since, at a tavern between Fleet Bridge and Charing Cross, some certain polite gentlemen thought fit to perform the bacchanalian exercises of devotion, by dancing without clothes on, after the manner of the pre-Adamites; this is to certify those persons, that there is no manner of wit or humour in the said practice, and that the beadles of the parish are to be at their next meeting, where it is to be examined, whether they are arrived at want of feeling, as well as want of shame.
Whereas a chapel clerk was lately taken in a garret on a flock-bed with two of the fair sex, who are usually employed in sifting cinders; this is to let him know, that if he persists in being a scandal both to laity and clergy (as being as it were both and neither), the names of the nymphs who were with him shall be printed; therefore he is desired, as he tenders the reputation of his ladies, to repent.
Mr. Bickerstaff has received information, that an eminent and noble preacher in the chief congregation of Great Britain, for fear of being thought guilty of presbyterian fervency and extemporary prayer, lately read his, before sermon; but the same advices acknowledging that he made the congregation large amends by the shortness of his discourse, it is thought fit to make no further observation upon it.[157]
FOOTNOTES:
[150] "Encheiridion," sect. xvii. Dobson.
[151] Want of merit. _Cf._ "The Lying Lover," act ii.: "'Tis my own indesert that gives me fears."
[152] England.
[153] Robert Hunter, a friend of Addison and Swift, was appointed Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia in 1707, but was taken by the French in his voyage thither. Having been exchanged for the French Bishop of Quebec, he was appointed Governor of New York, and in 1710 took charge of 2700 Protestant refugees from the Palatinate, who were to settle there. During his government of New York, he was directed by her Majesty to provide subsistence for about 3000 palatines sent from Great Britain to be employed in raising and manufacturing naval stores; and by 1734 he had disbursed _£21,000_ and upwards in that undertaking, no part of which was ever repaid. He returned to England in 1719; and, after being made Major-General, he was appointed Governor of Jamaica in 1729. He died March 31, 1734, and was buried in that island.
[154] "Æneid," vi. 853.
[155] Don Diego de Miranda. See "Don Quixote," Part II., chaps. xvii., xviii.
[156] The battle of Malplaquet.
No. 70. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Sept. 17_, to _Tuesday, Sept. 20, 1709_.
Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.
JUV., Sat. i. 85, 86.
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 19._
The following letter,[158] in prosecution of what I have lately asserted, has urged that matter so much better than I had, that I insert it as I received it. These testimonials are customary with us learned men, and sometimes are suspected to be written by the author; but I fear no one will suspect me of this.
"SIR,
_London, Sept. 15, 1709._
"Having read your lucubrations of the 10th instant,[159] I can't but entirely agree with you in your notions of the scarcity of men who can either read or speak. For my part, I have lived these thirty years in the world, and yet have observed but a very few who could do either in any tolerable manner; among which few, you must understand that I reckon myself. How far eloquence, set off with the proper ornaments of voice and gesture, will prevail over the passions, and how cold and unaffecting the best oration in the world would be without them, there are two remarkable instances in the case of Ligarius and that of Milo. Cæsar had condemned Ligarius. He came indeed to hear what might be said; but thinking himself his own master, resolved not to be biassed by anything Cicero could say in his behalf: but in this he was mistaken; for when the orator began to speak, the hero is moved, he is vanquished, and at length the criminal absolved. It must be observed, that this famous orator was less renowned for his courage than his eloquence; for though he came at another time, prepared to defend Milo with one of the best orations that antiquity has produced; yet being seized with a sudden fear by seeing some armed men surrounding the Forum, he faltered in his speech, and became unable to exert that irresistible force and beauty of action which would have saved his client, and for want of which he was condemned to banishment. As the success the former of these orations met with, appears chiefly owing to the life and graceful manner with which it was recited (for some there are who think it may be read without transport), so the latter seems to have failed of success for no other reason, but because the orator was not in a condition to set it off with those ornaments. It must be confessed, that artful sound will with the crowd prevail even more than sense; but those who are masters of both, will ever gain the admiration of all their hearers: and there is, I think, a very natural account to be given of this matter; for the sensation of the head and heart are caused in each of these parts by the outward organs of the eye and ear: that therefore which is conveyed to the understanding and passions by only one of these organs, will not affect us so much as that which is transmitted through both.[160] I can't but think your charge is just against a great part of the learned clergy of Great Britain, who deliver the most excellent discourses with such coldness and indifference, that it is no great wonder the unintelligent many of their congregations fall asleep. Thus it happens that their orations meet with a quite contrary fate to that of Demosthenes you mentioned; for as that lost much of its beauty and force by being repeated to the magistrates of Rhodes without the winning action of that great orator, so the performances of these gentlemen never appear with so little grace, and to so much disadvantage, as when delivered by themselves from the pulpit. Hippocrates being sent for to a patient in this city, and having felt his pulse, inquired into the symptoms of his distemper, and finding that it proceeded in great measure from want of sleep, advises his patient, with an air of gravity, to be carried to church to hear a sermon, not doubting but that it would dispose him for the rest he wanted. If some of the rules Horace gives for the theatre, were (not improperly) applied to our pulpits, we should not hear a sermon prescribed as a good opiate.
"----_Si vis me flere, dolendum est Primum ipsi tibi_----[161]
"A man must himself express some concern and affection in delivering his discourse, if he expects his auditory should interest themselves in what he proposes: for otherwise, notwithstanding the dignity and importance of the subject he treats of, notwithstanding the weight and argument of the discourse itself, yet too many will say,
"----_Male si mandata loqueris, Aut dormitabo, aut ridebo._----[162]
"If there be a deficiency in the speaker, there will not be a sufficient attention and regard paid to the things spoken: but, Mr. Bickerstaff, you know, that as too little action is cold, so too much is fulsome. Some indeed may think themselves accomplished speakers, for no other reason than because they can be loud and noisy (for surely Stentor[163] must have some design in his vociferations). But, dear Mr. Bickerstaff, convince them, that as harsh and irregular sound is not harmony, so neither is banging a cushion, oratory; and therefore, in my humble opinion, a certain divine[164] of the first order, whom I allow otherwise to be a great man, would do well to leave this off; for I think his sermons would be more persuasive if he gave his auditory less disturbance. Though I cannot say that this action would be wholly improper to a profane oration, yet I think, in a religious assembly, it gives a man too warlike, or perhaps too theatrical a figure to be suitable to a Christian congregation. I am,
"Sir, Your humble Servant, &c."
The most learned and ingenious Mr. Rosehat is also pleased to write to me on this subject.
/# "SIR,
"I read with great pleasure in the _Tatler_ of Saturday last the conversation upon eloquence. Permit me to hint to you one thing the great Roman orator observes upon this subject, 'Caput enim arbitrabatur oratoris' (he quotes Menedemus, an Athenian), 'ut ipsis apud quos ageret talis qualem ipse optaret videretur, id fieri vitæ dignitate.[165] It is the first rule in oratory, that a man must appear such as he would persuade others to be, and that can be accomplished only by the force of his life. I believe it might be of great service to let our public orators know, that an unnatural gravity, or an unbecoming levity in their behaviour out of the pulpit, will take very much from the force of their eloquence in it. Excuse another scrap of Latin; it is from one of the Fathers: I think it will appear a just observation to all, as it may have authority with some: 'Qui autem docent tantum, nec faciunt, ipsi præceptis suis detrahunt pondus; quis enim obtemperet, quum ipsi præceptores doceant non obtemperare?' I am,
"Sir, Your most humble Servant, JONATHAN ROSEHAT.
"_P.S._--You were complaining in that paper, that the clergy of Great Britain had not yet learned to speak: a very great defect indeed; and therefore I shall think myself a well-deserver of the Church, in recommending all the dumb clergy to the famous speaking doctor at Kensington.[166] This ingenious gentleman, out of compassion to those of a bad utterance, has placed his whole study in the new modelling the organs of voice, which art he has so far advanced, as to be able even to make a good orator of a pair of bellows. He lately exhibited a specimen of his skill in this way, of which I was informed by the worthy gentlemen then present, who were at once delighted and amazed to hear an instrument of so simple an organisation use an exact articulation of words, a just cadency in its sentences, and a wonderful pathos in its pronunciation; not that he designs to expatiate in this practice, because he cannot (as he says) apprehend what use it may be of to mankind, whose benefit he aims at in a more particular manner: and for the same reason he will never more instruct the feathered kind, the parrot having been his last scholar in that way. He has a wonderful faculty in making and mending echoes, and this he will perform at any time for the use of the solitary in the country, being a man born for universal good, and for that reason recommended to your patronage by, Sir, Yours, &c." #/
Another learned gentleman gives me also this encomium:
"SIR,
_September 16._
"You are now got into a useful and noble subject; take care to handle it with judgment and delicacy. I wish every young divine would give yours of Saturday last a serious perusal; and now you are entered upon the action of an orator, if you would proceed to favour the world with some remarks on the mystical enchantments of pronunciation, what a secret force there is in the accents of a tunable voice, and wherefore the works of two very great men of the profession could never please so well when read as heard, I shall trouble you with no more scribble. You are now in the method of being truly profitable and delightful. If you can keep up to such great and sublime subjects, and pursue them with a suitable genius, go on and prosper. Farewell."
_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 19._
This was left for me here for the use of the company of the house.
"_To_ ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.
"SIR,
_September 15._
"The account you gave lately of a certain dog-kennel or near Suffolk Street,[167] was not so punctual as to the list of the dogs as might have been expected from a person of Mr. Bickerstaff's intelligence; for if you'll despatch Pacolet thither some evening, it is ten to one but he finds, besides those you mentioned, "Towzer, a large French mongrel, that was not long ago in a tattered condition, but has now got new hair; is not fleet; but when he grapples, bites even to the marrow.
"Spring, a little French greyhound, that lately made a false trip to Tunbridge.
"Sly, an old battered foxhound, that began the game in France.
"Lightfoot, a fine-skinned Flanders dog, that belonged to a pack at Ghent; but having lost flesh, is come to Paris for the benefit of the air.
"With several others, that in time may be worth notice.
"Your familiar will see also, how anxious the keepers are about the prey, and indeed not without very good reason, for they have their share of everything; nay, not so much as a poor rabbit can be run down, but these carnivorous curs swallow a quarter of it. Some mechanics in the neighbourhood, that have entered into this civil society (and who furnish part of the carrion and oatmeal for the dogs) have the skin; and the bones are picked clean by a little French shock that belongs to the family, &c. I am,
"Sir, Your humble Servant, &c.
"I had almost forgotten to tell you, that Ringwood bites at Hampstead with false teeth."[168] #/
FOOTNOTES:
[157] See No. 66.
[158] Printed in Swift's Works.
[159] No. 66.
[160] _Cf._ Rabelais, Book I., chap. xli.
[161] "Ars Poet.," 102.
[162] "Ars Poet.," 104.
[163] See No. 54.
[164] Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, whom Dryden describes as "a portly prince, and goodly to the sight," "black-browed and bluff."
[165] Cicero, "De Oratore," i. 19.
[166] James Ford. In answer to an application for advice from a stammerer, the _British Apollo_ for Jan. 23 to 25, 1710, said: "For further advice we refer you to Mr. Ford at Kensington, who has not only recovered several who stammered to a regular speech, but also brought the deaf and dumb to speak, an instance whereof hath been known by a gentleman of our society." The _Postman_ for Oct. 21, 1703, contained the following advertisement: "James Ford, formerly living at Christ's Hospital, in Charterhouse Yard and Cecil Street, who removes stammering and other impediments in speech, and teaches foreigners to pronounce English like natives; and has lately brought a child to speak, that was born deaf and dumb; is now removed to Newington Green, where he keeps a tutor in his house, that children may not lose their learning. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he is to be met with at Mr. Meriden's, sword cutler, at the corner of Exchange Alley, at Exchange time, and at the Rainbow Coffee-house, by Temple Bar, at six in the evening on Thursdays." In a letter now in the British Museum (Sloane MS., 4044), Ford asked Sir Hans Sloane to examine certain persons whom he claimed to have cured.
[167] See No. 62.
[168] False dice.
No. 71. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Sept. 20_, to _Thursday, Sept. 22, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 21._
I have long been against my inclination employed in satire, and that in prosecution of such persons who are below the dignity of the true spirit of it; such who I fear are not to be reclaimed by making them only ridiculous. The sharpers therefore shall have a month's time to themselves free from the observation of this paper; but I must not make a truce without letting them know, that at the same time I am preparing for a more vigorous war; for a friend of mine has promised me, he will employ his time in compiling such a tract before the session of the ensuing Parliament, as shall lay gaming home to the bosoms of all who love their country or their families; and he doubts not but it will create an Act, that shall make these rogues as scandalous as those less mischievous ones on the highroad. I have received private intimations to take care of my walks, and remember there are such things as stabs and blows: but as there never was anything in this design which ought to displease a man of honour, or which was not designed to offend the rascals, I shall give myself very little concern for finding what I expected, that they would be highly provoked at these lucubrations. But though I utterly despise the pack, I must confess I am at a stand at the receipt of the following letter, which seems to be written by a man of sense and worth, who has mistaken some passage that I am sure was not levelled at him. This gentleman's complaints give me compunction, when I neglect the threats of the rascals. I can't be in jest with the rogues any longer, since they pretend to threaten. I don't know whether I shall allow them the favour of transportation.
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
_Sept. 13._
"Observing you are not content with lashing the many vices of the age, without illustrating each with particular characters, it is thought nothing would more contribute to the impression you design by such, than always having regard to truth. In your _Tatler_ of this day,[169] I observe you allow, that nothing is so tender as a lady's reputation; that a stain once got in their fame, is hardly ever to be washed out. This you grant even when you give yourself leave to trifle. If so, what caution is necessary in handling the reputation of a man, whose wellbeing in this life perhaps entirely depends on preserving it from any wound, which once there received, too often becomes fatal and incurable? Suppose some villainous hand, through personal prejudice, transmits materials for this purpose, which you publish to the world, and afterwards become fully convinced you were imposed on (as by this time you may be of a character you have sent into the world); I say, supposing this, I would be glad to know, what reparation you think ought to be made the person so injured, admitting you stood in his place. It has always been held, that a generous education is the surest mark of a generous mind. The former is indeed perspicuous in all your papers; and I am persuaded, though you affect often to show the latter, yet you would not keep any measures (even of Christianity) with those who should handle you in the manner you do others. The application of all this is from your having very lately glanced at a man, under a character, that were he conscious to deserve, he would be the first to rid the world of himself; and would be more justifiable in it to all sorts of men, than you in your committing such a violence on his reputation, which perhaps you may be convinced of in another manner than you deserve from him.
"A man of your capacity, Mr. Bickerstaff, should have more noble views, and pursue the true spirit of satire; but I will conclude, lest I grow out of temper, and will only beg for your own preservation, to remember the proverb of the pitcher.
"I am Yours, A. J."
The proverb of the pitcher I have no regard to; but it would be an insensibility not to be pardoned, if a man could be untouched at so warm an accusation, and that laid with so much seeming temper. All I can say to it is, that if the writer, by the same method whereby he conveyed this letter, shall give me an instance wherein I have injured any good man, or pointed at anything which is not the true object of raillery, I shall acknowledge the offence in as open a manner as the press can do it, and lay down this paper for ever. There is something very terrible in unjustly attacking men in a way that may prejudice their honour or fortune; but when men of too modest a sense of themselves will think they are touched, it is impossible to prevent ill consequences from the most innocent and general discourses. This I have known happen in circumstances the most foreign to theirs who have taken offence at them. An advertisement lately published, relating to Omicron,[170] alarmed a gentleman of good sense, integrity, honour, and industry, which is, in every particular, different from the trifling pretenders pointed at in that advertisement. When the modesty of some is as excessive as the vanity of others, what defence is there against misinterpretation? However, giving disturbance, though not intended, to men of virtuous characters, has so sincerely troubled me, that I will break from this satirical vein; and to show I very little value myself upon it, shall for this month ensuing leave the sharper, the fop, the pedant, the proud man, the insolent; in a word, all the train of knaves and fools, to their own devices, and touch on nothing but panegyric. This way is suitable to the true genius of the Staffs, who are much more inclined to reward than punish. If therefore the author of the above-mentioned letter does not command my silence wholly, as he shall if I do not give him satisfaction, I shall for the above-mentioned space turn my thoughts to raising merit from its obscurity, celebrating virtue in its distress, and attacking vice by no other method but setting innocence in a proper light.
_Will's Coffee-house, Sept. 20._
I find here for me the following letter:[171]
"SQUIRE BICKERSTAFF,
"Finding your advice and censure to have a good effect, I desire your admonition to our vicar and schoolmaster, who in his preaching to his auditors, stretches his jaws so wide, that instead of instructing youth, it rather frightens them: likewise in reading prayers, he has such a careless loll, that people are justly offended at his irreverent posture; besides the extraordinary charge they are put to in sending their children to dance, to bring them off of those ill gestures. Another evil faculty he has, in making the bowling-green his daily residence, instead of his church, where his curate reads prayers every day. If the weather is fair, his time is spent in visiting; if cold or wet, in bed, or at least at home, though within a hundred yards of the church. These, out of many such irregular practices, I write for his reclamation: but two or three things more before I conclude; to wit, that generally when his curate preaches in the afternoon, he sleeps sitting in the desk on a hassock. With all this, he is so extremely proud, that he will go but once to the sick, except they return his visit."
I was going on in reading my letter, when I was interrupted by Mr. Greenhat, who has been this evening at the play of "Hamlet." "Mr. Bickerstaff," said he, "had you been to-night at the play-house, you had seen the force of action in perfection: your admired Mr. Betterton[172] behaved himself so well, that, though now about seventy, he acted youth; and by the prevalent power of proper manner, gesture and voice, appeared through the whole drama a young man of great expectation, vivacity, and enterprise. The soliloquy, where he began the celebrated sentence of, 'To be, or not to be;' the expostulation where he explains with his mother in her closet; the noble ardour, after seeing his father's ghost, and his generous distress for the death of Ophelia, are each of them circumstances which dwell strongly upon the minds of the audience, and would certainly affect their behaviour on any parallel occasions in their own lives. Pray, Mr. Bickerstaff, let us have virtue thus represented on the stage with its proper ornaments, or let these ornaments be added to her in places more sacred. As for my part," said he, "I carried my cousin Jerry, this little boy, with me, and shall always love the child for his partiality in all that concerned the fortune of Hamlet. This is entering youth into the affections and passions of manhood beforehand, and as it were antedating the effects we hope from a long and liberal education."
I cannot in the midst of many other things which press, hide the comfort that this letter from my ingenious kinsman gives me.
"_To my Honoured Kinsman_, ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.
"DEAR COUSIN,
_Oxford, Sept. 18._
"I am sorry, though not surprised, to find that you have rallied the men of dress in vain; that the amber-headed cane still maintains its unstable post; that pockets are but a few inches shortened; and a beau is still a beau, from the crown of his nightcap to the heels of his shoes. For your comfort, I can assure you, that your endeavours succeed better in this famous seat of learning. By them, the manners of our young gentlemen are in a fair way of amendment, and their very language is mightily refined. To them it is owing, that not a servitor will sing a catch, not a senior fellow make a pun, not a determining bachelor drink a bumper; and I believe a gentleman commoner would as soon have the heels of his shoes red as his stockings. When a witling stands at a coffee-house door, and sneers at those who pass by, to the great improvement of his hopeful audience, he is no longer surnamed a slicer, but a man of fire is the word. A beauty, whose health is drunk from Heddington to Hinksey,[173] who has been the theme of the Muses (her cheeks painted with roses, and her bosom planted with orange boughs), has no more the title of lady, but reigns an undisputed toast. When to the plain garb of gown and band a spark adds an inconsistent long wig, we do not say now he boshes, but there goes a smart fellow. If a virgin blushes, we no longer cry the blues. He that drinks till he stares, is no more tow-row, but honest. A youngster in a scrape, is a word out of date; and what bright man says, I was Joabed by the dean: bamboozling is exploded; a shat is a tattler; and if the muscular motion of a man's face be violent, no mortal says, he raises a horse, but he is a merry fellow.
"I congratulate you, my dear kinsman, upon these conquests; such as Roman emperors lamented they could not gain; and in which you rival your correspondent Lewis le Grand, and his dictating academy.
"Be yours the glory to perform, mine to record (as Mr. Dryden has said before me to his kinsman);[174] and while you enter triumphant into the temple of the Muses, I, as my office requires, will, with my staff on my shoulder, attend and conduct you. I am, Dear cousin,
"Your most affectionate Kinsman, BENJAMIN BEADLESTAFF."[175]
Upon the humble application of certain persons who have made heroic figures in Mr. Bickerstaff's narrations, notice is hereby given, that no such shall ever be mentioned for the future, except those who have sent menaces, and not submitted to admonition.
FOOTNOTES:
[169] No. 67.
[170] See No. 62.
[171] Printed in Swift's Works.
[172] Thomas Betterton was born in Westminster about 1635, and was apprenticed to a bookseller. There are various accounts of how he came to go on to the stage, but in 1661 he joined Sir William Davenant's company at Lincoln's Inn Fields. Davenant's son afterwards gave Betterton a share in the management, and the company ("the Duke's") moved to Dorset Garden. In 1682 this company united with the King's company. Betterton lost all his savings in a speculation in 1692. Soon afterwards the patentee of the theatre quarrelled with the actors about their salaries, and Betterton and his friends obtained a licence to set up a theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Betterton does not seem to have been a good manager, and he was often in straitened circumstances. In April 1709 the benefit described in No. 1 of the _Tatler_ was arranged for his benefit; on that occasion Betterton, though over seventy, acted the youthful part of Valentine in "Love for Love." The performance brought Betterton £500. Writing on the occasion of his death, Steele paid a high tribute to the actor's powers in No. 167.
It is interesting to note what Zachary Baggs, treasurer at Drury Lane, stated to be the salary paid to, and the amount made by benefits by, the principal performers. I quote from a rare quarto paper of two leaves, issued by Baggs in July 1709 upon the threatened secession of the actors. He says that during the season, October 1708 to June 1709, 135 days--
£. _s._ _d._
Wilks was paid by salary 168 6 8 By his benefit play 90 14 9 Betterton was paid, by his salary £4 a week, and £1 a week for his wife, although she does not act 112 10 0 By a benefit, besides what he got by high prices and guineas 76 4 5 Estcourt was paid at £5 a week salary 112 10 0 By his benefit play 51 8 6 Cibber was paid at £5 a week salary 112 10 0 By his benefit play 51 0 10 Mills was paid £4 a week salary, and £1 for his wife, for little or nothing 112 10 0 By his benefit play (not including hers) 58 1 4 Mrs. Oldfield had £4 a week salary, making for fourteen weeks and a day 56 13 4 She was also paid for costumes 2 10 7 And by her benefit play she had 62 7 8 ------------------- In all £1077 3 8
But Baggs adds that at each benefit performance the actor gained much by the special prices paid for seats, and estimating those extra profits at the benefits above mentioned at £880, he arrives at the conclusion that the six actors named earned £1957 in all during the season, though it was broken in upon by the death of Prince George, and brought to a premature close in June.
[173] Villages near Oxford.
[174] Epistle "To my honoured kinsman John Driden, of Chesterton, Esq.," 204:--
"Two of a house few ages can afford, One to perform, another to record."
[175] See No. 45.
No. 72. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Sept. 22_, to _Saturday, Sept. 24, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 23._
I have taken upon me no very easy task in turning all my thoughts on panegyric, when most of the advices I receive tend to the quite contrary purpose; and I have few notices but such as regard follies and vices. But the properest way for me to treat, is to keep in general upon the passions and affections of men, with as little regard to particulars as the nature of the thing will admit. However, I think there is something so passionate in the circumstances of the lovers mentioned in the following letter, that I am willing to go out of my way to obey what is commanded in it.
"SIR,
_London, September 17._
"Your design of entertaining the town with the characters of the ancient heroes, as persons shall send an account to Mr. Morphew's, encourages me and others to beg of you, that in the meantime (if it is not contrary to the method you have proposed) you would give us one paper upon the subject of Pætus and his wife's death, when Nero sent him an order to kill himself: his wife setting him the example, died with these words, 'Pætus, it is not painful.' You must know the story, and your observations upon it will oblige,
"Sir, Your most humble Servant."
When the worst man that ever lived in the world had the highest station in it, human life was the object of his diversion; and he sent orders frequently, out of mere wantonness, to take off such-and-such, without so much as being angry with them. Nay, frequently his tyranny was so humorous, that he put men to death because he could not but approve of them. It came one day to his ear, that a certain married couple, Pætus and Arria, lived in a more happy tranquillity and mutual love than any other persons who were then in being. He listened with great attention to the account of their manner of spending their time together, of the constant pleasure they were to each other in all their words and actions; and found by exact information, that they were so treasonable as to be much more happy than his Imperial Majesty himself. Upon which he wrote Pætus the following billet:--
"Pætus, you are hereby desired to despatch yourself. I have heard a very good character of you; and therefore leave it to yourself, whether you will die by dagger, sword, or poison. If you outlive this order above an hour, I have given directions to put you to death by torture.
NERO."
This familiar epistle was delivered to his wife Arria, who opened it.
One must have a soul very well turned for love, pity, and indignation, to comprehend the tumult this unhappy lady was thrown into upon this occasion. The passion of love is no more to be understood by some tempers than a problem in a science by an ignorant man: but he that knows what affection is, will have, upon considering the condition of Arria, ten thousand thoughts flow in upon him, which the tongue was not formed to express. But the charming statue is now before my eyes, and Arria, in her unutterable sorrow, has more beauty than ever appeared in youth, in mirth, or in triumph. These are the great and noble incidents which speak the dignity of our nature, in our sufferings and distresses. Behold her tender affection for her husband sinks her features into a countenance which appears more helpless than that of an infant: but, again, her indignation shows in her visage and her bosom a resentment as strong as that of the bravest man. Long she stood in this agony of alternate rage and love; but at last composed herself for her dissolution, rather than survive her beloved Pætus. When he came into her presence, he found her with the tyrant's letter in one hand, and a dagger in the other. Upon his approach to her, she gave him the order; and at the same time, stabbing herself, "Pætus," said she, "it is not painful," and expired. Pætus immediately followed her example. The passion of these memorable lovers was such, that it eluded the rigour of their fortune, and baffled the force of a blow, which neither felt, because each received it for the sake of the other. The woman's part in this story is by much the more heroic, and has occasioned one of the best epigrams transmitted to us from antiquity.
_When Arria pulled the dagger from her side, Thus to her consort spoke the illustrious bride: "The wound I gave myself I do not grieve, I die by that which Pætus must receive._"[176]
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 23._
The boy says, one in a black hat left the following letter:
"FRIEND,
_19th of the 7th month._
"Being of that part of Christians whom men call Quakers; and being a seeker of the right way, I was persuaded yesterday to hear one of your most noted teachers. The matter he treated was the necessity of well-living, grounded upon a future state. I was attentive; but the man did not appear in earnest. He read his discourse (notwithstanding thy rebukes) so heavily, and with so little air of being convinced himself, that I thought he would have slept, as I observed many of his hearers did. I came home unedified, and troubled in mind. I dipped into the Lamentations, and from thence turning to the 34th chapter of Ezekiel, I found these words: 'Woe be to the shepherds of Israel, that do feed themselves! Should not the shepherds feed the flock? Ye eat the fat, and ye clothe you with the wool: ye kill them that are fed; but ye feed not the flock. The diseased have ye not strengthened; neither have ye healed that which was sick; neither have ye bound up that which was broken; neither have ye brought again that which was driven away; neither have ye sought that which was lost; but with force and with cruelty have ye ruled them,' &c. Now I pray thee, friend, as thou art a man skilled in many things, tell me, who is meant by the diseased, the sick, the broken, the driven away, and the lost? and whether the prophecy in this chapter be accomplished, or yet to come to pass? And thou wilt oblige thy friend, though unknown."
This matter is too sacred for this paper; but I can't see what injury it would do any clergyman, to have it in his eye, and believe, all that are taken from him by his want of industry, are to be demanded of him. I daresay, Favonius[177] has very few of these losses. Favonius, in the midst of a thousand impertinent assailants of the divine truths, is an undisturbed defender of them. He protects all under his care, by the clearness of his understanding, and the example of his life: he visits dying men with the air of a man who hoped for his own dissolution, and enforces in others a contempt of this life, by his own expectation of the next. His voice and behaviour are the lively images of a composed and well-governed zeal. None can leave him for the frivolous jargon uttered by the ordinary teachers among Dissenters, but such who cannot distinguish vociferation from eloquence, and argument from railing. He is so great a judge of mankind, and touches our passions with so superior a command, that he who deserts his congregation must be a stranger to the dictates of nature, as well as to those of grace.
But I must proceed to other matters, and resolve the questions of other inquirers; as in the following:
"SIR,
_Heddington, Sept. 19._
"Upon reading that part of the _Tatler_, No. 69, where mention is made of a certain chapel-clerk, there arose a dispute, and that produced a wager, whether by the words chapel-clerk was meant a clergyman or a layman? By a clergyman, I mean one in holy orders. It was not that anybody in the company pretended to guess who the person was; but some asserted, that by Mr. Bickerstaff's words must be meant a clergyman only: others said, that those words might have been said of any clerk of a parish; and some of them more properly, of a layman. The wager is half-a-dozen bottles of wine; in which (if you please to determine it) your health, and all the family of the staffs, shall certainly be drunk; and you will singularly oblige another very considerable family. I mean that of
"Your humble Servants, THE TRENCHER-CAPS."
It is very customary with us learned men, to find perplexities where no one else can see any. The honest gentlemen who wrote me this, are much at a loss to understand what I thought very plain; and in return, their epistle is so plain that I can't understand it. This, perhaps, is at first a little like nonsense; but I desire all persons to examine these writings with an eye to my being far gone in the occult sciences; and remember, that it is the privilege of the learned and the great to be understood when they please: for as a man of much business may be allowed to leave company when he pleases; so one of high learning may be above your capacity when he thinks fit. But without further speeches or fooling, I must inform my friends the Trencher-Caps in plain words, that I meant in the place they speak of, a drunken clerk of a church: and I will return their civility among my relations, and drink their healths as they do ours.
FOOTNOTES:
[176] Martial, "Epig.," i. 14. See Pliny, "Epist.," iii. 18.
[177] Dr. Smalridge; see Preface to the _Tatler_, and No. 114. Smalridge was born in 1663 at Lichfield, the son of a dyer. In 1678 he was sent to Westminster by Ashmole, and in 1682 was elected to Christ Church, Oxford, where he became a tutor, and was associated with Aldrich and Atterbury against Obadiah Walker, the Popish Master of University College. In 1692 Smalridge became minister of Tothill Fields Chapel; in 1693 he was collated to a prebend at Lichfield; in 1700 he was made D.D.; and in 1708 he was appointed Lecturer at St. Dunstan's-in-the-West. In 1710 he presented Atterbury to the Upper House of Convocation; in 1711 he became Canon of Christ Church and Dean of Carlisle; in 1713 Dean of Christ Church, and in 1714 Bishop of Bristol. He died in 1719, at Christ Church. Though a Tory, he was not a violent politician, and both Addison and Steele were his friends. Addison, writing to Swift, October 1, 1718, says, "The greatest pleasure I have met with for some months is the conversation of my old friend Dr. Smalridge, who, since the death of the excellent friend you mention, is to me the most candid and agreeable of all bishops."
No. 73. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Sept. 24_, to _Tuesday, Sept. 27, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, Sept. 26._
I cannot express the confusion the following letter gave me, which I received by Sir Thomas this morning. There cannot be a greater surprise, than to meet with sudden enmity in the midst of a familiar and friendly correspondence; which is my case in relation to this epistle: and I have no way to purge myself to the world, but publishing both it and my answer.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"You are a very impudent fellow to put me[178] into the _Tatler_. Rot you, sir, I have more wit than you; and rot me, I have more money than most fools I have bubbled. All persons of quality admire me; though, rot me, if I value a Blue Garter any more than I do a blue apron. Everybody knows I am brave; therefore have a care how you provoke
"MONOCULUS."
#/
THE ANSWER.
"SIR,
"Did I not very well know your hand, as well by the spelling as the character, I should not have believed yours of to-day had come from you. But when all men are acquainted, that I have had all my intelligence from you relating to your fraternity, let them pronounce who is the more impudent.[179] I confess I have had a peculiar tenderness for you, by reason of that luxuriant eloquence of which you are master, and have treated you accordingly; for which you have turned your florid violence against your ancient friend and schoolfellow. You know in your own conscience, you gave me leave to touch upon your vein of speaking, provided I hid your other talents; in which I believed you sincere, because, like the ancient Sinon,[180] you have before now suffered yourself to be defaced to carry on a plot. Besides, sir, 'Rot me,' language for a person of your present station. Fie, fie, I am really ashamed for you, and I shall no more depend upon your intelligence. Keep your temper, wash your face, and go to bed.
"ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."
For aught I know, this fellow may have confused the description of the pack, on purpose to ensnare the game, while I have all along believed he was destroying them as well as myself. But because they pretend to bark more than ordinary, I shall let them see, that I will not throw away the whip, until they know better how to behave themselves. But I must not at the same time omit the praises of their economy expressed in the following advice:
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,[181]
_Sept. 17._
"Though your thoughts are at present employed upon the tables of fame, and marshalling your illustrious dead, it is hoped the living may not be neglected, nor defrauded of their just honours: and since you have begun to publish to the world the great sagacity and vigilance of the knights of the industry, it will be expected you should proceed to do justice to all the societies of them you can be informed of, especially since their own great industry covers their actions as much as possible from that public notice which is their due.
"_Paullum sepultæ distat inertiæ Celata virtus._[182]
Hidden vice, and concealed virtue, are much alike.
"Be pleased therefore to let the following memoirs have a place in their history.
"In a certain part of the town, famous for the freshest oysters and the plainest English, there is a house, or rather a college, sacred to hospitality, and the industrious arts. At the entrance is hieroglyphically drawn, a cavalier contending with a monster, with jaws expanded, just ready to devour him.[183]
"Hither the brethren of the industry resort; but to avoid ostentation, they wear no habits of distinction, and perform their exercises with as little noise and show as possible. Here are no undergraduates, but each is a master of his art. They are distributed according to their various talents, and detached abroad in parties, to divide the labours of the day. They have dogs as well nosed and as fleet as any, and no sportsmen show greater activity. Some beat for the game, some hunt it, others come in at the death; and my honest landlord makes very good venison sauce, and eats his share of the dinner.
"I would fain pursue my metaphors; but a venerable person who stands by me, and waits to bring you this letter, and whom, by a certain benevolence in his look, I suspect to be Pacolet, reproves me, and obliges me to write in plainer terms; that the society had fixed their eyes on a gay young gentleman who has lately succeeded to a title and an estate; the latter of which they judged would be very convenient for them. Therefore, after several attempts to get into his acquaintance, my landlord finds an opportunity to make his court to a friend of the young spark's, in the following manner:
"'Sir, as I take you to be a lover of ingenuity and plain-dealing, I shall speak very freely to you. In few words then, you are acquainted with Sir Liberal Brisk. Providence has for our emolument sent him a fair estate, for men are not born for themselves. Therefore, if you'll bring him to my house, we will take care of him, and you shall have half the profits. There's Ace and Cutter will do his business to a hair. You'll tell me, perhaps, he's your friend: I grant it, and it is for that I propose it, to prevent his falling into ill hands.
"'_We'll carve him like a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him like a carcass fit for hounds._[184]
"'In short, there are to my certain knowledge a hundred mouths open for him. Now if we can secure him to ourselves, we shall disappoint all those rascals that don't deserve him. Nay, you need not start at it, sir, it is for your own advantage. Besides, Partridge has cast me his nativity, and I find by certain destiny, his oaks must be felled.'
"The gentleman to whom this honest proposal was made, made little answer; but said he would consider of it, and immediately took coach to find out the young baronet, and told him all that had passed, together with the new salvo to satisfy a man's conscience in sacrificing his friend. Sir Brisk was fired, swore a dozen oaths, drew his sword, put it up again, called for his man, beat him, and bade him fetch a coach. His friend asked him, what he designed, and whither he was going? He answered, to find out the villains and fight them. To which his friend agreed, and promised to be his second, on condition he would first divide his estate to them, and reserve only a proportion to himself, that so he might have the justice of fighting his equals. His next resolution was to play with them, and let them see he was not the bubble they took him for. But he soon quitted that, and resolved at last to tell Bickerstaff of them, and get them enrolled in the order of the industry, with this caution to all young landed knights and squires, that whenever they are drawn to play, they would consider it as calling them down to a sentence already pronounced upon them, and think of the sound of those words, 'His oaks must be felled.'[185] I am,
"Sir, Your faithful, humble Servant, WILL. TRUSTY."
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 26._
It is wonderful to consider to what a pitch of confidence this world is arrived: do people believe I am made up of patience? I have long told them, that I will suffer no enormity to pass, without I have an understanding with the offenders by way of hush-money; and yet the candidates at Queenhithe send all the town coals but me. All the public papers have had this advertisement:
_London, Sept. 22, 1709._
_To the Electors of an Alderman for the Ward of Queenhithe._[186]
"Whereas an evil and pernicious custom has of late very much prevailed at the election of aldermen for this city, by treating at taverns and alehouses, thereby engaging many unwarily to give their votes: which practice appearing to Sir Arthur de Bradly to be of dangerous consequence to the freedom of elections, he hath avoided the excess thereof. Nevertheless, to make an acknowledgment to this ward for their intended favour, he hath deposited in the hands of Mr.----, one of the present Common Council, four hundred and fifty pounds, to be disposed of as follows, provided the said Sir Arthur de Bradly be the alderman, viz.
"All such that shall poll for Sir Arthur de Bradly, shall have one chaldron of good coals gratis.
"And half a chaldron to every one that shall not poll against him.
"And the remainder to be laid out in a clock, dial, or otherwise, as the Common Council-men of the said ward shall think fit.
"And if any person shall refuse to take the said coals to himself, he may assign the same to any poor electors in the ward.
"I do acknowledge to have received the said four hundred and fifty pounds, for the purposes above mentioned, for which I have given a receipt.
Witness, J----s H----t, J----y G----h, J----n M----y.[187] E----d D----s.
"_N.B._--Whereas several persons have already engaged to poll for Sir Humphry Greenhat, it is hereby further declared, that every such person as doth poll for Sir Humphry Greenhat, and doth also poll for Sir Arthur de Bradly, shall each of them receive a chaldron of coals gratis, on the proviso above mentioned."
This is certainly the most plain dealing that ever was used, except that the just quantity which an elector may drink without excess, and the difference between an acknowledgment and a bribe, wants explanation. Another difficulty with me is, how a man who is bargained with for a chaldron of coals for his vote, shall be said to have that chaldron gratis? If my kinsman Greenhat had given me the least intimation of his design, I should have prevented his publishing nonsense; nor should any knight in England have put my relation at the bottom of the leaf as a postscript, when after all it appears Greenhat has been the more popular man. There is here such open contradiction, and clumsy art to palliate the matter, and prove to the people, that the freedom of election is safer when laid out in coals, than strong drink, that I can turn this only to a religious use, and admire the dispensation of things; for if these fellows were as wise as they are rich, where would soon be our liberty? This reminds me of a memorable speech[188] made to a city almost in the same latitude with Westminster. "When I think of your wisdom, I admire your wealth; when I think of your wealth, I admire your wisdom."
FOOTNOTES:
[178] Sir Humphry Monoux. See No. 36.
[179] "As for the satirical part of these writings, those against the gentlemen who profess gaming are the most licentious: but the main of them I take to come from losing gamesters, as invectives against the fortunate; for in very many of them I was very little else but the transcriber. If any have been more particularly marked at, such persons may impute it to their own behaviour before they were touched upon, in publicly speaking their resentment against the author, and professing they would support any man who should insult him." (No. 271.)
[180] The story of the capture of Troy through Sinon's treachery, by help of a wooden horse, is told in the second book of the "Æneid." Sinon, as Dryden puts it, was
"Taken, to take--who made himself their prey, T'impose on their belief, and Troy betray."
In the original editions "Sinon" is misprinted "Simon."
[181] This letter was by John Hughes.
[182] Horace, 4 Od., ix. 29.
[183] There was a public-house called the George and Dragon at Billingsgate.
[184] "Julius Cæsar," act ii. sc. 1 ("Let's carve," &c.).
[185] _Cf._ the story of Mr. Thomas Charlton in the "Memoirs of Gamesters," &c., p. 150. Tickell alludes to this letter in his verses to the _Spectator_, printed in No. 532:--
"From felon gamesters the raw squire is free, And Britain owes her rescued oaks to thee."
[186] The original handbill in the British Museum (Harl. MSS., Badford's Coll. 5996) shows that the real names of the two candidates, called in the _Tatler_ Sir Arthur de Bradly and Sir Humphry Greenhat, were Sir Ambrose Crowley and Sir Benjamin Green. The name of Crowley's agent, and those of his witnesses, are only marked by Steele with their initial and final letters. In every other respect, dates not excepted, the papers are word for word the same. The candidates were Sir Ambrose Crowley and Deputy Gough on one side; and Sir Benj. Green and Deputy Tooley on the other. On Sept. 23, 1709, the majority was declared for the two latter without a poll. (_Post Boy_, Sept. 22-24, 1709.)
[187] John Midgley. The witnesses were James Hallet, Jeremy Gough, and Edward Davis (Harl. MSS., 5996).
[188] By Queen Elizabeth.
No. 74. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Sept. 27_, to _Thursday, Sept. 29, 1709_.
_Whites Chocolate-house, Sept. 28._
The writer of the following letter has made a use of me, which I did not foresee I should fall into. But the gentleman having assured me, that he has a most tender passion for the fair one, and speaking his intentions with so much sincerity, I am willing to let them contrive an interview by my means.
"SIR,
"I earnestly entreat you to publish the enclosed; for I have no other way to come at her, or return to myself. A. L.
"_P.S._--Mr. Bickerstaff,
"You can't imagine how handsome she is: the superscription of my letter will make her recollect the man that gazed at her. Pray put it in."
I can assure the young lady, the gentleman is in the true trammels of love: how else would he make his superscription so very much longer than his billet? He superscribes:
"To the younger of the two ladies in mourning (who sat in the hindmost seat of the middle box at Mr. Winstanley's water-works,[189] on Tuesday was fortnight, and had with them a brother, or some acquaintance that was as careless of that pretty creature as a brother; which seeming brother ushered them to their coach), with great respect. Present.
"MADAM,
"I have a very good estate, and wish myself your husband. Let me know by this way where you live, for I shall be miserable till we live together.
ALEXANDER LANDLORD."
This is the modern way of bargain and sale; a certain shorthand writing, in which laconic elder brothers are very successful. All my fear is, that the nymph's elder sister is unmarried. If she is, we are undone: but perhaps the careless fellow was her husband; and then she will let us go on.
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 28._
The following letter has given me a new sense of the nature of my writings. I have the deepest regard to conviction, and shall never act against it. However, I do not yet understand what good man he thinks I have injured: but his epistle has such weight in it, that I shall always have respect for his admonition, and desire the continuance of it. I am not conscious that I have spoken any faults a man may not mend if he pleases.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
_Sept. 25._
"When I read your paper of Thursday,[190] I was surprised to find mine of the 13th inserted at large; I never intended myself or you a second trouble of this kind, believing I had sufficiently pointed out the man you had injured, and that by this time you were convinced that silence would be the best answer; but finding your reflections are such as naturally call for a reply, I take this way of doing it; and, in the first place, return you thanks for the compliment made me of my seeming sense and worth. I do assure you, I shall always endeavour to convince mankind of the latter, though I have no pretence to the former. But to come a little nearer, I observe you put yourself under a very severe restriction, even the laying down the _Tatler_ for ever, if I can give you an instance, 'wherein you have injured any good man, or pointed at anything which is not the true object of raillery.'
"I must confess, Mr. Bickerstaff, if the making a man guilty of vices that would shame the gallows, be the best methods to point at the true object of raillery, I have until this time been very ignorant; but if it be so, I will venture to assert one thing, and lay it down as a maxim, even to the Staffian race, viz., that that method of pointing ought no more to be pursued, than those people ought to cut your throat who suffer by it, because I take both to be murder, and the law is not in every private man's hands to execute: but indeed, sir, were you the only person would suffer by the _Tatler's_ discontinuance, I have malice enough to punish you in the manner you prescribe; but I am not so great an enemy to the town or my own pleasures, as to wish it; nor that you would lay aside lashing the reigning vices, so long as you keep to the true spirit of satire, without descending to rake into characters below its dignity; for as you well observe, 'there is something very terrible in unjustly attacking men in a way that may prejudice their honour or fortune;' and indeed, where crimes are enormous, the delinquent deserves little pity, yet the reporter may deserve less: and here I am naturally led to that celebrated author of 'The Whole Duty of Man,' who hath set this matter in a true light in his treatise of 'The Government of the Tongue;'[191] where, speaking of uncharitable truths, he says, a discovery of this kind serves not to reclaim, but enrage the offender, and precipitate him into further degrees of ill. Modesty and fear of shame is one of those natural restraints, which the wisdom of heaven has put upon mankind; and he that once stumbles, may yet by a check of that bridle recover again: but when by a public detection he is fallen under that infamy he feared, he will then be apt to discard all caution, and to think he owes himself the utmost pleasures of vice, as the price of his reputation. Nay, perhaps he advances further, and sets up for a reversed sort of fame, by being eminently wicked, and he who before was but a clandestine disciple, becomes a doctor of impiety, &c. This sort of reasoning, sir, most certainly induced our wise legislators very lately to repeal that law which put the stamp of infamy in the face of felons; therefore you had better give an act of oblivion to your delinquents, at least for transportation, than continue to mark them in so notorious a manner. I cannot but applaud your designed attempt of raising merit from obscurity, celebrating virtue in distress, and attacking vice in another method, by setting innocence in a proper light. Your pursuing these noble themes, will make a greater advance to the reformation you seem to aim at, than the method you have hitherto taken, by putting mankind beyond the power of retrieving themselves, or indeed to think it possible. But if after all your endeavours in this new way, there should then remain any hardened impenitents, you must even give them up to the rigour of the law, as delinquents not within the benefit of their clergy. Pardon me, good Mr. Bickerstaff, for the tediousness of this epistle, and believe it is not from any self-conviction I have taken up so much of your time, or my own; but supposing you mean all your lucubrations should tend to the good of mankind, I may the easier hope your pardon, being,
"Sir, Yours, &c."
#/
_Grecian Coffee-house, Sept. 29._[192]
This evening I thought fit to notify to the literati of this house, and by that means to all the world, that on Saturday the 15th of October next ensuing, I design to fix my first table of fame;[193] and desire that such as are acquainted with the characters of the twelve most famous men that have ever appeared in the world, would send in their lists, or name any one man for that table, assigning also his place at it before that time, upon pain of having such his man of fame postponed, or placed too high for ever. I shall not, upon any application whatsoever, alter the place which upon that day I shall give to any of these worthies. But whereas there are many who take upon them to admire this hero, or that author, upon second-hand, I expect each subscriber should underwrite his reason for the place he allots his candidate.
The thing is of the last consequence; for we are about settling the greatest point that has ever been debated in any age, and I shall take precautions accordingly. Let every man who votes consider, that he is now going to give away that, for which the soldier gave up his rest, his pleasure, and his life; the scholar resigned his whole series of thought, his midnight repose, and his morning slumbers. In a word, he is (as I may say) to be judge of that after-life, which noble spirits prefer to their very real being. I hope I shall be forgiven therefore, if I make some objections against their jury as they shall occur to me. The whole of the number by whom they are to be tried, are to be scholars. I am persuaded also, that Aristotle will be put up by all of that class of men. However, in behalf of others, such as wear the livery of Aristotle, the two famous universities are called upon on this occasion; but I except the men of Queen's, Exeter, and Jesus Colleges,[194] in Oxford, who are not to be electors, because he shall not be crowned from an implicit faith in his writings, but to receive his honour from such judges as shall allow him to be censured. Upon this election (as I was just now going to say) I banish all who think and speak after others to concern themselves in it. For which reason all illiterate distant admirers are forbidden to corrupt the voices, by sending, according to the new mode, any poor students coals and candles for their votes[195] in behalf of such worthies as they pretend to esteem. All news-writers are also excluded, because they consider fame as it is a report which gives foundation to the filling up their rhapsodies, and not as it is the emanation or consequence of good and evil actions. These are excepted against as justly as butchers in case of life and death: their familiarity with the greatest names takes off the delicacy of their regard, as dealing in blood makes the _lanii_ less tender of spilling it.
_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 28._
Letters from Lisbon of the 25th inst., N. S., speak of a battle which has been fought near the river Cinca, in which General Staremberg had overthrown the army of the Duke of Anjou. The persons who send this, excuse their not giving particulars, because they believed an account must have arrived here before we could hear from them. They had advices from different parts, which concurred in the circumstances of the action; after which the army of his Catholic Majesty advanced as far as Fraga, and the enemy retired to Saragossa. There are reports that the Duke of Anjou was in the engagement; but letters of good authority say, that prince was on the road towards the camp when he received the news of the defeat of his troops. We promise ourselves great consequences from such an advantage, obtained by so accomplished a general as Staremberg; who, among the men of this present age, is esteemed the third in military fame and reputation.
FOOTNOTES:
[189] Henry Winstanley, son of Hamlet Winstanley, the projector and builder of Eddystone light-house, was designed for a painter, but became an engraver, and clerk of the works at Audley Inn in 1694, and New-market in 1700. Walpole supposes that he learned in Italy the tricks and contrivances which amused the public at Piccadilly and Littlebury.
Winstanley's mathematical water theatre stood at the lower end of Piccadilly, distinguishable by a windmill at the top. The exhibitions here were diversified to suit the seasons and the company; and the prices, except that of the sixpenny gallery, varied accordingly. Boxes were from four shillings to half-a-crown, pit from three to two shillings, and a seat in the shilling gallery sometimes cost eighteen-pence. The quantity of water used on extraordinary occasions was from 300 to 800 tons. Winstanley had another house of this sort at Littlebury, in Essex, where there were similar exhibitions. On his death, his houses came into the possession of his widow, for whose benefit they were shown in 1713.
From contemporary advertisements we learn, that the mathematical barrel was at times turned into a tavern, and supplied the company with different sorts of wine, biscuits, spa-water, and cold tankards; it was also converted into a coffee-house, and a flying cupid presented tea, coffee, and newspapers to the gentlemen; fruits, flowers, and sweetmeats to the ladies. In the month of May there was the addition of a May-pole and garland, a milkmaid, a fiddler, and syllabubs. Soft music was heard at a distance, or sirens sung on the rocks. An advertisement in the _Daily Courant_ for Jan. 20, 1713, speaks of "great additions, to the expense of 300 tons of water, and fire mingling with the water, and two flying boys, and a flaming torch with water flowing out of the burning flame."
[190] No. 71.
[191] Published in 1674. "The Whole Duty of Man" has been attributed to various authors; but probably it was written by Richard Allestree.
[192] This article is often ascribed to Swift; but looking to the date at the head of it, such a theory seems disproved by Steele's letter to Swift of October 8: "I wonder you do not write sometimes to me" (see note to No. 81). The article cannot have been held over for any time by Steele, because of the allusions in it to the Queenhithe election; this was a matter respecting which Steele had written in the preceding number, whereas Swift could not have heard of it in Dublin.
[193] See Nos. 67, 81.
[194] They were obliged by the statutes of these colleges to keep to Aristotle for their texts (Nichols).
[195] See the account of the Queenhithe election in No. 73.
No. 75. [STEELE and ADDISON.[196]
From _Thursday, Sept. 29_, to _Saturday, Oct. 1, 1709_
_From my own Apartment, Sept. 30._
I am called off from public dissertations by a domestic affair of great importance, which is no less than the disposal of my sister Jenny for life. The girl is a girl of great merit, and pleasing conversation; but I being born of my father's first wife, and she of his third, she converses with me rather like a daughter than a sister. I have indeed told her, that if she kept her honour, and behaved herself in such manner as became the Bickerstaffs, I would get her an agreeable man for her husband; which was a promise I made her after reading a passage in Pliny's Epistles.[197] That polite author had been employed to find out a consort for his friend's daughter, and gives the following character of the man he had pitched upon:
"Aciliano plurimum vigoris et industriæ quanqum in maxima verecundia: est illi facies liberalis, multo sanguine, multo rubore, suffusa: est ingenua totius corporis pulchritudo, et quidum senatorius decor, quæ ego nequaquam arbitror negligenda: debet enim hoc castitati puellarum quasi præmium dari."
"Acilianus (for that was the gentleman's name) is a man of extraordinary vigour and industry, accompanied with the greatest modesty. He has very much of the gentleman, with a lively colour, and flush of health in his aspect. His whole person is finely turned, and speaks him a man of quality: which are qualifications that, I think, ought by no means to be overlooked, and should be bestowed on a daughter as the reward of her chastity."
A woman that will give herself liberties, need not put her parents to so much trouble; for if she does not possess these ornaments in a husband, she can supply herself elsewhere. But this is not the case of my sister Jenny, who, I may say without vanity, is as unspotted a spinster as any in Great Britain. I shall take this occasion to recommend the conduct of our own family in this particular.
We have in the genealogy of our house, the descriptions and pictures of our ancestors from the time of King Arthur; in whose days there was one of my own name, a Knight of his Round Table, and known by the name of Sir Isaac Bickerstaff. He was low of stature, and of a very swarthy complexion, not unlike a Portuguese Jew. But he was more prudent than men of that height usually are, and would often communicate to his friends his design of lengthening and whitening his posterity. His eldest son Ralph, for that was his name, was for this reason married to a lady who had little else to recommend her, but that she was very tall and very fair. The issue of this match, with the help of high shoes, made a tolerable figure in the next age; though the complexion of the family was obscure until the fourth generation from that marriage. From which time, till the reign of William the Conqueror, the females of our house were famous for their needlework and fine skins. In the male line, there happened an unlucky accident in the reign of Richard the Third; the eldest son of Philip, then chief of the family, being born with an hump-back and very high nose. This was the more astonishing, because none of his forefathers ever had such a blemish; nor indeed was there any in the neighbourhood of that make, except the butler, who was noted for round shoulders, and a Roman nose: what made the nose the less excusable, was the remarkable smallness of his eyes.
These several defects were mended by succeeding matches; the eyes were opened in the next generation, and the hump fell in a century and a half; but the greatest difficulty was, how to reduce the nose; which I do not find was accomplished till about the middle of Henry the Seventh's reign, or rather the beginning of that of Henry the Eighth.
But while our ancestors were thus taken up in cultivating the eyes and nose, the face of the Bickerstaffs fell down insensibly into chin; which was not taken notice of (their thoughts being so much employed upon the more noble features) till it became almost too long to be remedied.
But length of time, and successive care in our alliances, have cured this also, and reduced our faces into that tolerable oval which we enjoy at present. I would not be tedious in this discourse, but cannot but observe, that our race suffered very much about three hundred years ago, by the marriage of one of our heiresses with an eminent courtier, who gave us spindle-shanks, and cramps in our bones, insomuch that we did not recover our health and legs till Sir Walter Bickerstaff married Maud the milkmaid, of whom the then Garter King-at-arms (a facetious person) said pleasantly enough, that she had spoiled our blood, but mended our constitutions. After this account of the effect our prudent choice of matches has had upon our persons and features, I cannot but observe, that there are daily instances of as great changes made by marriage upon men's minds and humours. One might wear any passion out of a family by culture, as skilful gardeners blot a colour out of a tulip that hurts its beauty. One might produce an affable temper out of a shrew, by grafting the mild upon the choleric; or raise a Jack-pudding from a prude, by inoculating mirth and melancholy. It is for want of care in the disposing of our children, with regard to our bodies and minds, that we go into a house and see such different complexions and humours in the same race and family. But to me it is as plain as a pikestaff, from what mixture it is, that this daughter silently lowers, the other steals a kind look at you, a third is exactly well behaved, a fourth a splenetic, and a fifth a coquette. In this disposal of my sister, I have chosen, with an eye to her being a wit, and provided, that the bridegroom be a man of a sound and excellent judgment, who will seldom mind what she says when she begins to harangue: for Jenny's only imperfection is an admiration of her parts, which inclines her to be a little, but a very little, sluttish; and you are ever to remark, that we are apt to cultivate most, and bring into observation, what we think most excellent in ourselves, or most capable of improvement. Thus my sister, instead of consulting her glass and her toilet for an hour and a half after her private devotion, sits with her nose full of snuff,[198] and a man's nightcap on her head, reading plays and romances. Her wit she thinks her distinction; therefore knows nothing of the skill of dress, or making her person agreeable. It would make you laugh to see me often with my spectacles on lacing her stays; for she is so very a wit, that she understands no ordinary thing in the world. For this reason I have disposed of her to a man of business, who will soon let her see, that to be well dressed, in good humour, and cheerful in the command of her family, are the arts and sciences of female life. I could have bestowed her upon a fine gentleman, who extremely admired her wit, and would have given her a coach and six: but I found it absolutely necessary to cross the strain; for had they met, they had eternally been rivals in discourse, and in continual contention for the superiority of understanding, and brought forth critics, pedants, or pretty good poets. As it is, I expect an offspring fit for the habitation of city, town, or country; creatures that are docile and tractable in whatever we put them to. To convince men of the necessity of taking this method, let but one, even below the skill of an astrologer, behold the turn of faces he meets as soon as he passes Cheapside Conduit, and you see a deep attention and a certain unthinking sharpness in every countenance. They look attentive, but their thoughts are engaged on mean purposes. To me it is very apparent when I see a citizen pass by, whether his head is upon woollen, silks, iron, sugar, indigo, or stocks. Now this trace of thought appears or lies hid in the race for two or three generations. I know at this time a person of a vast estate, who is the immediate descendant of a fine gentleman, but the great-grandson of a broker, in whom his ancestor is now revived. He is a very honest gentleman in his principles, but can't for his blood talk fairly: he is heartily sorry for it; but he cheats by constitution, and overreaches by instinct.
The happiness of the man who marries my sister will be, that he has no faults to correct in her but her own, a little bias of fancy, or particularity of manners, which grew in herself, and can be amended by her. From such an untainted couple, we can hope to have our family rise to its ancient splendour of face, air, countenance, manner, and shape, without discovering the product of ten nations in one house. There is Obadiah Greenhat says, he never comes into any company in England, but he distinguishes the different nations of which we are composed: there is scarce such a living creature as a true Briton. We sit down indeed all friends, acquaintance, and neighbours; but after two bottles, you see a Dane start up and swear, the kingdom is his own. A Saxon drinks up the whole quart, and swears, he'll dispute that with him. A Norman tells them both, he'll assert his liberty: and a Welshman cries, they are all foreigners and intruders of yesterday, and beats them out of the room. Such accidents happen frequently among neighbours' children, and cousins-german. For which reason I say, study your race, or the soil of your family will dwindle into cits or squires, or run up into wits or madmen[199].
FOOTNOTES:
[196] In the list given by Steele to Tickell this paper was marked as written by Addison and Steele in conjunction.
[197] Book i., Epist. xiv.
[198] See No. 35.
[199] "In the _Tatler_, about the conduct of our family in their marriages [_Tatler_, No. 75], put in where you think best: 'It is to be noted, that the women of our family never change their name.' This amendment must be made, or we have writ nonsense." (No. 79, folio issue.)
No. 76. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Oct. 1_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 4, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, October 3._
It is a thing very much to be lamented, that a man must use a certain cunning to speak to people of what it is their interest to avoid. All men will allow, that it is a great and heroic work to correct men's errors, and at the price of being called a common enemy, to go on in being a common friend to my fellow-subjects and citizens. But I am forced in this work to revolve the same thing in ten thousand lights, and cast them in as many forms, to come at men's minds and affections, in order to lead the innocent in safety, as well as disappoint the artifices of betrayers. Since therefore I can make no impression upon the offending side, I shall turn my observations upon the offended: that is to say, I must whip my children for going into bad company, instead of railing at bad company for ensnaring my children. The greatest misfortunes men fall into, arise from themselves; and that temper, which is called very often, though with great injustice, good-nature, is the source of a numberless train of evils. For which reason we are to take this as a rule, that no action is commendable which is not voluntary; and we have made this a maxim--that man who is commonly called good-natured, is hardly to be thanked for anything he does, because half that is acted about him, is done rather by his sufferance than approbation. It is generally a laziness of disposition, which chooses rather to let things pass the worst way, than to go through the pain of examination. It must be confessed, such a one has so great a benevolence in him, that he bears a thousand uneasinesses, rather than he will incommode others; nay, often when he has just reason to be offended, chooses to sit down with a small injury, than bring it into reprehension, out of pure compassion to the offender. Such a person has it usually said of him, he is no man's enemy but his own; which is in effect saying, he is a friend to every man but himself and his friends: for by a natural consequence of his neglecting himself, he either incapacitates himself to be another's friend, or makes others cease to be his. If I take no care of my own affairs, no man that is my friend can take it ill if I am negligent also of his. This soft disposition, if it continues uncorrected, throws men into a sea of difficulties. There is Euphusius, with all the good qualities in the world, deserves well of nobody: that universal good-will which is so strong in him, exposes him to the assault of every invader upon his time, his conversation, and his property. His diet is butcher's meat, his wenches are in plain pinners and Norwich crapes,[200] his dress like other people, his income great, and yet has he seldom a guinea at command. From these easy gentlemen, are collected estates by servants or gamesters; which latter fraternity are excusable, when we think of this clan, who seem born to be their prey. All therefore of the family of Actæon[201] are to take notice, that they are hereby given up to the brethren of the industry, with this reserve only, that they are to be marked as stricken deer, not for their own sakes, but to preserve the herd from following them and coming within the scent. I am obliged to leave this important subject, without telling whose quarters are severed, who has the humbles, who the haunch, and who the legs, of the last stag that was pulled down; but this is only deferred in hopes my deer will make their escape without more admonitions or examples, of which they have had (in mine and the town's opinion) too great a plenty. I must, I say, at present go to other matters of moment.
_White's Chocolate-house, October 3._
The lady has answered the letter of Mr. Alexander Landlord, which was published on Thursday last,[202] but in such a manner as I do not think fit to proceed in the affair; for she has plainly told him, that love is her design, but marriage her aversion. Bless me! What is this age come to, that people can think to make a pimp of an astronomer? I shall not promote such designs, but shall leave her to find out her admirer, while I speak to another case sent to me by a letter of September 30, subscribed Lovewell Barebones, where the author desires me to suspend my care of the dead, till I have done something for the dying. His case is, that the lady he loves is ever accompanied by a kinswoman, one of those gay, cunning women, who prevent all the love which is not addressed to themselves. This creature takes upon her in his mistress's presence to ask him, whether Mrs. Florimel (that is the cruel one's name) is not very handsome; upon which he looks silly; then they both laugh out, and she will tell him, that Mrs. Florimel had an equal passion for him, but desired him not to expect the first time to be admitted in private; but that now he was at liberty before her only, who was her friend, to speak his mind, and that his mistress expected it. Upon which Florimel acts a virgin-confusion, and with some disorder waits his speech. Here ever follows a deep silence; after which a loud laugh. Mr. Barebones applies himself to me on this occasion. All the advice I can give him is, to find a lover for the confidant, for there is no other bribe will prevail; and I see by her carriage, that it is no hard matter, for she is too gay to have a particular passion, or to want a general one.
Some days ago the town had a full charge laid against my Essays, and printed at large. I altered not one word of what he of the contrary opinion said; but have blotted out some warm things said for me; therefore please to hear the counsel for the defendant, though I shall be so no otherwise than to take a middle way, and, if possible, keep commendations from being insipid to men's taste, or raillery pernicious to their characters.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
_Sept. 30._
"As I always looked upon satire as the best friend to reformation, whilst its lashes were general, so that gentleman[203] must excuse me, if I do not see the inconvenience of a method he is so much concerned at. The errors he assigns in it, I think, are comprised in the desperation men are generally driven to, when by a public detection they fall under the infamy they feared, who otherwise, by checking their bridle, might have recovered their stumble, and through a self-conviction become their own reformers: so he that was before but a clandestine disciple (to use his own quotation), is now become a doctor in impiety, The little success that is to be expected by these methods from a hardened offender, is too evident to insist on; yet it is true, there is a great deal of charity in this sort of reasoning, whilst the effects of those crimes extend not beyond themselves. But what relation has this to your proceedings? It is not a circumstantial guessing will serve turn, for there are more than one to pretend to any of your characters; but there must at least be something that must amount to a nominal description, before even common fame can separate me from the rest of mankind to dart at. A general representation of an action, either ridiculous or enormous, may make those wince who find too much similitude in the character with themselves to plead not guilty; but none but a witness to the crime can charge them with the guilt, whilst the indictment is general, and the offender has the asylum of the whole world to protect him. Here can then be no injustice, where no one is injured; for it is themselves must appropriate the saddle, before scandal can ride them. Your method then, in my opinion, is no way subject to the charge brought against it; but on the contrary, I believe this advantage is too often drawn from it, that whilst we laugh at, or detest the uncertain subject of the satire, we often find something in the error a parallel to ourselves; and being insensibly drawn to the comparison we would get rid of, we plunge deeper into the mire, and shame produces that which advice has been too weak for; and you, sir, get converts you never thought of. As for descending to characters below the dignity of satire, what men think are not beneath commission, I must assure him, I think are not beneath reproof: for as there is as much folly in a ridiculous deportment, as there is enormity in a criminal one, so neither the one nor the other ought to plead exemption. The kennel of curs are as much enemies to the state, as Gregg[204] for his confederacy; for as this betrayed our Government, so the other does our property, and one without the other is equally useless. As for the act of oblivion he so strenuously insists on, _Le Roi s'avisera_ is a fashionable answer; and for his modus of panegyric, the hint was unnecessary, where Virtue need never ask twice for her laurel. But as for his reformation by opposites, I again must ask his pardon, if I think the effects of these sort of reasonings (by the paucity of converts) are too great an argument, both of their imbecility and unsuccessfulness, to believe it will be any better than misspending of time, by suspending a method that will turn more to advantage, and which has no other danger of losing ground, but by discontinuance. And as I am certain (of what he supposes) that your lucubrations are intended for the public benefit, so I hope you will not give them so great an interruption, by laying aside the only method that can render you beneficial to mankind, and (among others) agreeable to,
"Sir, Your humble Servant, &c."[205]
_St. James's Coffee-house, October 3._
Letters from the camp at Havre on the 7th instant, N.S., advise, that the trenches were opened before Mons on the 27th of last month, and the approaches were carried on at two attacks with great application and success, notwithstanding the rains which had fallen; that the besiegers had made themselves masters of several redoubts, and other outworks, and had advanced the approaches within ten paces of the counterscarps of the hornwork. Lieutenant-General Cadogan received a slight wound in the neck soon after opening the trenches.
The enemy were throwing up entrenchments between Quesnoy and Valenciennes, and the Chevalier de Luxemburg was encamped near Charleroi with a body of 10,000 men. Advices from Catalonia by the way of Genoa import, that Count Staremberg, having passed the Segra, advanced towards Balaguier, which place he took after a few hours' resistance, and made the garrison, consisting of three Spanish battalions, prisoners of war. Letters from Berne say, that the army under the command of Count Thaun had begun to repass the mountains, and would shortly evacuate Savoy.
* * * * *
Whereas Mr. Bickerstaff has received intelligence, that a young gentleman, who has taken my discourses upon John Partridge and others in too literal a sense, and is suing an elder brother to an ejectment; the aforesaid young gentleman is hereby advised to drop his action, no man being esteemed dead in law, who eats and drinks, and receives his rents.
FOOTNOTES:
[200] A reversible dress material of mingled silk and worsted, produced at Norwich, and therefore called Norwich crape. It attained such popularity early in the present century, says Beck's "Drapers' Dictionary," that it superseded bombazine.
[201] See No. 59.
[202] See No. 74.
[203] See _Tatler_, No. 74, Sept. 29 (Steele).
[204] William Gregg, a clerk in Harley's office, was detected in a treasonable correspondence with the French Government, and was executed. He left behind him a paper exonerating Harley, who had been suspected of complicity.
[205] This letter may, as Nichols suggested, be by John Hughes. See letters in Nos. 64, 66, and 73.
No. 77. [STEELE.[206]
From _Tuesday, Oct. 4_, to _Thursday, Oct. 6, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, October 5._
As bad as the world is, I find by very strict observation upon virtue and vice, that if men appeared no worse than they really are, I should have less work than at present I am obliged to undertake for their reformation.
They have generally taken up a kind of inverted ambition, and affect even faults and imperfections of which they are innocent. The other day in a coffee-house I stood by a young heir, with a fresh, sanguine, and healthy look, who entertained us with an account of his claps and his diet-drink; though, to my knowledge, he is as sound as any of his tenants. This worthy youth put me into reflections upon that subject; and I observed the fantastical humour to be so general, that there is hardly a man who is not more or less tainted with it. The first of this order of men are the valetudinarians, who are never in health, but complain of want of stomach or rest every day till noon, and then devour all which comes before them. Lady Dainty[207] is convinced, that it is necessary for a gentlewoman to be out of order; and to preserve that character, she dines every day in her closet at twelve, that she may become her table at two, and be unable to eat in public. About five years ago, I remember it was the fashion to be short-sighted: a man would not own an acquaintance until he had first examined him with his glass. At a lady's entrance into the play-house, you might see tubes immediately levelled at her from every quarter of the pit and side-boxes.[208] However, that mode of infirmity is out, and the age has recovered its sight; but the blind seem to be succeeded by the lame, and a jaunty limp is the present beauty. I think I have formerly observed, a cane is part of the dress of a prig, and always worn upon a button, for fear he should be thought to have an occasion for it, or be esteemed really, and not genteelly, a cripple. I have considered, but could never find out the bottom of this vanity. I indeed have heard of a Gascon general, who, by the lucky grazing of a bullet on the roll of his stocking, took occasion to halt all his life after. But as for our peaceable cripples, I know no foundation for their behaviour, without it may be supposed that in this warlike age, some think a cane the next honour to a wooden leg. This sort of affectation I have known run from one limb or member to another. Before the limpers came in, I remember a race of lispers, fine persons, who took an aversion to particular letters in our language: some never uttered the letter H; and others had as mortal an aversion for S. Others have had their fashionable defect in their ears, and would make you repeat all you said twice over. I know an ancient friend of mine, whose table is every day surrounded with flatterers, that makes use of this, sometimes as a piece of grandeur, and at others as an art, to make them repeat their commendations. Such affectations have been indeed in the world in ancient times; but they fell into them out of politic ends. Alexander the Great had a wry neck, which made it the fashion in his court to carry their heads on one side when they came into the presence. One who thought to outshine the whole court, carried his head so very complaisantly, that this martial prince gave him so great a box on the ear as set all the heads of the court upright.
This humour takes place in our minds as well as bodies. I know at this time a young gentleman, who talks atheistically all day in coffee-houses, and in his degrees of understanding sets up for a free-thinker; though it can be proved upon him, he says his prayers every morning and evening. But this class of modern wits I shall reserve for a chapter by itself. Of the like turn are all your marriage-haters, who rail at the noose, at the words, "For ever and aye," and are secretly pining for some young thing or other that makes their hearts ache by her refusal. The next to these, are those who pretend to govern their wives, and boast how ill they use them; when at the same time, go to their houses, and you shall see them step as if they feared making a noise, and are as fond as an alderman. I don't know, but sometimes these pretences may arise from a desire to conceal a contrary defect than that they set up for. I remember, when I was a young fellow, we had a companion of a very fearful complexion, who, when we sat in to drink, would desire us to take his sword from him when he grew fuddled, for it was his misfortune to be quarrelsome. There are many, many of these evils, which demand my observation; but because I have of late been thought somewhat too satirical, I shall give them warning, and declare to the whole world, that they are not true, but false hypocrites; and make it out, that they are good men in their hearts. The motive of this monstrous affectation in the above-mentioned, and the like particulars, I take to proceed from that noble thirst of fame and reputation which is planted in the hearts of all men. As this produces elegant writings and gallant actions in men of great abilities, it also brings forth spurious productions in men who are not capable of distinguishing themselves by things which are really praiseworthy. As the desire of fame in men of true wit and gallantry shows itself in proper instances, the same desire in men who have the ambition without proper faculties, runs wild, and discovers itself in a thousand extravagancies, by which they would signalise themselves from others, and gain a set of admirers. When I was a middle-aged man, there were many societies of ambitious young men in England, who, in their pursuits after fame, were every night employed in roasting porters, smoking cobblers, knocking down watchmen, overturning constables, breaking windows, blackening sign-posts, and the like immortal enterprises, that dispersed their reputation throughout the whole kingdom. One could hardly find a knocker at a door in a whole street after a midnight expedition of these _beaux esprits_. I was lately very much surprised by an account of my maid, who entered my bedchamber this morning in a very great fright, and told me, she was afraid my parlour was haunted; for that she had found several panes of my windows broken, and the floor strewed with halfpence.[209] I have not yet a full light into this new way, but am apt to think, that it is a generous piece of wit that some of my contemporaries make use of, to break windows, and leave money to pay for them.
_St. James's Coffee-house, October 5._
I have no manner of news, more than what the whole town had the other day; except that I have the original letter of the Mareschal Bouffiers to the French King, after the late battle in the woods, which I translate for the benefit of the English reader.
"SIR,
"This is to let your Majesty understand, that, to your immortal honour, and the destruction of the confederates, your troops have lost another battle. Artagnan did wonders, Rohan performed miracles, Guiche did wonders, Gattion performed miracles, the whole army distinguished themselves, and everybody did wonders. And to conclude the wonders of the day, I can assure your Majesty, that though you have lost the field of battle, you have not lost an inch of ground. The enemy marched behind us with respect, and we ran away from them as bold as lions."
Letters have been sent to Mr. Bickerstaff, relating to the present state of the town of Bath, wherein the people of that place have desired him to call home the physicians. All gentlemen therefore of that profession are hereby directed to return forthwith to their places of practice; and the stage-coaches are required to take them in before other passengers, till there shall be a certificate signed by the Mayor or Mr. Powell,[210] that there are but two doctors to one patient left in town.
FOOTNOTES:
[206] In No. 78 of the folio issue two corrections in this number are introduced by the following words: "Having these moon-shining nights been much taken up with my astronomical observations, I could not attend to the press so carefully as I ought, by which means more than ordinary _errata_ have crept into my writings, even to the making of false English."
Looking to Addison's care in revising his work in the _Spectator_ and elsewhere, and to Steele's indifference in such matters, Nichols concluded that Addison probably had some part in the preparation of this number.
[207] The name of an affected lady in Colley Cibber's "Double Gallant; or, Sick Lady's Cure" (1707).
[208] See No. 50, note.
[209] Breaking windows with halfpence was a favourite pastime with the "Nickers." See Gay's "Trivia," iii. 323:--
"His scattered pence the flying Nicker flings, And with the copper shower the casement rings."
No. 78. [STEELE.[211]
From _Thursday, Oct. 6_, to _Saturday, Oct. 8, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, October 7._
As your painters, who deal in history-pieces, often entertain themselves upon broken sketches, and smaller flourishes of the pencil; so I find some relief in striking out miscellaneous hints, and sudden starts of fancy, without any order or connection, after having spent myself on more regular and elaborate dissertations. I am at present in this easy state of mind, sat down to my scrutoire; where, for the better disposition of my correspondence, I have writ upon every drawer the proper title of its contents, as hypocrisy, dice, patches, politics, love, duels, and so forth. My various advices are ranged under such several heads, saving only that I have a particular box for Pacolet, and another for Monoculus.[212] I cannot but observe, that my duel-box, which is filled by the lettered men of honour, is so very ill-spelt, that it is hard to decipher their writings. My love-box, though on a quite contrary subject, filled with the works of the fairest hands in Great Britain, is almost as unintelligible. The private drawer, which is sacred to politics, has in it some of the most refined panegyrics and satires that any age has produced. I have now before me several recommendations for places at my table of fame: three of them are of an extraordinary nature, in which I find I am misunderstood, and shall therefore beg leave to produce them. They are from a Quaker, a courtier, and a citizen.
"ISAAC,
"Thy lucubrations, as thou lovest to call them, have been perused by several of our friends, who have taken offence: forasmuch as thou excludest out of the brotherhood all persons who are praiseworthy for religion, we are afraid that thou wilt fill thy table with none but heathens, and cannot hope to spy a brother there; for there are none of us who can be placed among murdering heroes, or ungodly wits; since we do not assail our enemies with the arm of flesh, nor our gainsayers with the vanity of human wisdom. If therefore thou wilt demean thyself on this occasion with a right judgment, according to the gifts that are in thee, we desire thou wilt place James Nayler[213] at the upper end of thy table.
"EZEKIEL STIFFRUMP."
In answer to my good friend Ezekiel, I must stand to it, that I cannot break my rule for the sake of James Nayler; not knowing, whether Alexander the Great, who is a choleric hero, won't resent his sitting at the upper end of the table with his hat on.
But to my courtier:
"SIR,
"I am surprised, that you lose your time in complimenting the dead, when you may make your court to the living. Let me only tell you in the ear, Alexander and Cæsar (as generous as they were formerly) have not now a groat to dispose of. Fill your table with good company: I know a person of quality that shall give you £100 for a place at it. Be secret, and be rich.
"Yours, You know my hand."
This gentleman seems to have the true spirit, without the formality of an under courtier; therefore I shall be plain with him, and let him leave the name of his courtier, and £100 in Morphew's hands: if I can take it, I will.
My citizen writes the following:
"Mr. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF,
"SIR,
"Your _Tatler_ of September 13,[214] am now reading, and in your list of famous men, desire you not forget Alderman Whittington, who began the world with a cat, and died worth three hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling, which he left to an only daughter, three years after his Mayoralty. If you want any further particulars of ditto Alderman, daughter, or cat, let me know, and per first will advise the needful. Which concludes,
"Your loving Friend, LEMUEL LEDGER."
I shall have all due regard to this gentleman's recommendation; but cannot forbear observing, how wonderfully this sort of style is adapted for the despatch of business, by leaving out insignificant particles: besides that, the dropping of the first person is an artful way to disengage a man from the guilt of rash words or promises. But I am to consider, that a citizen's reputation is credit, not fame; and am to leave these lofty subjects for a matter of private concern in the next letter before me.
"SIR,
"I am just recovered out of a languishing sickness by the care of Hippocrates,[215] who visited me throughout my whole illness, and was so far from taking any fee, that he inquired into my circumstances, and would have relieved me also that way, but I did not want it. I know no method of thanking him, but recommending it to you to celebrate so great humanity in the manner you think fit, and to do it with the spirit and sentiments of a man just relieved from grief, misery, and pain; to joy, satisfaction, and ease: in which you will represent the grateful sense of
"Your obedient Servant, T. B."
I think the writer of this letter has put the matter in as good a dress as I can for him; yet I cannot but add my applause to what this distressed man has said. There is not a more useful man in a commonwealth than a good physician; and by consequence no worthier a person than he that uses his skill with generosity, even to persons of condition, and compassion to those who are in want: which is the behaviour of Hippocrates, who shows as much liberality in his practice, as he does wit in his conversation and skill in his profession. A wealthy doctor, who can help a poor man, and will not without a fee, has less sense of humanity than a poor ruffian, who kills a rich man to supply his necessities. It is something monstrous to consider a man of a liberal education tearing out the bowels of a poor family, by taking for a visit what would keep them a week. Hippocrates needs not the comparison of such extortion to set off his generosity; but I mention his generosity to add shame to such extortion.
* * * * *
This is to give notice to all ingenious gentlemen in and about the cities of London and Westminster, who have a mind to be instructed in the noble sciences of music, poetry, and politics, that they repair to the Smyrna Coffee-house[216] in Pall Mall, betwixt the hours of eight and ten at night, where they may be instructed gratis, with elaborate essays by word of mouth on all or any of the above-mentioned arts. The disciples are to prepare their bodies with three dishes of Bohea, and purge their brains with two pinches of snuff. If any young student gives indication of parts, by listening attentively, or asking a pertinent question, one of the professors shall distinguish him, by taking snuff out of his box in the presence of the whole audience.
* * * * *
_N.B._--The seat of learning is now removed from the corner of the chimney on the left-hand towards the window, to the round table in the middle of the floor over against the fire; a revolution much lamented by the porters and chairmen, who were much edified through a pane of glass that remained broken all the last summer.
* * * * *
I cannot forbear advertising my correspondents, that I think myself treated by some of them after too familiar a manner, and in phrases that neither become them to give, or me to take. I shall therefore desire for the future, that if any one returns me an answer to a letter, he will not tell me he has received the favour of my letter; but if he does not think fit to say, he has received the honour of it, that he tell me in plain English, he has received my letter of such a date. I must likewise insist, that he would conclude with, "I am with great respect," or plainly, "I am," without further addition; and not insult me, by an assurance of his being with "great truth" and "esteem" my humble servant. There is likewise another mark of superiority which I cannot bear, and therefore must inform my correspondents, that I discard all "faithful" humble servants, and am resolved to read no letters that are not subscribed, "Your most obedient," or "most humble Servant," or both. These may appear niceties to vulgar minds, but they are such as men of honour and distinction must have regard to. And I very well remember a famous duel in France, where four were killed of one side, and three of the other, occasioned by a gentleman's subscribing himself a "most affectionate Friend."
_One in the Morning, of the 8th of Oct. 1709._
I was this night looking on the moon, and find by certain signs in that luminary, that a certain person under her dominion, who has been for many years distempered, will within few hours publish a pamphlet, wherein he will pretend to give my lucubrations to a wrong person;[217] and I require all sober-disposed persons to avoid meeting the said lunatic, or giving him any credence any further than pity demands; and to lock up the said person wherever they find him, keeping him from pen, ink, and paper. And I hereby prohibit any person to take upon him my writings, on pain of being sent by me into Lethe with the said lunatic and all his works.
FOOTNOTES:
[210] The puppet-show man.
[211] The corrections noted in the following number of the folio issue suggest that Addison contributed towards this paper.
[212] See Nos. 36 and 73.
[213] James Nayler, the Quaker, was born about 1617. Enthusiasts proclaimed that he possessed supernatural powers, and he was convicted of blasphemy, and was pilloried and whipped. Nayler himself only said that "Christ was in him," but his followers worshipped him as God. He died in 1660.
[214] No. 67.
[215] Perhaps Sir Samuel Garth (died 1719), the author of the mock-heroic poem, "The Dispensary."
[216] See No. 10.
[217] The reference here is not, as Nichols suggested, to the "Annotations on the _Tatler_," by "Walter Wagstaff, Esq.," because the writer of that work refers clearly to Steele as author of the _Tatler_, and because the book was not published until August 1710. The First Part, price 1s., was advertised in the _Post Man_ and _Post Boy_ for August 31 to September 2, 1710, and Part II. was advertised as published that day in the _Daily Courant_ for September 20, 1710.
No. 79. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Oct. 8_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 11, 1709_.
Felices ter, et amplius, Quos irrupta tenet copula; nec malis Divulsus querimoniis Supremâ citius solvet amor die.
HOR., I Od. xiii. 17.
_From my own Apartment, October 10._
My sister Jenny's lover, the honest Tranquillus (for that shall be his name), has been impatient with me to despatch the necessary directions for his marriage; that while I am taken up with imaginary schemes (as he called them) he might not burn with real desire, and the torture of expectation. When I had reprimanded him for the ardour wherein he expressed himself, which I thought had not enough of that veneration with which the marriage-bed is to be ascended, I told him, the day of his nuptials should be on the Saturday following, which was the 8th instant. On the 7th in the evening, poor Jenny came into my chamber, and having her heart full of the great change of life from a virgin condition to that of a wife, she long sat silent. I saw she expected me to entertain her on this important subject, which was too delicate a circumstance for herself to touch upon; whereupon I relieved her modesty in the following manner: "Sister," said I, "you are now going from me; and be contented, that you leave the company of a talkative old man, for that of a sober young one: but take this along with you, that there is no mean in the state you are entering into, but you are to be exquisitely happy or miserable, and your fortune in this way of life will be wholly of your own making. In all the marriages I have ever seen (most of which have been unhappy ones), the great cause of evil has proceeded from slight occasions; and I take it to be the first maxim in a married condition, that you are to be above trifles. When two persons have so good an opinion of each other as to come together for life, they will not differ in matters of importance, because they think of each other with respect in regard to all things of consideration that may affect them, and are prepared for mutual assistance and relief in such occurrences; but for less occasions, they have formed no resolutions, but leave their minds unprepared. This, dear Jenny, is the reason that the quarrel between Sir Harry Willit and his lady, which began about her squirrel, is irreconcilable: Sir Harry was reading a grave author; she runs into his study, and in a playing humour, claps the squirrel upon the folio. He threw the animal in a rage on the floor; she snatches it up again, calls Sir Harry a sour pedant, without good nature or good manners. This cast him into such a rage, that he threw down the table before him, kicked the book round the room; then recollected himself: 'Lord, Madam,' said he, 'why did you run into such expressions? I was,' said he, 'in the highest delight with that author when you clapped your squirrel upon my book;' and smiling, added upon recollection, 'I have a great respect for your favourite, and pray let us all be friends.' My lady was so far from accepting this apology, that she immediately conceived a resolution to keep him under for ever, and with a serious air replied, 'There is no regard to be had to what a man says, who can fall into so indecent a rage, and such an abject submission, in the same moment, for which I absolutely despise you.' Upon which she rushed out of the room. Sir Harry stayed some minutes behind to think and command himself; after which he followed her into her bedchamber, where she was prostrate upon the bed, tearing her hair, and naming twenty coxcombs who would have used her otherwise. This provoked him to so high a degree, that he forbore nothing but beating her; and all the servants in the family were at their several stations listening, while the best man and woman, the best master and mistress, defamed each other in a way that is not to be repeated even at Billingsgate. You know this ended in an immediate separation: she longs to return home, but knows not how to do it: he invites her home every day, and lies with every woman he can get. Her husband requires no submission of her; but she thinks her very return will argue she is to blame, which she is resolved to be for ever, rather than acknowledge it. Thus, dear Jenny, my great advice to you is, be guarded against giving or receiving little provocations. Great matters of offence I have no reason to fear either from you or your husband." After this, we turned our discourse into a more gay style, and parted: but before we did so, I made her resign her snuff-box[218] for ever, and half drown herself with washing away the stench of the musty.[219] But the wedding morning arrived, and our family being very numerous, there was no avoiding the inconvenience of making the ceremony and festival more public than the modern way of celebrating them makes me approve of. The bride next morning came out of her chamber, dressed with all the art and care that Mrs. Toilet the tire-woman could bestow on her. She was on her wedding-day three and twenty: her person is far from what we call a regular beauty; but a certain sweetness in her countenance, an ease in her shape and motion, with an unaffected modesty in her looks, had attractions beyond what symmetry and exactness can inspire without the addition of these endowments. When her lover entered the room, her features flushed with shame and joy; and the ingenuous manner, so full of passion and of awe, with which Tranquillus approached to salute her, gave me good omens of his future behaviour towards her. The wedding was wholly under my care. After the ceremony at church, I was resolved to entertain the company with a dinner suitable to the occasion, and pitched upon the Apollo,[220] at the Old Devil at Temple Bar, as a place sacred to mirth, tempered with discretion, where Ben Jonson and his "sons" used to make their liberal meetings. Here the chief of the Staffian race appeared; and as soon as the company were come into that ample room, Lepidus Wagstaff began to make me compliments for choosing that place, and fell into a discourse upon the subject of pleasure and entertainment, drawn from the rules of Ben's Club,[221] which are in gold letters over the chimney. Lepidus has a way very uncommon, and speaks on subjects, on which any man else would certainly offend, with great dexterity. He gave us a large account of the public meetings of all the well-turned minds who had passed through this life in ages past, and closed his pleasing narrative with a discourse on marriage, and a repetition of the following verses out of Milton:--
_Hail wedded love! mysterious law! true source Of human offspring, sole propriety In Paradise, of all things common else. By thee adult'rous lust was driven from men Among the bestial herds to range; by thee, Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, Relations dear, and all the charities Of father, son, and brother, first were known, Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets, Whose bed is undefiled, and chaste pronounced, Present or past, as saints or patriarchs used. Here Love his golden shafts employs; here lights His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings: Reigns here, and revels not in the bought smile Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared, Casual fruition; nor in court amours, Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, Or serenade, which the starved lover sings To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain._[222]
In these verses, all the images that can come into a young woman's head on such an occasion, are raised; but that in so chaste and elegant a manner, that the bride thanked him for his agreeable talk, and we sat down to dinner. Among the rest of the company, there was got in a fellow you call a wag. This ingenious person is the usual life of all feasts and merriments, by speaking absurdities, and putting everybody of breeding and modesty out of countenance. As soon as we sat down, he drank to the bride's diversion that night, and then made twenty double meanings on the word thing. We are the best bred family, for one so numerous, in this kingdom; and indeed we should all of us have been as much out of countenance as the bride, but that we were relieved by an honest rough relation of ours at the lower end of the table, who is a lieutenant of marines.
This soldier and sailor had good plain sense, and saw what was wrong as well as another; he had a way of looking at his plate, and speaking aloud in an inward manner; and whenever the wag mentioned the word "thing," or the words "that same," the lieutenant in that voice cried, "Knock him down." The merry man wondering, angry, and looking round, was the diversion of the table. When he offered to recover, and say, "To the bride's best thoughts," "Knock him down," says the lieutenant, and so on. This silly humour diverted, and saved us from the fulsome entertainment of an ill-bred coxcomb, and the bride drank the lieutenant's health. We returned to my lodging, and Tranquillus led his wife to her apartment, without the ceremony of throwing the stocking, which generally costs two or three maidenheads without any ceremony at all.
FOOTNOTES:
[218] See No. 35.
[219] See No. 27.
[220] The great room in the Devil Tavern.
[221] The "Leges Convivales," printed in Jonson's "Works," were engraved in gold on a wooden panel.
[222] "Paradise Lost," iv. 750.
No. 80. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Oct. 11_, to _Thursday, Oct. 13, 1709_.
_Grecian Coffee-house, October 12._
This learned Board has complained to me of the exorbitant price of late years put upon books, and consequently on learning, which has raised the reward demanded by learned men for their advice and labour.[223]
In order to regulate and fix a standard in these matters, divines, physicians, and lawyers have sent in large proposals, which are of great light and instruction. From the perusal of these memorials, I am come to this immediate resolution, till I have leisure to treat the matter at large, viz., in divinity, Fathers shall be valued according to their antiquity, schoolmen by the pound weight, and sermons by their goodness. In my own profession, which is mostly physic, authors shall be rated according to their language. The Greek is so rarely understood, and the English so well, I judge them of no value, so that only Latin shall bear a price, and that too according to its purity, and as it serves best for prescription. In law, the value must be set according to the intricacy and obscurity of the author, and blackness of the letter; provided always, that the binding be of calves-skin. This method I shall settle also with relation to all other writings; insomuch that even these our lucubrations, though hereafter printed by Aldus, Elzevir, or Stephanus, shall not advance above one single penny.
_White's Chocolate-house, October 12._
It will be allowed me, that I have all along showed great respect in matters which concern the fair sex; but the inhumanity with which the author of the following letter has been used, is not to be suffered.
"SIR,
_October 9._
"Yesterday I had the misfortune to drop in at my Lady Haughty's upon her visiting day. When I entered the room where she receives company, they all stood up indeed; but they stood as if they were to stare at, rather than to receive me. After a long pause, a servant brought a round stool, on which I sat down at the lower end of the room, in the presence of no less than twelve persons, gentlemen and ladies, lolling in elbow-chairs. And to complete my disgrace, my mistress was of the society. I tried to compose myself in vain, not knowing how to dispose of either my legs or arms, nor how to shape my countenance; the eyes of the whole room being still upon me in a profound silence. My confusion at last was so great, that without speaking, or being spoken to, I fled for it, and left the assembly to treat me at their discretion. A lecture from you upon these inhuman distinctions in a free nation, will, I doubt not, prevent the like evils for the future, and make it, as we say, as cheap sitting as standing. I am with the greatest respect,
"Sir, Your most humble, and Most obedient Servant, J. R."
"_P.S._--I had almost forgot to inform you, that a fair young lady sat in an armless chair upon my right hand with manifest discontent in her looks."
Soon after the receipt of this epistle, I heard a very gentle knock at my door: my maid went down, and brought up word, that a tall, lean, black man, well dressed, who said he had not the honour to be acquainted with me, desired to be admitted. I bid her show him up, met him at my chamber door, and then fell back a few paces. He approached me with great respect, and told me with a low voice, he was the gentleman that had been seated upon the round stool. I immediately recollected that there was a joint-stool in my chamber, which I was afraid he might take for an instrument of distinction, and therefore winked at my boy to carry it into my closet. I then took him by the hand, and led him to the upper end of my room, where I placed him in my great elbow-chair; at the same time drawing another without arms to it, for myself to sit by him. I then asked him, at what time this misfortune befell him? He answered, between the hours of seven and eight in the evening. I further demanded of him, what he had eaten or drunk that day? He replied, nothing but a dish of water-gruel, with a few plums in it. In the next place I felt his pulse, which was very low and languishing. These circumstances confirmed me in an opinion which I had entertained upon the first reading of his letter, that the gentleman was far gone in the spleen. I therefore advised him to rise the next morning and plunge into the cold bath, there to remain under water until he was almost drowned. This I ordered him to repeat six days successively; and on the seventh, to repair at the wonted hour to my Lady Haughty's, and to acquaint me afterwards with what he shall meet with there; and particularly to tell me, whether he shall think they stared upon him so much as the time before. The gentleman smiled; and by his way of talking to me, showed himself a man of excellent sense in all particulars, unless when a cane chair, a round or a joint stool, were spoken of. He opened his heart to me at the same time concerning several other grievances; such as, being overlooked in public assemblies, having his bows unanswered, being helped last at table, and placed at the back part of a coach; with many other distresses, which have withered his countenance, and worn him to a skeleton. Finding him a man of reason, I entered into the bottom of his distemper. "Sir," said I, "there are more of your constitution in this island of Great Britain than in any other part of the world; and I beg the favour of you to tell me, whether you do not observe, that you meet with most affronts in rainy days." He answered candidly, that he had long observed, that people were less saucy in sunshine than in cloudy weather. Upon which I told him plainly, his distemper was the spleen; and that though the world was very ill-natured, it was not so bad as he believed it. I further assured him, that his use of the cold bath, with a course of steel which I should prescribe him, would certainly cure most of his acquaintance of their rudeness, ill-behaviour, and impertinence. My patient smiled, and promised to observe my prescriptions, not forgetting to give me an account of their operation. This distemper being pretty epidemical, I shall, for the benefit of mankind, give the public an account of the progress I make in the cure of it.
_From my own Apartment, October 12._
The author of the following letter behaves himself so ingenuously, that I cannot defer answering him any longer.
"HONOURED SIR,
_October 6._
"I have lately contracted a very honest and undissembled claudication in my left foot, which will be a double affliction to me, if (according to your _Tatler_ of this day[224]) it must pass upon the world for a piece of singularity and affectation. I must therefore humbly beg leave to limp along the streets after my own way, or I shall be inevitably ruined in coach-hire. As soon as I am tolerably recovered, I promise to walk as upright as a ghost in a tragedy, being not of a stature to spare an inch of height that I can any way pretend to. I honour your lucubrations, and am, with the most profound submission,
"Honoured Sir, Your most dutiful and Most obedient Servant, &c."
Not doubting but the case is as the gentleman represents, I do hereby order Mr. Morphew to deliver him out a licence, upon paying his fees, which shall empower him to wear a cane till the 13th of March next; five months being the most I can allow for a sprain.
_St. James's Coffee-house, October 12._
We received this morning a mail from Holland, which brings advice, that the siege of Mons is carried on with so great vigour and bravery, that we hope very suddenly to be masters of the place. All things necessary being prepared for making the assault on the hornwork and ravelin of the attack of Bertamont, the charge began with the fire of bombs and grenades, which was so hot, that the enemy quitted their post, and we lodged ourselves on those works without opposition. During this storm, one of our bombs fell into a magazine of the enemy, and blew it up. There are advices which say, the court of France had made new offers of peace to the confederates; but this intelligence wants confirmation.
FOOTNOTES:
[223] By the Copyright Act of 1709 (8 Anne, c. 19) the authors of books already printed who had not transferred their rights, and the booksellers who had purchased them, were vested with the sole right of printing them for twenty-one years; and the authors of books not printed, and their assigns, for fourteen years, with a further eventual term of fourteen years in case such authors should be living at the expiration of the first term.
[224] No. 77.
No. 81. [STEELE and ADDISON.[225]
From _Thursday, Oct. 13_, to _Saturday, Oct. 15, 1709_.
Hic manus, ob patriam pugnando vulnera passi,... Quique pii vates, et Phæbo digna locuti, Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per artes, Quique sui memores alios fecere merendo.
VIRG., Æn. vi. 660.
_From my own Apartment, October 14._
There are two kinds of immortality: that which the soul really enjoys after this life, and that imaginary existence by which men live in their fame and reputation. The best and greatest actions have proceeded from the prospect of the one or the other of these; but my design is to treat only of those who have chiefly proposed to themselves the latter as the principal reward of their labours. It was for this reason that I excluded from my tables of fame all the great founders and votaries of religion; and it is for this reason also that I am more than ordinarily anxious to do justice to the persons of whom I am now going to speak; for since fame was the only end of all their enterprises and studies, a man cannot be too scrupulous in allotting them their due proportion of it. It was this consideration which made me call the whole body of the learned to my assistance; to many of whom I must own my obligations for the catalogues of illustrious persons which they have sent me in upon this occasion. I yesterday employed the whole afternoon in comparing them with each other; which made so strong an impression upon my imagination, that they broke my sleep for the first part of the following night, and at length threw me into a very agreeable vision, which I shall beg leave to describe in all its particulars.
I dreamed that I was conveyed into a wide and boundless plain, that was covered with prodigious multitudes of people, which no man could number. In the midst of it there stood a mountain, with its head above the clouds. The sides were extremely steep, and of such a particular structure, that no creature, which was not made in a human figure, could possibly ascend it. On a sudden there was heard from the top of it a sound like that of a trumpet; but so exceeding sweet and harmonious, that it filled the hearts of those who heard it with raptures, and gave such high and delightful sensations, as seemed to animate and raise human nature above itself. This made me very much amazed to find so very few in that innumerable multitude who had ears fine enough to hear or relish this music with pleasure: but my wonder abated, when, upon looking round me, I saw most of them attentive to three sirens clothed like goddesses, and distinguished by the names of Sloth, Ignorance, and Pleasure. They were seated on three rocks, amidst a beautiful variety of groves, meadows, and rivulets, that lay on the borders of the mountain. While the base and grovelling multitude of different nations, ranks, and ages were listening to these delusive deities, those of a more erect aspect and exalted spirit separated themselves from the rest, and marched in great bodies towards the mountain; from whence they heard the sound, which still grew sweeter the more they listened to it.
On a sudden, methought this select band sprang forward with a resolution to climb the ascent, and follow the call of that heavenly music. Every one took something with him that he thought might be of assistance to him in his march. Several had their swords drawn, some carried rolls of paper in their hands, some had compasses, others quadrants, others telescopes, and others pencils; some had laurels on their heads, and others buskins on their legs: in short, there was scarce any instrument of a mechanic art or liberal science which was not made use of on this occasion. My good demon, who stood at my right hand during the course of this whole vision, observing in me a burning desire to join that glorious company, told me, he highly approved that generous ardour with which I seemed transported; but at the same time advised me to cover my face with a mask all the while I was to labour on the ascent. I took his counsel without inquiring into his reasons. The whole body now broke into different parties, and began to climb the precipice by ten thousand different paths. Several got into little alleys, which did not reach far up the hill, before they ended and led no farther; and I observed, that most of the artisans, which considerably diminished our number, fell into these paths. We left another considerable body of adventurers behind us, who thought they had discovered byways up the hill, which proved so very intricate and perplexed, that after having advanced in them a little, they were quite lost among the several turns and windings; and though they were as active as any in their motions, they made but little progress in the ascent. These, as my guide informed me, were men of subtle tempers, and puzzled politics, who would supply the place of real wisdom with cunning and artifice. Among those who were far advanced in their way, there were some that by one false step fell backward, and lost more ground in a moment than they had gained for many hours, or could be ever able to recover. We were now advanced very high, and observed, that all the different paths which ran about the sides of the mountain, began to meet in two great roads, which insensibly gathered the whole multitude of travellers into two great bodies. At a little distance from the entrance of each road, there stood a hideous phantom, that opposed our farther passage. One of these apparitions had his right hand filled with darts, which he brandished in the face of all who came up that way. Crowds ran back at the appearance of it, and cried out, "Death." The spectre that guarded the other road was Envy: she was not armed with weapons of destruction like the former; but by dreadful hissings, noises of reproach, and a horrid distracted laughter; she appeared more frightful than Death itself, insomuch that abundance of our company were discouraged from passing any farther, and some appeared ashamed of having come so far. As for myself, I must confess my heart shrunk within me at the sight of these ghastly appearances: but on a sudden, the voice of the trumpet came more full upon us, so that we felt a new resolution reviving in us; and in proportion as this resolution grew, the terrors before us seemed to vanish. Most of the company who had swords in their hands, marched on with great spirit, and an air of defiance, up the road that was commanded by Death; while others, who had thought and contemplation in their looks, went forward in a more composed manner up the road possessed by Envy. The way above these apparitions grew smooth and uniform, and was so delightful, that the travellers went on with pleasure, and in a little time arrived at the top of the mountain. They here began to breathe a delicious kind of ether, and saw all the fields about them covered with a kind of purple light, that made them reflect with satisfaction on their past toils, and diffused a secret joy through the whole assembly, which showed itself in every look and feature. In the midst of these happy fields, there stood a palace of a very glorious structure: it had four great folding-doors, that faced the four several quarters of the world. On the top of it was enthroned the goddess of the mountain, who smiled upon her votaries, and sounded the silver trumpet which had called them up, and cheered them in their passage to her palace. They had now formed themselves into several divisions, a band of historians taking their stations at each door, according to the persons whom they were to introduce.
On a sudden the trumpet, which had hitherto sounded only a march, or a point of war, now swelled all its notes into triumph and exultation: the whole fabric shook, and the doors flew open. The first who stepped forward was a beautiful and blooming hero, and, as I heard by the murmurs round me, Alexander the Great. He was conducted by a crowd of historians. The person who immediately walked before him, was remarkable for an embroidered garment, who not being well acquainted with the place, was conducting him to an apartment appointed for the reception of fabulous heroes. The name of this false guide was Quintus Curtius. But Arrian and Plutarch, who knew better the avenues of this palace, conducted him into the great hall, and placed him at the upper end of the first table. My good demon, that I might see the whole ceremony, conveyed me to a corner of this room, where I might perceive all that passed without being seen myself. The next who entered was a charming virgin, leading in a venerable old man that was blind. Under her left arm she bore a harp, and on her head a garland. Alexander, who was very well acquainted with Homer, stood up at his entrance, and placed him on his right hand. The virgin, who it seems was one of the nine sisters that attended on the goddess of Fame, smiled with an ineffable grace at their meeting, and retired. Julius Cæsar was now coming forward; and though most of the historians offered their service to introduce him, he left them at the door, and would have no conductor but himself. The next who advanced, was a man of a homely but cheerful aspect, and attended by persons of greater figure than any that appeared on this occasion. Plato was on his right hand, and Xenophon on his left. He bowed to Homer, and sat down by him. It was expected that Plato would himself have taken a place next to his master Socrates; but on a sudden there was heard a great clamour of disputants at the door, who appeared with Aristotle at the head of them. That philosopher, with some rudeness, but great strength of reason, convinced the whole table, that a title to the fifth place was his due, and took it accordingly. He had scarce sat down, when the same beautiful virgin that had introduced Homer brought in another, who hung back at the entrance, and would have excused himself, had not his modesty been overcome by the invitation of all who sat at the table. His guide and behaviour made me easily conclude it was Virgil. Cicero next appeared, and took his place. He had inquired at the door for one Lucceius to introduce him; but not finding him there, he contented himself with the attendance of many other writers, who all (except Sallust) appeared highly pleased with the office.
We waited some time in expectation of the next worthy, who came in with a great retinue of historians, whose names I could not learn, most of them being natives of Carthage. The person thus conducted, who was Hannibal, seemed much disturbed, and could not forbear complaining to the Board of the affronts he had met with among the Roman historians, "who attempted," says he, "to carry me into the subterraneous apartment; and perhaps would have done it, had it not been for the impartiality of this gentleman," pointing to Polybius, "who was the only person, except my own countrymen, that was willing to conduct me hither." The Carthaginian took his seat, and Pompey entered with great dignity in his own person, and preceded by several historians. Lucan the poet was at the head of them, who observing Homer and Virgil at the table, was going to sit down himself, had not the latter whispered him, that whatever pretence he might otherwise have had, he forfeited his claim to it, by coming in as one of the historians. Lucan was so exasperated with the repulse, that he muttered something to himself, and was heard to say, that since he could not have a seat among them himself, he would bring in one who alone had more merit than their whole assembly: upon which he went to the door, and brought in Cato of Utica. That great man approached the company with such an air, that showed he contemned the honour which he laid a claim to. Observing the seat opposite to Cæsar was vacant, he took possession of it, and spoke two or three smart sentences upon the nature of precedency, which, according to him, consisted not in place, but in intrinsic merit; to which he added, that the most virtuous man, wherever he was seated, was always at the upper end of the table. Socrates, who had a great spirit of raillery with his wisdom, could not forbear smiling at a virtue which took so little pains to make itself agreeable. Cicero took the occasion to make a long discourse in praise of Cato, which he uttered with much vehemence. Cæsar answered him with a great deal of seeming temper: but as I stood at a great distance from them, I was not able to hear one word of what they said. But I could not forbear taking notice, that in all the discourse which passed at the table, a word or nod from Homer decided the controversy. After a short pause, Augustus appeared, looking round him with a serene and affable countenance upon all the writers of his age, who strove among themselves which of them should show him the greatest marks of gratitude and respect. Virgil rose from the table to meet him; and though he was an acceptable guest to all, he appeared more such to the learned than the military worthies. The next man astonished the whole table with his appearance: he was slow, solemn, and silent in his behaviour, and wore a raiment curiously wrought with hieroglyphics. As he came into the middle of the room, he threw back the skirt of it, and discovered a golden thigh. Socrates, at the sight of it, declared against keeping company with any who were not made of flesh and blood; and therefore desired Diogenes the Laertian to lead him to the apartment allotted for fabulous heroes, and worthies of dubious existence. At his going out, he told them, that they did not know whom they dismissed; that he was now Pythagoras, the first of philosophers, and that formerly he had been a very brave man at the siege of Troy. "That may be very true," said Socrates; "but you forget that you have likewise been a very great harlot in your time."[226] This exclusion made way for Archimedes, who came forward with a scheme of mathematical figures in his hand; among which, I observed a cone and a cylinder.[227]
Seeing this table full, I desired my guide for variety to lead me to the fabulous apartment, the roof of which was painted with gorgons, chimeras, and centaurs, with many other emblematical figures, which I wanted both time and skill to unriddle. The first table was almost full. At the upper end sat Hercules, leaning an arm upon his club. On his right hand were Achilles and Ulysses, and between them Æneas. On his left were Hector, Theseus, and Jason. The lower end had Orpheus, Æsop, Phalaris,[228] and Musæus. The ushers seemed at a loss for a twelfth man, when, methought, to my great joy and surprise, I heard some at the lower end of the table mention Isaac Bickerstaff: but those of the upper end received it with disdain, and said, if they must have a British worthy, they would have Robin Hood. While I was transported with the honour that was done me, and burning with envy against my competitor, I was awakened by the noise of the cannon which were then fired for the taking of Mons.[229] I should have been very much troubled at being thrown out of so pleasing a vision on any other occasion; but thought it an agreeable change to have my thoughts diverted from the greatest among the dead and fabulous heroes, to the most famous among the real and the living.
FOOTNOTES:
[225] In the list which he gave to Tickell, Steele describes this paper as written by Addison and himself jointly. Hawkesworth claimed for Swift Nos. 66, 67, 74, and 81, and no doubt the idea of "tables of fame" (No. 67) was started by him. On October 8, Steele wrote to Swift: "I wonder you do not write sometimes to me. The town is in great expectation from Bickerstaff; what passed at the election for the first table being to be published this day seven-night. I have not seen Ben Tooke a great while, but long to usher you and yours into the world." But it seems clear that Swift left his friends to carry out the execution of the plan. As Nichols points out, Swift afterwards wrote: "I was told that Brutus, and his ancestor Junius, Socrates, Epaminondas, Cato the younger, and Sir Thomas More, were perpetually together: a sextumvirate, to which all the ages of the world cannot add a seventh." Now there are only _two_ of this sextumvirate admitted to seats at the first "table of fame" in the _Tatler_. There are besides, in this paper, manifest deviations from the plan proposed in No. 67, and palpable contradictions to it. The "side-table" is here forgotten; the heroes of "great fame but dubious existence" are turned into a separate apartment; the number of the company at the second table is reduced from twenty to twelve; Bickerstaff, who "had not been dead an hundred years," is mentioned to make out the dozen; of the third table there is nothing said; and the subject seems finally discussed in one paper, which was evidently intended to have made three.
[226] The annotators of the 1786 edition devoted a very long note to the defence of Pythagoras against what is here said of him. As to his "harlotry," he clearly could not be responsible for the metamorphoses of his soul after death. His soul continued, it was said, to shift its habitations; and Dicearchus, almost a whole century after the death of Socrates, related, that on its third removal, it got into the body of Alce, a beautiful courtesan. (Aul. Gell., "Noct. Att.," IV. xi.) Lucian, long after, taking a century posterior to Pythagoras, makes his soul animate the body of Aspasia, the mistress of Pericles.
[227] Archimedes ordered a sphere included in a cylinder, the diagram of his thirty-second proposition, to be erected upon his tomb. This figure was accordingly carved upon a stone near one of the gates of Syracuse, and became the means of enabling Cicero to discover the sepulchre of Archimedes, covered over with brambles and thorns. (Cicero, "Disp. Tusc.," v. 23.)
No. 82. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Oct. 15_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 18, 1709_.
Ubiidem et maximus et honestissimus amor est, aliquando præstat morte jungi, quam vitâ distrahi.--VAL. MAX.
_From my own Apartment, October 17._
After the mind has been employed on contemplations suitable to its greatness, it is unnatural to run into sudden mirth or levity; but we must let the soul subside as it rose, by proper degrees. My late considerations of the ancient heroes impressed a certain gravity upon my mind, which is much above the little gratification received from starts of humour and fancy, and threw me into a pleasing sadness. In this state of thought I have been looking at the fire, and in a pensive manner reflecting upon the great misfortunes and calamities incident to human life; among which, there are none that touch so sensibly, as those which befall persons who eminently love, and meet with fatal interruptions of their happiness when they least expect it. The piety of children to parents, and the affection of parents to their children, are the effects of instinct; but the affection between lovers and friends is founded on reason and choice, which has always made me think, the sorrows of the latter much more to be pitied than those of the former. The contemplation of distresses of this sort softens the mind of man, and makes the heart better. It extinguishes the seeds of envy and ill-will towards mankind, corrects the pride of prosperity, and beats down all that fierceness and insolence which are apt to get into the minds of the daring and fortunate. For this reason the wise Athenians, in their theatrical performances, laid before the eyes of the people the greatest afflictions which could befall human life, and insensibly polished their tempers by such representations. Among the modern, indeed there has arisen a chimerical method of disposing the fortune of the persons represented, according to what they call poetical justice; and letting none be unhappy, but those who deserve it. In such cases, an intelligent spectator, if he is concerned, knows he ought not to be so; and can learn nothing from such a tenderness, but that he is a weak creature, whose passions cannot follow the dictates of his understanding. It is very natural, when one is got into such a way of thinking, to recollect those examples of sorrow which have made the strongest impression upon our imaginations. An instance or two of such you will give me leave to communicate.
A young gentleman and lady of ancient and honourable houses in Cornwall had from their childhood entertained for each other a generous and noble passion, which had been long opposed by their friends, by reason of the inequality of their fortunes; but their constancy to each other, and obedience to those on whom they depended, wrought so much upon their relations, that these celebrated lovers were at length joined in marriage. Soon after their nuptials, the bridegroom was obliged to go into a foreign country, to take care of a considerable fortune which was left him by a relation, and came very opportunely to improve their moderate circumstances. They received the congratulations of all the country on this occasion; and I remember it was a common sentence in every one's mouth, "You see how faithful love is rewarded."
He took this agreeable voyage, and sent home every post fresh accounts of his success in his affairs abroad; but at last (though he designed to return with the next ship) he lamented in his letters, that business would detain him some time longer from home, because he would give himself the pleasure of an unexpected arrival.
The young lady, after the heat of the day, walked every evening on the seashore, near which she lived, with a familiar friend, her husband's kinswoman, and diverted herself with what objects they met there, or upon discourses of the future methods of life in the happy change of their circumstances. They stood one evening on the shore together in a perfect tranquillity, observing the setting of the sun, the calm face of the deep, and the silent heaving of the waves, which gently rolled towards them, and broke at their feet; when at a distance her kinswoman saw something float on the waters, which she fancied was a chest; and with a smile told her, she saw it first, and if it came ashore full of jewels, she had a right to it. They both fixed their eyes upon it, and entertained themselves with the subject of the wreck, the cousin still asserting her right; but promising, if it was a prize, to give her a very rich coral for the child of which she was then big, provided she might be god-mother. Their mirth soon abated, when they observed upon the nearer approach, that it was a human body. The young lady, who had a heart naturally filled with pity and compassion, made many melancholy reflections on the occasion. "Who knows," said she, "but this man may be the only hope and heir of a wealthy house; the darling of indulgent parents, who are now in impertinent mirth, and pleasing themselves with the thoughts of offering him a bride they have got ready for him? Or may he not be the master of a family that wholly depended upon his life? There may, for aught we know, be half-a-dozen fatherless children, and a tender wife, now exposed to poverty by his death. What pleasure might he have promised himself in the different welcome he was to have from her and them? But let us go away, it is a dreadful sight! The best office we can do, is to take care that the poor man, whoever he is, may be decently buried." She turned away, when a wave threw the carcass on the shore. The kinswoman immediately shrieked out, "Oh, my cousin!" and fell upon the ground. The unhappy wife went to help her friend, when she saw her own husband at her feet, and dropped in a swoon upon the body. An old woman, who had been the gentleman's nurse, came out about this time to call the ladies in to supper, and found her child (as she always called him) dead on the shore, her mistress and kinswoman both lying dead by him. Her loud lamentations, and calling her young master to life, soon awaked the friend from her trance; but the wife was gone for ever.
When the family and neighbourhood got together round the bodies, no one asked any question, but the objects before them told the story.[230]
Incidents of this nature are the more moving when they are drawn by persons concerned in the catastrophe, notwithstanding they are often oppressed beyond the power of giving them in a distinct light, except we gather their sorrow from their inability to speak it. I have two original letters written both on the same day, which are to me exquisite in their different kinds. The occasion was this: a young gentleman who had courted a most agreeable young woman, and won her heart, obtained also the consent of her father, to whom she was an only child. The old man had a fancy that they should be married in the same church where he himself was, in a village in Westmorland, and made them set out while he was laid up with the gout at London. The bridegroom took only his man, the bride her maid. They had the most agreeable journey imaginable to the place of marriage: from whence the bridegroom wrote the following letter to his wife's father:--
"SIR,
_March 18, 1672._
"After a very pleasant journey hither, we are preparing for the happy hour in which I am to be your son. I assure you the bride carries it, in the eye of the vicar who married you, much beyond her mother; though he says, your open sleeves, pantaloons, and shoulder-knot made a much better show than the finical dress I am in. However, I am contented to be the second fine man this village ever saw, and shall make it very merry before night, because I shall write myself from thence,
"Your most dutiful Son, T. D."
"The bride gives her duty, and is as handsome as an angel--I am the happiest man breathing."
The villagers were assembling about the church, and the happy couple took a walk in a private garden. The bridegroom's man knew his master would leave the place on a sudden after the wedding, and seeing him draw his pistols the night before, took this opportunity to go into his chamber and charge them. Upon their return from the garden, they went into that room; and after a little fond raillery on the subject of their courtship, the lover took up a pistol which he knew he had unloaded the night before, and presenting it to her, said with the most graceful air, whilst she looked pleased at his agreeable flattery, "Now, madam, repent of all those cruelties you have been guilty of to me; consider before you die, how often you have made a poor wretch freeze under your casement;[231] you shall die, you tyrant, you shall die, with all those instruments of death and destruction about you, with that enchanting smile, those killing ringlets of your hair"--"Give fire," said she, laughing. He did so, and shot her dead. Who can speak his condition? But he bore it so patiently as to call up his man. The poor wretch entered, and his master locked the door upon him. "Well," said he, "did you charge these pistols?" He answered, "Yes." Upon which he shot him dead with that remaining. After this, amidst a thousand broken sobs, piercing groans, and distracted motions, he wrote the following letter to the father of his dead mistress:--
"SIR,
"I, who two hours ago told you truly I was the happiest man alive, am now the most miserable. Your daughter lies dead at my feet, killed by my hand, through a mistake of my man's charging my pistols unknown to me. Him I have murdered for it. Such is my wedding-day,--I will immediately follow my wife to her grave: but before I throw myself upon my sword, I command my distraction so far as to explain my story to you. I fear my heart will not keep together till I have stabbed it. Poor good old man!--Remember, he that killed your daughter, died for it. In the article of death I give you my thanks, and pray for you, though I dare not for myself. If it be possible, do not curse me."
FOOTNOTES:
[228] Æsop and Phalaris were certainly real persons, though the "letters" attributed to Phalaris are spurious.
[229] Mons was taken on October 21, 1709 (N.S.).
[230] The substance of this story of the Cornish lovers may have been sent to Steele by the "Solomon Afterwit" whose letter from Land's End is printed in the next number.
[231] _Cf._ "Paradise Lost," iv. 769, quoted in No. 79:--
"Or serenade, which the starved lover sings To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain."
No. 83. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Oct. 18_, to _Thursday Oct. 20, 1709_.
Senilis stultitia, quæ deliratio appellari solet, senum levium est, non omnium.--CICERO, De Senec., xi. 36.
_From my own Apartment, October 19._
It is my frequent practice to visit places of resort in this town where I am least known, to observe what reception my works meet with in the world, and what good effects I may promise myself from my labours; and it being a privilege asserted by Monsieur Montaigne and others, of vainglorious memory, that we writers of essays may talk of ourselves,[232] I take the liberty to give an account of the remarks which I find are made by some of my gentle readers upon these my dissertations. I happened this evening to fall into a coffee-house near the 'Change, where two persons were reading my account of the table of fame.[233] The one of these was commenting as he read, and explaining who was meant by this and the other worthy as he passed on. I observed the person over against him wonderfully intent and satisfied with his explanation. When he came to Julius Cæsar, who is said to have refused any conductor to the table, "No, no," said he, "he is in the right of it, he has money enough to be welcome wherever he comes;" and then whispered, "He means a certain colonel of the train-bands." Upon reading, that Aristotle made his claim with some rudeness, but great strength of reason, "Who can that be, so rough and so reasonable? It must be some Whig I warrant you. There is nothing but party in these public papers." Where Pythagoras is said to have a golden thigh, "Ay, ay," said he, "he has money enough in his breeches, that is the alderman of our ward." You must know, whatever he read, I found he interpreted from his own way of life and acquaintance. I am glad my readers can construe for themselves these difficult points; but for the benefit of posterity, I design, when I come to write my last paper of this kind, to make it an explanation of all my former. In that piece you shall have all I have commended, with their proper names. The faulty characters must be left as they are, because we live in an age wherein vice is very general, and virtue very particular; for which reason the latter only wants explanation. But I must turn my present discourse to what is of yet greater regard to me than the care of my writings; that is to say, the preservation of a lady's heart. Little did I think I should ever have business of this kind on my hands more; but as little as any one who knows me would believe it, there is a lady at this time who professes love to me. Her passion and good-humour you shall have in her own words.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"I had formerly a very good opinion of myself; but it is now withdrawn, and I have placed it upon you, Mr. Bickerstaff, for whom I am not ashamed to declare, I have a very great passion and tenderness. It is not for your face, for that I never saw; your shape and height I am equally a stranger to: but your understanding charms me, and I'm lost if you don't dissemble a little love for me. I am not without hopes, because I am not like the tawdry gay things that are fit only to make bone-lace. I am neither childish-young, nor beldam-old, but (the world says) a good agreeable woman.
"Speak peace to a troubled heart, troubled only for you; and in your next paper let me find your thoughts of me.
"Don't think of finding out who I am, for notwithstanding your interest in demons, they cannot help you either to my name, or a sight of my face; therefore don't let them deceive you.
"I can bear no discourse if you are not the subject; and, believe me, I know more of love than you do of astronomy.
"Pray say some civil things in return to my generosity, and you shall have my very best pen employed to thank you, and I will confirm it. I am
"Your Admirer, MARIA."
There is something wonderfully pleasing in the favour of women; and this letter has put me in so good a humour, that nothing could displease me since I received it. My boy breaks glasses and pipes, and instead of giving him a knock of the pate, as my way is (for I hate scolding at servants), I only say, "Ah! Jack, thou hast a head, and so has a pin;" or some such merry expression. But alas! how am I mortified when he is putting on my fourth pair of stockings on these poor spindles of mine? The fair one understands love better than I astronomy! I am sure, without the help of that art, this poor meagre trunk of mine is a very ill habitation for love. She is pleased to speak civilly of my sense; but _ingenium male habitat_ is an invincible difficulty in cases of this nature. I had always indeed, from a passion to please the eyes of the fair, a great pleasure in dress. Add to this, that I have written songs since I was sixty, and have lived with all the circumspection of an old beau, as I am: but my friend Horace has very well said, "Every year takes something from us;"[234] and instructed me to form my pursuits and desires according to the stage of my life: therefore I have no more to value myself upon, than that I can converse with young people without peevishness, or wishing myself a moment younger. For which reason, when I am amongst them, I rather moderate than interrupt their diversions. But though I have this complacency, I must not pretend to write to a lady civil things, as Maria desires. Time was, when I could have told her, I had received a letter from her fair hands; and, that if this paper trembled as she read it, it then best expressed its author, or some other gay conceit. Though I never saw her, I could have told her, that good sense and good humour smiled in her eyes; that constancy and good nature dwelt in her heart; that beauty and good breeding appeared in all her actions. When I was five-and-twenty, upon sight of one syllable, even wrong spelt, by a lady I never saw, I could tell her, that her height was that which was fit for inviting our approach, and commanding our respect; that a smile sat on her lips, which prefaced her expressions before she uttered them, and her aspect prevented her speech. All she could say, though she had an infinite deal of wit, was but a repetition of what was expressed by her form; her form! which struck her beholders with ideas more moving and forcible than ever were inspired by music, painting, or eloquence. At this rate I panted in those days; but, ah! sixty-three! I am very sorry I can only return the agreeable Maria a passion, expressed rather from the head than the heart.
"DEAR MADAM,
"You have already seen the best of me, and I so passionately love you, that I desire we may never meet. If you will examine your heart, you will find, that you join the man with the philosopher: and if you have that kind opinion of my sense as you pretend, I question not, but you add to it complexion, air, and shape: but, dear Molly, a man in his grand climacteric is of no sex. Be a good girl; and conduct yourself with honour and virtue, when you love one younger than myself. I am, with the greatest tenderness,
"Your innocent Lover, I. B."
_Will's Coffee-house, October 19._
There is nothing more common than the weakness mentioned in the following epistle; and I believe there is hardly a man living who has not been more or less injured by it.
"SIR,
_Land's End, Oct. 12._
"I have left the town some time; and much the sooner, for not having had the advantage when I lived there of so good a pilot as you are to this present age. Your cautions to the young men against the vices of the town are very well: but there is one not less needful, which I think you have omitted. I had from the 'Rough Diamond' (a gentleman so called from an honest blunt wit he had) not long since dead, this observation, that a young man must be at least three or four years in London before he dares say 'No.'
"You will easily see the truth and force of this observation; for I believe, more people are drawn away against their inclinations, than with them. A young man is afraid to deny anybody going to a tavern to dinner; or after being gorged there, to repeat the same with another company at supper, or to drink excessively if desired, or go to any other place, or commit any other extravagancy proposed. The fear of being thought covetous, or to have no money, or to be under the dominion or fear of his parents and friends, hinders him from the free exercise of his understanding, and affirming boldly the true reason, which is, his real dislike of what is desired. If you could cure this slavish facility, it would save abundance at their first entrance into the world. I am, SIR,
"Yours, _Solomon Afterwit_."
This epistle has given an occasion to a treatise on this subject, wherein I shall lay down rules when a young stripling is to say "No," and a young virgin "Yes."
_N.B._--For the publication of this discourse, I wait only for subscriptions from the undergraduates of each University, and the young ladies in the boarding-schools of Hackney and Chelsea.
_St. James's Coffee-house, October 19._
Letters from the Hague of the 25th of October, N.S., advise, that the garrison of Mons marched out on the 23rd instant, and a garrison of the allies marched into the town. All the forces in the field, both of the enemy and the confederates, are preparing to withdraw into winter quarters.
FOOTNOTES:
[232] Among many other things to the same effect, Montaigne wrote: "Grant that it is a fault in me to write about myself, I ought not, following my general intent, to refuse an action that publisheth this crazed quality, since I have it in myself, and I should not conceal this fault, which I have not only in use but in profession" (Florio's "Montaigne").
[233] See No. 81.
[234] 2 Epist. ii. 55.
No. 84. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Oct. 20_, to _Saturday, Oct. 22, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, October 21._
I have received a letter subscribed A. B.[235] wherein it has been represented to me as an enormity, that there are more than ordinary crowds of women at the Old Bailey when a rape is to be tried: but by Mr. A. B.'s favour, I can't tell who are so much concerned in that part of the law as the sex he mentions, they being the only persons liable to such insults. Nor indeed do I think it more unreasonable that they should be inquisitive on such occasions, than men of honour when one is tried for killing another in a duel. It is very natural to inquire how the fatal pass was made, that we may the better defend ourselves when we come to be attacked. Several eminent ladies appeared lately at the Court of Justice on such an occasion, and with great patience and attention stayed the whole trials of two persons for the above-said crime. The law to me indeed seems a little defective on this point; and it is a very great hardship, that this crime, which is committed by men only, should have men only on their jury. I humbly therefore propose, that on future trials of this sort, half of the twelve may be women; and those such whose faces are well known to have taken notes, or may be supposed to remember what happened in former trials in the same place. There is the learned Androgyne, that would make a good fore-woman of the panel, who (by long attendance) understands as much law and anatomy as is necessary in this case. Till this is taken care of, I am humbly of opinion, it would be much more expedient that the fair were wholly absent: for to what end can it be that they should be present at such examinations, when they can only be perplexed with a fellow-feeling for the injured, without any power to avenge their sufferings. It is an unnecessary pain which the fair ones give themselves on these occasions. I have known a young woman shriek out at some parts of the evidence; and have frequently observed, that when the proof grew particular and strong, there has been such a universal flutter of fans, that one would think the whole female audience were falling into fits. Nor indeed can I see how men themselves can be wholly unmoved at such tragical relations. In short, I must tell my female readers, and they may take an old man's word for it, that there is nothing in woman so graceful and becoming as modesty: it adds charms to their beauty, and gives a new softness to their sex. Without it, simplicity and innocence appear rude, reading and good sense masculine, wit and humour lascivious. This is so necessary a qualification for pleasing, that the loose part of womankind, whose study it is to ensnare men's hearts, never fail to support the appearance of what they know is so essential to that end: and I have heard it reported by the young fellows in my time, as a maxim of the celebrated Madam Bennet,[236] that a young wench, though never so beautiful, was not worth her board when she was past her blushing. This discourse naturally brings into my thoughts a letter I have received from the virtuous Lady Whittlestick on the subject of Lucretia.
_From my Tea-table, October_ 17.
"COUSIN ISAAC,
"I read your _Tatler_ of Saturday last,[237] and was surprised to see you so partial to your own sex, as to think none of ours worthy to sit at your first table; for sure you cannot but own Lucretia as famous as any you have placed there, who first parted with her virtue, and afterwards with her life, to preserve her fame."
Mrs. Biddy Twig has written me a letter to the same purpose: but in answer to both my pretty correspondents and kinswomen, I must tell them, that although I know Lucretia would have made a very graceful figure at the upper end of the table, I did not think it proper to place her there, because I knew she would not care for being in the company of so many men without her husband. At the same time I must own, that Tarquin himself was not a greater lover and admirer of Lucretia than I myself am in an honest way. When my sister Jenny was in her sampler, I made her get the whole story without book, and tell it me in needlework. This illustrious lady stands up in history as the glory of her own sex, and the reproach of ours; and the circumstances under which she fell were so very particular, that they seem to make adultery and murder meritorious. She was a woman of such transcendent virtue, that her beauty, which was the greatest of the age and country in which she lived, and is generally celebrated as the highest of praise in other women, is never mentioned as a part of her character. But it would be declaiming to dwell upon so celebrated a story, which I mentioned only in respect to my kinswomen; and to make reparation for the omission they complain of, do further promise them, that if they can furnish me with instances to fill it, there shall be a small tea-table set apart in my palace of fame for the reception of all of her character.[238]
_Grecian Coffee-house, October 21._
I was this evening communicating my design of producing obscure merit into public view; and proposed to the learned, that they would please to assist me in the work. For the same end I publish my intention to the world, that all men of liberal thoughts may know they have an opportunity of doing justice to such worthy persons as have come within their respective observation, and who by misfortune, modesty, or want of proper writers to recommend them, have escaped the notice of the rest of mankind. If therefore any one can bring any tale or tidings of illustrious persons, or glorious actions, that are not commonly known, he is desired to send an account thereof to me at J. Morphew's, and they shall have justice done them. At the same time that I have this concern for men and things that deserve reputation and have it not, I am resolved to examine into the claims of such ancients and moderns as are in possession of it, with a design to displace them, in case I find their titles defective. The first whose merits I shall inquire into, are some merry gentlemen of the French nation, who have written very advantageous histories of their exploits in war, love, and politics, under the title of memoirs. I am afraid I shall find several of these gentlemen tardy, because I hear of them in no writings but their own. To read the narrative of one of these authors, you would fancy there was not an action in a whole campaign which he did not contrive or execute; yet if you consult the history, or gazettes of those times, you do not find him so much as the head of a party from one end of the summer to the other. But it is the way of these great men, when they lie behind their lines, and are in a time of inaction, as they call it, to pass away their time in writing their exploits. By this means, several who are either unknown or despised in the present age, will be famous in the next, unless a sudden stop be put to such pernicious practices. There are others of that gay people who (as I am informed) will live half a year together in a garret, and write a history of their intrigues in the court of France. As for politicians, they do not abound with that species of men so much as we; but as ours are not so famous for writing as for extemporary dissertations in coffee-houses, they are more annoyed with memoirs of this nature also than we are. The most immediate remedy that I can apply to prevent this growing evil, is, that I do hereby give notice to all booksellers and translators whatsoever, that the word "memoir" is French for a novel; and to require of them, that they sell and translate it accordingly.
_Wills Coffee-house, October 21._
Coming into this place to-night, I met an old friend of mine,[239] who, a little after the Restoration, wrote an epigram with some applause, which he has lived upon ever since; and by virtue of it, has been a constant frequenter of this coffee-house for forty years. He took me aside, and with a great deal of friendship told me, he was glad to see me alive; "for" says he, "Mr. Bickerstaff, I am sorry to find you have raised many enemies by your lucubrations. There are indeed some," says he, "whose enmity is the greatest honour they can show a man; but have you lived to these years, and don't know, that the ready way to disoblige is to give advice? You may endeavour to guard your children, as you call them, but--" He was going on; but I found the disagreeableness of giving advice without being asked it, by my own impatience of what he was about to say. In a word, I begged him to give me the hearing of a short fable.
"A gentleman," says I, "who was one day slumbering in an arbour, was on a sudden awakened by the gentle biting of a lizard, a little animal remarkable for its love to mankind. He threw it from his hand with some indignation, and was rising up to kill it, when he saw an huge venomous serpent sliding towards him on the other side, which he soon destroyed; reflecting afterwards with gratitude upon his friend that saved him, and with anger against himself, that had shown so little sense of a good office."
FOOTNOTES:
[235] Perhaps Alexander Bayne (died 1737), an advocate then living in London, and afterwards Professor of Scots Law at Edinburgh. See Hughes's "Correspondence," i. 56.
[236] A notorious character of the time of Charles II., to whom Wycherley dedicated his "Plain Dealer," under the title of "My Lady B----," in a long ironical address respecting herself and women of her class, which is praised by Steele in the _Spectator_ (No. 266).
[237] No. 81.
[238] "A table of fame for the ladies will be published as soon as materials can be collected, to which end the public are desired to contribute, and it will be gratefully acknowledged." (_Female Tatler_, No. 58, Nov. 7, 1709.)
The writer of the "General Postscript" advertised his intention of erecting speedily a temple of honour for British heroes only (No. 11, October 11, 1709). The same writer says, that Mr. Tatler and his admirers were wrapped up in his "table of fame" (November 11, 1709).
[239] Possibly William Walsh, a man of fashion and critic, who was a friend both of Dryden and Pope. Johnson says, "He is known more by his familiarity with greater men, than by anything done or written by himself."
No. 85. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Oct. 22_, to _Tuesday, Oct. 25, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, October 24._
My brother Tranquillus,[240] who is a man of business, came to me this morning into my study, and after very many civil expressions in return for what good offices I had done him, told me, he desired to carry his wife, my sister, that very morning to his own house. I readily told him I would wait upon him, without asking why he was so impatient to rob us of his good company. He went out of my chamber, and I thought seemed to have a little heaviness upon him, which gave me some disquiet. Soon after, my sister came to me with a very matron-like air, and most sedate satisfaction in her looks, which spoke her very much at ease; but the traces of her countenance seemed to discover that she had been lately in passion, and that air of content to flow from a certain triumph upon some advantage obtained. She no sooner sat down by me, but I perceived she was one of those ladies who begin to be managers within the time of their being brides. Without letting her speak (which I saw she had a mighty inclination to do), I said, "Here has been your husband, who tells me he has a mind to go home this very morning; and I have consented to it." "It is well," said she, "for you must know--" "Nay, Jenny," said I, "I beg your pardon, for it is you must know--you are to understand, that now is the time to fix or alienate your husband's heart for ever; and I fear you have been a little indiscreet in your expressions or behaviour towards him even here in my house." "There has," says she, "been some words; but I'll be judged by you if he was not in the wrong: nay, I need not be judged by anybody, for he gave it up himself, and said not a word, when he saw me grow passionate, but 'Madam, you are perfectly in the right of it.' As you shall judge--" "Nay, madam," said I, "I am judge already, and tell you, that you are perfectly in the wrong of it; for if it was a matter of importance, I know he has better sense than you; if a trifle, you know what I told you on your wedding-day, that you were to be above little provocations." She knows very well I can be sour upon occasion, therefore gave me leave to go on. "Sister," said I, "I will not enter into the dispute between you, which I find his prudence put an end to before it came to extremity, but charge you to have a care of the first quarrel, as you tender your happiness; for then it is that the mind will reflect harshly upon every circumstance that has ever passed between you. If such an accident is ever to happen (which I hope never will), be sure to keep to the circumstance before you; make no allusions to what is past, or conclusions referring to what is to come: don't show an hoard of matter for dissension in your breast; but if it is necessary, lay before him the thing as you understand it, candidly, without being ashamed of acknowledging an error, or proud of being in the right. If a young couple be not careful in this point, they will get into a habit of wrangling: and when to displease is thought of no consequence, to please is always of as little moment. There is a play, Jenny, I have formerly been at when I was a student: we got into a dark corner with a porringer of brandy, and threw raisins into it, then set it on fire. My chamber-fellow and I diverted ourselves with the sport of venturing our fingers for the raisins; and the wantonness of the thing was, to see each other look like a demon as we burnt ourselves and snatched out the fruit. This fantastical mirth was called snap-dragon. You may go into many a family, where you see the man and wife at this sport: every word at their table alludes to some passage between themselves; and you see by the paleness and emotion in their countenances, that it is for your sake, and not their own, that they forbear playing out the whole game, in burning each other's fingers. In this case, the whole purpose of life is inverted, and the ambition turns upon a certain contention, who shall contradict best, and not upon an inclination to excel in kindnesses and good offices. Therefore, dear Jenny, remember me, and avoid snap-dragon." "I thank you, brother," said she, "but you don't know how he loves me; I find I can do anything with him." "If you can so, why should you desire to do anything but please him? But I have a word or two more before you go out of the room; for I see you do not like the subject I am upon. Let nothing provoke you to fall upon an imperfection he cannot help; for if he has a resenting spirit, he will think your aversion as immovable as the imperfection with which you upbraid him. But above all, dear Jenny, be careful of one thing, and you will be something more than woman, that is, a levity you are almost all guilty of, which is, to take a pleasure in your power to give pain. It is even in a mistress an argument of meanness of spirit, but in a wife it is injustice and ingratitude. When a sensible man once observes this in a woman, he must have a very great or a very little spirit to overlook it. A woman ought therefore to consider very often, how few men there are who will regard a meditated offence as a weakness of temper." I was going on in my confabulation, when Tranquillus entered. She cast her eyes upon him with much shame and confusion, mixed with great complacency and love, and went up to him. He took her in his arms, and looked so many soft things at one glance, that I could see he was glad I had been talking to her, sorry she had been troubled, and angry at himself that he could not disguise the concern he was in an hour before. After which, he says to me, with an air awkward enough, but methought not unbecoming, "I have altered my mind, brother; we'll live upon you a day or two longer." I replied, "That's what I have been persuading Jenny to ask of you; but she is resolved never to contradict your inclination, and refused me." We were going on in that way which one hardly knows how to express; as when two people mean the same thing in a nice case, but come at it by talking as distantly from it as they can; when very opportunely came in upon us an honest inconsiderable fellow, Tim Dapper, a gentleman well known to us both. Tim is one of those who are very necessary by being very inconsiderable. Tim dropped in at an incident when we knew not how to fall into either a grave or a merry way. My sister took this occasion to make off, and Dapper gave us an account of all the company he had been in to-day, who was and who was not at home, where he visited. This Tim is the head of a species: he is a little out of his element in this town; but he is a relation of Tranquillus, and his neighbour in the country, which is the true place of residence for this species. The habit of a Dapper, when he is at home, is a light broadcloth, with calamanco[241] or red waistcoat and breeches; and it is remarkable, that their wigs seldom hide the collar of their coats. They have always a peculiar spring in their arms, a wriggle in their bodies, and a trip in their gait; all which motions they express at once in their drinking, bowing, or saluting ladies; for a distant imitation of a forward fop, and a resolution to overtop him in his way, are the distinguishing marks of a Dapper. These under-characters of men are parts of the sociable world by no means to be neglected: they are like pegs in a building. They make no figure in it, but hold the structure together, and are as absolutely necessary as the pillars and columns. I am sure we found it so this morning; for Tranquillus and I should perhaps have looked cold at each other the whole day, but Dapper fell in with his brisk way, shook us both by the hand, rallied the bride, mistook the acceptance he met with amongst us for extraordinary perfection in himself, and heartily pleased, and was pleased, all the while he stayed. His company left us all in good-humour, and we were not such fools as to let it sink, before we confirmed it by great cheerfulness and openness in our carriage the whole evening.
_White's Chocolate-house, October 24._
I have been this evening to visit a lady who is a relation of the enamoured Cynthio,[242] and there heard the melancholy news of his death. I was in hopes that fox-hunting and October would have recovered him from his unhappy passion. He went into the country with a design to leave behind him all thoughts of Clarissa; but he found that place only more convenient to think of her without interruption. The country gentlemen were very much puzzled upon his case, and never finding him merry or loud in their company, took him for a Roman Catholic, and immediately upon his death seized his French valet-de-chambre for a priest; and it is generally thought in the county, it will go hard with him next session. Poor Cynthio never held up his head after having received a letter of Clarissa's marriage. The lady who gave me this account being far gone in poetry and romance, told me, if I would give her an epitaph, she would take care to have it placed on his tomb; which she herself had devised in the following manner: it is to be made of black marble, and every corner to be crowned with weeping cupids. Their quivers are to be hung up upon two tall cypress-trees which are to grow on each side of the monument, and their arrows to be laid in a great heap, after the manner of a funeral pile, on which is to lie the body of the deceased. On the top of each cypress is to stand the figure of a moaning turtle-dove. On the uppermost part of the monument, the goddess to whom these birds are sacred, is to sit in a dejected posture, as weeping for the death of her votary. I need not tell you this lady's head is a little turned: however, to be rid of importunities, I promised her an epitaph, and told her, I would take for my pattern that of Don Alonzo, who was no less famous in his age than Cynthio is in ours.
THE EPITAPH.[243]
Here lies Don Alonzo, Slain by a wound received under His left pap; The orifice of which was so Small, no surgeon could Discover it.
READER,
If thou wouldst avoid so strange A death, Look not upon Lucinda's eyes.
FOOTNOTES:
[240] See No. 79.
[241] Calamanco is a woollen stuff made plain, striped, checked, or figured, and glazed in finishing. It was generally made in Flanders and Brabant, and was much used in the last century. _Cf._ No. 96, "a gay calamanco waistcoat."
[242] See No. 35. Steele returned to the character of Cynthio in 1714, in No. 38 of the _Lover_, written two months after Lord Hinchinbroke had spoken on Steele's behalf in the debate whether he should be expelled the House of Commons. Lord Hinchinbroke died in 1722; in 1712 it was reported that he was one of the Mohocks who went about doing mischief ("Wentworth Papers," 277 note).
[243] This epitaph is a quotation from a letter of Sir John Suckling ("Works," 1770, I. 103).
No. 86. [ADDISON and STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Oct. 25_, to _Thursday, Oct. 27, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, October 26._[244]
When I came home last night, my servant delivered me the following letter:
"SIR,
_October 24._
"I have orders from Sir Harry Quicksett, of Staffordshire, Bart., to acquaint you, that his honour Sir Harry himself, Sir Giles Wheelbarrow, Kt.; Thomas Rentfree, Esq., Justice of the Quorum; Andrew Windmill, Esq.; and Mr. Nicholas Doubt of the Inner Temple, Sir Harry's grandson, will wait upon you at the hour of nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the 25th of October, upon business which Sir Harry will impart to you by word of mouth. I thought it proper to acquaint you beforehand so many persons of quality came, that you might not be surprised therewith. Which concludes, though by many years' absence since I saw you at Stafford, unknown,
"Sir, Your most humble Servant, JOHN THRIFTY."
I received this message with less surprise than I believe Mr. Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too well to feel any palpitations at their approach: but I was in very great concern how I should adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to all these great men, who perhaps had not seen anything above themselves for these twenty years last past. I am sure that's the case of Sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a great point in adjusting my behaviour to the simple squire, so as to give him satisfaction, and not disoblige the Justice of the Quorum. The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner set chairs (by the steward's letter), and fixed my tea-equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one entered; after which followed a long silence, which was broke at last by, "Sir, I beg your pardon; I think I know better:" and another voice, "Nay, good Sir Giles----" I looked out from my window, and saw the good company all with their hats off, and arms spread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much solemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so kind as to name them to me. But they are now got to my chamber door, and I saw my old friend Sir Harry enter. I met him with all the respect due to so reverend a vegetable; for you are to know, that is my sense of a person who remains idle in the same place for half a century. I got him with great success into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any of my cups. The knight-bachelor told me, he had a great respect for my whole family, and would, with my leave, place himself next to Sir Harry, at whose right hand he had sat at every Quarter Sessions this thirty years, unless he was sick. The steward in the rear whispered the young Templar, "That's true to my knowledge." I had the misfortune, as they stood cheek by jowl, to desire the simple squire to sit down before the Justice of the Quorum, to the no small satisfaction of the former, and resentment of the latter. But I saw my error too late, and got them as soon as I could into their seats. "Well," said I, "gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great honour, I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea." They answered one and all, that they never drank tea in a morning. "Not in a morning!" said I, staring round me. Upon which the pert jackanapes Nick Doubt tipped me the wink, and put out his tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a profound silence, when the steward, in his boots and whip, proposed, that we should adjourn to some public-house, where everybody might call for what they pleased, and enter upon the business. We all stood up in an instant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left very discreetly, countermarching behind the chairs towards the door: after him, Sir Giles in the same manner. The simple squire made a sudden start to follow; but the Justice of the Quorum whipped between upon the stand of the stairs. A maid going up with coals made us halt, and put us into such confusion, that we stood all in a heap, without any visible possibility of recovering our order; for the young jackanapes seemed to make a jest of this matter, and had so contrived, by pressing amongst us under pretence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the middle, and he knew nobody was of quality to stir a step till Sir Harry moved first. We were fixed in this perplexity for some time, till we heard a very loud noise in the street; and Sir Harry asking what it was, I, to make them move, said it was fire. Upon this, all ran down as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, till we got into the street, where we drew up in very good order, and filed off down Sheer Lane, the impertinent Templar driving us before him, as in a string, and pointing to his acquaintance who passed by. I must confess I love to use people according to their own sense of good-breeding, and therefore whipped in between the Justice and the simple squire. He could not properly take this ill; but I overheard him whisper the steward, that he thought it hard that a common conjuror should take place of him, though an elder squire. In this order we marched down Sheer Lane, at the upper end of which I lodge.[245] When we came to Temple Bar, Sir Harry and Sir Giles got over; but a run of the coaches kept the rest of us on this side the street: however, we all at last landed, and drew up in very good order before Ben Tooke's[246] shop, who favoured our rallying with great humanity. From hence we proceeded again, till we came to Dick's Coffee-house,[247] where I designed to carry them. Here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the street upon the same ceremony. We proceeded through the entry, and were so necessarily kept in order by the situation, that we were now got into the coffee-house itself, where, as soon as we arrived, we repeated our civilities to each other; after which, we marched up to the high table, which has an ascent to it enclosed in the middle of the room. The whole room was alarmed at this entry, made up of persons of so much state and rusticity. Sir Harry called for a mug of ale, and Dyer's Letter.[248] The boy brought the ale in an instant; but said, they did not take in the Letter. "No!" says Sir Harry: "then take back your mug; we are like indeed to have good liquor at this house." Here the Templar tipped me a second wink, and if I had not looked very grave upon him, I found he was disposed to be very familiar with me. In short, I observed after a long pause, that the gentlemen did not care to enter upon business till after their morning draught, for which reason I called for a bottle of mum[249]; and finding that had no effect upon them, I ordered a second, and a third: after which, Sir Harry reached over to me, and told me in a low voice, that the place was too public for business; but he would call upon me again to-morrow morning at my own lodgings, and bring some more friends with him.
_Will's Coffee-house, October 26._
Though this place is frequented by a more mixed company than it used to be formerly, yet you meet very often some whom one cannot leave without being the better for their conversation. A gentleman this evening, in a dictating manner, talked I thought very pleasingly in praise of modesty, in the midst of ten or twelve libertines, upon whom it seemed to have had a good effect. He represented it as the certain indication of a great and noble spirit. "Modesty," said he, "is the virtue which makes men prefer the public to their private interest, the guide of every honest undertaking, and the great guardian of innocence; it makes men amiable to their friends, and respected by their very enemies. In all places, and on all occasions, it attracts benevolence, and demands approbation. One might give instances out of antiquity[250] of the irresistible force of this quality in great minds: Cicereius, and Cneius Scipio, the son of the great Africanus, were competitors for the office of prætor. The crowd followed Cicereius, and left Scipio unattended. Cicereius saw this with much concern, and desiring an audience of the people, he descended from the place where the candidates were to sit, in the eye of the multitude, pleaded for his adversary, and with an ingenuous modesty (which it is impossible to feign) represented to them, how much it was to their dishonour, that a virtuous son of Africanus should not be preferred to him, or any other man whatsoever. This immediately gained the election for Scipio; but all the compliments and congratulations upon it were made to Cicereius. It is easier in this case to say who had the office, than the honour. There is no occurrence in life where this quality is not more ornamental than any other. After the battle of Pharsalia, Pompey marching towards Larissus, the whole people of that place came out in procession to do him honour. He thanked the magistrates for their respect to him; but desired them to perform these ceremonies to the conqueror. This gallant submission to his fortune, and disdain of making any appearance but like Pompey, was owing to his modesty, which would not permit him to be so disingenuous as to give himself the air of prosperity, when he was in the contrary condition. This I say of modesty, as it is the virtue which preserves a decorum in the general course of our life; but considering it also as it regards our mere bodies, it is the certain character of a great mind. It is memorable of the mighty Cæsar, that when he was murdered in the Capitol, at the very moment in which he expired, he gathered his robe about him, that he might fall in a decent posture. In this manner (says my author) he went off, not like a man that departed out of life, but a deity that returned to his abode."
FOOTNOTES:
[244] Tickell included the article "From my own Apartment" in his edition of Addison's Works, but stated that Steele assisted in this paper. Upon which pompous Bishop Hurd adds, "One sees this by the pertness of the manner in which many parts of it are composed. The scene described is, however, pleasant enough." No doubt Addison was the chief, if not sole author of the first article.
[245] "The upper part [of Shire Lane] hath good old buildings, well inhabited; but the lower part is very narrow and more ordinary" (Strype, Book IV.). A view of the Trumpet in Shire Lane is given in Timbs' "Clubs and Club Life in London," p. 176.
[246] Tooke, Swift's bookseller, died in 1723. His shop was at the Middle Temple Gateway.
[247] Dick's Coffee-house, in Fleet Street, was named after Richard Tornor or Turner, to whom the house was let in 1680. It is called Richard's in the _London Gazette_ for 1693, No. 2939.
[248] See No. 18.
[249] A thick ale, brewed from wheat. _Cf._ "Dunciad," ii. 385.
[250] See Valerius Maximus, iv. 5.
No. 87. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Oct. 27_, to _Saturday, Oct. 29, 1709_.
_Will's Coffee-house, October 28._
There is nothing which I contemplate with greater pleasure than the dignity of human nature, which often shows itself in all conditions of life: for notwithstanding the degeneracy and meanness that is crept into it, there are a thousand occasions in which it breaks through its original corruption, and shows what it once was, and what it will be hereafter. I consider the soul of man as the ruin of a glorious pile of building; where, amidst great heaps of rubbish, you meet with noble fragments of sculpture, broken pillars and obelisks, and a magnificence in confusion. Virtue and wisdom are continually employed in clearing the ruins, removing these disorderly heaps, recovering the noble pieces that lie buried under them, and adjusting them as well as possible according to their ancient symmetry and beauty. A happy education, conversation with the finest spirits, looking abroad into the works of nature, and observations upon mankind, are the great assistances to this necessary and glorious work. But even among those who have never had the happiness of any of these advantages, there are sometimes such exertions of the greatness that is natural to the mind of man, as show capacities and abilities, which only want these accidental helps to fetch them out, and show them in a proper light. A plebeian soul is still the ruin of this glorious edifice, though encumbered with all its rubbish. This reflection rose in me from a letter which my servant dropped as he was dressing me, and which he told me was communicated to him, as he is an acquaintance of some of the persons mentioned in it. The epistle is from one Sergeant Hall of the Foot Guards. It is directed to Sergeant Cabe, in the Coldstream Regiment of Foot Guards,[251] at the Red Lettice[252] in the Butcher Row,[253] near Temple Bar.
I was so pleased with several touches in it, that I could not forbear showing it to a cluster of critics, who, instead of considering it in the light I have done, examined it by the rules of epistolary writing: for as these gentlemen are seldom men of any great genius, they work altogether by mechanical rules, and are able to discover no beauties that are not pointed out by Bouhours and Rapin.[254] The letter is as follows:
_From the Camp before Mons, September 26._
"COMRADE,
"I received yours, and am glad yourself and your wife are in good health, with all the rest of my friends. Our battalion suffered more than I could wish in the action;[255] but who can withstand Fate? Poor Richard Stephenson had his fate with a great many more: he was killed dead before we entered the trenches. We had above 200 of our battalion killed and wounded: we lost 10 sergeants; 6 are as followeth: Jennings, Castles, Roach, Sherring, Meyrick, and my son Smith. The rest are not your acquaintance. I have received a very bad shot in my head myself, but am in hopes, and please God, I shall recover. I continue in the field, and lie at my colonel's quarters. Arthur is very well; but I can give you no account of Elms; he was in the hospital before I came into the field. I will not pretend to give you an account of the battle, knowing you have a better in the prints. Pray give my service to Mrs. Cook and her daughter, to Mr. Stoffet and his wife, and to Mr. Lyver, and Thomas Hogsdon, and to Mr. Ragdell, and to all my friends and acquaintance in general who do ask after me. My love to Mrs. Stephenson: I am sorry for the sending such ill news. Her husband was gathering a little money together to send to his wife, and put it into my hands. I have seven shillings and threepence, which I shall take care to send her. Wishing your wife a safe delivery, and both of you all happiness, rest
"Your assured Friend and Comrade, JOHN HALL."
"We had but an indifferent breakfast, but the mounseers never had such a dinner in all their lives.
"My kind love to my comrade Hinton, and Mrs. Morgan, and to John Brown and his wife. I sent two shillings, and Stephenson sixpence, to drink with you at Mr. Cook's; but I have heard nothing from him. It was by Mr. Edgar.
"Corporal Hartwell desires to be remembered to you, and desires you to inquire of Edgar, what is become of his wife Peg; and when you write, to send word in your letter what trade she drives.
"We have here very bad weather, which I doubt will be a hindrance to the siege;[256] but I am in hopes we shall be masters of the town in a little time, and then I believe we shall go to garrison."
I saw the critics prepared to nibble at my letter; therefore examined it myself, partly in their way, and partly my own. "This is," said I, "truly a letter, and an honest representation of that cheerful heart which accompanies the poor soldier in his warfare. Is not there in this all the topic of submitting to our destiny as well discussed as if a greater man had been placed, like Brutus, in his tent at midnight, reflecting on all the occurrences of past life, and saying fine things on "being" itself? What Sergeant Hall knows of the matter, is, that he wishes there had not been so many killed, and he had himself a very bad shot in the head, and should recover if it pleased God. But be that as it will, he takes care, like a man of honour, as he certainly is, to let the widow Stephenson know, that he had seven and threepence for her; and that if he lives, he is sure he shall go into garrison at last. I doubt not but all the good company at the Red Lettice drank his health with as much real esteem as we do any of our friends. All that I am concerned for, is, that Mrs. Peggy Hartwell may be offended at showing this letter, because her conduct in Mr. Hartwell's absence is a little inquired into. But I could not sink that circumstance, because you critics would have lost one of the parts which I doubt not but you have much to say upon, whether the familiar way is well hit in this style or not? As for myself, I take a very particular satisfaction in seeing any letter that is fit only for those to read who are concerned in it, but especially on such a subject: for if we consider the heap of an army, utterly out of all prospect of rising and preferment, as they certainly are, and such great things executed by them, it is hard to account for the motive of their gallantry. But to me, who was a cadet at the battle of Coldstream, in Scotland, when Monck charged at the head of the regiment, now called Coldstream from the victory of that day;[257] (I remember it as well as if it were yesterday) I stood on the left of old West, who I believe is now at Chelsea: I say, to me, who know very well this part of mankind, I take the gallantry of private soldiers to proceed from the same, if not from a nobler, impulse than that of gentlemen and officers. They have the same taste of being acceptable to their friends, and go through the difficulties of that profession by the same irresistible charm of fellowship, and the communication of joys and sorrows, which quickens the relish of pleasure, and abates the anguish of pain. Add to this, that they have the same regard to fame, though they do not expect so great a share as men above them hope for; but I will engage, Sergeant Hall would die ten thousand deaths, rather than a word should be spoken at the Red Lettice, or any part of the Butcher Row, in prejudice to his courage or honesty. If you will have my opinion then of the sergeant's letter, I pronounce the style to be mixed, but truly epistolary; the sentiment relating to his own wound, is in the sublime; the postscript of Peg Hartwell, in the gay; and the whole, the picture of the bravest sort of men, that is to say, a man of great courage and small hopes."
_From my own Apartment, October 28._
When I came home this evening, I found, after many attempts to vary my thoughts, that my head still ran upon the subject of the discourse to-night at Will's. I fell therefore into the amusement of proportioning the glory of a battle among the whole army, and dividing it into shares, according to the method of the Million Lottery.[258] In this bank of fame, by an exact calculation, and the rules of political arithmetic, I have allotted ten hundred thousand shares; five hundred thousand of which is the due of the general, two hundred thousand I assign to the general officers, and two hundred thousand more to all the commissioned officers, from colonels to ensigns; the remaining hundred thousand must be distributed among the non-commissioned officers and private men: according to which computation, I find Sergeant Hall is to have one share and a fraction of two-fifths. When I was a boy at Oxford, there was among the antiquities near the theatre a great stone, on which were engraven the names of all who fell in the battle of Marathon. The generous and knowing people of Athens understood the force of the desire of glory, and would not let the meanest soldier perish in oblivion. Were the natural impulse of the British animated with such monuments, what man would be so mean as not to hazard his life for his ten-hundred-thousandth part of the honour in such a day as that of Blenheim or Blaregnies?
FOOTNOTES:
[251] This had been Steele's own regiment.
[252] In the address of Sergeant Hall's letter the Red Lettice is spelt according to the original, but this is a corruption of Red Lattice; it signifies a chequered or reticulated window of this colour, no uncommon sign of a public-house. A house with a red lattice is mentioned in "The Glass of Government," a tragi-comedy by Geo. Gascoigne, 1575.
The Chequers, at the date of this paper a very common sign of a public-house, was the representation of a kind of draught-board called "tables," signifying that that game might be played there. From their colour, which was red, and their similarity to a lattice, it was corruptly called the Red Lattice, which word is frequently used by ancient writers to signify an ale-house (Nichols). Mr. Dobson points out that Falstaff speaks of "red-lattice phrases" ("Merry Wives of Windsor," Act ii. sc. 2.), and Staunton says, "Ale-houses in old times were distinguished by _red lattices_, as dairies have since been by _green_ ones."
[253] A narrow street between the back side of St. Clement's and Shipyard, in the Strand. There were butchers' shambles on the south side, and a market for meat, poultry, fish, &c. The Row was pulled down in 1813.
[254] Dominic Bouhours (1628-1702) and Nicholas Rapin (1535-1608), French critics.
[255] The bloody battle of Malplaquet, September 11, 1709.
[256] Mons was taken on October 21.
[257] On January 1, 1660, General Monck quitted his headquarters at Coldstream, to restore the monarchy. As Gumble puts it in his "Life of Monck," "This town hath given title to a small company of men whom God made the instruments of great things." See Mackinnon's "Origin and Services of the Coldstream Guards" (1833).
[258] The first of a long series of Government lotteries was started in 1709. There were 150,000 tickets at £10 each, making £1,500,000. Three thousand seven hundred and fifty tickets were prizes from £1000 to £5 a year for thirty-two years. There was a great demand for the tickets. See No. 124, and the _Spectator,_ No. 191.
No. 88. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Oct. 29_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 1, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, October 31._
I have lately received a letter from a friend in the country, wherein he acquaints me, that two or three men of the town are got among them, and have brought down particular words and phrases which were never before in those parts. He mentions in particular the words "gunner" and "gunster," which my correspondent observes they make use of when anything has been related that is strange and surprising; and therefore desires I would explain those terms, as I have many others, for the information of such as live at a distance from this town and court, which he calls the great mints of language. His letter is dated from York; and (if he tells me truth) a word in its ordinary circulation does not reach that city within the space of five years after it is first stamped. I cannot say how long these words have been current in town, but I shall now take care to send them down by the next post.
I must in the first place observe, that the words "gunner" and "gunster" are not to be used promiscuously; for a gunner, properly speaking, is not a gunster: nor is a gunster, _vice versâ_, a gunner. They both indeed are derived from the word "gun," and so far they agree. But as a gun is remarkable for its destroying at a distance, or for the report it makes, which is apt to startle all its hearers, those who recount strange accidents and circumstances, which have no manner of foundation in truth, when they design to do mischief are comprehended under the appellation of gunners; but when they endeavour only to surprise and entertain, they are distinguished by the name of gunsters. Gunners therefore are the pest of society; but the gunsters often the diversion. The gunner is destructive, and hated; the gunster innocent, and laughed at. The first is prejudicial to others, the other only to himself.
This being premised, I must in the next place subdivide the gunner into several branches: all or the chief of which are I think as follow:
First, the Bombardier. Secondly, the Miner. Thirdly, the Squib. Fourthly, the Serpent.
And first, of the first. The bombardier tosses his balls sometimes into the midst of a city, with a design to fill all around him with terror and combustion. He has been sometimes known to drop a bomb in a Senate-house, and to scatter a panic over a nation. But his chief aim is at several eminent stations, which he looks upon as the fairest marks, and uses all his skill to do execution upon those who possess them. Every man so situated, let his merit be never so great, is sure to undergo a bombardment. It is further observed, that the only way to be out of danger from the bursting of a bomb, is to lie prostrate on the ground; a posture too abject for generous spirits.
Secondly, the Miner.
As the bombardier levels his mischief at nations and cities, the miner busies himself in ruining and overturning private houses and particular persons. He often acts as a spy, in discovering the secret avenues and unguarded accesses of families, where, after he has made his proper discoveries and dispositions, he sets sudden fire to his train, that blows up families, scatters friends, separates lovers, disperses kindred, and shakes a whole neighbourhood.
It is to be noted, that several females are great proficients in this way of engineering. The marks by which they are to be known, are a wonderful solicitude for the reputation of their friends, and a more than ordinary concern for the good of their neighbours. There is also in them something so very like religion as may deceive the vulgar; but if you look upon it very nearly, you see on it such a cast of censoriousness, as discovers it to be nothing but hypocrisy. Cleomilla is a great instance of a female miner; but as my design is to expose only the incorrigible, let her be silent for the future, and I shall be so too.
Thirdly, the Squib.
The squibs are those who in the common phrase of the world are called libellers, lampooners, and pamphleteers. Their fireworks are made up in paper; and it is observed, that they mix abundance of charcoal in their powder, that they may be sure to blacken where they cannot singe. These are observed to give a consternation and disturbance only to weak minds; which, according to the proverb, are always more afraid than hurt.
Fourthly, Serpents.
The serpents are a petty kind of gunners, more pernicious than any of the rest. They make use of a sort of white powder, that goes off without any violent crack, but gives a gentle sound, much like that of a whisper; and is more destructive in all parts of life than any of the materials made use of by any of the fraternity.
Come we now to the Gunsters.
This race of engineers deals altogether in wind-guns,[259] which, by recoiling often, knock down those who discharge them, without hurting anybody else; and according to the various compressions of the air, make such strange squeaks, cracks, pops, and bounces, as it is impossible to hear without laughing. It is observable, however, that there is a disposition in a gunster to become a gunner; and though their proper instruments are only loaded with wind, they often, out of wantonness, fire a bomb, or spring a mine, out of their natural inclination to engineering; by which means they do mischief when they don't design it, and have their bones broken when they don't deserve it.
This sort of engineers are the most unaccountable race of men in the world: some of them have received above a hundred wounds, and yet have not a scar in their bodies; some have debauched multitudes of women who have died maids. You may be with them from morning till night, and the next day they shall tell you a thousand adventures that happened when you were with them, which you know nothing of. They have a quality of having been present at everything they hear related; and never heard a man commended who was not their intimate acquaintance, if not their kinsman.
I hope these notes may serve as a rough draught for a new establishment of engineers, which I shall hereafter fill up with proper persons, according to my own observations on their conduct, having already had one recommended to me for the general of my artillery. But that, and all the other posts, I intend to keep open, till I can inform myself of the candidates, having resolved in this case to depend no more upon their friend's word than I would upon their own.
_From my own Apartment, October 31._[260]
I was this morning awakened by a sudden shake of the house; and as soon as I had got a little out of my consternation, I felt another, which was followed by two or three repetitions of the same convulsion. I got up as fast as possible, girt on my rapier, and snatched up my hat, when my landlady came up to me, and told me, that the gentlewoman of the next house begged me to step thither; for that a lodger she had taken in was run mad, and she desired my advice; as indeed everybody in the whole lane does upon important occasions. I am not like some artists, saucy because I can be beneficial, but went immediately. Our neighbour told us, she had the day before let her second floor to a very genteel youngish man, who told her, he kept extraordinary good hours, and was generally at home most part of the morning and evening at study; but that this morning he had for an hour together made this extravagant noise which we then heard. I went upstairs with my hand upon the hilt of my rapier, and approached this new lodger's door. I looked in at the key-hole, and there I saw a well-made man look with great attention on a book, and on a sudden, jump into the air so high, that his head almost touched the ceiling. He came down safe on his right foot, and again flew up, alighting on his left; then looked again at his book, and holding out his right leg, put it into such a quivering motion, that I thought he would have shaken it off. He used the left after the same manner, when on a sudden, to my great surprise, he stooped himself incredibly low, and turned gently on his toes. After this circular motion, he continued bent in that humble posture for some time, looking on his book. After this, he recovered himself with a sudden spring, and flew round the room in all the violence and disorder imaginable, till he made a full pause for want of breath. In this interim my woman asked what I thought: I whispered, that I thought this learned person an enthusiast, who possibly had his first education in the peripatetic way, which was a sect of philosophers who always studied when walking. But observing him much out of breath, I thought it the best time to master him if he were disordered, and knocked at his door. I was surprised to find him open it, and say with great civility and good mien, that he hoped he had not disturbed us. I believed him in a lucid interval, and desired he would please to let me see his book. He did so, smiling. I could not make anything of it, and therefore asked in what language it was written. He said, it was one he studied with great application; but it was his profession to teach it, and could not communicate his knowledge without a consideration. I answered, that I hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himself; for his meditation this morning had cost me three coffee-dishes and a clean pipe. He seemed concerned at that, and told me, he was a dancing-master, and had been reading a dance or two before he went out, which had been written by one who taught at an academy in France.[261] He observed me at a stand, and went on to inform me, that now articulate motions, as well as sounds, were expressed by proper characters, and that there is nothing so common as to communicate a dance by a letter. I besought him hereafter to meditate in a ground room, for that otherwise it would be impossible for an artist of any other kind to live near him; and that I was sure, several of his thoughts this morning would have shaken my spectacles off my nose, had I been myself at study.
I then took my leave of this virtuoso, and returned to my chamber, meditating on the various occupations of rational creatures.
FOOTNOTES:
[259] In the _Postman_ for August 19, 1702, the person mentioned in Dr. Burnet's Travels from Basel, in Switzerland, advertises his arrival, and his having brought several sorts of wind-guns and horse-pistols, made for the late K. William, to be shown at the price of sixpence apiece; but he hopes the nobility will be induced to give more, as he has some curiosities besides, not mentioned.
"There is in Basel a gunsmith that maketh wind-guns, and he showed me one, that as it received at once air for ten shot, so it had this peculiar to it, which he pretends is his own invention, that he can discharge all the air that can be parcelled out in ten shot at once to give a home blow. I confess those are terrible instruments, and it seems the interest of mankind to forbid them quite." (Burnet's "Letters," &c., 1687, page 236, quoted by Nichols.)
[260] This article is by Addison.
[261] Thoinet Arbeau, a dancing-master at Paris, who was the inventor of the art of writing dances in characters, called orchesography. Music, about the year 1709, was generally printed in most countries, as well as in England, on letterpress types. Engravings on copperplates were used almost eighty years before in Italy, and the music of many single songs was engraved here about the year 1700, by one Thomas Cross. (See Hawkins's "History of Music," 1776, ii. 132-133, v. 107.)
No. 89. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Nov. 1_, to _Thursday, Nov. 3, 1709_.
Rura mihi placeant, riguique in vallibus amnes, Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius.
VIRG., Georg. ii. 485.
_Grecian Coffee-house, Nov. 2._
I have received this short epistle from an unknown hand:[262]
"SIR,
"I have no more to trouble you with, than to desire you would in your next help me to some answer to the enclosed concerning yourself. In the meantime I congratulate you upon the increase of your fame, which you see has extended itself beyond the bills of mortality.
"'SIR,
"'That the country is barren of news, has been the excuse time out of mind for dropping a correspondence with our friends in London; as if it were impossible out of a coffee-house to write an agreeable letter. I am too ingenuous to endeavour at the covering of my negligence with so common an excuse. Doubtless, amongst friends bred as we have been, to the knowledge of books as well as men, a letter dated from a garden, a grotto, a fountain, a wood, a meadow, or the banks of a river, may be more entertaining than one from Tom's,[263] Will's, White's, or St. James's. I promise therefore to be frequent for the future in my rural dates to you: but for fear you should, from what I have said, be induced to believe I shun the commerce of men, I must inform you, that there is a fresh topic of discourse lately risen amongst the ingenious in our part of the world, and is become the more fashionable for the ladies giving into it. This we owe to Isaac Bickerstaff, who is very much censured by some, and as much justified by others. Some criticise his style, his humour, and his matter; others admire the whole man: some pretend, from the informations of their friends in town, to decipher the author; and others confess they are lost in their guesses. For my part, I must own myself a professed admirer of the paper, and desire you to send me a complete set, together with your thoughts of the squire and his lucubrations.'"
There is no pleasure like that of receiving praise from the praiseworthy; and I own it a very solid happiness, that these my lucubrations are approved by a person of so fine a taste as the author of this letter, who is capable of enjoying the world in the simplicity of its natural beauties. This pastoral letter, if I may so call it, must be written by a man who carries his entertainment wherever he goes, and is undoubtedly one of those happy men who appear far otherwise to the vulgar. I daresay, he is not envied by the vicious, the vain, the frolic, and the loud; but is continually blessed with that strong and serious delight which flows from a well-taught and liberal mind. With great respect to country sports, I may say, this gentleman could pass his time agreeably if there were not a hare or a fox in his county. That calm and elegant satisfaction which the vulgar call melancholy, is the true and proper delight of men of knowledge and virtue. What we take for diversion, which is a kind of forgetting ourselves, is but a mean way of entertainment, in comparison of that which is considering, knowing, and enjoying ourselves. The pleasures of ordinary people are in their passions; but the seat of this delight is in the reason and understanding. Such a frame of mind raises that sweet enthusiasm which warms the imagination at the sight of every work of nature, and turns all around you into picture and landscape. I shall be ever proud of advices from this gentleman; for I profess writing news from the learned as well as the busy world.
As for my labours, which he is pleased to inquire after, if they can but wear one impertinence out of human life, destroy a single vice, or give a morning's cheerfulness to an honest mind; in short, if the world can be but one virtue the better, or in any degree less vicious, or receive from them the smallest addition to their innocent diversions, I shall not think my pains, or indeed my life, to have been spent in vain.
Thus far as to my studies. It will be expected I should in the next place give some account of my life. I shall therefore, for the satisfaction of the present age, and the benefit of posterity, present the world with the following abridgment of it.
It is remarkable, that I was bred by hand, and ate nothing but milk till I was a twelvemonth old; from which time, to the eighth year of my age, I was observed to delight in pudding and potatoes; and indeed I retain a benevolence for that sort of food to this day. I do not remember that I distinguished myself in anything at those years, but by my great skill at taw, for which I was so barbarously used, that it has ever since given me an aversion to gaming. In my twelfth year, I suffered very much for two or three false concords. At fifteen, I was sent to the university, and stayed there for some time; but a drum passing by (being a lover of music), I listed myself for a soldier.[264] As years came on, I began to examine things, and grew discontented at the times. This made me quit the sword, and take to the study of the occult sciences, in which I was so wrapped up, that Oliver Cromwell had been buried, and taken up again, five years before I heard he was dead. This gave me first the reputation of a conjurer, which has been of great disadvantage to me ever since, and kept me out of all public employments. The greater part of my later years has been divided between Dick's Coffee-house, the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, and my own lodgings.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 2._
The evil of unseasonable visits has been complained of to me with much vehemence by persons of both sexes; and I am desired to consider this very important circumstance, that men may know how to regulate their conduct in an affair which concerns no less than life itself. For to a rational creature, it is almost the same cruelty to attack his life, by robbing him of so many moments of his time, or so many drops of his blood. The author of the following letter has a just delicacy on this point, and has put it into a very good light.
"MR. BICKERSTAFF,
_Oct. 29._
I am very much afflicted with the gravel, which makes me sick and peevish. I desire to know of you, if it be reasonable that any of my acquaintance should take advantage over me at this time, and afflict me with long visits, because they are idle, and I am confined. Pray, sir, reform the town in this matter. Men never consider whether the sick person be disposed for company, but make their visits to humour themselves. You may talk upon this topic, so as to oblige all persons afflicted with chronic distempers, among which I reckon visits. Don't think me a sour man, for I love conversation and my friends; but I think one's most intimate friend may be too familiar, and that there are such things as unseasonable wit and painful mirth."
It is with some so hard a thing to employ their time, that it is a great good fortune when they have a friend indisposed, that they may be punctual in perplexing him, when he is recovered enough to be in that state which cannot be called sickness or health; when he is too well to deny company, and too ill to receive them. It is no uncommon case, if a man is of any figure or power in the world, to be congratulated into a relapse.
_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 2._
I was very well pleased this evening to hear a gentleman express a very becoming indignation against a practice which I myself have been very much offended at. "There is nothing," said he, "more ridiculous than for an actor to insert words of his own in the part he is to act, so that it is impossible to see the poet for the player: you will have Pinkethman and Bullock helping out Beaumont and Fletcher. It puts me in mind," continued he, "of a collection of antique statues which I once saw in a gentleman's possession, who employed a neighbouring stone-cutter to add noses, ears, arms, or legs, to the maimed works of Phidias or Praxiteles. You may be sure this addition disfigured the statues much more than time had. I remember a Venus that, by the nose he had given her, looked like Mother Shipton; and a Mercury with a pair of legs that seemed very much swelled with a dropsy."
I thought the gentleman's observations very proper; and he told me, I had improved his thought, in mentioning on this occasion those wise commentators who had filled up the hemistichs of Virgil;[265] particularly that notable poet, who, to make the "Æneid" more perfect, carried on the story to Lavinia's wedding.[266] If the proper officer will not condescend to take notice of these absurdities, I shall myself, as a censor of the people, animadvert upon such proceedings.
FOOTNOTES:
[262] See No. 112.
[263] Tom's Coffee-house, in Russell Street, opposite Button's, was named after the landlord, Captain Thomas West. Macky ("A Journey through England," 1722, i. 172) says, "After the play the best company generally go to Tom's and Will's Coffee-houses, near adjoining, where there is playing at piquet, and the best of conversation till midnight. Here you will see blue and green ribbons and stars sitting familiarly."
[264] Here and elsewhere Steele describes his own life.
No. 90. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Nov. 3_, to _Saturday, Nov. 5, 1709_.
----Amoto quæramus seria ludo.--HOR., 1 Sat. i. 27.
_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 4._
The passion of love happened to be the subject of discourse between two or three of us at the table of the poets this evening; and among other observations, it was remarked, that the same sentiment on this passion had run through all languages and nations. Menmius, who has a very good taste, fell into a little sort of dissertation on this occasion. "It is," said he, "remarkable, that no passion has been treated by all who have touched upon it with the same bent of design but this. The poets, the moralists, the painters, in all their descriptions, allegories, and pictures, have represented it as a soft torment, a bitter sweet, a pleasing pain, or an agreeable distress, and have only expressed the same thought in a different manner. The[267] joining of pleasure and pain together in such devices, seems to me the only pointed thought I ever read which is natural; and it must have proceeded from its being the universal sense and experience of mankind, that they have all spoken of it in the same manner. I have in my own reading remarked a hundred and three epigrams, fifty odes, and ninety-one sentences tending to this sole purpose. It is certain, there is no other passion which does produce such contrary effects in so great a degree: but this may be said for love, that if you strike it out of the soul, life would be insipid, and our being but half animated. Human nature would sink into deadness and lethargy, if not quickened with some active principle; and as for all others, whether ambition, envy, or avarice, which are apt to possess the mind in the absence of this passion, it must be allowed that they have greater pains, without the compensation of such exquisite pleasures as those we find in love. The great skill is to heighten the satisfactions, and deaden the sorrows of it, which has been the end of many of my labours, and shall continue to be so for the service of the world in general, and in particular of the fair sex who are always the best or the worst part of it. It is pity that a passion which has in it a capacity of making life happy, should not be cultivated to the utmost advantage. Reason, prudence, and good-nature, rightly applied, can thoroughly accomplish this great end, provided they have always a real and constant love to work upon. But this subject I shall treat more at large in the history of my married sister; and in the meantime, shall conclude my reflection on the pains and pleasures which attend this passion with one of the finest allegories which I think I have ever read. It is invented by the divine Plato, and to show the opinion he himself had of it, ascribed by him to his admired Socrates, whom he represents as discoursing with his friends, and giving the history of love in the following manner:
"At the birth of Beauty," says he, "there was a great feast made, and many guests invited: among the rest was the god Plenty, who was the son of the goddess Prudence, and inherited many of his mother's virtues. After a full entertainment, he retired into the garden of Jupiter, which was hung with a great variety of ambrosial fruits, and seems to have been a very proper retreat for such a guest. In the meantime an unhappy female, called Poverty, having heard of this great feast, repaired to it in hopes of finding relief. The first place she lights upon was Jupiter's garden, which generally stands open to people of all conditions. Poverty enters, and by chance finds the god Plenty asleep in it. She was immediately fired with his charms, laid herself down by his side, and managed matters so well that she conceived a child by him. The world was very much in suspense upon the occasion, and could not imagine to themselves what would be the nature of an infant that was to have its original from two such parents. At the last, the child appears; and who should it be but Love. This infant grew up, and proved in all his behaviour what he really was, a compound of opposite beings. As he is the son of Plenty (who was the offspring of Prudence), he is subtle, intriguing, full of stratagems and devices; as the son of Poverty, he is fawning, begging, serenading, delighting to lie at a threshold or beneath a window. By the father, he is audacious, full of hopes, conscious of merit, and therefore quick of resentment: by the mother, he is doubtful, timorous, mean-spirited, fearful of offending, and abject in submissions. In the same hour you may see him transported with raptures, talking of immortal pleasures, and appearing satisfied as a god; and immediately after, as the mortal mother prevails in his composition, you behold him pining, languishing, despairing, dying."
I have been always wonderfully delighted with fables, allegories, and the like inventions, which the politest and the best instructors of mankind have always made use of: they take off from the severity of instruction, and enforce it at the same time that they conceal it. The supposing Love to be conceived immediately after the birth of Beauty, the parentage of Plenty, and the inconsistency of this passion with itself so naturally derived to it, are great master-strokes in this fable; and if they fell into good hands, might furnish out a more pleasing canto than any in Spenser.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 4._
I came home this evening in a very pensive mood; and to divert me, took up a volume of Shakespeare, where I chanced to cast my eye upon a part in the tragedy of "Richard the Third," which filled my mind with a very agreeable horror. It was the scene in which that bold but wicked prince is represented as sleeping in his tent the night before the battle in which he fell. The poet takes that occasion to set before him in a vision a terrible assembly of apparitions, the ghosts of all those innocent persons whom he is said to have murdered. Prince Edward, Henry VI., the Duke of Clarence, Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan, Lord Hastings, the two young princes, sons to Edward IV., his own wife, and the Duke of Buckingham rise up in their blood before him, beginning their speeches with that dreadful salutation, "Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow;" and concluding with that dismal sentence, "Despair and die." This inspires the tyrant with a dream of his past guilt, and of the approaching vengeance. He anticipates the fatal day of Bosworth, fancies himself dismounted, weltering in his own blood; and in the agonies of despair (before he is thoroughly awake), starts up with the following speech:
_Give me another horse--Bind up my wounds! Have mercy, Jesu--Soft, I did but dream. O coward Conscience! How dost thou afflict me? The lights burn blue! Is it not dead midnight? Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh; What do I fear? Myself!_ &c.[268]
A scene written with so great strength of imagination indisposed me from further reading, and threw me into a deep contemplation. I began to reflect upon the different ends of good and bad kings; and as this was the birthday of our late renowned monarch,[269] I could not forbear thinking on the departure of that excellent prince, whose life was crowned with glory, and his death with peace. I let my mind go so far into this thought, as to imagine to myself, what might have been the vision of his departing slumbers. He might have seen confederate kings applauding him in different languages, slaves that had been bound in fetters lifting up their hands and blessing him, and the persecuted in their several forms of worship imploring comfort on his last moments. The reflection upon this excellent prince's mortality had been a very melancholy entertainment to me, had I not been relieved by the consideration of the glorious reign which succeeds it.
We now see as great a virtue as ever was on the British throne, surrounded with all the beauty of success. Our nation may not only boast of a long series of great, regular, and well-laid designs, but also of triumphs and victories; while we have the happiness to see our sovereign exercise that true policy which tends to make a kingdom great and happy, and at the same time enjoy the good and glorious effect of it.
FOOTNOTES:
[265] This was done by Joannes des Peyrareda, a gentleman of Aquitaine.
[266] Mapheus Vegius, of Lodi (1407-1458), added a thirteenth book to the "Æneid," with an account of the marriage of Æneas and Lavinia.
[267] The remainder of this article from Will's is by Addison.
[268] "King Richard the Third," Act v. sc. 3.
[269] William III.
No. 91. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Nov. 5_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 8, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 7._
I was very much surprised this evening with a visit from one of the top toasts of the town, who came privately in a chair, and bolted into my room, while I was reading a chapter of Agrippa upon the occult sciences; but as she entered with all the air and bloom that nature ever bestowed on woman, I threw down the conjurer, and met the charmer. I had no sooner placed her at my right hand by the fire, but she opened to me the reason of her visit. "Mr. Bickerstaff," said the fine creature, "I have been your correspondent some time, though I never saw you before; I have writ by the name of Maria.[270] You have told me you were too far gone in life to think of love; therefore I am answered as to the passion I spoke of, and," continued she, smiling, "I will not stay till you grow young again (as you men never fail to do in your dotage), but am come to consult you about disposing of myself to another. My person you see; my fortune is very considerable; but I am at present under much perplexity how to act in a great conjuncture. I have two lovers, Crassus and Lorio. Crassus is prodigiously rich, but has no one distinguishing quality; though at the same time he is not remarkable on the defective side. Lorio has travelled, is well bred, pleasant in discourse, discreet in his conduct, agreeable in his person; and with all this, he has a competency of fortune without superfluity. When I consider Lorio, my mind is filled with an idea of the great satisfactions of a pleasant conversation. When I think of Crassus, my equipage, numerous servants, gay liveries, and various dresses are opposed to the charms of his rival. In a word, when I cast my eyes upon Lorio, I forget and despise fortune; when I behold Crassus, I think only of pleasing my vanity, and enjoying an uncontrolled expense in all the pleasures of life, except love." She paused here. "Madam," said I, "I am confident you have not stated your case with sincerity, and that there is some secret pang which you have concealed from me: for I see by your aspect the generosity of your mind; and that open ingenuous air lets me know, that you have too great a sense of the generous passion of love, to prefer the ostentation of life in the arms of Crassus, to the entertainments and conveniences of it in the company of your beloved Lorio; for so he is indeed, madam. You speak his name with a different accent from the rest of your discourse: the idea his image raises in you, gives new life to your features, and new grace to your speech. Nay, blush not, madam, there is no dishonour in loving a man of merit: I assure you, I am grieved at this dallying with yourself, when you put another in competition with him, for no other reason but superior wealth." "To tell you then," said she, "the bottom of my heart, there's Clotilda lies by, and plants herself in the way of Crassus, and I am confident will snap him, if I refuse him. I cannot bear to think that she will shine above me. When our coaches meet, to see her chariot hung behind with four footmen, and mine with but two: hers, powdered, gay, and saucy, kept only for show; mine, a couple of careful rogues that are good for something: I own, I cannot bear that Clotilda should be in all the pride and wantonness of wealth, and I only in the ease and affluence of it." Here I interrupted: "Well, madam, now I see your whole affliction: you could be happy, but that you fear another would be happier; or rather, you could be solidly happy, but that another is to be happy in appearance. This is an evil which you must get over, or never know happiness. We will put the case, madam, that you married Crassus, and she Lorio." She answered, "Speak not of it--I could tear her eyes out at the mention of it." "Well, then, I pronounce Lorio to be the man: but I must tell you, that what we call settling in the world, is in a kind leaving it; and you must at once resolve to keep your thoughts of happiness within the reach of your fortune, and not measure it by comparison with others. But indeed, madam, when I behold that beauteous form of yours, and consider the generality of your sex, as to their disposal of themselves in marriage, or their parents doing it for them without their own approbation, I cannot but look upon all such matches as the most impudent prostitutions. Do but observe when you are at a play, the familiar wenches that sit laughing among the men. These appear detestable to you in the boxes: each of them would give up her person for a guinea; and some of you would take the worst there for life for twenty thousand. If so, how do you differ but in price? As to the circumstance of marriage, I take that to be hardly an alteration of the case; for wedlock is but a more solemn prostitution where there is not a union of minds. You would hardly believe it, but there have been designs even upon me. A neighbour in this very lane, who knows I have, by leading a very wary life, laid up a little money, had a great mind to marry me to his daughter. I was frequently invited to their table. The girl was always very pleasant and agreeable. After dinner, Miss Molly would be sure to fill my pipe for me, and put more sugar than ordinary into my coffee; for she was sure I was good-natured. If I chanced to hem, the mother would applaud my vigour; and has often said on that occasion, 'I wonder, Mr. Bickerstaff, you don't marry; I am sure you would have children.' Things went so far that my mistress presented me with a wrought nightcap and a laced band of her own working. I began to think of it in earnest; but one day, having an occasion to ride to Islington, as two or three people were lifting me upon my pad, I spied her at a convenient distance laughing at her lover, with a parcel of romps of her acquaintance: one of them, who I suppose had the same design upon me, told me she said, 'Do you see how briskly my old gentleman mounts?' This made me cut off my amour, and to reflect with myself, that no married life could be so unhappy, as where the wife proposes no other advantage from her husband, than that of making herself fine, and keeping her out of the dirt."
My fair client burst out a-laughing at the account I gave her of my escape, and went away seemingly convinced of the reasonableness of my discourse to her.
As soon as she was gone, my maid brought up the following epistle, which by the style and the description she gave of the person, I suppose was left by Nick Doubt. "Harkee," said he, "girl, tell old Basket-hilt, I would have him answer it by the first opportunity." What he says is this:
"ISAAC,
"You seem a very honest fellow; therefore pray tell me, did not you write that letter in praise of the squire and his lucubrations yourself?" &c.[271]
The greatest plague of coxcombs is, that they often break upon you with an impertinent piece of good sense, as this jackanapes has hit me in a right place enough. I must confess, I am as likely to play such a trick as another; but that letter he speaks of was really genuine. When I first set up, I thought it fair enough to let myself know from all parts that my works were wonderfully inquired for, and were become the diversion, as well as instruction, of all the choice spirits in every county of Great Britain. I do not doubt but the more intelligent of my readers found it, before this jackanapes (I can call him no better) took upon him to observe upon my style and my basket-hilt. A very pleasant gentleman of my acquaintance told me one day a story of this kind of falsehood and vanity in an author. Mævius showed him a paper of verses, which he said he had received that morning by the penny post from an unknown hand. My friend admired them extremely. "Sir," said he, "this must come from a man that is eminent: you see fire, life, and spirit run through the whole, and at the same time a correctness, which shows he is used to writing. Pray, Sir, read them over again." He begins again, title and all: "To Mævius on his incomparable poems." The second reading was performed with much more vehemence and action than the former; after which my friend fell into downright raptures. "Why, they are truly sublime! There is energy in this line! description in that! Why, it is the thing itself! This is perfect picture!" Mævius could bear no more; "but, faith," says he, "Ned, to tell you the plain truth, I writ them myself."
There goes just such another story of the same paternal tenderness in Bavius, an ingenious contemporary of mine, who had written several comedies, which were rejected by the players. This my friend Bavius took for envy, and therefore prevailed upon a gentleman to go with him to the play-house, and gave him a new play of his, desiring he would personate the author, and read it, to baffle the spite of the actors. The friend consented, and to reading they went. They had not gone over three similes before Roscius the player made the acting author stop, and desired to know, what he meant by such a rapture? and how it came to pass, that in this condition of the lover, instead of acting according to his circumstances, he spent his time in considering what his present state was like? "That is very true," says the mock-author, "I believe we had as good strike these lines out." "By your leave," says Mævius, "you shall not spoil your play, you are too modest; those very lines, for aught I know, are as good as any in your play, and they shall stand." Well, they go on, and the particle "and" stood unfortunately at the end of a verse, and was made to rhyme to the word "stand." This Roscius excepted against. The new poet gave up that too, and said, he would not dispute for a monosyllable--"For a monosyllable!" says the real author; "I can assure you, a monosyllable may be of as great force as a word of ten syllables. I tell you, sir, 'and' is the connection of the matter in that place; without that word, you may put all that follows into any other play as well as this. Besides, if you leave it out, it will look as if you had put it in only for the sake of the rhyme." Roscius persisted, assuring the gentleman, that it was impossible to speak it but the "and" must be lost; so it might as well be blotted out. Bavius snatched his play out of their hands, said they were both blockheads, and went off; repeating a couplet, because he would not make his exit irregularly. A witty man of these days compared this true and feigned poet to the contending mothers before Solomon: the true one was easily discovered from the pretender, by refusing to see his offspring dissected.
FOOTNOTES:
[270] See No. 83.
[271] In No. 58 of the _Female Tatler_ Thomas Baker insinuated that Steele wrote the letter in No. 89 of the _Tatler_ himself.
The following advertisement is subjoined to _The General Postscript_, No. 19 (Wednesday, November 9, 1709):
"Nick Doubt desires the public to take notice, that he did not bring that letter to Basket-hilt's maid, that begins, 'Isaac, you seem a very honest fellow;' and he's a double jackanapes that thinks he'd disturb the squire's 'lucubrations' with any such impertinent messages."
No. 92. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Nov. 8_, to _Thursday, Nov. 10, 1709_.
Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret Quem nisi mendosum et mendacem?
HOR., I Ep. xvi. 40.
_White's Chocolate-house, Nov. 9._
I know no manner of speaking so offensive as that of giving praise, and closing it with an exception; which proceeds (where men do not do it to introduce malice, and make calumny more effectual) from the common error of considering man as a perfect creature. But if we rightly examine things, we shall find, that there is a sort of economy in Providence, that one shall excel where another is defective, in order to make men more useful to each other, and mix them in society. This man having this talent, and that man another, is as necessary in conversation, as one professing one trade, and another another, is beneficial in commerce. The happiest climate does not produce all things; and it was so ordered, that one part of the earth should want the product of another, for uniting mankind in a general correspondence and good understanding. It is therefore want of good sense as well as good nature, to say, Simplicius has a better judgment, but not so much wit, as Latius; for that these have not each other's capacities, is no more a diminution to either than if you should say, Simplicius is not Latius, or Latius not Simplicius. The heathen world had so little notion that perfection was to be expected amongst men, that among them any one quality or endowment in an heroic degree made a god. Hercules had strength; but it was never objected to him that he wanted wit. Apollo presided over wit, and it was never asked whether he had strength. We hear no exceptions against the beauty of Minerva, or the wisdom of Venus. These wise heathens were glad to immortalise any one serviceable gift, and overlook all imperfections in the person who had it; but with us it is far otherwise, for we reject many eminent virtues, if they are accompanied with one apparent weakness. The reflecting after this manner, made me account for the strange delight men take in reading lampoons and scandal, with which the age abounds, and of which I receive frequent complaints. Upon mature consideration, I find it is principally for this reason that the worst of mankind, the libellers, receive so much encouragement in the world. The low race of men take a secret pleasure in finding an eminent character levelled to their condition by a report of its defects, and keep themselves in countenance, though they are excelled in a thousand virtues, if they believe they have in common with a great person any one fault. The libeller falls in with this humour, and gratifies this baseness of temper, which is naturally an enemy to extraordinary merit. It is from this that libel and satire are promiscuously joined together in the notions of the vulgar, though the satirist and libeller differ as much as the magistrate and the murderer. In the consideration of human life, the satirist never falls upon persons who are not glaringly faulty, and the libeller on none but who are conspicuously commendable. Were I to expose any vice in a good or great man, it should certainly be by correcting it in some one where that crime was the most distinguishing part of the character; as pages are chastised for the admonition of princes.[272] When it is performed otherwise, the vicious are kept in credit by placing men of merit in the same accusation. But all the pasquils,[273] lampoons, and libels we meet with nowadays, are a sort of playing with the four-and-twenty letters, and throwing them into names and characters, without sense, truth, or wit. In this case, I am in great perplexity to know whom they mean, and should be in distress for those they abuse, if I did not see their judgment and ingenuity in those they commend. This is the true way of examining a libel; and when men consider, that no one man living thinks the better of their heroes and patrons for the panegyric given them, none can think themselves lessened by their invective. The hero or patron in a libel is but a scavenger to carry off the dirt, and by that very employment is the filthiest creature in the street. Dedications and panegyrics are frequently ridiculous, let them be addressed where they will; but at the front, or in the body of a libel, to commend a man, is saying to the persons applauded, "My Lord, or Sir, I have pulled down all men that the rest of the world think great and honourable, and here is a clear stage; you may as you please be valiant or wise; you may choose to be on the military or civil list; for there is no one brave who commands, or just who has power: you may rule the world now it is empty, which exploded you when it was full: I have knocked out the brains of all whom mankind thought good for anything; and I doubt not but you will reward that invention which found out the only expedient to make your Lordship, or your Worship, of any consideration."
Had I the honour to be in a libel, and had escaped the approbation of the author, I should look upon it exactly in this manner. But though it is a thing thus perfectly indifferent, who is exalted or debased in such performances, yet it is not so with relation to the authors of them; therefore I shall, for the good of my country, hereafter take upon me to punish these wretches. What is already passed, may die away according to its nature, and continue in its present oblivion; but for the future, I shall take notice of such enemies to honour and virtue, and preserve them to immortal infamy. Their names shall give fresh offence many ages hence, and be detested a thousand years after the commission of their crime. It shall not avail, that these children of infamy publish their works under feigned names, or under none at all; for I am so perfectly well acquainted with the styles of all my contemporaries, that I shall not fail of doing them justice, with their proper names, and at their full length. Let therefore these miscreants enjoy their present act of oblivion, and take care how they offend hereafter. But to avert our eyes from such objects, it is methinks but requisite to settle our opinion in the case of praise and blame; and I believe, the only true way to cure that sensibility of reproach, which is a common weakness with the most virtuous men, is to fix their regard firmly upon only what is strictly true, in relation to their advantage, as well as diminution. For if I am pleased with commendation which I do not deserve, I shall from the same temper be concerned at scandal I do not deserve. But he that can think of false applause with as much contempt as false detraction, will certainly be prepared for all adventures, and will become all occasions. Undeserved praise can please only those who want merit, and undeserved reproach frighten only those who want sincerity.[274] I have thought of this with so much attention, that I fancy there can be no other method in nature found for the cure of that delicacy which gives good men pain under calumny, but placing satisfaction nowhere but in a just sense of their own integrity, without regard to the opinion of others. If we have not such a foundation as this, there is no help against scandal, but being in obscurity, which to noble minds is not being at all. The truth of it is, this love of praise dwells most in great and heroic spirits; and those who best deserve it have generally the most exquisite relish of it. Methinks I see the renowned Alexander, after a painful and laborious march, amidst the heats of a parched soil and a burning climate, sitting over the head of a fountain, and after a draught of water, pronounce that memorable saying, "O Athenians! how much do I suffer that you may speak well of me?" The Athenians were at that time the learned of the world, and their libels against Alexander were written as he was a professed enemy of their state: but how monstrous would such invectives have appeared in Macedonians?
As love of reputation is a darling passion in great men, so the defence of them in this particular is the business of every man of honour and honesty. We should run on such an occasion (as if a public building was on fire) to their relief; and all who spread or publish such detestable pieces as traduce their merit, should be used like incendiaries. It is the common cause of our country, to support the reputation of those who preserve it against invaders; and every man is attacked in the person of that neighbour who deserves well of him.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 9._
The chat I had to-day at White's about fame and scandal, put me in mind of a person who has often written to me unregarded, and has a very moderate ambition in this particular. His name it seems is Charles Lillie, and he recommends himself to my observation as one that sold snuff next door to the Fountain Tavern, in the Strand, and was burnt out when he began to have a reputation in his way.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"I suppose, through a hurry of business, you have either forgotten me, or lost my last of this nature; which was, to beg the favour of being advantageously exposed in your paper, chiefly for the reputation of snuff. Be pleased to pardon this trouble, from,
"Sir, Your very humble Servant, C. L.
"I am a perfumer, at the corner of Beauford Buildings, in the Strand."
This same Charles leaves it to me to say what I will of him, and I am not a little pleased with the ingenuous manner of his address. Taking snuff is what I have declared against; but as his Holiness the Pope allows whoring for the taxes raised by the ladies of pleasure, so I, to repair the loss of an unhappy trader, indulge all persons in that custom who buy of Charles. There is something so particular in the request of the man, that I shall send for him before me, and believe I shall find he has a genius for baubles: if so, I shall, for aught I know, at his shop, give licensed canes to those who are really lame, and tubes to those who are unfeignedly short-sighted; and forbid all others to vend the same.
FOOTNOTES:
[272] The royal children were at one time punished by proxy. Burnet ("History of his Own Time," 1823, i. 102) gives an account of a whipping boy to King Charles I. (See also the _Spectator_, No. 313; and Hawkins's "History of Music," iii. 252.)
[273] Pasquinades.
[274] See Horace's lines prefixed to this paper.
No. 93. [STEELE and ADDISON.
From _Thursday, Nov. 10_, to _Saturday, Nov, 12, 1709_.
_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 11._
The French humour of writing epistles, and publishing their fulsome compliments to each other, is a thing I frequently complain of in this place. It is, methinks, from the prevalence of this silly custom that there is so little instruction in the conversation of our distant friends; for which reason, during the whole course of my life, I have desired my acquaintance, when they write to me, rather to say something which should make me wish myself with them, than make me compliments that they wished themselves with me. By this means, I have by me a collection of letters from most parts of the world, which are as naturally of the growth of the place as any herb, tree, or plant of the soil. This I take to be the proper use of an epistolary commerce. To desire to know how Damon goes on with his courtship to Silvia, or how the wine tastes at the Old Devil, are threadbare subjects, and cold treats, which our absent friends might have given us without going out of town for them. A friend of mine who went to travel, used me far otherwise; for he gave me a prospect of the place, or an account of the people, from every country through which he passed. Among others which I was looking over this evening, I am not a little delighted with this which follows:[275]
"DEAR SIR,
"I believe this is the first letter that was ever sent you from the middle region, where I am at this present writing. Not to keep you in suspense, it comes to you from the top of the highest mountain in Switzerland, where I am now shivering among the eternal frosts and snows. I can scarce forbear dating it in December, though they call it the first of August at the bottom of the mountain. I assure you, I can hardly keep my ink from freezing in the middle of the dog-days. I am here entertained with the prettiest variety of snow prospects that you can imagine, and have several pits of it before me that are very near as old as the mountain itself; for in this country it is as lasting as marble. I am now upon a spot of it which they tell me fell about the reign of Charlemagne or King Pepin. The inhabitants of the country are as great curiosities as the country itself: they generally hire themselves out in their youth, and if they are musket-proof till about fifty, they bring home the money they have got, and the limbs they have left, to pass the rest of their time among their native mountains. One of the gentlemen of the place, who is come off with the loss of an eye only, told me by way of boast, that there were now seven wooden legs in his family; and that for these four generations, there had not been one in his line that carried a whole body with him to the grave. I believe you will think the style of this letter a little extraordinary; but the 'Rehearsal' will tell you, that people in clouds must not be confined to speak sense;[276] and I hope we that are above them may claim the same privilege. Wherever I am, I shall always be,
"Sir, Your most obedient, Most humble Servant."
I think they ought, in those parts where the materials are so easy to work, and at the same time so durable, when any one of their heroes comes home from the wars, to erect his statue in snow upon the mountains, there to remain from generation to generation. A gentleman who is apt to expatiate upon any hint, took this occasion to deliver his opinion upon our ordinary method of sending young gentlemen to travel for their education. "It is certain," said he, "if gentlemen travel at an age proper for them, during the course of their voyages, their accounts to their friends, and after their return, their discourses and conversations, will have in them something above what we can meet with from those who have not had those advantages. At the same time it is to be observed, that every temper and genius is not qualified for this way of improvement. Men may change their climate, but they cannot their nature. A man that goes out a fool, cannot ride or sail himself into common-sense. Therefore let me but walk over London Bridge with a young man, and I'll tell you infallibly whether going over the Rialto at Venice will make him wiser. It is not to be imagined how many I have saved in my time from banishment, by letting their parents know they were good for nothing. But this is to be done with much tenderness. There is my cousin Harry has a son, who is the dullest mortal that was ever born into our house. He had got his trunk and his books all packed up to be transported into foreign parts, for no reason but because the boy never talked; and his father said he wanted to know the world. I could not say to a fond parent, that the boy was dull; but looked grave, and told him, the youth was very thoughtful, and I feared he might have some doubts about religion, with which it was not proper to go into Roman Catholic countries. He is accordingly kept here till he declares himself upon some points, which I am sure he will never think of. By this means, I have prevented the dishonour of having a fool of our house laughed at in all parts of Europe. He is now with his father upon his own estate, and he has sent to me to get him a wife, which I shall do with all convenient speed; but it shall be such a one, whose good nature shall hide his faults, and good sense supply them. The truth of it is, that race is of the true British kind: they are of our country only; it hurts them to transplant them, and they are destroyed if you pretend to improve them. Men of this solid make are not to be hurried up and down the world, for (if I may so speak) they are naturally at their wit's end; and it is an impertinent part to disturb their repose, that they may give you only a history of their bodily occurrences, which is all they are capable of observing. Harry had an elder brother who was tried in this way. I remember, all he could talk of at his return, was, that he had like to have been drowned at such a place, he fell out of a chaise at another, he had a better stomach when he moved northward than when he turned his course to the parts in the south, and so forth. It is therefore very much to be considered, what sense a person has of things when he is setting out; and if he then knows none of his friends and acquaintance but by their clothes and faces, it is my humble opinion that he stay at home. His parents should take care to marry him, and see what they can get out of him that way; for there is a certain sort of men who are no otherwise to be regarded, but as they descend from men of consequence, and may beget valuable successors. And if we consider, that men are to be esteemed only as they are useful, while a stupid wretch is at the head of a great family, we may say, the race is suspended, as properly as when it is all gone, we say, it is extinct."
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 11._[277]
I had several hints and advertisements from unknown hands, that some, who are enemies to my labours, design to demand the fashionable way of satisfaction for the disturbance my lucubrations have given them. I confess, as things now stand, I don't know how to deny such inviters, and am preparing myself accordingly: I have bought pumps and foils, and am every morning practising in my chamber. My neighbour, the dancing-master, has demanded of me, why I take this liberty, since I would not allow it him?[278] But I answered, his was an act of an indifferent nature, and mine of necessity. My late treatises against duels have so far disobliged the fraternity of the noble science of defence, that I can get none of them to show me as much as one pass. I am therefore obliged to learn by book, and have accordingly several volumes, wherein all the postures are exactly delineated. I must confess, I am shy of letting people see me at this exercise, because of my flannel waistcoat, and my spectacles, which I am forced to fix on, the better to observe the posture of the enemy. I have upon my chamber walls, drawn at full length, the figures of all sorts of men, from eight feet to three feet two inches. Within this height I take it, that all the fighting men of Great Britain are comprehended. But as I push, I make allowances for my being of a lank and spare body, and have chalked out in every figure my own dimensions; for I scorn to rob any man of his life by taking advantage of his breadth: therefore I press purely in a line down from his nose, and take no more of him to assault than he has of me: for to speak impartially, if a lean fellow wounds a fat one in any part to the right or left, whether it be in carte or in tierce, beyond the dimensions of the said lean fellow's own breadth, I take it to be murder, and such a murder as is below a gentleman to commit. As I am spare, I am also very tall, and behave myself with relation to that advantage with the same punctilio; and I am ready to stoop or stand, according to the stature of my adversary. I must confess, I have had great success this morning, and have hit every figure round the room in a mortal part, without receiving the least hurt, except a little scratch by falling on my face, in pushing at one at the lower end of my chamber; but I recovered so quick, and jumped so nimbly into my guard, that if he had been alive he could not have hurt me. It is confessed, I have written against duels with some warmth; but in all my discourses, I have not ever said, that I knew how a gentleman could avoid a duel if he were provoked to it; and since that custom is now become a law, I know nothing but the legislative power, with new animadversions upon it, can put us in a capacity of denying challenges, though we are afterwards hanged for it. But no more of this at present. As things stand, I shall put up no more affronts; and I shall be so far from taking ill words, that I will not take ill looks. I therefore warn all young hot fellows, not to look hereafter more terrible than their neighbours; for if they stare at me with their hats cocked higher than other people, I won't bear it. Nay, I give warning to all people in general to look kindly at me; for I'll bear no frowns, even from ladies; and if any woman pretends to look scornfully at me, I shall demand satisfaction of the next of kin of the masculine gender.
FOOTNOTES:
[275] This letter is by Addison.
[276] "_Smith._ Well; but methinks the sense of this song is not very plain.
"_Bayes._ Plain! Why, did you ever hear any people in clouds speak plain? They must be all for flight of fancy at its full range, without the least check or control upon it. When once you tie up spirits and people in clouds to speak plainly you spoil all." (Duke of Buckingham's "Rehearsal," act v. sc. I.)
[277] This article is by Addison.
[278] See No. 88.
No. 94. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Nov. 12_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 15, 1709_.
Si non errasset, fecerat illa minus.--MART., Epig. i. 21.
_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 14._
That which we call gallantry to women seems to be the heroic virtue of private persons; and there never breathed one man, who did not, in that part of his days wherein he was recommending himself to his mistress, do something beyond his ordinary course of life. As this has a very great effect even upon the most slow and common men; so, upon such as it finds qualified with virtue and merit, it shines out in proportionable degrees of excellence: it gives new grace to the most eminent accomplishments; and he who of himself has either wit, wisdom, or valour, exerts each of these noble endowments when he becomes a lover, with a certain beauty of action above what was ever observed in him before; and all who are without any one of these qualities, are to be looked upon as the rabble of mankind. I was talking after this manner in a corner of this place with an old acquaintance, who, taking me by the hand, said, "Mr. Bickerstaff, your discourse recalls to my mind a story, which I have longed to tell you ever since I read that article wherein you desire your friends to give you accounts of obscure merit." The story I had of him is literally true, and well known to be so in the country wherein the circumstances were transacted. He acquainted me with the names of the persons concerned, which I shall change into feigned ones, there being a respect due to their families, that are still in being, as well as that the names themselves would not be so familiar to an English ear. The adventure really happened in Denmark; and if I can remember all the circumstances, I doubt not but it will be as moving to my readers as it was to me.
Clarinda and Chloe, two very fine women, were bred up as sisters in the family of Romeo, who was the father of Chloe, and the guardian of Clarinda. Philander, a young gentleman of a good person and charming conversation, being a friend of old Romeo's, frequented his house, and by that means was much in conversation with the young ladies, though still in the presence of the father and the guardian. The ladies both entertained a secret passion for him, and could see well enough, notwithstanding the delight which he really took in Romeo's conversation, that there was something more in his heart which made him so assiduous a visitant. Each of them thought herself the happy woman; but the person beloved was Chloe. It happened that both of them were at a play on a carnival evening, when it is the fashion there (as well as in most countries of Europe) both for men and women to appear in masks and disguises. It was on that memorable night in the year 1679, when the play-house, by some unhappy accident, was set on fire.[279] Philander, in the first hurry of the disaster, immediately ran where his treasure was, burst open the door of the box, snatched the lady up in his arms, and with unspeakable resolution and good fortune carried her off safe. He was no sooner out of the crowd, but he set her down; and grasping her in his arms, with all the raptures of a deserving lover, "How happy am I," says he, "in an opportunity to tell you I love you more than all things, and of showing you the sincerity of my passion at the very first declaration of it." "My dear, dear Philander," says the lady, pulling off her mask, "this is not a time for art; you are much dearer to me than the life you have preserved: and the joy of my present deliverance does not transport me so much as the passion which occasioned it." Who can tell the grief, the astonishment, the terror, that appeared in the face of Philander, when he saw the person he spoke to was Clarinda. After a short pause, "Madam," says he, with the looks of a dead man, "we are both mistaken;" and immediately flew away, without hearing the distressed Clarinda, who had just strength enough to cry out, "Cruel Philander! why did you not leave me in the theatre?" Crowds of people immediately gathered about her, and after having brought her to herself, conveyed her to the house of the good old unhappy Romeo. Philander was now pressing against a whole tide of people at the doors of the theatre, and striving to enter with more earnestness than any there endeavoured to get out. He did it at last, and with much difficulty forced his way to the box where his beloved Chloe stood, expecting her fate amidst this scene of terror and distraction.
She revived at the sight of Philander, who fell about her neck with a tenderness not to be expressed; and amidst a thousand sobs and sighs, told her his love, and his dreadful mistake. The stage was now in flames, and the whole house full of smoke; the entrance was quite barred up with heaps of people, who had fallen upon one another as they endeavoured to get out; swords were drawn, shrieks heard on all sides; and, in short, no possibility of an escape for Philander himself, had he been capable of making it without his Chloe. But his mind was above such a thought, and wholly employed in weeping, condoling, and comforting. He catches her in his arms. The fire surrounds them, while--I cannot go on.
Were I an infidel, misfortunes like this would convince me, that there must be an hereafter: for who can believe that so much virtue could meet with so great distress without a following reward. As for my part, I am so old-fashioned as firmly to believe that all who perish in such generous enterprises are relieved from the further exercise of life; and Providence, which sees their virtue consummate and manifest, takes them to an immediate reward, in a being more suitable to the grandeur of their spirits. What else can wipe away our tears, when we contemplate such undeserved, such irreparable distresses? It was a sublime thought in some of the heathens of old:
----_Quæ gratia currûm Armorumque fuit vivis, quæ cura nitentes Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repôstos._[280]
That is in other words, the same employments and inclinations which were the entertainment of virtuous men upon earth, make up their happiness in Elysium.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 14._
When I came home this evening, I found a present from Mr. Charles Lillie, the perfumer at the corner of Beauford Buildings, with a letter of thanks for the mention I made of him.[281] He tells me, several of my gentle readers have obliged me in buying at his shop upon my recommendation. I have inquired into the man's capacity, and find him an adept in his way. He has several helps to discourse besides snuff (which is the best Barcelona), and sells an orange-flower water, which seems to me to have in it the right spirit of brains; and I am informed, he extracts it according to the manner used in Gresham College.[282] I recommend it to the handkerchiefs of all young pleaders: it cures or supplies all pauses and hesitations in speech, and creates a general alacrity of the spirit. When it is used as a gargle, it gives volubility to the tongue, and never fails of that necessary step towards pleasing others, making a man pleased with himself. I have taken security of him, that he shall not raise the price of any of his commodities for these or any other occult qualities in them; but he is to sell them at the same price which you give at the common perfumers. Mr. Lillie has brought further security, that he will not sell the boxes made for politicians to lovers; nor on the contrary, those proper for lovers to men of speculation: at this time, to avoid confusion, the best orangery for beaus, and right musty for politicians.
My almanac is to be published on the 22nd; and from that instant, all lovers, in raptures or epistles, are to forbear the comparison of their mistresses' eyes to stars, I having made use of that simile in my dedication for the last time it shall ever pass, and on the properest occasion that it was ever employed. All ladies are hereby desired to take notice, that they never receive that simile in payment for any smiles they shall bestow for the future.
On Saturday night last, a gentlewoman's husband strayed from the play-house in the Haymarket. If the lady who was seen to take him up, will restore him, she shall be asked no questions, he being of no use but to the owner.
FOOTNOTES:
[279] At this fire, on April 29, 1679, about two hundred persons were killed.
[280] "Æneid," vi. 653.
[281] See No. 92.
[282] Where the Royal Society then met.
No. 95.
From _Tuesday, Nov. 15_, to _Thursday, Nov. 17, 1709_.
Interea dulces pendent circum oscula nati; Casta pudicitiam servat domus.
VIRG., Georg. ii. 523.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 16._
There are several persons who have many pleasures and entertainments in their possession which they do not enjoy. It is therefore a kind and good office to acquaint them with their own happiness, and turn their attention to such instances of their good fortune which they are apt to overlook. Persons in the married state often want such a monitor, and pine away their days, by looking upon the same condition in anguish and murmur which carries with it in the opinion of others a complication of all the pleasures of life, and a retreat from its inquietudes. I am led into this thought by a visit I made an old friend who was formerly my schoolfellow. He came to town last week with his family for the winter, and yesterday morning sent me word his wife expected me to dinner. I am as it were at home at that house, and every member of it knows me for their well-wisher. I cannot indeed express the pleasure it is, to be met by the children with so much joy as I am when I go thither: the boys and girls strive who shall come first, when they think it is I that am knocking at the door; and that child which loses the race to me, runs back again to tell the father it is Mr. Bickerstaff. This day I was led in by a pretty girl, that we all thought must have forgot me; for the family has been out of town these two years. Her knowing me again was a mighty subject with us, and took up our discourse at the first entrance. After which they began to rally me upon a thousand little stories they heard in the country about my marriage to one of my neighbour's daughters: upon which the gentleman my friend said, "Nay, if Mr. Bickerstaff marries a child of any of his old companions, I hope mine shall have the preference; there's Mrs. Mary is now sixteen, and would make him as fine a widow as the best of them: but I know him too well; he is so enamoured with the very memory of those who flourished in our youth, that he will not so much as look upon the modern beauties. I remember, old gentleman, how often you went home in a day to refresh your countenance and dress, when Teraminta reigned in your heart. As we came up in the coach, I repeated to my wife some of your verses on her." With such reflections on little passages which happened long ago, we passed our time during a cheerful and elegant meal. After dinner, his lady left the room, as did also the children. As soon as we were alone, he took me by the hand; "Well, my good friend," says he, "I am heartily glad to see thee; I was afraid you would never have seen all the company that dined with you to-day again. Do not you think the good woman of the house a little altered, since you followed her from the play-house, to find out who she was, for me? I perceived a tear fall down his cheek as he spoke, which moved me not a little. But to turn the discourse," said I, "She is not indeed quite that creature she was when she returned me the letter I carried from you; and told me, she hoped, as I was a gentleman, I would be employed no more to trouble her who had never offended me, but would be so much the gentleman's friend as to dissuade him from a pursuit which he could never succeed in. You may remember, I thought her in earnest, and you were forced to employ your cousin Will, who made his sister get acquainted with her for you. You cannot expect her to be for ever fifteen." "Fifteen?" replied my good friend: "ah! you little understand, you that have lived a bachelor, how great, how exquisite a pleasure there is in being really beloved! It is impossible that the most beauteous face in nature should raise in me such pleasing ideas as when I look upon that excellent woman. That fading in her countenance is chiefly caused by her watching with me in my fever. This was followed by a fit of sickness, which had like to have carried her off last winter. I tell you sincerely, I have so many obligations to her, that I cannot with any sort of moderation think of her present state of health. But as to what you say of fifteen, she gives me every day pleasures beyond what I ever knew in the possession of her beauty when I was in the vigour of youth. Every moment of her life brings me fresh instances of her complacency to my inclinations, and her prudence in regard to my fortune. Her face is to me much more beautiful than when I first saw it; there is no decay in any feature which I cannot trace from the very instant it was occasioned by some anxious concern for my welfare and interests. Thus at the same time, methinks, the love I conceived towards her for what she was, is heightened by my gratitude for what she is. The love of a wife is as much above the idle passion commonly called by that name, as the loud laughter of buffoons is inferior to the elegant mirth of gentlemen. Oh! she is an inestimable jewel. In her examination of her household affairs, she shows a certain fearfulness to find a fault, which makes her servants obey her like children; and the meanest we have, has an ingenuous shame for an offence, not always to be seen in children in other families. I speak freely to you, my old friend; ever since her sickness, things that gave me the quickest joy before, turn now to a certain anxiety. As the children play in the next room, I know the poor things by their steps, and am considering what they must do, should they lose their mother in their tender years. The pleasure I used to take in telling my boy stories of the battles, and asking my girl questions about the disposal of her baby,[283] and the gossiping of it, is turned into inward reflection and melancholy." He would have gone on in this tender way, when the good lady entered, and with an inexpressible sweetness in her countenance told us, she had been searching her closet for something very good to treat such an old friend as I was. Her husband's eyes sparkled with pleasure at the cheerfulness of her countenance; and I saw all his fears vanish in an instant. The lady observing something in our looks which showed we had been more serious than ordinary, and seeing her husband receive her with great concern under a forced cheerfulness, immediately guessed at what we had been talking of; and applying herself to me, said, with a smile, "Mr. Bickerstaff, don't believe a word of what he tells you. I shall still live to have you for my second, as I have often promised you, unless he takes more care of himself than he has done since his coming to town. You must know, he tells me, that he finds London is a much more healthy place than the country; for he sees several of his old acquaintance and school-fellows are here, young fellows with fair[284] full-bottomed periwigs. I could scarce keep him this morning from going out open-breasted."[285] My friend, who is always extremely delighted with her agreeable humour, made her sit down with us. She did it with that easiness which is peculiar to women of sense; and to keep up the good humour she had brought in with her, turned her raillery upon me. "Mr. Bickerstaff, you remember you followed me one night from the play-house; supposing you should carry me thither to-morrow night, and lead me into the front box." This put us into a long field of discourse about the beauties, who were mothers to the present, and shone in the boxes twenty years ago. I told her, I was glad she had transferred so many of her charms, and I did not question but her eldest daughter was within half a year of being a toast.[286] We were pleasing ourselves with this fantastical preferment of the young lady, when on a sudden we were alarmed with the noise of a drum, and immediately entered my little godson to give me a point of war.[287] His mother, between laughing and chiding, would have put him out of the room; but I would not part with him so.[288] I found, upon conversation with him, though he was a little noisy in his mirth, that the child had excellent parts, and was a great master of all the learning on the other side eight years old. I perceived him a very great historian in Æsop's fables; but he frankly declared to me his mind, that he did not delight in that learning, because he did not believe they were true; for which reason, I found he had very much turned his studies, for about a twelvemonth past, into the lives and adventures of Don Bellianis of Greece, Guy of Warwick, the Seven Champions, and other historians of that age. I could not but observe the satisfaction the father took in the forwardness of his son; and that these diversions might turn to some profit, I found the boy had made remarks, which might be of service to him during the course of his whole life. He would tell you the mismanagements of John Hickathrift,[289] find fault with the passionate temper in Bevis of Southampton, and loved St. George for being the champion of England; and by this means, had his thoughts insensibly moulded into the notions of discretion, virtue, and honour. I was extolling his accomplishments, when the mother told me, that the little girl who led me in this morning was in her way a better scholar than he. "Betty," says she, "deals chiefly in fairies and sprites; and sometimes in a winter night, will terrify the maids with her accounts, till they are afraid to go up to bed."
I sat with them till it was very late, sometimes in merry, sometimes in serious discourse, with this particular pleasure, which gives the only true relish to all conversation, a sense that every one of us liked each other. I went home, considering the different conditions of a married life and that of a bachelor; and I must confess, it struck me with a secret concern, to reflect, that whenever I go off, I shall leave no traces behind me. In this pensive mood I returned to my family; that is to say, to my maid, my dog and my cat, who only can be the better or worse for what happens to me.
FOOTNOTES:
[283] Her doll. _Cf._ "Wentworth Papers," p. 451, where Lady Anne Wentworth, aged eight, writing to her father of a younger sister, says, "Lady Hariote desires you to bring her a baby." The best dolls were called "Bartholomew babies," says Professor Henry Morley ("Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair," 1859, p. 333).
A passage in Sir Philip Sidney's "Arcadia" (Book III.) aptly illustrates this use of the word "baby": "We see young babes think babies of wonderful excellency, and yet the babies are but babies." From the private account-book of Isabella, Duchess of Grafton, who married, as her second husband, Sir T. Hanmer, it appears that in 1710 the Duchess gave £2, 3s. for a "baby" ("Correspondence of Sir T. Hanmer, Bart.," 1838, pp. 236 _seq._).
[284] Elderly men wore black, brown, or grizzly wigs.
[285] See the letter from Isaac Bickerstaff in No. 246, and No. 151. In Lillie's "Letters sent to the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_," i. 210-211, there is a letter dated Jan. 21, 1712, referring to "the unaccountable custom that for some time has prevailed among our fashionable gentlemen, of coming abroad in this cold, unseasonable weather with their breasts and bodies almost quite naked, by which means they have procured such terrible coughs." The object here was to display the shirt; old men followed the fashion in the hope of seeming young.
[286] See No. 24, and Sheridan's "School for Scandal," act iii. sc. 3:
"Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass, I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass!"
[287] A strain of martial music. "Turning your books to greaves, your ink to blood, your pens to lances; and your tongue divine to a loud trumpet, and a point of war" ("2 Henry IV.," act iv. sc. I).
The term was still current in Steele's day, as appears from the following extract, quoted by Mr. Dobson from Mackinnon's "History of the Coldstream Guards," ii. 332: "1717.--A party of drummers of the Guards were committed to the Marshalsea for beating a point of war before the Earl of Wexford's house on his acquittal of charges brought against him."
[288] "The children then reappear to complete a domestic interior which, at a time when wit had no higher employment than to laugh at the affections and moralities of home, could have arisen only to a fancy as pure as the heart that prompted it was loving and true" (Forster, "Historical and Biographical Essays," ii.: Steele).
[289] Generally styled "Thomas." But Sterne also calls him "Jack" in "Tristram Shandy," vol. i. chap. xiv. His tomb is still shown in Tilney churchyard, Norfolk. [Dobson.]
No. 96. [ADDISON.[290]
From _Thursday, Nov. 17_, to _Saturday, Nov. 19, 1709_.
Is demum mihi vivere atque frui animâ videtur, qui aliquo negotio intentus, præclari facinoris, aut artis bonæ famam quærit.--SALLUST, Bel. Cat. 2.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 17._
It has cost me very much care and thought to marshal and fix the people under their proper denominations, and to range them according to their respective characters. These my endeavours have been received with unexpected success in one kind, but neglected in another; for though I have many readers, I have but few converts. This must certainly proceed from a false opinion, that what I write is designed rather to amuse and entertain than convince and instruct. I entered upon my essays with a declaration, that I should consider mankind in quite another manner than they had hitherto been represented to the ordinary world; and asserted, that none but a useful life should be with me any life at all. But lest this doctrine should have made this small progress towards the conviction of mankind because it may appear to the unlearned light and whimsical, I must take leave to unfold the wisdom and antiquity of my first proposition in these my essays, to wit, that every worthless man is a dead man. This notion is as old as Pythagoras, in whose school it was a point of discipline, that if among the #akoustikoi#, or probationers, there were any who grew weary of studying to be useful, and returned to an idle life, the rest were to regard them as dead; and upon their departing, to perform their obsequies, and raise them tombs, with inscriptions, to warn others of the like mortality, and quicken them to resolutions of refining their souls above that wretched state. It is upon a like supposition that young ladies at this very time in Roman Catholic countries are received into some nunneries with their coffins, and with the pomp of a formal funeral, to signify, that henceforth they are to be of no further use, and consequently dead. Nor was Pythagoras himself the first author of this symbol, with whom, and with the Hebrews, it was generally received. Much more might be offered in illustration of this doctrine from sacred authority, which I recommend to my reader's own reflection; who will easily recollect, from places which I do not think fit to quote here, the forcible manner of applying the words dead and living to men as they are good or bad.
I have therefore composed the following scheme of existence for the benefit both of the living and the dead, though chiefly for the latter, whom I must desire to read it with all possible attention. In the number of the dead, I comprehend all persons of what title or dignity soever, who bestow most of their time in eating and drinking, to support that imaginary existence of theirs, which they call life; or in dressing and adorning those shadows and apparitions which are looked upon by the vulgar as real men and women. In short, whoever resides in the world without having any business in it, and passes away an age without ever thinking on the errand for which he was sent hither, is to me a dead man to all intents and purposes; and I desire that he may be so reputed. The living are only those that are some way or other laudably employed in the improvement of their own minds, or for the advantage of others; and even among these, I shall only reckon into their lives that part of their time which has been spent in the manner above mentioned. By these means, I am afraid, we shall find the longest lives not to consist of many months, and the greatest part of the earth to be quite unpeopled. According to this system we may observe, that some men are born at twenty years of age, some at thirty, some at threescore, and some not above an hour before they die; nay, we may observe multitudes that die without ever being born, as well as many dead persons that fill up the bulk of mankind, and make a better figure in the eyes of the ignorant than those who are alive and in their proper and full state of health. However, since there may be many good subjects, that pay their taxes, and live peaceably in their habitations, who are not yet born, or have departed this life several years since, my design is to encourage both to join themselves as soon as possible to the number of the living: for as I invite the former to break forth into being, and become good for something; so I allow the latter a state of resuscitation; which I chiefly mention for the sake of a person who has lately published an advertisement, with several scurrilous terms in it, that do by no means become a dead man to give. It is my departed friend John Partridge, who concludes the advertisement of his next year's almanac[291] with the following note:
"Whereas it has been industriously given out by Bickerstaff, Esq., and others, to prevent the sale of this year's almanac, that John Partridge is dead: this may inform all his loving countrymen, that he is still living, in health, and they are knaves that reported it otherwise.
"J. P."
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 18._
When an engineer finds his guns have not had their intended effect, he changes his batteries. I am forced at present to take this method; and instead of continuing to write against the singularity some are guilty of in their habit and behaviour, I shall henceforward desire them to persevere in it; and not only so, but shall take it as a favour of all the coxcombs in the town, if they will set marks upon themselves, and by some particular in their dress, show to what class they belong. It would be very obliging in all such persons, who feel in themselves that they are not sound of understanding, to give the world notice of it, and spare mankind the pains of finding them out. A cane upon the fifth button[292] shall from henceforth be the type of a Dapper;[293] red-heeled shoes, and a hat hung upon one side of the head, shall signify a Smart;[294] a good periwig made into a twist, with a brisk cock, shall speak a mettled fellow; and an upper lip covered with snuff, denotes a coffee-house statesman. But as it is required that all coxcombs hang out their signs, it is on the other hand expected, that men of real merit should avoid anything particular in their dress, gait, or behaviour. For, as we old men delight in proverbs, I cannot forbear bringing out one on this occasion, that "good wine needs no bush."[295] I must not leave this subject without reflecting on several persons I have lately met with, who at a distance seem very terrible; but upon a stricter inquiry into their looks and features, appeared as meek and harmless as any of my own neighbours. These are country gentlemen, who of late years have taken up a humour of coming to town in red coats, whom an arch wag of my acquaintance used to describe very well, by calling them sheep in wolves' clothing. I have often wondered, that honest gentlemen, who are good neighbours, and live quietly in their own possessions, should take it in their heads to frighten the town after this unreasonable manner. I shall think myself obliged, if they persist in so unnatural a dress (notwithstanding any posts they may have in the militia), to give away their red coats to any of the soldiery who shall think fit to strip them, provided the said soldiers can make it appear, that they belong to a regiment where there is a deficiency in the clothing.
About two days ago I was walking in the Park, and accidentally met a rural squire, clothed in all the types above mentioned, with a carriage and behaviour made entirely out of his own head. He was of a bulk and stature larger than ordinary, had a red coat, flung open to show a gay calamanco[296] waistcoat: his periwig fell in a very considerable bush upon each shoulder: his arms naturally swung at an unreasonable distance from his sides; which, with the advantage of a cane, that he brandished in a great variety of irregular motions, made it unsafe for any one to walk within several yards of him. In this manner he took up the whole Mall, his spectators moving on each side of it, whilst he cocked up his hat, and marched directly for Westminster. I cannot tell who this gentleman is, but for my comfort may say, with the lover in Terence, who lost sight of a fine young lady, "Wherever thou art, thou canst not be long concealed."
_St. James's Coffee-house, Nov. 18._
By letters from Paris of the 16th we are informed, that the French King, the princes of the blood, and the Elector of Bavaria had lately killed fifty-five pheasants.
Whereas several have industriously spread abroad, that I am in partnership with Charles Lillie, the perfumer at the corner of Beauford Buildings; I must say with my friend Partridge, that they are knaves who reported it. However, since the said Charles has promised that all his customers shall be mine, I must desire all mine to be his; and dare answer for him, that if you ask in my name for snuff, Hungary or orange-water, you shall have the best the town affords at the cheapest rate.
FOOTNOTES:
[290] Nichols ascribes this paper to Addison, upon the evidence of MS. notes of Christopher Byron, who assisted Zachary Grey in his edition of "Hudibras." This is probably right, but the paper is not included in Tickell's edition of Addison's works.
[291] The "Partridge's Almanac" for 1710 was brought out by the Stationers' Company, and not by Partridge. The following advertisement appeared in No. 105 of the _Tatler_: "There having of late in several newspapers been an advertisement of an almanac called _Merlinus Liberatus_, pretended to be made by J. Partridge, but in truth was patched together by Benjamin Harris, famous for practices of this nature, this notice is given, to prevent persons from being imposed upon; for there will not be any almanac published by J. Partridge for the year 1710, the injunction granted by the Lord High Chancellor against printing the same being still in force; and if any person shall deal in any counterfeit almanacs, they will be proceeded against."
As Partridge is often mentioned in the _Tatler_ (see Nos. 1, 7, 11, 56, 59, 67, 99, 216, 228, 240), it may be well to give some particulars of him in addition to what is stated in the Introduction. Partridge was born at East Sheen in 1644, and was apprenticed to a shoemaker; but he studied assiduously, and, giving up his trade, began to publish astrological books in 1678. His almanac, _Merlinus Liberatus_, appeared first in 1680, and in 1682 he described himself as sworn physician to Charles II. Afterwards he went to Leyden, and claimed to have received the degree of M. D. During the closing years of the century he had controversies with other almanac makers, and advertised quack medicines. When Swift attacked him in 1708 he was rightly regarded as being at the head of his profession. For a time he was silenced; no almanac appeared from 1710 to 1713; but his _Merlinus Redivivus_ was issued in 1714, with an attack upon Swift. Partridge died at Mortlake in 1715, and a monument to his memory was erected in the churchyard. His will shows that he left property amounting to over £2000. It is said that his real name was Hewson.
[292] See No. 26.
[293] See No. 85.
[294] See No. 26.
[295] An ivy-bush often formed the sign of a tavern. Sometimes the word was applied to the tavern itself, _e.g._ "Twenty to one you will find him at the bush."
[296] See No. 85.
No. 97. [ADDISON.
From _Saturday, Nov. 19_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 22, 1709_.
Illud maxime rarum genus est eorum, qui aut excellente ingenii magnitudine, aut præclara erudidione atque doctrina, aut utraque re ornati, spatium deliberandi habuerunt, quem potissimum vitæ cursum sequi vellent.--CICERO, De Offic. I. xxxiii. 119.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 21._
Having swept away prodigious multitudes in my last paper, and brought a great destruction upon my own species, I must endeavour in this to raise fresh recruits, and, if possible, to supply the places of the unborn and the deceased. It is said of Xerxes, that when he stood upon a hill, and saw the whole country round him covered with his army, he burst out in tears, to think that not one of that multitude would be alive a hundred years after. For my part, when I take a survey of this populous city, I can scarce forbear weeping, to see how few of its inhabitants are now living. It was with this thought that I drew up my last bill of mortality, and endeavoured to set out in it the great number of persons who have perished by a distemper (commonly known by the name of Idleness) which has long raged in the world, and destroys more in every great town than the plague has done at Dantzic.[297] To repair the mischief it has done, and stock the world with a better race of mortals, I have more hopes of bringing to life those that are young, than of reviving those that are old. For which reason, I shall here set down that noble allegory which was written by an old author called Prodicus, but recommended and embellished by Socrates.[298] It is the description of Virtue and Pleasure making their court to Hercules under the appearances of two beautiful women.
When Hercules, says the divine moralist, was in that part of his youth in which it was natural for him to consider what course of life he ought to pursue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence and solitude of the place very much favoured his meditations. As he was musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed in himself on the state of life he should choose, he saw two women of a larger stature than ordinary approaching towards him. One of them had a very noble air and graceful deportment; her beauty was natural and easy, her person clean and unspotted, her eyes cast towards the ground with an agreeable reserve, her motion and behaviour full of modesty, and her raiment as white as snow. The other had a great deal of health and floridness in her countenance, which she had helped with an artificial white and red, and endeavoured to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her gestures. She had a wonderful confidence and assurance in her looks, and all the variety of colours in her dress that she thought were the most proper to show her complexion to an advantage.
She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that were present, to see how they liked her, and often looked on the figure she made in her own shadow. Upon her nearer approach to Hercules, she stepped before the other lady (who came forward with a regular composed carriage), and running up to him, accosted him after the following manner:
"My dear Hercules," says she, "I find you are very much divided in your own thoughts upon the way of life that you ought to choose: be my friend, and follow me; I'll lead you into the possession of pleasure, and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and disquietude of business. The affairs of either war or peace shall have no power to disturb you. Your whole employment shall be to make your life easy, and to entertain every sense with its proper gratification. Sumptuous tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, concerts of music, crowds of beauties, are all in a readiness to receive you. Come along with me into this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid farewell for ever to care, to pain, to business."
Hercules hearing the lady talk after this manner, desired to know her name; to which she answered, "My friends, and those who are well acquainted with me, call me Happiness; but my enemies, and those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name of Pleasure."
By this time the other lady was come up, who addressed herself to the young hero in a very different manner.
"Hercules," says she, "I offer myself to you, because I know you are descended from the gods, and give proofs of that descent by your love to virtue, and application to the studies proper for your age. This makes me hope you will gain both for yourself and me an immortal reputation. But before I invite you into my society and friendship, I will be open and sincere with you, and must lay down this as an established truth, that there is nothing truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labour.[299] The gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the favour of the Deity, you must be at the pains of worshipping him; if the friendship of good men, you must study to oblige them; if you would be honoured by your country, you must take care to serve it. In short, if you would be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the qualifications that can make you so. These are the only terms and conditions upon which I can propose happiness." The goddess of Pleasure here broke in upon her discourse: "You see, "said she, "Hercules, by her own confession, the way to her pleasures is long and difficult, whereas that which I propose is short and easy." "Alas!" said the other lady, whose visage glowed with a passion made up of scorn and pity, "what are the pleasures you propose? To eat before you are hungry, drink before you are athirst, sleep before you are tired, to gratify appetites before they are raised, and raise such appetites as Nature never planted. You never heard the most delicious music, which is the praise of one's self; nor saw the most beautiful object, which is the work of one's own hands. Your votaries pass away their youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures, while they are hoarding up anguish, torment, and remorse, for old age.
"As for me, I am the friend of gods and of good men, an agreeable companion to the artisan, a household guardian to the fathers of families, a patron and protector of servants, an associate in all true and generous friendships. The banquets of my votaries are never costly, but always delicious; for none eat or drink at them who are not invited by hunger and thirst. Their slumbers are sound, and their wakings cheerful. My young men have the pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who are in years, and those who are in years of being honoured by those who are young. In a word, my followers are favoured by the gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their country, and (after the close of their labours) honoured by posterity."
We know by the life of this memorable hero, to which of these two ladies he gave up his heart; and I believe, every one who reads this will do him the justice to approve his choice.
I very much admire the speeches of these ladies, as containing in them the chief arguments for a life of virtue or a life of pleasure that could enter into the thoughts of a heathen; but am particularly pleased with the different figures he gives the two goddesses. Our modern authors have represented Pleasure or Vice with an alluring face, but ending in snakes and monsters: here she appears in all the charms of beauty, though they are all false and borrowed; and by that means, composes a vision entirely natural and pleasing.
I have translated this allegory for the benefit of the youth of Great Britain; and particularly of those who are still in the deplorable state of non-existence, and whom I most earnestly entreat to come into the world. Let my embryos show the least inclination to any single virtue, and I shall allow it to be a struggling towards birth. I don't expect of them, that, like the hero in the foregoing story, they should go about as soon as they are born, with a club in their hands, and a lion's skin on their shoulders, to root out monsters, and destroy tyrants; but as the finest author of all antiquity has said upon this very occasion, though a man has not the abilities to distinguish himself in the most shining parts of a great character, he has certainly the capacity of being just, faithful, modest, and temperate.
FOOTNOTES:
[297] In 1709 the plague carried off over 40,000 persons in Dantzic.
[298] See Xenophon, "Mem.," Book II. chap. i. 21.
[299] _Cf._ Hesiod, "Works and Days," 289.
No. 98. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Nov. 22_, to _Thursday, Nov. 24, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 23._
I read the following letter, which was left for me this evening, with very much concern for the lady's condition who sent it, who expresses the state of her mind with great frankness, as all people ought who talk to their physicians.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"Though you are stricken in years, and have had great experience in the world, I believe you will say, there are not frequently such difficult occasions to act in with decency as those wherein I am entangled. I am a woman in love, and that you will allow to be the most unhappy of all circumstances in human life: Nature has formed us with a strong reluctance against owning such a passion, and custom has made it criminal in us to make advances. A gentleman, whom I will call Fabio, has the entire possession of my heart. I am so intimately acquainted with him, that he makes no scruple of communicating to me an ardent affection he has for Cleora, a friend of mine, who also makes me her confidante. Most part of my life I am in company with the one or the other, and am always entertained with his passion, or her triumph. Cleora is one of those ladies, who think they are virtuous, if they are not guilty; and without any delicacy of choice, resolves to take the best offer which shall be made to her. With this prospect she puts off declaring herself in favour of Fabio, till she sees what lovers will fall into her snares, which she lays in all public places with all the art of gesture and glances. This resolution she has herself told me. Though I love him better than life, I would not gain him by betraying Cleora, or committing such a trespass against modesty as letting him know myself that I love him. You are an astrologer, what shall I do?
"DIANA DOUBTFUL."
This lady has said very justly, that the condition of a woman in love is of all others the most miserable. Poor Diana! how must she be racked with jealousy when Fabio talks of Cleora? how with indignation when Cleora makes a property of Fabio? A female lover is in the condition of a ghost, that wanders about its beloved treasure, without power to speak until it is spoken to. I desire Diana to continue in this circumstance; for I see an eye of comfort in her case, and will take all proper measures to extricate her out of this unhappy game of cross purposes. Since Cleora is upon the catch with her charms, and has no particular regard for Fabio, I shall place a couple of special fellows in her way, who shall both address to her, and have each a better estate than Fabio. They are both already taken with her, and are preparing for being of her retinue the ensuing winter. To women of this worldly turn, as I apprehend Cleora to be, we must reckon backward in our computation of merit; and when a fair lady thinks only of making her spouse a convenient domestic, the notion of worth and value is altered, and the lover is the more acceptable the less he is considerable. The two I shall throw in the way of Cleora, are Orson Thickett and Mr. Walter Wisdom. Orson is a huntsman, whose father's death, and some difficulties about legacies, brought out of the woods to town last November. He was at that time one of those country savages who despise the softness they meet in town and court, and professedly show their strength and roughness in every motion and gesture, in scorn of our bowing and cringing. He was at his first appearance very remarkable for that piece of good breeding peculiar to natural Britons, to wit, defiance. He showed every one he met he was as good a man as he. But in the midst of all his fierceness, he would sometimes attend the discourse of a man of sense, and look at the charms of a beauty with his eyes and mouth open. He was in this posture when, in the beginning of last December, he was shot by Cleora from a side-box.[300] From that moment he softened into humanity, forgot his dogs and horses, and now moves and speaks with civility and address. What Wisdom, by the death of an elder brother, came to a great estate, when he had proceeded just far enough in his studies to be very impertinent, and at the years when the law gives him possession of his fortune, and his own constitution is too warm for the management of it. Orson is learning to fence and dance, to please and fight for his mistress; and Walter preparing fine horses, and a jingling chariot, to enchant her. All persons concerned will appear at the next opera, where will begin the wild-goose chase; and I doubt, Fabio will see himself so overlooked for Orson or Walter, as to turn his eyes on the modest passion and becoming languor in the countenance of Diana; it being my design to supply with the art of love all those who preserve the sincere passion of it.
_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 23._
An ingenious and worthy gentleman, my ancient friend,[301] fell into discourse with me this evening upon the force and efficacy which the writings of good poets have on the minds of their intelligent readers, and recommended to me his sense of the matter, thrown together in the following manner, which he desired me to communicate to the youth of Great Britain in my essays; which I choose to do in his own words.
"I have always been of opinion," says he, "that virtue sinks deepest into the heart of man when it comes recommended by the powerful charms of poetry. The most active principle in our mind is the imagination: to it a good poet makes his court perpetually, and by this faculty takes care to gain it first. Our passions and inclinations come over next; and our reason surrenders itself with pleasure in the end. Thus the whole soul is insensibly betrayed into morality, by bribing the fancy with beautiful and agreeable images of those very things that in the books of the philosophers appear austere, and have at the best but a kind of forbidden aspect. In a word, the poets do, as it were, strew the rough paths of virtue so full of flowers, that we are not sensible of the uneasiness of them, and imagine ourselves in the midst of pleasures, and the most bewitching allurements, at the time we are making a progress in the severest duties of life.
"All then agree, that licentious poems do of all writings soonest corrupt the heart: and why should we not be as universally persuaded, that the grave and serious performances of such as write in the most engaging manner, by a kind of divine impulse, must be the most effectual persuasives to goodness? If therefore I were blessed with a son, in order to the forming of his manners (which is making him truly my son) I should be continually putting into his hand some fine poet. The graceful sentences and the manly sentiments so frequently to be met with in every great and sublime writer, are, in my judgment, the most ornamental and valuable furniture that can be for a young gentleman's head; methinks they show like so much rich embroidery upon the brain. Let me add to this, that humanity and tenderness (without which there can be no true greatness in the mind) are inspired by the Muses in such pathetical language, that all we find in prose authors towards the raising and improving of these passions, is in comparison but cold, or lukewarm at the best. There is besides a certain elevation of soul, a sedate magnanimity, and a noble turn of virtue, that distinguishes the hero from the plain, honest man, to which verse can only raise us. The bold metaphors and sounding numbers, peculiar to the poets, rouse up all our sleeping faculties, and alarm the whole powers of the soul, much like that excellent trumpeter mentioned by Virgil:
'----_Quo non præstantior alter Ære ciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu._'[302]
"I fell into this train of thinking this evening, upon reading a passage in a masque written by Milton, where two brothers are introduced seeking after their sister, whom they had lost in a dark night and thick wood. One of the brothers is apprehensive lest the wandering virgin should be overpowered with fears through the darkness and loneliness of the time and place. This gives the other occasion to make the following reflections, which, as I read them, made me forget my age, and renewed in me the warm desires after virtue, so natural to uncorrupted youth.
'_I do not think my sister so to seek, Or so unprincipled in virtue's book, And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever, As that the single want of light and noise (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, And put them into misbecoming plight. Virtue could see to do what Virtue would, By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retirèd solitude: Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired. He that has light within his own clear breast, May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself is his own dungeon._'"[303]
FOOTNOTES:
[300] See No. 50.
[301] Perhaps Dr. Thomas Walker, head schoolmaster at the Charter House, where Steele and Addison were scholars. In the _Spectator_, No. 488, Dr. Walker is alluded to as "the ingenious T. W."
[302] "Æneid," vi. 164.
No. 99. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Nov. 24_, to _Saturday, Nov. 26, 1709_.
Spirat tragicum satis et feliciter audet.--HOR., 2 Ep. i. 166.
_Will's Coffee-house, Nov. 25._
I have been this evening recollecting what passages (since I could first think) have left the strongest impressions upon my mind; and after strict inquiry, I am convinced, that the impulses I have received from theatrical representations, have had a greater effect than otherwise would have been wrought in me by the little occurrences of my private life. My old friends, Hart[304] and Mohun,[305] the one by his natural and proper force, the other by his great skill and art, never failed to send me home full of such ideas as affected my behaviour, and made me insensibly more courteous and humane to my friends and acquaintance. It is not the business of a good play to make every man a hero; but it certainly gives him a livelier sense of virtue and merit than he had when he entered the theatre. This rational pleasure (as I always call it) has for many years been very little tasted; but I am glad to find, that the true spirit of it is reviving again amongst us, by a due regard to what is presented, and by supporting only one play-house.[306] It has been within the observation of the youngest amongst us, that while there were two houses, they did not outvie each other by such representations as tended to the instruction and ornament of life, but by introducing mimical dances and fulsome buffooneries. For when an excellent tragedy was to be acted in one house, the ladder-dancer[307] carried the whole town to the other: and indeed such an evil as this must be the natural consequence of two theatres, as certainly as that there are more who can see than can think. Every one is judge of the danger of the fellow on the ladder, and his activity in coming down safe; but very few are judges of the distress of a hero in a play, or of his manner of behaviour in those circumstances. Thus, to please the people, two houses must entertain them with what they can understand, and not with things which are designed to improve their understanding: and the readiest way to gain good audiences, must be to offer such things as are most relished by the crowd; that is to say, immodest action, empty show, or impertinent activity. In short, two houses cannot hope to subsist, but by means which are contradictory to the very institution of a theatre in a well-governed kingdom.
I have ever had this sense of the thing, and for that reason have rejoiced that my ancient coeval friend of Drury Lane,[308] though he had sold off most of his movables, still kept possession of his palace, and trembled for him, when he had lately like to have been taken by a stratagem. There have for many ages been a certain learned sort of unlearned men in this nation called attorneys, who have taken upon them to solve all difficulties by increasing them, and are called upon to the assistance of all who are lazy, or weak of understanding. The insolence of a ruler of this place made him resign the possession of it to the management of my above-mentioned friend Divito. Divito was too modest to know when to resign it, till he had the opinion and sentence of the law for his removal. Both these in length of time were obtained against him: but as the great Archimedes defended Syracuse with so powerful engines, that if he threw a rope or piece of wood over the wall, the enemy fled; so Divito had wounded all adversaries with so much skill, that men feared even to be in the right against him. For this reason, the lawful ruler sets up an attorney to expel an attorney, and chose a name dreadful to the stage,[309] who only seemed able to beat Divito out of his entrenchments.
On the 22nd instant, a night of public rejoicing, the enemies of Divito made a largess to the people of faggots, tubs, and other combustible matter, which was erected into a bonfire before the palace. Plentiful cans were at the same time distributed among the dependencies of that principality; and the artful rival of Divito observing them prepared for enterprise, presented the lawful owner of the neighbouring edifice, and showed his deputation under him. War immediately ensued upon the peaceful empire of wit and the Muses; the Goths and Vandals sacking Rome did not threaten a more barbarous devastation of arts and sciences. But when they had forced their entrance, the experienced Divito had detached all his subjects, and evacuated all his stores. The neighbouring inhabitants report, that the refuse of Divito's followers marched off the night before disguised in magnificence; door-keepers came out clad like cardinals, and scene-drawers like heathen gods. Divito himself was wrapped up in one of his black clouds, and left to the enemy nothing but an empty stage, full of trap-doors, known only to himself and his adherents.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 25._
I have already taken great pains to inspire notions of honour and virtue into the people of this kingdom, and used all gentle methods imaginable, to bring those who are dead in idleness, folly, and pleasure, into life, by applying themselves to learning, wisdom, and industry. But since fair means are ineffectual, I must proceed to extremities, and shall give my good friends the Company of Upholders full power to bury all such dead as they meet with, who are within my former descriptions of deceased persons. In the meantime the following remonstrance of that corporation I take to be very just:
_From our Office near the Haymarket, Nov. 23._
"WORTHY SIR,
"Upon reading your _Tatler_ of Saturday last,[310] by which we received the agreeable news of so many deaths, we immediately ordered in a considerable quantity of blacks; and our servants have wrought night and day ever since, to furnish out the necessaries for these deceased. But so it is, Sir, that of this vast number of dead bodies, that go putrefying up and down the streets, not one of them has come to us to be buried. Though we should be both to be any hindrance to our good friends the physicians, yet we cannot but take notice, what infection her Majesty's subjects are liable to from the horrible stench of so many corpses. Sir, we will not detain you; our case in short is this: here are we embarked, in this undertaking for the public good: now if people shall be suffered to go on unburied at this rate, there's an end of the usefullest manufactures and handicrafts of the kingdom: for where will be your sextons, coffin-makers, and plumbers? What will become of your embalmers, epitaph-mongers, and chief mourners? We are loth to drive this matter any further, though we tremble at the consequences of it: for if it shall be left to every dead man's discretion not to be buried till he sees his time, no man can say where that will end; but thus much we will take upon us to affirm, that such a toleration will be intolerable.
"What would make us easy in this matter, is no more but that your Worship would be pleased to issue out your orders to ditto dead to repair forthwith to our office, in order to their interment, where constant attendance shall be given to treat with all persons according to their quality, and the poor to be buried for nothing; and for the convenience of such persons as are willing enough to be dead, but that they are afraid their friends and relations should know it, we have a back door into Warwick Street, from whence they may be interred with all secrecy imaginable, and without loss of time, or hindrance of business. But in case of obstinacy (for we would gladly make a thorough riddance), we desire a further power from your Worship, to take up such deceased as shall not have complied with your first orders, wherever we meet them; and if after that there shall be complaints of any persons so offending, let them lie at our doors.--We are,
"Your Worship's till death, THE MASTER AND COMPANY OF UPHOLDERS.
"_P.S._--We are ready to give in our printed proposals at large; and if your Worship approves of our undertaking, we desire the following advertisement may be inserted in your next paper:
"Whereas a commission of interment has been awarded against Dr. John Partridge,[311] philomath, professor of physic and astrology; and whereas the said Partridge hath not surrendered himself, nor shown cause to the contrary, these are to certify, that the Company of Upholders will proceed to bury him from Cordwainers' Hall, on Tuesday the 29th instant, where any six of his surviving friends, who still believe him to be alive, are desired to come prepared to hold up the pall.
"_Note._--We shall light away at six in the evening, there being to be a sermon." #/
FOOTNOTES:
[303] "Comus," 366.
[304] Charles Hart, who died in 1683, was the creator of several important parts in plays by Wycherley, Dryden, and Lee. Hart and Mohun were the principal members of Killigrew's company. Hart was the grandson of Shakespeare's sister Joan, and Cibber mentions specially the fame of his representation of Othello. See No. 138.
[305] Michael Mohun, like Hart, fought on the side of Charles in the Civil War, and began his life as an actor by performing women's parts. He generally played second to Hart. Gildon ("Comparison between Two Stages," 1702) says that plays were so well acted by Hart and Mohun that the audience would not be distracted to see the best dancing in Europe.
[306] The thirteen years' monopoly at Drury Lane came to an end in 1695, when Betterton opened a new theatre at Lincoln's Inn Fields. In 1705, Betterton's company moved to the new theatre in the Haymarket; but the drama did not succeed at Vanbrugh's house, and in 1706 the Haymarket was let to M'Swiney. In 1708, through the instrumentality of Colonel Brett, the actors were again reunited at Drury Lane, and the Haymarket Theatre was devoted to Italian operas. But Rich soon quarrelled with his company, some of whom entered into negotiations with M'Swiney. In June 1709, Drury Lane Theatre was closed by an order from the Lord Chamberlain, and after certain structural alterations at the Haymarket, plays were acted successfully at that house. For a time there was thus again only one theatre open, until William Collier, M. P., a lawyer, got for himself the licence refused to Rich, and entered into forcible possession.
[307] In the "Touchstone," 1728, attributed to James Ralph, we are told that rope-dancing was then still in great esteem with the generality of people, though it had for some years been held in contempt in the refined neighbourhood of St James's. See Prologue to Steele's "Funeral":
"Old Shakespeare's days could not thus far advance; But what's his buskin to our ladder-dance? In the mid region a silk youth to stand, With that unwieldy engine at command."
[308] Christopher Rich, who was forcibly expelled by Collier, by the aid of a hired rabble. According to an affidavit of Collier's, dated January 8, 1710, "On or about the 22nd of November, it being a day of public rejoicing, he ordered a bonfire to be made before the play-house door, and gave the actors money to drink your Majesty's health ... and that he came that evening to the play-house and showed the players Sir John Stanley's letter, and told them they might act as soon as they pleased, for that he had the Queen's leave to employ them. Upon which the players themselves and some soldiers got into the play-house, and the next day performed a play, but not the play that was given out, for Rich had carried away the clothes."
[309] Because it recalled the name of Jeremy Collier, who began his attack on the immorality of the stage in 1698.
[310] No. 96.
[311] See No. 96.
No. 100. [ADDISON.
From _Saturday, Nov. 26_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 29, 1709_.
Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna.--VIRG., Eclog. iv. 6.
_Sheer Lane, Nov. 28._
I was last week taking a solitary walk in the garden of Lincoln's Inn (a favour that is indulged me by several of the benchers who are my intimate friends, and grown old with me in this neighbourhood), when, according to the nature of men in years who have made but little progress in the advancement of their fortune or their fame, I was repining at the sudden rise of many persons who are my juniors, and indeed at the unequal distribution of wealth, honour, and all other blessings of life. I was lost in this thought when the night came upon me, and drew my mind into a far more agreeable contemplation. The heaven above me appeared in all its glories, and presented me with such a hemisphere of stars, as made the most agreeable prospect imaginable to one who delights in the study of nature. It happened to be a freezing night, which had purified the whole body of air into such a bright transparent æther, as made every constellation visible; and at the same time gave such a particular glowing to the stars, that I thought it the richest sky I had ever seen. I could not behold a scene so wonderfully adorned and lighted up (if I may be allowed that expression) without suitable meditations on the Author of such illustrious and amazing objects. For on these occasions, philosophy suggests motives to religion, and religion adds pleasures to philosophy. As soon as I had recovered my usual temper and serenity of soul, I retired to my lodgings with the satisfaction of having passed away a few hours in the proper employments of a reasonable creature, and promising myself that my slumbers would be sweet. I no sooner fell into them, but I dreamed a dream, or saw a vision (for I know not which to call it), that seemed to rise out of my evening meditation, and had something in it so solemn and serious that I cannot forbear communicating it; though I must confess, the wildness of imagination (which in a dream is always loose and irregular) discovers itself too much in several parts of it. Methoughts I saw the same azure sky diversified with the same glorious luminaries which had entertained me a little before I fell asleep. I was looking very attentively on that sign in the heavens which is called by the name of the Balance, when on a sudden there appeared in it an extraordinary light, as if the sun should rise at midnight. By its increasing in breadth and lustre, I soon found that it approached towards the earth; and at length could discern something like a shadow hovering in the midst of a great glory, which in a little time after I distinctly perceived to be the figure of a woman. I fancied at first it might have been the angel or intelligence that guided the constellation from which it descended; but upon a nearer view, I saw about her all the emblems with which the goddess of Justice is usually described. Her countenance was unspeakably awful and majestic, but exquisitely beautiful to those whose eyes were strong enough to behold it; her smiles transported with rapture, her frowns terrified to despair. She held in her hand a mirror, endowed with the same qualities as that which the painters put into the hand of Truth. There streamed from it a light, which distinguished itself from all the splendours that surrounded her, more than a flash of lightning shines in the midst of daylight. As she moved it in her hand, it brightened the heavens, the air, or the earth. When she had descended so low as to be seen and heard by mortals, to make the pomp of her appearance more supportable, she threw darkness and clouds about her, that tempered the light into a thousand beautiful shades and colours, and multiplied that lustre, which was before too strong and dazzling, into a variety of milder glories.
In the meantime the world was in an alarm, and all the inhabitants of it gathered together upon a spacious plain; so that I seemed to have the whole species before my eyes. A voice was heard from the clouds, declaring the intention of this visit, which was, to restore and appropriate to every one living what was his due. The fear and hope, joy and sorrow, which appeared in that great assembly after this solemn declaration, are not to be expressed. The first edict was then pronounced, that all titles and claims to riches and estates, or to any part of them, should be immediately vested in the rightful owner. Upon this, the inhabitants of the earth held up the instruments of their tenure, whether in parchment, paper, wax, or any other form of conveyance; and as the goddess moved the mirror of truth which she held in her hand, so that the light which flowed from it fell upon the multitude, they examined the several instruments by the beams of it. The rays of this mirror had a particular quality of setting fire to all forgery and falsehood. The blaze of papers, the melting of seals, and crackling of parchments made a very odd scene. The fire very often ran through two or three lines only, and then stopped. Though I could not but observe, that the flame chiefly broke out among the interlineations and codicils, the light of the mirror, as it was turned up and down, pierced into all the dark corners and recesses of the universe, and by that means detected many writings and records which had been hidden or buried by time, chance, or design. This occasioned a wonderful revolution among the people. At the same time, the spoils of extortion, fraud, and robbery, with all the fruits of bribery and corruption, were thrown together into a prodigious pile, that almost reached to the clouds, and was called "the Mount of Restitution"; to which all injured persons were invited to receive what belonged to them.
One might see crowds of people in tattered garments come up, and change clothes with others that were dressed with lace and embroidery. Several who were plumbs, or very near it, became men of moderate fortunes; and many others, who were overgrown in wealth and possessions, had no more left than what they usually spent. What moved my concern most, was, to see a certain street[312] of the greatest credit in Europe from one end to the other become bankrupt.
The next command was, for the whole body of mankind to separate themselves into their proper families; which was no sooner done, but an edict was issued out, requiring all children to repair to their true and natural fathers. This put a great part of the assembly in motion; for as the mirror was moved over them, it inspired every one with such a natural instinct, as directed them to their real parents. It was a very melancholy spectacle to see the fathers of very large families become childless, and bachelors undone by a charge of sons and daughters. You might see a presumptive heir of a great estate ask blessing of his coachman, and a celebrated toast paying her duty to a _valet de chambre_. Many under vows of celibacy appeared surrounded with a numerous issue. This change of parentage would have caused great lamentation, but that the calamity was pretty common, and that generally those who lost their children, had the satisfaction of seeing them put into the hands of their dearest friends. Men were no sooner settled in their right to their possessions and their progeny, but there was a third order proclaimed, that all the posts of dignity and honour in the universe should be conferred on persons of the greatest merit, abilities, and perfection. The handsome, the strong, and the wealthy immediately pressed forward; but not being able to bear the splendour of the mirror which played upon their faces, they immediately fell back among the crowd: but as the goddess tried the multitude by her glass, as the eagle does its young ones by the lustre of the sun, it was remarkable, that every one turned away his face from it who had not distinguished himself either by virtue, knowledge, or capacity in business, either military or civil. This select assembly was drawn up in the centre of a prodigious multitude, which was diffused on all sides, and stood observing them, as idle people use to gather about a regiment that are exercising their arms. They were drawn up in three bodies: in the first were the men of virtue; in the second, men of knowledge; and in the third, the men of business. It was impossible to look at the first column without a secret veneration, their aspects were so sweetened with humanity, raised with contemplation, emboldened with resolution, and adorned with the most agreeable airs, which are those that proceed from secret habits of virtue. I could not but take notice, that there were many faces among them which were unknown, not only to the multitude, but even to several of their own body.
In the second column, consisting of the men of knowledge, there had been great disputes before they fell into the ranks, which they did not do at last without the positive command of the goddess who presided over the assembly. She had so ordered it, that men of the greatest genius and strongest sense were placed at the head of the column: behind these, were such as had formed their minds very much on the thoughts and writings of others. In the rear of the column were men who had more wit than sense, or more learning than understanding. All living authors of any value were ranged in one of these classes; but I must confess, I was very much surprised to see a great body of editors, critics, commentators, and grammarians meet with so very ill a reception. They had formed themselves into a body, and with a great deal of arrogance demanded the first station in the column of knowledge; but the goddess, instead of complying with their request, clapped them all into liveries, and bade them know themselves for no other but lackeys of the learned.
The third column were men of business, and consisting of persons in military and civil capacities. The former marched out from the rest, and placed themselves in the front; at which the other shook their heads at them, but did not think fit to dispute the post with them. I could not but make several observations upon this last column of people; but I have certain private reasons why I do not think fit to communicate them to the public. In order to fill up all the posts of honour, dignity, and profit, there was a draught made out of each column of men who were masters of all three qualifications in some degree, and were preferred to stations of the first rank. The second draught was made out of such as were possessed of any two of the qualifications, who were disposed of in stations of a second dignity. Those who were left, and were endowed only with one of them, had their suitable posts. When this was over, there remained many places of trust and profit unfilled, for which there were fresh draughts made out of the surrounding multitude who had any appearance of these excellences, or were recommended by those who possessed them in reality.
All were surprised to see so many new faces in the most eminent dignities; and for my own part, I was very well pleased to see that all my friends either kept their present posts, or were advanced to higher.
Having filled my paper with those particulars of my vision which concern the male part of mankind, I must reserve for another occasion the sequel of it, which relates to the fair sex.[313]
FOOTNOTES:
[312] Lombard Street.
No. 101. [STEELE and ADDISON.[314]
From _Tuesday, Nov. 29_, to _Thursday, Dec. 1, 1709_.
----Postquam fregit subsellia versu, Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendit Agaven.
JUV., Sat. vii. 86.
_From my own Apartment, Nov. 30._
The progress of my intended account of what happened when Justice visited mortals, is at present interrupted by the observation and sense of an injustice against which there is no remedy, even in a kingdom more happy in the care taken of the liberty and property of the subject than any other nation upon earth. This iniquity is committed by a most impregnable set of mortals, men who are rogues within the law; and in the very commission of what they are guilty of, professedly own, that they forbear no injury but from the terror of being punished for it. These miscreants are a set of wretches we authors call pirates, who print any book, poem, or sermon, as soon as it appears in the world, in a smaller volume, and sell it (as all other thieves do stolen goods) at a cheaper rate.[315] I was in my rage calling them rascals, plunderers, robbers, highwaymen. But they acknowledge all that, and are pleased with those, as well as any other titles; nay, will print them themselves to turn the penny. I am extremely at a loss how to act against such open enemies, who have not shame enough to be touched with our reproaches, and are as well defended against what we can say as what we can do. Railing therefore we must turn into complaint, which I cannot forbear making, when I consider that all the labours of my long life may be disappointed by the first man that pleases to rob me. I had flattered myself, that my stock of learning was worth £150 per annum, which would very handsomely maintain me and my little family, who are so happy or so wise as to want only necessaries. Before men had come up to this bare-faced impudence, it was an estate to have a competency of understanding. An ingenious droll, who is since dead (and indeed it is well for him he is so, for he must have starved had he lived to this day), used to give me an account of his good husbandry in the management of his learning. He was a general dealer, and had his "Amusements" as well comical as serious. The merry rogue said, when he wanted a dinner he wrote a paragraph of table-talk, and his bookseller upon sight paid the reckoning. He was a very good judge of what would please the people, and could aptly hit both the genius of his readers and the season of the year in his writings. His brain, which was his estate, had as regular and different produce as other men's land. From the beginning of November till the opening of the campaign, he wrote pamphlets and letters to members of Parliament, or friends in the country; but sometimes he would relieve his ordinary readers with a murder, and lived comfortably a week or two upon strange and lamentable accidents. A little before the armies took the field, his way was to open your attention with a prodigy; and a monster well written, was two guineas the lowest price. This prepared his readers for his great and bloody news from Flanders in June and July. Poor Tom![316] he is gone. But I observed, he always looked well after a battle, and was apparently fatter in a fighting year. Had this honest careless fellow lived till now, famine had stared him in the face, and interrupted his merriment, as it must be a solid affliction to all those whose pen is their portion. As for my part, I do not speak wholly for my own sake on this point; for palmistry and astrology will bring me in greater gains than these my papers; so that I am only in the condition of a lawyer who leaves the bar for chamber practice. However, I may be allowed to speak in the cause of learning itself, and lament, that a liberal education is the only one which a polite nation makes unprofitable.[317] All mechanic artisans are allowed to reap the fruit of their invention and ingenuity without invasion; but he that has separated himself from the rest of mankind, and studied the wonders of the creation, the government of his passions, and the revolutions of the world, and has an ambition to communicate the effect of half his life spent in such noble inquiries, has no property in what he is willing to produce, but is exposed to robbery and want, with this melancholy and just reflection, that he is the only man who is not protected by his country, at the same time that he best deserves it. According to the ordinary rules of computation, the greater the adventure is, the greater ought to be the profit of those who succeed in it; and by this measure, none have pretence of turning their labours to greater advantage than persons brought up to letters. A learned education, passing through great schools and universities, is very expensive, and consumes a moderate fortune, before it is gone through in its proper forms. The purchase of an handsome commission or employment, which would give a man a good figure in another kind of life, is to be made at a much cheaper rate. Now, if we consider this expensive voyage which is undertaken in the search of knowledge, and how few there are who take in any considerable merchandise, how less frequent it is to be able to turn what men have gained into profit? How hard is it, that the very small number who are distinguished with abilities to know how to vend their wares, and have the good fortune to bring them into port, should suffer being plundered by privateers under the very cannon that should protect them? The most eminent and useful author of the age we live in, after having laid out a princely revenue in works of charity and beneficence, as became the greatness of his mind, and the sanctity of his character, would have left the person in the world who was the dearest to him in a narrow condition, had not the sale of his immortal writings brought her in a very considerable dowry; though it was impossible for it to be equal to their value. Every one will know that I here mean the works of the late Archbishop of Canterbury,[318] the copy of which was sold for £2500.
I do not speak with relation to any party; but it has happened, and may often so happen, that men of great learning and virtue cannot qualify themselves for being employed in business, or receiving preferments. In this case, you cut them off from all support if you take from them the benefit that may arise from their writings. For my own part, I have brought myself to consider things in so unprejudiced a manner, that I esteem more a man who can live by the products of his understanding, than one who does it by the favour of great men.
The zeal of an author has transported me thus far, though I think myself as much concerned in the capacity of a reader. If this practice goes on, we must never expect to see again a beautiful edition of a book in Great Britain.
We have already seen the Memoirs of Sir William Temple[319] published in the same character and volume with the history of Tom Thumb, and the works of our greatest poets shrunk into penny books and garlands. For my own part, I expect to see my lucubrations printed on browner paper[320] than they are at present; and, if the humour continues, must be forced to retrench my expensive way of living, and not smoke above two pipes a day.
* * * * *
Mr. Charles Lillie, perfumer at the corner of Beauford Buildings, has informed me, that I am obliged to several of my customers for coming to his shop upon my recommendation; and has also given me further assurances of his upright dealing with all who shall be so kind as to make use of my name to him. I acknowledge this favour, and have, for the service of my friends who frequent his shop, used the force of magical powers to add value to his wares. By my knowledge in the secret operations of nature, I have made his powders, perfumed and plain, have the same effect as love-powder to all who are too much enamoured to do more than dress at their mistresses. His amber orange-flower, musk, and civet-violet, put only into a handkerchief, shall have the same effect towards an honourable lover's wishes as if he had been wrapped in his mother's smock. Wash-balls perfumed, camphored, and plain, shall restore complexions to that degree, that a country fox-hunter who uses them shall in a week's time look with a courtly and affable paleness, without using the bagnio or cupping. _N. B._--Mr. Lillie has snuffs, Barcelona, Seville, musty, plain, and Spanish, which may be taken by a young beginner without danger of sneezing.
_Sheer Lane, Nov. 30._
Whereas several walking-dead persons arrived within the bills of mortality, before and since the 15th instant, having been informed of my warrant[321] given to the Company of Upholders, and being terrified thereat (it not having been advertised that privilege or protection would be allowed), have resolved forthwith to retire to their several and respective abodes in the country, hoping thereby to elude any commission of interment that may issue out against them; and being informed of such their fallacious designs, I do hereby give notice, as well for the good of the public as for the great veneration I have for the before-mentioned useful society, that a process is gone out against them, and that, in case of contempt, they may be found or heard of at most coffee-houses in and about Westminster.
I must desire my readers to help me out from time to time in the correction of these my essays; for as a shaking hand does not always write legibly, the press sometimes prints one word for another; and when my paper is to be revised, I am perhaps so busy in observing the spots of the moon, that I have not time to find out the _errata_ that are crept into my lucubrations.
FOOTNOTES:
[313] See No. 102.
[314] "Sir Richard Steele joined in this paper" (Tickell).
[315] This paper seems to have been occasioned by a pirated edition of the _Tatler_ which came out just at this time. The following advertisement concerning it, was subjoined to the next paper in the original edition of the _Tatler_ in folio, and often repeated in the subsequent numbers:
"Whereas I am informed, that there is a spurious and very incorrect edition of these papers printed in a small volume; these are to give notice, that there is in the press, and will speedily be published, a very neat edition, fitted for the pocket, on extraordinary good paper, a new brevier letter, like the Elzevir editions, and adorned with several cuts by the best artists. To which is added a preface, index, and many notes, for the better explanation of these lucubrations, by the author, who has revised, amended, and made many additions to the whole. _N. B._--Notice shall be given in this paper, when I conclude my first volume." (No. 102, Advertisement.)
This spurious edition was sold by Hills. It was thus advertised in the _Post Boy_, by A. Boyer, 1st to 3rd December 1709: "This day is published one hundred _Tatlers_, by Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., on a fine paper, in a neat pocket volume. Price, bound, 4s., which is less than half the price of a set in folio. Sold by H. Hills, in Blackfriars, near the Water-side."
[316] Tom Brown (died 1704), whose works were published in four volumes in 1707. His "Amusements Serious and Comical" appeared in 1700.
[317] "As on a former occasion [No. 114] we saw Addison, when the grief of his friend seemed to break his utterance, with a calm composure taking up his theme simply to moderate its pain; so in this paper, to which also both contribute, and of which the exquisite opening humour closes abruptly in generous indignation, we may see each, according to his different nature, moved by an intolerable wrong. Of the maltreatment of authors in regard to copyright, both are speaking, and high above the irresistible laugh which Addison would raise against a law that makes only rogues and pirates prosperous, rings out the clear and manly claim of Steele to be allowed to speak in the cause of learning itself, and to lament that a liberal education should be the only one which a polite nation makes unprofitable, and that the only man who cannot get protection from his country should be he that best deserves it." (Forster, "Historical and Biographical Essays," 1858: Steele.)
[318] John Tillotson married Elizabeth French, daughter of Dr. Peter French, canon of Christ Church, Oxford, and niece of Oliver Cromwell. On his death in 1694, Tillotson left nothing to his family but the copyright of his posthumous sermons; but William III. gave the widow an annuity of £400 in 1695, and added £200 more in 1698.
[319] A third edition of Temple's "Memoirs of what passed in Christendom from 1672 to 1679" appeared in 1709.
[320] The paper on which the original numbers of the _Tatler_ were printed is called "tobacco paper" in No. 160. It was very brown.
[321] See No. 96.
No. 102. [ADDISON.
From _Thursday, Dec. 1_, to _Saturday, Dec. 3, 1709_.
_From my own Apartment, Dec. 3._
A CONTINUATION OF THE VISION.[322]
The male world were dismissed by the goddess of Justice, and disappeared, when on a sudden the whole plain was covered with women. So charming a multitude filled my heart with unspeakable pleasure; and as the celestial light of the mirror shone upon their faces, several of them seemed rather persons that descended in the train of the goddess, than such who were brought before her to their trial. The clack of tongues, and confusion of voices, in this new assembly, was so very great, that the goddess was forced to command silence several times, and with some severity before she could make them attentive to her edicts. They were all sensible that the most important affair among womankind was then to be settled, which every one knows to be the point of place. This had raised innumerable disputes among them, and put the whole sex into a tumult. Every one produced her claim, and pleaded her pretensions. Birth, beauty, wit, or wealth, were words that rung in my ears from all parts of the plain. Some boasted of the merit of their husbands; others of their own power in governing them. Some pleaded their unspotted virginity; others their numerous issue. Some valued themselves as they were the mothers, and others as they were the daughters, of considerable persons. There was not a single accomplishment unmentioned or unpractised. The whole congregation was full of singing, dancing, tossing, ogling, squeaking, smiling, sighing, fanning, frowning, and all those irresistible arts which women put in practice to captivate the hearts of reasonable creatures. The goddess, to end this dispute, caused it to be proclaimed, that every one should take place according as she was more or less beautiful. This declaration gave great satisfaction to the whole assembly, which immediately bridled up, and appeared in all its beauties. Such as believed themselves graceful in their motion, found an occasion of falling back, advancing forward, or making a false step, that they might show their persons in the most becoming air. Such as had fine necks and bosoms, were wonderfully curious to look over the heads of the multitude, and observe the most distant parts of the assembly. Several clapped their hands on their foreheads, as helping their sight to look upon the glories that surrounded the goddess, but in reality to show fine hands and arms. The ladies were yet better pleased, when they heard, that in the decision of this great controversy, each of them should be her own judge, and take her place according to her own opinion of herself, when she consulted her looking-glass.
The goddess then let down the mirror of truth in a golden chain, which appeared larger in proportion as it descended and approached nearer to the eyes of the beholders. It was the particular property of this looking-glass to banish all false appearances, and show people what they are. The whole woman was represented, without regard to the usual external features, which were made entirely conformable to their real characters. In short, the most accomplished (taking in the whole circle of female perfections) were the most beautiful; and the most defective, the most deformed. The goddess so varied the motion of the glass, and placed it in so many different lights, that each had an opportunity of seeing herself in it.
It is impossible to describe the rage, the pleasure, or astonishment, that appeared in each face upon its representation in the mirror: multitudes started at their own form, and would have broken the glass if they could have reached it. Many saw their blooming features wither as they looked upon them, and their self-admiration turned into a loathing and abhorrence. The lady who was thought so agreeable in her anger, and was so often celebrated for a woman of fire and spirit, was frightened at her own image, and fancied she saw a fury in the glass. The interested mistress beheld a harpy, and the subtle jilt a sphinx. I was very much troubled in my own heart to see such a destruction of fine faces; but at the same time had the pleasure of seeing several improved, which I had before looked upon as the greatest masterpieces of nature. I observed, that some few were so humble as to be surprised at their own charms; and that many a one who had lived in the retirement and severity of a vestal, shone forth in all the graces and attractions of a siren. I was ravished at the sight of a particular image in the mirror, which I think the most beautiful object that my eyes ever beheld. There was something more than human in her countenance: her eyes were so full of light, that they seemed to beautify everything they looked upon. Her face was enlivened with such a florid bloom, as did not so properly seem the mark of health as of immortality. Her shape, her stature, and her mien were such as distinguished her even there where the whole fair sex was assembled.
I was impatient to see the lady represented by so divine an image, whom I found to be the person that stood at my right hand, and in the same point of view with myself. This was a little old woman, who in her prime had been about five feet high, though at present shrunk to about three-quarters of that measure; her natural aspect was puckered up with wrinkles, and her head covered with grey hairs. I had observed all along an innocent cheerfulness in her face, which was now heightened into rapture as she beheld herself in the glass. It was an odd circumstance in my dream (but I cannot forbear relating it): I conceived so great an inclination towards her, that I had thoughts of discoursing her upon the point of marriage, when on a sudden she was carried from me; for the word was now given, that all who were pleased with their own images, should separate, and place themselves at the head of their sex.
This detachment was afterwards divided into three bodies, consisting of maids, wives, and widows; the wives being placed in the middle, with the maids on the right, and widows on the left; though it was with difficulty that these two last bodies were hindered from falling into the centre. This separation of those who liked their real selves not having lessened the number of the main body so considerably as it might have been wished, the goddess, after having drawn up her mirror, thought fit to make new distinctions among those who did not like the figure which they saw in it. She made several wholesome edicts, which have slipped out of my mind; but there were two which dwelt upon me, as being very extraordinary in their kind, and executed with great severity. Their design was to make an example of two extremes in the female world: of those who are very severe on the conduct of others, and of those who are very regardless of their own. The first sentence, therefore, the goddess pronounced, was, that all females addicted to censoriousness and detraction should lose the use of speech; a punishment which would be the most grievous to the offender, and (what should be the end of all punishments) effectual for rooting out the crime. Upon this edict, which was as soon executed as published, the noise of the assembly very considerably abated. It was a melancholy spectacle, to see so many who had the reputation of rigid virtue struck dumb. A lady who stood by me, and saw my concern, told me, she wondered I could be concerned for such a pack of--I found, by the shaking of her head, she was going to give me their characters; but by her saying no more, I perceived she had lost the command of her tongue. This calamity fell very heavy upon that part of women who are distinguished by the name of prudes, a courtly word for female hypocrites, who have a short way to being virtuous, by showing that others are vicious. The second sentence was then pronounced against the loose part of the sex, that all should immediately be pregnant who in any part of their lives had run the hazard of it. This produced a very goodly appearance, and revealed so many misconducts, that made those who were lately struck dumb, repine more than ever at their want of utterance; though, at the same time (as afflictions seldom come single), many of the mutes were also seized with this new calamity. The ladies were now in such a condition, that they would have wanted room, had not the plain been large enough to let them divide their ground, and extend their lines on all sides. It was a sensible affliction to me to see such a multitude of fair ones either dumb or big-bellied. But I was something more at ease when I found that they agreed upon several regulations to cover such misfortunes: among others, that it should be an established maxim in all nations, that a woman's first child might come into the world within six months after her acquaintance with her husband; and that grief might retard the birth of her last till fourteen months after his decease.
This vision lasted till my usual hour of waking, which I did with some surprise, to find myself alone, after having been engaged almost a whole night in so prodigious a multitude. I could not but reflect with wonder at the partiality and extravagance of my vision; which according to my thoughts, has not done justice to the sex. If virtue in men is more venerable, it is in women more lovely; which Milton has very finely expressed in his "Paradise Lost," where Adam, speaking of Eve, after having asserted his own pre-eminence, as being first in creation and internal faculties, breaks out into the following rapture:
----"_Yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills, or do, or say, Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. All higher knowledge in her presence falls Degraded. Wisdom, in discourse with her, Loses, discountenanced, and like Folly shows. Authority and Reason on her wait, As one intended first, not after made Occasionally: and to consummate all Greatness of mind and nobleness, their seat Build in her loveliest, and create an awe About her, as a guard angelic placed._"[323]
FOOTNOTES:
[322] See No. 100.
[323] "Paradise Lost," viii. 546.
No. 103. [ADDISON and STEELE.[324]
From _Saturday, Dec. 3_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 6, 1709_.
----Hæ nugæ seria ducent In mala derisum semel exceptumque sinistre.
HOR., Ars Poet., 45.
_From my own Apartment, Dec. 5._
There is nothing gives a man greater satisfaction than the sense of having despatched a great deal of business, especially when it turns to the public emolument. I have much pleasure of this kind upon my spirits at present, occasioned by the fatigue of affairs which I went through last Saturday. It is some time since I set apart that day for examining the pretensions of several who had applied to me for canes, perspective-glasses, snuff-boxes, orange-flower waters, and the like ornaments of life. In order to adjust this matter, I had before directed Charles Lillie of Beauford Buildings to prepare a great bundle of blank licences in the following words:
"You are hereby required to permit the bearer of this cane to pass and repass through the streets and suburbs of London, or any place within ten miles of it, without let or molestation; provided that he does not walk with it under his arm, brandish it in the air, or hang it on a button: in which case it shall be forfeited; and I hereby declare it forfeited to any one who shall think it safe to take it from him.
"ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."
#/
The same form, differing only in the provisos, will serve for a perspective, snuff-box, or perfumed handkerchief. I had placed myself in my elbow-chair at the upper end of my great parlour, having ordered Charles Lillie to take his place upon a joint-stool with a writing-desk before him. John Morphew[325] also took his station at the door; I having, for his good and faithful services, appointed him my chamber-keeper upon court-days. He let me know, that there were a great number attending without. Upon which, I ordered him to give notice, that I did not intend to sit upon snuff-boxes that day; but that those who appeared for canes might enter. The first presented me with the following petition, which I ordered Mr. Lillie to read:
"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., Censor of Great Britain.
"_The humble Petition of Simon Trippit_:
"Sheweth--That your petitioner having been bred up to a cane from his youth, it is now become as necessary to him as any other of his limbs.
"That a great part of his behaviour depending upon it, he should be reduced to the utmost necessities if he should lose the use of it.
"That the knocking of it upon his shoe, leaning one leg upon it, or whistling with it on his mouth, are such great reliefs to him in conversation, that he does not know how to be good company without it.
"That he is at present engaged in an amour, and must despair of success, if it be taken from him.
"Your petitioner therefore hopes, that (the premises tenderly considered) your Worship will not deprive him of so useful and so necessary a support.
"And your petitioner shall ever, &c."
Upon the hearing of his case, I was touched with some compassion, and the more so when upon observing him nearer I found he was a prig. I bade him produce his cane in court, which he had left at the door. He did so, and I finding it to be very curiously clouded, with a transparent amber head, and a blue ribbon to hang upon his wrist,[326] I immediately ordered my clerk Lillie to lay it up, and deliver out to him a plain joint headed with walnut; and then, in order to wean him from it by degrees, permitted him to wear it three days in a week, and to abate proportionably till he found himself able to go alone.
The second who appeared, came limping into the court: and setting forth in his petition many pretences for the use of a cane, I caused them to be examined one by one; but finding him in different stories, and confronting him with several witnesses who had seen him walk upright, I ordered Mr. Lillie to take in his cane, and rejected his petition as frivolous.
A third made his entry with great difficulty, leaning upon a slight stick, and in danger of falling every step he took. I saw the weakness of his hams; and hearing that he had married a young wife about a fortnight before, I bade him leave his cane, and gave him a new pair of crutches, with which he went off in great vigour and alacrity. This gentleman was succeeded by another, who seemed very much pleased while his petition was reading, in which he had represented, that he was extremely afflicted with the gout, and set his foot upon the ground with the caution and dignity which accompany that distemper. I suspected him for an impostor, and having ordered him to be searched, I committed him into the hands of Dr. Thomas Smith,[327] in King Street (my own corn-cutter), who attended in an outward room, and wrought so speedy a cure upon him, that I thought fit to send him also away without his cane.
While I was thus dispensing justice, I heard a noise in my outward room; and inquiring what was the occasion of it, my door-keeper told me, that they had taken up one in the very fact as he was passing by my door. They immediately brought in a lively fresh-coloured young man, who made great resistance with hand and foot, but did not offer to make use of his cane, which hung upon his fifth button. Upon examination, I found him to be an Oxford scholar, who was just entered at the Temple. He at first disputed the jurisdiction of the court; but being driven out of his little law and logic, he told me very pertly, that he looked upon such a perpendicular creature as man to make a very imperfect figure without a cane in his hand. "It is well known," says he, "we ought, according to the natural situation of our bodies, to walk upon our hands and feet; and that the wisdom of the ancients had described man to be an animal of four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three at night; by which they intimated, that a cane might very properly become part of us in some period of life." Upon which I asked him, whether he wore it at his breast to have it in readiness when that period should arrive? My young lawyer immediately told me, he had a property in it, and a right to hang it where he pleased, and to make use of it as he thought fit, provided that he did not break the peace with it: and further said, that he never took it off his button, unless it were to lift it up at a coachman, hold it over the head of a drawer, point out the circumstances of a story, or for other services of the like nature, that are all within the laws of the land. I did not care for discouraging a young man who, I saw, would come to good; and because his heart was set upon his new purchase, I only ordered him to wear it about his neck, instead of hanging it upon his button, and so dismissed him. There were several appeared in court whose pretensions I found to be very good, and therefore gave them their licences upon paying their fees; as many others had their licences renewed who required more time for recovery of their lameness than I had before allowed them.
Having despatched this set of my petitioners, there came in a well-dressed man, with a glass tube in one hand, and his petition in the other. Upon his entering the room, he threw back the right side of his wig, put forward his right leg, and advancing the glass to his right eye, aimed it directly at me. In the meanwhile, to make my observations also, I put on my spectacles; in which posture we surveyed each other for some time. Upon the removal of our glasses, I desired him to read his petition, which he did very promptly and easily; though at the same time it set forth, that he could see nothing distinctly, and was within very few degrees of being utterly blind; concluding with a prayer, that he might be permitted to strengthen and extend his sight by a glass. In answer to this I told him, he might sometimes extend it to his own destruction. "As you are now," said I, "you are out of the reach of beauty; the shafts of the finest eyes lose their force before they can come at you; you can't distinguish a toast from an orange-wench; you can see a whole circle of beauty without any interruption from an impertinent face to discompose you. In short, what are snares for others--" My petitioner would hear no more, but told me very seriously, "Mr. Bickerstaff, you quite mistake your man; it is the joy, the pleasure, the employment of my life, to frequent public assemblies, and gaze upon the fair." In a word, I found his use of a glass was occasioned by no other infirmity but his vanity, and was not so much designed to make him see, as to make him be seen and distinguished by others. I therefore refused him a licence for a perspective, but allowed him a pair of spectacles, with full permission to use them in any public assembly as he should think fit. He was followed by so very few of this order of men, that I have reason to hope this sort of cheats are almost at an end.
The orange-flower men appeared next with petitions, perfumed so strongly with musk, that I was almost overcome with the scent; and for my own sake was obliged forthwith to license their handkerchiefs, especially when I found they had sweetened them at Charles Lillie's, and that some of their persons would not be altogether inoffensive without them. John Morphew, whom I have made the general of my dead men, acquainted me, that the petitioners were all of that order, and could produce certificates to prove it if I required it. I was so well pleased with this way of their embalming themselves, that I commanded the above-said Morphew to give it in orders to his whole army, that every one who did not surrender himself up to be disposed of by the Upholders should use the same method to keep himself sweet during his present state of putrefaction.
I finished my session with great content of mind, reflecting upon the good I had done; for however slightly men may regard these particularities and little follies in dress and behaviour, they lead to greater evils. The bearing to be laughed at for such singularities, teach us insensibly an impertinent fortitude, and enable us to bear public censure for things which more substantially deserve it. By this means they open a gate to folly, and oftentimes render a man so ridiculous as to discredit his virtues and capacities, and unqualify them from doing any good in the world. Besides, the giving into uncommon habits of this nature is a want of that humble deference which is due to mankind, and (what is worst of all) the certain indication of some secret flaw in the mind of the person that commits them. When I was a young man, I remember a gentleman of great integrity and worth was very remarkable for wearing a broad belt, and a hanger instead of a fashionable sword, though in all other points a very well-bred man. I suspected him at first sight to have something wrong in him, but was not able for a long while to discover any collateral proofs of it. I watched him narrowly for six-and-thirty years, when at last, to the surprise of everybody but myself, who had long expected to see the folly break out, he married his own cook-maid.
FOOTNOTES:
[324] "Written by Addison and Steele jointly" (Tickell).
[325] The publisher of the original issue of the _Tatler_.
[326] See No. 26.
[327] "In King Street, Westminster, liveth Thomas Smith, who, by experience and ingenuity, has learnt the art of taking out and curing all manner of corns, without pain or drawing blood. He likewise takes out all manner of nails which cause any disaster, trouble, or pain, which no man in England can do the like. He can, on several occasions, help persons afflicted, as killing the scurvy in the gums; though they be eaten away never so much, he can raise them up again. He cures the toothache in half-an hour, let the pain be never so great, and cleanses and preserves the teeth. He can, with God's assistance, perform the same in a little time. I wear a silver badge, with three verses, the first in English, the second in Dutch, the third in French, with the States of Holland's crownet on the top, which was given me as a present by the States-General of Holland, for the many cures, &c. My name on the badge underwritten, Thomas Smith, who will not fail, God willing, to make out every particular in this bill, &c., &c.
"The famousest ware in England, which never fails to cure the toothache in half-an-hour, price 1s. the bottle. Likewise a powder for cleansing the teeth, which makes them as ivory, without wearing them, and without prejudice to the gums, 1s. the box. Also two sorts of water for curing the scurvy in the gums; though they are eaten away to the bottom, it will heal them, and cause them to grow as firm as ever; very safe, without mercury, or any unwholesome spirit. To avoid counterfeits, they are only sold at his own house, &c.; price of each bottle half a crown, or more, according to the bigness, with directions." Smith seems in the course of the week to have made his appearance, at fixed times, in every coffee-house then in London. (Harl. MSS., 5931.) See No. 187.
No. 104. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Dec. 6_, to _Thursday, Dec. 8, 1709_.
----Garrit aniles Ex re fabellas----
HOR., 2 Sat. vi. 77.
_From my own Apartment, Dec. 7._
My brother Tranquillus being gone out of town for some days, my sister Jenny sent me word she would come and dine with me, and therefore desired me to have no other company. I took care accordingly, and was not a little pleased to see her enter the room with a decent and matron-like behaviour, which I thought very much became her. I saw she had a great deal to say to me, and easily discovered in her eyes, and the air of her countenance, that she had abundance of satisfaction in her heart, which she longed to communicate. However, I was resolved to let her break into her discourse her own way, and reduced her to a thousand little devices and intimations to bring me to the mention of her husband. But finding I was resolved not to name him, she began of her own accord. "My husband," said she, "gives his humble service to you;" to which I only answered, "I hope he is well," and without waiting for a reply, fell into other subjects. She at last was out of all patience, and said (with a smile and manner that I thought had more beauty and spirit than I had ever observed before in her), "I did not think, brother, you had been so ill-natured. You have seen, ever since I came in, that I had a mind to talk of my husband, and you won't be so kind as to give me an occasion." "I did not know," said I, "but it might be a disagreeable subject to you. You do not take me for so old-fashioned a fellow as to think of entertaining a young lady with the discourse of her husband. I know, nothing is more acceptable than to speak of one who is to be so; but to speak of one who is so! Indeed, Jenny, I am a better bred man than you think me." She showed a little dislike at my raillery; and by her bridling up, I perceived she expected to be treated hereafter not as Jenny Distaff, but Mrs. Tranquillus. I was very well pleased with this change in her humour; and upon talking with her on several subjects, I could not but fancy that I saw a great deal of her husband's way and manner in her remarks, her phrases, the tone of her voice, and the very air of her countenance. This gave me an unspeakable satisfaction, not only because I had found her a husband, from whom she could learn many things that were laudable, but also because I looked upon her imitation of him as an infallible sign that she entirely loved him. This is an observation that I never knew fail, though I do not remember that any other has made it. The natural shyness of her sex hindered her from telling me the greatness of her own passion; but I easily collected it, from the representation she gave me of his. "I have everything," says she, "in Tranquillus that I can wish for; and enjoy in him (what indeed you have told me were to be met with in a good husband) the fondness of a lover, the tenderness of a parent, and the intimacy of a friend." It transported me to see her eyes swimming in tears of affection when she spoke. "And is there not, dear sister," said I, "more pleasure in the possession of such a man than in all the little impertinences of balls, assemblies, and equipage, which it cost me so much pains to make you contemn?" She answered, smiling, "Tranquillus has made me a sincere convert in a few weeks, though I am afraid you could not have done it in your whole life. To tell you truly, I have only one fear hanging upon me, which is apt to give me trouble in the midst of all my satisfactions: I am afraid, you must know, that I shall not always make the same amiable appearance in his eye that I do at present. You know, brother Bickerstaff, that you have the reputation of a conjurer; and if you have any one secret in your art to make your sister always beautiful, I should be happier than if I were mistress of all the worlds you have shown me in a starry night." "Jenny," said I, "without having recourse to magic, I shall give you one plain rule, that will not fail of making you always amiable to a man who has so great a passion for you, and is of so equal and reasonable a temper as Tranquillus. Endeavour to please, and you must please; be always in the same disposition as you are when you ask for this secret, and, you may take my word, you will never want it. An inviolable fidelity, good humour, and complacency of temper outlive all the charms of a fine face, and make the decays of it invisible."
We discoursed very long upon this head, which was equally agreeable to us both; for I must confess (as I tenderly love her), I take as much pleasure in giving her instructions for her welfare as she herself does in receiving them. I proceeded therefore to inculcate these sentiments, by relating a very particular passage that happened within my own knowledge.
There were several of us making merry at a friend's house in a country village, when the sexton of the parish church entered the room in a sort of surprise, and told us, that as he was digging a grave in the chancel, a little blow of his pick-axe opened a decayed coffin, in which there were several written papers. Our curiosity was immediately raised, so that we went to the place where the sexton had been at work, and found a great concourse of people about the grave. Among the rest, there was an old woman, who told us, the person buried there was a lady, whose name I do not think fit to mention, though there is nothing in the story but what tends very much to her honour[328]. This lady lived several years an exemplary pattern of conjugal love, and dying soon after her husband, who every way answered her character in virtue and affection, made it her death-bed request, that all the letters which she had received from him, both before and after her marriage, should be buried in the coffin with her. These I found upon examination were the papers before us. Several of them had suffered so much by time, that I could only pick out a few words; as, "My soul!" "Lilies!" "Roses!" "Dearest angel!" and the like. One of them (which was legible throughout) ran thus:
"MADAM,
"If you would know the greatness of my love, consider that of your own beauty. That blooming countenance, that snowy bosom, that graceful person, return every moment to my imagination: the brightness of your eyes hath hindered me from closing mine since I last saw you. You may still add to your beauties by a smile. A frown will make me the most wretched of men, as I am the most passionate of lovers."
It filled the whole company with a deep melancholy, to compare the description of the letter with the person that occasioned it, who was now reduced to a few crumbling bones, and a little mouldering heap of earth. With much ado I deciphered another letter, which begun with "My dear, dear wife." This gave me a curiosity to see how the style of one written in marriage differed from one written in courtship. To my surprise, I found the fondness rather augmented than lessened, though the panegyric turned upon a different accomplishment. The words were as follow:
"Before this short absence from you, I did not know that I loved you so much as I really do; though at the same time, I thought I loved you as much as possible. I am under great apprehensions, lest you should have any uneasiness whilst I am defrauded of my share in it, and can't think of tasting any pleasures that you don't partake with me. Pray, my dear, be careful of your health, if for no other reason because you know I could not outlive you. It is natural in absence to make professions of an inviolable constancy; but towards so much merit, it is scarce a virtue, especially when it is but a bare return to that of which you have given me such continued proofs ever since our first acquaintance.
"I am, &c."
It happened that the daughter of these two excellent persons was by when I was reading this letter. At the sight of the coffin, in which was the body of her mother, near that of her father, she melted into a flood of tears. As I had heard a great character of her virtue, and observed in her this instance of filial piety, I could not resist my natural inclination of giving advice to young people, and therefore addressed myself to her: "Young lady," said I, "you see how short is the possession of that beauty in which Nature has been so liberal to you. You find the melancholy sight before you, is a contradiction to the first letter that you heard on that subject; whereas you may observe, the second letter, which celebrates your mother's constancy, is itself, being found in this place, an argument of it. But, Madam, I ought to caution you, not to think the bodies that lie before you, your father and your mother. Know their constancy is rewarded by a nobler union than by this mingling of their ashes, in a state where there is no danger or possibility of a second separation."
FOOTNOTES:
[328] We are told that a son of Sir Thomas Chicheley, one of King William's admirals, said that this lady was his mother, and that the letters were genuine. There is a mezzotint of Mrs. Sarah Chicheley, by Smith, from a painting by Kneller. Sir Thomas Chicheley (1618-1694) was Master-general of the Ordnance; the admiral was Sir John Chicheley, who died in 1691, leaving a son John.
No. 105. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Dec. 8_, to _Saturday, Dec. 10, 1709_.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 9._
As soon as my midnight studies are finished, I take but a very short repose, and am again up at an exercise of another kind; that is to say, my fencing. Thus my life passes away in a restless pursuit of fame, and a preparation to defend myself against such as attack it. This anxiety on the point of reputation is the peculiar distress of fine spirits, and makes them liable to a thousand inquietudes, from which men of grosser understandings are exempt; so that nothing is more common than to see one part of mankind live at perfect ease under such circumstances as would make another part of them entirely miserable.
This may serve for a preface to the history of poor Will Rosin, the fiddler of Wapping[329], who is a man as much made for happiness, and a quiet life, as any one breathing; but has been lately entangled in so many intricate and unreasonable distresses, as would have made him (had he been a man of too nice honour) the most wretched of all mortals. I came to the knowledge of his affairs by mere accident. Several of the narrow end of our lane having made an appointment to visit some friends beyond St. Katherine's[330], where there was to be a merry meeting, they would needs take with them the old gentleman, as they are pleased to call me. I, who value my company by their good-will, which naturally has the same effect as good-breeding, was not too stately, or too wise, to accept of the invitation. Our design was to be spectators of a sea-ball; to which I readily consented, provided I might be _incognito_, being naturally pleased with the survey of human life in all its degrees and circumstances.
In order to this merriment, Will Rosin (who is the Corelli[331] of the Wapping side, as Tom Scrape is the Bononcini[332] of Redriffe) was immediately sent for; but to our utter disappointment, poor Will was under an arrest, and desired the assistance of all his kind masters and mistresses, or he must go to gaol. The whole company received his message with great humanity, and very generously threw in their halfpence apiece in a great dish, which purchased his redemption out of the hands of the bailiffs. During the negotiation for his enlargement, I had an opportunity of acquainting myself with his history.
Mr. William Rosin, of the parish of St. Katherine, is somewhat stricken in years, and married to a young widow, who has very much the ascendant over him: this degenerate age being so perverted in all things, that even in the state of matrimony the young pretend to govern their elders. The musician is extremely fond of her; but is often obliged to lay by his fiddle to hear louder notes of hers, when she is pleased to be angry with him: for you are to know, Will is not of consequence enough to enjoy her conversation but when she chides him, or makes use of him to carry on her amours. For she is a woman of stratagem; and even in that part of the world where one would expect but very little gallantry, by the force of natural genius, she can be sullen, sick, out of humour, splenetic, want new clothes, and more money, as well as if she had been bred in Cheapside or Cornhill. She was lately under a secret discontent upon account of a lover she was like to lose by his marriage: for her gallant, Mr. Ezekiel Boniface, had been twice asked in church, in order to be joined in matrimony with Mrs. Winifred Dimple, spinster, of the same parish. Hereupon Mrs. Rosin was far gone in that distemper which well-governed husbands know by the description of, "I am I know not how;" and Will soon understood, that it was his part to inquire into the occasion of her melancholy, or suffer as the cause of it himself. After much importunity, all he could get out of her, was, that she was the most unhappy and the most wicked of all women, and had no friend in the world to tell her grief to. Upon this, Will doubled his importunities; but she said that she should break her poor heart, if he did not take a solemn oath upon a Book, that he would not be angry; and that he would expose the person who had wronged her to all the world, for the ease of her mind, which was no way else to be quieted. The fiddler was so melted, that he immediately kissed her, and afterwards the Book. When his oath was taken, she began to lament herself, and revealed to him, that (miserable woman as she was) she had been false to his bed. Will was glad to hear it was no worse; but before he could reply, "Nay," said she, "I will make you all the atonement I can, and take shame upon me by proclaiming it to all the world, which is the only thing that can remove my present terrors of mind." This was indeed too true; for her design was to prevent Mr. Boniface's marriage, which was all she apprehended. Will was thoroughly angry, and began to curse and swear, the ordinary expressions of passion in persons of his condition. Upon which his wife--"Ah William! how well you mind the oath you have taken, and the distress of your poor wife, who can keep nothing from you; I hope you won't be such a perjured wretch as to forswear yourself." The fiddler answered, that his oath obliged him only not to be angry at what was past; "but I find you intend to make me laughed at all over Wapping." "No, no," replied Mrs. Rosin, "I see well enough what you would be at, you poor-spirited cuckold--you are afraid to expose Boniface, who has abused your poor wife, and would fain persuade me still to suffer the stings of conscience; but I assure you, sirrah, I won't go to the devil for you." Poor Will was not made for contention, and beseeching her to be pacified, desired she would consult the good of her soul her own way, for he would not say her nay in anything.
Mrs. Rosin was so very loud and public in her invectives against Boniface, that the parents of his mistress forbade the banns, and his match was prevented, which was the whole design of this deep stratagem. The father of Boniface brought his action of defamation, arrested the fiddler, and recovered damages. This was the distress from which he was relieved by the company; and the good husband's air, history, and jollity, upon his enlargement, gave occasion to very much mirth; especially when Will, finding he had friends to stand by him, proclaimed himself a cuckold by way of insult over the family of the Bonifaces. Here is a man of tranquillity without reading Seneca! What work had such an incident made among persons of distinction? The brothers and kindred of each side must have been drawn out, and hereditary hatreds entailed on the families as long as their very names remained in the world. Who would believe that Herod, Othello, and Will Rosin were of the same species?
There are quite different sentiments which reign in the parlour and the kitchen; and it is by the point of honour, when justly regulated and inviolably observed, that some men are superior to others, as much as mankind in general are to brutes. This puts me in mind of a passage in the admirable poem called the "Dispensary,"[333] where the nature of true honour is artfully described in an ironical dispraise of it:
_But e'er we once engage in honour's cause, First know what honour is, and whence it was. Scorned by the base, 'tis courted by the brave, The hero's tyrant, and the coward's slave. Born in the noisy camp, it lives on air; And both exists by hope and by despair. Angry whene'er a moment's ease we gain, And reconciled at our returns of pain. It lives when in death's arms the hero lies; But when his safety he consults, it dies. Bigoted to this idol, we disclaim Rest, health, and ease, for nothing but a name._
A very old fellow visited me to-day at my lodgings, and desired encouragement and recommendation from me for a new invention of knockers to doors, which he told me he had made, and professed to teach rustic servants the use of them. I desired him to show me an experiment of this invention; upon which he fixed one of his knockers to my parlour door. He then gave me a complete set of knocks, from the solitary rap of the dun and beggar to the thunderings of the saucy footman of quality, with several flourishes and rattlings never yet performed. He likewise played over some private notes, distinguishing the familiar friend or relation from the most modish visitor; and directing when the reserve candles are to be lighted. He has several other curiosities in this art. He waits only to receive my approbation of the main design. He is now ready to practise to such as shall apply themselves to him; but I have put off his public licence till next court day.
_N. B._--He teaches underground.
FOOTNOTES:
[329] Sir John Hawkins ("History of Music," iv. 379) gives an account of the music-houses at Wapping, Shadwell, &c. Steele lived at Poplar at one time, and may then have made Rosin's acquaintance. See No. 23 of the _Medley_, where Steele tells a story of a ball at a music-house in Wapping, attended by colliers and sailors.
[330] St. Katherine's-by-the-Tower stood close to the Thames; it was pulled down in 1825, when St. Katherine's Dock was constructed. The precinct or liberty of St. Katherine extended from the Tower to Ratcliff.
[331] Archangelo Corelli, the famous violinist and composer, died at Rome in 1713.
[332] Giovanni Bononcini, the youngest son of the musician Giovanni Maria Bononcini, was for some time a rival of Handel. The opera of "Camilla" was composed when he was eighteen.
[333] By Sir Samuel Garth, 1699.
No. 106. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Dec. 10_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 13, 1709_.
Invenies dissecti membra poetæ.
HOR., 1 Sat. iv. 62.[334]
_Will's Coffee-house, Dec. 12._
I was this evening sitting at the side-table, and reading one of my own papers with great satisfaction, not knowing that I was observed by any in the room. I had not long enjoyed this secret pleasure of an author, when a gentleman, some of whose works I have been highly entertained with,[335] accosted me after the following manner: "Mr. Bickerstaff, you know I have for some years devoted myself wholly to the Muses, and perhaps you will be surprised when I tell you I am resolved to take up and apply myself to business: I shall therefore beg you will stand my friend, and recommend a customer to me for several goods that I have now upon my hands." I desired him to let me have a particular, and I would do my utmost to serve him. "I have first of all," says he, "the progress of an amour digested into sonnets, beginning with a poem to the unknown fair, and ending with an epithalamium. I have celebrated in it, her cruelty, her pity, her face, her shape, her wit, her good-humour, her dancing, her singing--" I could not forbear interrupting him: "This is a most accomplished lady," said I; "but has she really, with all these perfections, a fine voice?" "Pugh," says he, "you do not believe there is such a person in nature. This was only my employment in solitude last summer, when I had neither friends nor books to divert me." "I was going," says I, "to ask her name, but I find it is only an imaginary mistress." "That's true," replied my friend, "but her name is Flavia. I have," continued he, "in the second place, a collection of lampoons, calculated either for the Bath, Tunbridge, or any place where they drink waters, with blank spaces for the names of such person or persons as may be inserted in them on occasion. Thus much I have told only of what I have by me proceeding from love and malice. I have also at this time the sketch of an heroic poem upon the next peace:[336] several indeed of the verses are either too long or too short, it being a rough draught of my thoughts upon that subject." I thereupon told him, that as it was, it might probably pass for a very good Pindaric, and I believed I knew one who would be willing to deal with him for it upon that foot. "I must tell you also, I have made a dedication to it, which is about four sides close written, that may serve any one that is tall, and understands Latin. I have further, about fifty similes that were never yet applied, besides three-and-twenty descriptions of the sun rising, that might be of great use to an epic poet. These are my more bulky commodities: besides which, I have several small-wares that I would part with at easy rates; as, observations upon life, and moral sentences, reduced into several couplets, very proper to close up acts of plays, and may be easily introduced by two or three lines of prose, either in tragedy or comedy. If I could find a purchaser curious in Latin poetry, I could accommodate him with two dozen of epigrams, which, by reason of a few false quantities, should come for little or nothing."
I heard the gentleman with much attention, and asked him, whether he would break bulk, and sell his goods by retail, or designed they should all go in a lump? He told me, that he should be very loth to part them, unless it was to oblige a man of quality, or any person for whom I had a particular friendship. "My reason for asking," said I, "is, only because I know a young gentleman who intends to appear next spring in a new jingling chariot, with the figures of the nine Muses on each side of it; and I believe, would be glad to come into the world in verse." We could not go on in our treaty, by reason of two or three critics that joined us. They had been talking, it seems, of the two letters which were found in the coffin, and mentioned in one of my late lucubrations,[337] and came with a request to me, that I would communicate any others of them that were legible. One of the gentlemen was pleased to say, that it was a very proper instance of a widow's constancy; and said, he wished I had subjoined, as a foil to it, the following passage in "Hamlet." The young Prince was not yet acquainted with all the guilt of his mother, but turns his thoughts on her sudden forgetfulness of his father, and the indecency of her hasty marriage.
----_That it should come to this! But two months dead! Nay, not so much, not two! So excellent a king! that was to this Hyperion to a satyr! So loving to my mother, That he permitted not the winds of heaven To visit her face too roughly! Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on. And yet, within a month! Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month! or ere those shoes were old, With which she followed my poor father's body, Like Niobe all tears; why she, even she-- O Heaven! a brute, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourned longer!--married with mine uncle, My father's brother! But no more like my father Than I to Hercules! Within a month! Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her galled eyes, She married--O most wicked speed! to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not, nor it cannot come to good! But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue_![338]
The several emotions of mind, and breaks of passion, in this speech, are admirable. He has touched every circumstance that aggravated the fact, and seemed capable of hurrying the thoughts of a son into distraction. His father's tenderness for his mother, expressed in so delicate a particular; his mother's fondness for his father, no less exquisitely described; the great and amiable figure of his dead parent drawn by a true filial piety; his disdain of so unworthy a successor to his bed; but above all, the shortness of the time between his father's death and his mother's second marriage, brought together with so much disorder, make up as noble a part as any in that celebrated tragedy. The circumstance of time I never could enough admire. The widowhood had lasted two months--this is his first reflection: but as his indignation rises, he sinks to scarce two months: afterwards into a month; and at last, into a little month. But all this so naturally, that the reader accompanies him in the violence of his passion, and finds the time lessen insensibly, according to the different workings of his disdain. I have not mentioned the incest of her marriage, which is so obvious a provocation; but cannot forbear taking notice, that when his fury is at its height, he cries, "Frailty, thy name is woman!" as railing at the sex in general, rather than giving himself leave to think his mother worse than others.--_Desiderantur multa._
* * * * *
Whereas Mr. Jeffery Groggram has surrendered himself by his letter bearing date December 7, and has sent an acknowledgment that he is dead, praying an order to the Company of Upholders for interment at such a reasonable rate as may not impoverish his heirs: the said Groggram having been dead ever since he was born, and added nothing to his small patrimony, Mr. Bickerstaff has taken the premises into consideration; and being sensible of the ingenuous and singular behaviour of this petitioner, pronounces the said Jeffery Groggram a live man, and will not suffer that he should bury himself out of modesty; but requires him to remain among the living, as an example to those obstinate dead men, who will neither labour for life, nor go to their grave.
_N. B._--Mr. Groggram is the first person that has come in upon Mr. Bickerstaff's dead warrant.
* * * * *
Florinda demands by her letter of this day to be allowed to pass for a living woman, having danced the Derbyshire hornpipe in the presence of several friends on Saturday last.
Granted; provided she can bring proof, that she can make a pudding on the 24th instant.
FOOTNOTES:
[334] Horace's words are, "Invenias etiam disjecti membra poetæ."
[335] Perhaps Peter Anthony Motteux (1660-1718), dramatist and translator of Rabelais and "Don Quixote." In a letter in No. 288 of the _Spectator_, Motteux spoke of himself as "an author turned dealer," and described the goods in his warehouse in Leadenhall Street. In No. 552, Steele gave a glowing account of his friend's "spacious warehouses, filled and adorned with tea, china, and Indian wares."
[336] _Cf._ the account of Tom Spindle in No. 47.
[337] See No. 104.
[338] "Hamlet," act i. sc. 2.
No. 107. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Dec. 13_, to _Thursday, Dec. 15, 1709_.
----Ah miser, Quanta laborabas Charybdi Digne puer meliore flammâ!
HOR., 1 Od. xxvii. 18.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 14._
About four this afternoon, which is the hour I usually put myself in readiness to receive company, there entered a gentleman who I believed at first came upon some ordinary question; but as he approached nearer to me, I saw in his countenance a deep sorrow, mixed with a certain ingenuous complacency that gave me a sudden good-will towards him. He stared, and betrayed an absence of thought as he was going to communicate his business to me. But at last, recovering himself, he said, with an air of great respect, "Sir, it would be an injury to your knowledge in the occult sciences, to tell you what is my distress; I dare say, you read it in my countenance: I therefore beg your advice to the most unhappy of all men." Much experience has made me particularly sagacious in the discovery of distempers, and I soon saw that his was love. I then turned to my commonplace book, and found his case under the word "coquette"; and reading over the catalogue which I have collected out of this great city of all under that character, I saw at the name of Cynthia his fit came upon him. I repeated the name thrice after a musing manner, and immediately perceived his pulse quicken two-thirds; when his eyes, instead of the wildness with which they appeared at his entrance, looked with all the gentleness imaginable upon me, not without tears. "O sir!" said he, "you know not the unworthy usage I have met with from the woman my soul dotes on. I could gaze at her to the end of my being; yet when I have done so, for some time past I have found her eyes fixed on another. She is now two-and-twenty, in the full tyranny of her charms, which she once acknowledged she rejoiced in, only as they made her choice of me, out of a crowd of admirers, the more obliging. But in the midst of this happiness, so it is, Mr. Bickerstaff, that young Quicksett, who is just come to town, without any other recommendation than that of being tolerably handsome, and excessively rich, has won her heart in so shameless a manner, that she dies for him. In a word, I would consult you, how to cure myself of this passion for an ungrateful woman, who triumphs in her falsehood, and can make no man happy, because her own satisfaction consists chiefly in being capable of giving distress. I know Quicksett is at present considerable with her for no other reason but that he can be without her, and feel no pain in the loss. Let me therefore desire you, sir, to fortify my reason against the levity of an inconstant, who ought only to be treated with neglect." All this time I was looking over my receipts, and asked him if he had any good winter boots. "Boots, sir!" said my patient. I went on: "You may easily reach Harwich in a day, so as to be there when the packet goes off." "Sir," said the lover, "I find you design me for travelling; but alas! I have no language; it will be the same thing to me as solitude, to be in a strange country. I have," continued he, sighing, "been many years in love with this creature, and have almost lost even my English, at least to speak such as anybody else does. I asked a tenant of ours, who came up to town the other day with rent, whether the flowery mead near my father's house in the country had any shepherd in it. I have called a cave a grotto these three years, and must keep ordinary company, and frequent busy people for some time, before I can recover my common words." I smiled at his raillery upon himself, though I well saw it came from a heavy heart. "You are," said I, "acquainted, to be sure, with some of the general officers; suppose you made a campaign?" "If I did," said he, "I should venture more than any man there, for I should be in danger of starving; my father is such an untoward old gentleman, that he would tell me he found it hard enough to pay his taxes towards the war, without making it more expensive by an allowance to me. With all this, he is as fond as he is rugged, and I am his only son."
I looked upon the young gentleman with much tenderness, and not like a physician, but a friend; for I talked to him so largely, that if I had parcelled my discourse into distinct prescriptions, I am confident I gave him two hundred pounds' worth of advice. He heard me with great attention, bowing, smiling, and showing all other instances of that natural good-breeding which ingenuous tempers pay to those who are elder and wiser than themselves. I entertained him to the following purpose. "I am sorry, sir, that your passion is of so long a date, for evils are much more curable in their beginnings; but at the same time must allow, that you are not to be blamed, since your youth and merit has been abused by one of the most charming, but the most unworthy, sort of women, the coquettes. A coquette is a chaste jilt, and differs only from a common one, as a soldier, who is perfect in exercise, does from one that is actually in service. This grief, like all other, is to be cured only by time; and although you are convinced this moment, as much as you will be ten years hence, that she ought to be scorned and neglected, you see you must not expect your remedy from the force of reason. The cure then is only in time, and the hastening of the cure only in the manner of employing that time. You have answered me as to travel and a campaign, so that we have only Great Britain to avoid her in. Be then yourself, and listen to the following rules, which only can be of use to you in this unaccountable distemper, wherein the patient is often averse even to his recovery. It has been of benefit to some to apply themselves to business; but as that may not lie in your way, go down to your estate, mind your fox-hounds, and venture the life you are weary of over every hedge and ditch in the country. These are wholesome remedies; but if you can have resolution enough, rather stay in town, and recover yourself even in the town where she inhabits. Take particular care to avoid all places where you may possibly meet her, and shun the sight of everything which may bring her to your remembrance; there is an infection in all that relates to her: you'll find, her house, her chariot, her domestics, and her very lap-dog, are so many instruments of torment. Tell me seriously, do you think you could bear the sight of her fan?" He shook his head at the question, and said, "Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff, you must have been a patient, or you could not have been so good a physician." "To tell you truly," said I, "about the thirtieth year of my age, I received a wound that has still left a scar in my mind, never to be quite worn out by time or philosophy.
"The means which I found the most effectual for my cure, were reflections upon the ill-usage I had received from the woman I loved, and the pleasure I saw her take in my sufferings.
"I considered the distress she brought upon me the greatest that could befall a human creature, at the same time that she did not inflict this upon one who was her enemy, one that had done her an injury, one that had wished her ill; but on the man who loved her more than any else loved her, and more than it was possible for him to love any other person.
"In the next place, I took pains to consider her in all her imperfections; and that I might be sure to hear of them constantly, kept company with those her female friends who were her dearest and most intimate acquaintance.
"Among her highest imperfections, I still dwelt upon her baseness of mind and ingratitude, that made her triumph in the pain and anguish of the man who loved her, and of one who in those days (without vanity be it spoken) was thought to deserve her love.
"To shorten my story, she was married to another, which would have distracted me had he proved a good husband; but to my great pleasure, he used her at first with coldness, and afterwards with contempt. I hear he still treats her very ill; and am informed, that she often says to her woman, 'This is a just revenge for my falsehood to my first love: what a wretch am I, that might have been married to the famous Mr. Bickerstaff.'"
My patient looked upon me with a kind of melancholy pleasure, and told me, he did not think it was possible for a man to live to the age I now am of, who in his thirtieth year had been tortured with that passion in its violence. "For my part," said he, "I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep in it; nor keep company with anybody, but two or three friends who are in the same condition."
"There," answered I, "you are to blame; for as you ought to avoid nothing more than keeping company with yourself, so you ought to be particularly cautious of keeping company with men like yourself. As long as you do this, you do but indulge your distemper.
"I must not dismiss you without further instructions. If possible, transfer your passion from the woman you are now in love with, to another; or if you cannot do that, change the passion itself into some other passion; that is, to speak more plainly, find out some other agreeable woman:[339] or if you can't do this, grow covetous, ambitious, litigious; turn your love of woman into that of profit, preferment, reputation; and for a time, give up yourself entirely to the pursuit.
"This is a method we sometimes take in physic, when we turn a desperate disease into one we can more easily cure."
He made little answer to all this, but crying out, "Ah, sir!" for his passion reduced his discourse to interjections.
"There is one thing added, which is present death to a man in your condition, and therefore to be avoided with the greatest care and caution: that is, in a word, to think of your mistress and rival together, whether walking, discoursing, dallying--" "The devil!" he cried out, "who can bear it?" To compose him, for I pitied him very much, "The time will come," said I, "when you shall not only bear it, but laugh at it. As a preparation to it, ride every morning an hour at least with the wind full in your face. Upon your return, recollect the several precepts which I have now given you, and drink upon them a bottle of spa-water. Repeat this every day for a month successively, and let me see you at the end of it." He was taking his leave, with many thanks, and some appearance of consolation in his countenance, when I called him back to acquaint him, that I had private information of a design of the coquettes to buy up all the true spa-water in town; upon which he took his leave in haste, with a resolution to get all things ready for entering upon his regimen the next morning.
FOOTNOTES:
[339] This passage was censured by Thomas Baker in No. 72 of the _Female Tatler_ (December 21, 1707): "Wisdom, virtue, and laboriousness have always been inseparable from the famous Bickerstaff; but if the characters that have first recommended him to the public, and by which only he was known to the world, are no more to be found in those works that go under his name, the author is dead, and the papers are spurious," &c.
No. 108. [ADDISON.
From _Thursday, Dec. 15_, to _Saturday, Dec. 17, 1709_.
Pronaque cum spectent animalia cætera terram, Os homini sublime dedit, cælumque tueri Jussit.----
OVID, Met. i. 85.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 16._
It is not to be imagined, how great an effect well-disposed lights, with proper forms and orders in assemblies, have upon some tempers. I am sure I feel it in so extraordinary a manner, that I cannot in a day or two get out of my imagination any very beautiful or disagreeable impression which I receive on such occasions. For this reason I frequently look in at the play-house, in order to enlarge my thoughts, and warm my mind with some new ideas, that may be serviceable to me in my lucubrations. In this disposition I entered the theatre the other day, and placed myself in a corner of it, very convenient for seeing, without being myself observed. I found the audience hushed in a very deep attention, and did not question but some noble tragedy was just then in its crisis, or that an incident was to be unravelled which would determine the fate of a hero. While I was in this suspense, expecting every moment to see my old friend Mr. Betterton[340] appear in all the majesty of distress, to my unspeakable amazement, there came up a monster with a face between his feet; and as I was looking on, he raised himself on one leg in such a perpendicular posture, that the other grew in a direct line above his head.[341] It afterwards twisted itself into the motions and wreathings of several different animals, and after great variety of shapes and transformations, went off the stage in the figure of a human creature. The admiration, the applause, the satisfaction, of the audience, during this strange entertainment, is not to be expressed. I was very much out of countenance for my dear countrymen, and looked about with some apprehension for fear any foreigner should be present. Is it possible, thought I, that human nature can rejoice in its disgrace, and take pleasure in seeing its own figure turned to ridicule, and distorted into forms that raise horror and aversion? There is something disingenuous and immoral in the being able to bear such a sight. Men of elegant and noble minds are shocked at seeing the characters of persons who deserve esteem for their virtue, knowledge, or services to their country, placed in wrong lights, and by misrepresentation made the subject of buffoonery. Such a nice abhorrence is not indeed to be found among the vulgar; but methinks it is wonderful, that those who have nothing but the outward figure to distinguish them as men, should delight in seeing it abused, vilified, and disgraced.
I must confess, there is nothing that more pleases me in all that I read in books, or see among mankind, than such passages as represent human nature in its proper dignity. As man is a creature made up of different extremes, he has something in him very great and very mean: a skilful artist may draw an excellent picture of him in either of these views. The finest authors of antiquity have taken him on the more advantageous side. They cultivate the natural grandeur of the soul, raise in her a generous ambition, feed her with hopes of immortality and perfection, and do all they can to widen the partition between the virtuous and the vicious, by making the difference betwixt them as great as between gods and brutes. In short, it is impossible to read a page in Plato, Tully, and a thousand other ancient moralists, without being a greater and a better man for it. On the contrary, I could never read any of our modish French authors, or those of our own country who are the imitators and admirers of that trifling nation, without being for some time out of humour with myself, and at everything about me. Their business is to depreciate human nature, and consider it under its worst appearances. They give mean interpretations and base motives to the worthiest actions: they resolve virtue and vice into constitution. In short, they endeavour to make no distinction between man and man, or between the species of men and that of brutes. As an instance of this kind of authors, among many others, let any one examine the celebrated Rochefoucault, who is the great philosopher for administering of consolation to the idle, the envious, and worthless part of mankind.
I remember a young gentleman of moderate understanding, but great vivacity, who by dipping into many authors of this nature, had got a little smattering of knowledge, just enough to make an atheist or a free-thinker, but not a philosopher or a man of sense. With these accomplishments, he went to visit his father in the country, who was a plain, rough, honest man, and wise, though not learned. The son, who took all opportunities to show his learning, began to establish a new religion in the family, and to enlarge the narrowness of their country notions; in which he succeeded so well, that he had reduced the butler by his table-talk, and staggered his eldest sister. The old gentleman began to be alarmed at the schisms that arose among his children, but did not yet believe his son's doctrine to be so pernicious as it really was, till one day talking of his setting-dog, the son said, he did not question but Tray was as immortal as any one of the family; and in the heat of the argument told his father, that for his own part he expected to die like a dog. Upon which the old man, starting up in a very great passion, cried out, "Then, sirrah, you shall live like one;" and taking his cane in his hand, cudgelled him out of his system. This had so good an effect upon him, that he took up from that day, fell to reading good books, and is now a Bencher in the Middle Temple.
I do not mention this cudgelling part of the story with a design to engage the secular arm in matters of this nature; but certainly, if it ever exerts itself in affairs of opinion and speculation, it ought to do it on such shallow and despicable pretenders to knowledge, who endeavour to give man dark and uncomfortable prospects of his being, and destroy those principles which are the support, happiness, and glory of all public societies, as well as private persons.
I think it is one of Pythagoras's Golden Sayings, that a man should take care above all things to have a due respect for himself;[342] and it is certain, that this licentious sort of authors, who are for depreciating mankind, endeavour to disappoint and undo what the most refined spirits have been labouring to advance since the beginning of the world. The very design of dress, good-breeding, outward ornaments, and ceremony, were to lift up human nature, and set it off to advantage. Architecture, painting, and statuary were invented with the same design; as indeed every art and science contributes to the embellishment of life, and to the wearing off or throwing into shades the mean or low parts of our nature. Poetry carries on this great end more than all the rest, as may be seen in the following passage, taken out of Sir Francis Bacon's "Advancement of Learning,"[343] which gives a truer and better account of this art than all the volumes that were ever written upon it.
"Poetry, especially heroical, seems to be raised altogether from a noble foundation, which makes much for the dignity of man's nature. For seeing this sensible world is in dignity inferior to the soul of man, poesy seems to endow human nature with that which history denies, and to give satisfaction to the mind, with at least the shadow of things, where the substance cannot be had. For if the matter be thoroughly considered, a strong argument may be drawn from poesy, that a more stately greatness of things, a more perfect order, and a more beautiful variety, delights the soul of man, than any way can be found in nature since the Fall. Wherefore seeing the acts and events, which are the subject of true history, are not of that amplitude as to content the mind of man; poesy is ready at hand to feign acts more heroical. Because true history reports the successes of business not proportionable to the merit of virtues and vices, poesy corrects it, and presents events and fortunes according to desert, and according to the law of Providence. Because true history, through the frequent satiety and similitude of things, works a distaste and misprision in the mind of man, poesy cheereth and refresheth the soul, chanting things rare and various, and full of vicissitudes. So as poesy serveth and conferreth to delectation, magnanimity, and morality; and therefore it may seem deservedly to have some participation of divineness, because it doth raise the mind, and exalt the spirit with high raptures, by proportioning the shows of things to the desires of the mind; and not submitting the mind to things, as reason and history do. And by these allurements and congruities, whereby it cherisheth the soul of man, joined also with consort of music, whereby it may more sweetly insinuate itself; it hath won such access, that it hath been in estimation even in rude times and barbarous nations, when other learning stood excluded."
But there is nothing which favours and falls in with this natural greatness and dignity of human nature so much as religion, which does not only promise the entire refinement of the mind, but the glorifying of the body, and the immortality of both.
FOOTNOTES:
[340] See No. 71.
[341] An advertisement in the Harl. MSS. (Bagford's Collection, 5961) describes the performances of a young posture-master from Exeter: "He makes his hip and shoulder bones meet together; stands on one leg, and extends the other in a direct line over his head, half a yard." It has been suggested that the posture-master alluded to by Addison was Joseph Clark, of whom there are various prints; but he died in 1690, and therefore cannot have been seen by Isaac Bickerstaff "the other day" in 1709.
[342] "Golden Sayings," 12.
[343] Second Book, iii. 4. 2.
No. 109. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Dec. 17_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 20, 1709_.
Perditur hæc inter miseris lux.--HOR., 2 Sat. vi. 59.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 19._
There has not some years been such a tumult in our neighbourhood as this evening about six. At the lower end of the lane the word was given, that there was a great funeral coming by. The next moment came forward in a very hasty, instead of a solemn manner, a long train of lights, when at last a footman, in very high youth and health, with all his force, ran through the whole art of beating the door of the house next to me, and ended his rattle with the true finishing rap. This did not only bring one to the door at which he knocked, but to that of every one in the lane in an instant. Among the rest, my country maid took the alarm, and immediately running to me, told me, there was a fine, fine lady, who had three men with burial torches making way before her, carried by two men upon poles, with looking-glasses on each side of her, and one glass also before, she herself appearing the prettiest that ever was. The girl was going on in her story, when the lady was come to my door in her chair, having mistaken the house. As soon as she entered, I saw she was Mr. Isaac's[344] scholar by her speaking air, and the becoming stop she made when she began her apology. "You'll be surprised, sir," said she, "that I take this liberty, who am utterly a stranger to you: besides that it may be thought an indecorum that I visit a man." She made here a pretty hesitation, and held her fan to her face. Then, as if recovering her resolution, she proceeded: "But I think you have said, that men of your age are of no sex; therefore I may be as free with you as one of my own." The lady did me the honour to consult me on some particular matters, which I am not at liberty to report. But before she took her leave, she produced a long list of names, which she looked upon to know whither she was to go next. I must confess, I could hardly forbear discovering to her immediately, that I secretly laughed at the fantastical regularity she observed in throwing away her time; but I seemed to indulge her in it, out of a curiosity to hear her own sense of her way of life. "Mr. Bickerstaff," said she, "you cannot imagine how much you are obliged to me in staying thus long with you, having so many visits to make; and indeed, if I had not hopes that a third part of those I am going to will be abroad, I should be unable to despatch them this evening." "Madam," said I, "are you in all this haste and perplexity, and only going to such as you have not a mind to see?" "Yes, sir," said she, "I have several now with whom I keep a constant correspondence, and return visit for visit punctually every week, and yet we have not seen each other since last November was twelvemonth."
She went on with a very good air, and, fixing her eyes on her list, told me, she was obliged to ride about three miles and a half before she arrived at her own house. I asked after what manner this list was taken, whether the persons wrote their names to her and desired that favour, or how she knew she was not cheated in her muster roll? "The method we take," says she, "is, that the porter or servant who comes to the door, writes down all the names who come to see us, and all such are entitled to a return of their visit." "But," said I, "madam, I presume those who are searching for each other, and know one another by messages, may be understood as candidates only for each other's favour; and that after so many howdees,[345] you proceed to visit or not, as you like the run of each other's reputation or fortune." "You understand it aright," said she, "and we become friends as soon as we are convinced that our dislike to each other may be of any consequence; for to tell you truly," said she "(for it is in vain to hide anything from a man of your penetration), general visits are not made out of good-will, but for fear of ill-will. Punctuality in this case is often a suspicious circumstance; and there is nothing so common as to have a lady say, 'I hope she has heard nothing of what I said of her, that she grows so great with me.' But indeed, my porter is so dull and negligent, that I fear he has not put down half the people I owe visits to." "Madam," said I, "methinks it should be very proper if your gentleman-usher or groom of the chamber were always to keep an account by way of debtor and creditor. I know a city lady who uses that method, which I think very laudable; for though you may possibly at the Court end of the town receive at the door, and light up better than within Temple Bar, yet I must do that justice to my friends the ladies within the walls to own, that they are much more exact in their correspondence. The lady I was going to mention as an example, has always the second apprentice out of the counting-house for her own use on her visiting day, and he sets down very methodically all the visits which are made her. I remember very well, that on the first of January last, when she made up her account for the year 1708, it stood thus:
Mrs. COURTWOOD. _Dr._ |_Per contra._ _Cr._ | To seventeen hundred and |By eleven hundred and nine four visits received 1704 |paid 1109 |Due to balance 595 | ---- | 1704
"This gentlewoman is a woman of great economy, and was not afraid to go to the bottom of her affairs; and therefore ordered her apprentice to give her credit for my Lady Easy's impertinent visits upon wrong days, and deduct only twelve per cent. He had orders also to subtract one and a half from the whole of such as she had denied herself to before she kept a day; and after taking those proper articles of credit on her side, she was in arrear but five hundred. She ordered her husband to buy in a couple of fresh coach-horses; and with no other loss than the death of two footmen, and a churchyard cough brought upon her coachman, she was clear in the world on the 10th of February last, and keeps so beforehand, that she pays everybody their own, and yet makes daily new acquaintances." I know not whether this agreeable visitant was fired with the example of the lady I told her of, but she immediately vanished out of my sight, it being, it seems, as necessary a point of good-breeding, to go off as if you stole something out of the house, as it is to enter as if you came to fire it. I do not know one thing that contributes so much to the lessening the esteem men of sense have to the fair sex as this article of visits. A young lady cannot be married, but all the impertinents in town must be beating the tattoo from one quarter of the town to the other, to show they know what passes. If a man of honour should once in an age marry a woman of merit for her intrinsic value, the envious things are all in motion in an instant to make it known to the sisterhood as an indiscretion, and publish to the town how many pounds he might have had to have been troubled with one of them. After they are tired with that, the next thing is, to make their compliments to the married couple and their relations. They are equally busy at a funeral, and the death of a person of quality is always attended with the murder of several sets of coach-horses and chairmen. In both cases, the visitants are wholly unaffected, either with joy or sorrow. For which reason, their congratulations and condolences are equally words of course; and one would be thought wonderfully ill-bred, that should build upon such expressions as encouragements, to expect from them any instance of friendship.
Thus are the true causes of living, and the solid pleasures of life, lost in show, imposture, and impertinence. As for my part, I think most of the misfortunes in families arise from the trifling way the women have in spending their time, and gratifying only their eyes and ears, instead of their reason and understanding.
A fine young woman, bred under a visiting mother, knows all that is possible for her to be acquainted with by report, and sees the virtuous and the vicious used so indifferently, that the fears she is born with are abated, and desires indulged, in proportion to her love of that light and trifling conversation. I know I talk like an old man; but I must go on to say, that I think the general reception of mixed company, and the pretty fellows that are admitted at those assemblies, give a young woman so false an idea of life, that she is generally bred up with a scorn of that sort of merit in a man which only can make her happy in marriage; and the wretch to whose lot she falls, very often receives in his arms a coquette, with the refuse of a heart long before given away to a coxcomb.
Having received from the Society of Upholders sundry complaints of the obstinate and refractory behaviour of several dead persons, who have been guilty of very great outrages and disorders, and by that means elapsed the proper time of their interment; and having on the other hand received many appeals from the aforesaid dead persons, wherein they desire to be heard before such their interment; I have set apart Wednesday the 21st instant, as an extraordinary court-day for the hearing both parties. If therefore any one can allege why they or any of their acquaintance should or should not be buried, I desire they may be ready with their witnesses at that time, or that they will for ever after hold their tongues.
_N.B._--This is the last hearing on this subject.
FOOTNOTES:
[344] A dancing-master (see No. 34).
[345] _Cf._ Swift, "Journal to Stella," May 10, 1712--"I have been returning the visits of those that sent howdees in my sickness;" and "Verses on his own Death," 1731 (quoted by Mr. Dobson):
"When daily howd'y's come of course, And servants answer, 'Worse and worse!'"
Servants were frequently sent to make these polite inquiries; and Steele speaks of "the how-d'ye servants of our women" (_Spectator_, No. 143).
No. 110. [ADDISON and STEELE.[346]
From _Tuesday, Dec. 20_, to _Thursday, Dec. 22, 1709_.
----Quæ lucis miseris tam dira cupido?--VIRG., Æn. vi. 721.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 21._
As soon as I had placed myself in my chair of judicature, I ordered my clerk Mr. Lillie to read to the assembly (who were gathered together according to notice) a certain declaration, by way of charge, to open the purpose of my session, which tended only to this explanation, that as other courts were often called to demand the execution of persons dead in law, so this was held to give the last orders relating to those who were dead in reason. The solicitor of the new Company of Upholders near the Haymarket appeared in behalf of that useful society, and brought in an accusation of a young woman, who herself stood at the bar before me. Mr. Lillie read her indictment, which was in substance, that whereas Mrs. Rebecca Pindust, of the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, had, by the use of one instrument, called a looking-glass, and by the further use of certain attire, made either of cambric, muslin, or other linen wares, upon her head, attained to such an evil art and magical force in the motion of her eyes and turn of her countenance, that she the said Rebecca had put to death several young men of the said parish; and that the said young men had acknowledged in certain papers, commonly called love letters (which were produced in court, gilded on the edges, and sealed with a particular wax, with certain amorous and enchanting words wrought upon the said seals), that they died for the said Rebecca: and whereas the said Rebecca persisted in the said evil practice; this way of life the said society construed to be, according to former edicts, a state of death, and demanded an order for the interment of the said Rebecca.
I looked upon the maid with great humanity, and desired her to make answer to what was said against her. She said, it was indeed true that she had practised all the arts and means she could to dispose of herself happily in marriage, but thought she did not come under the censure expressed in my writings for the same; and humbly hoped, I would not condemn her for the ignorance of her accusers, who, according to their own words, had rather represented her killing than dead. She further alleged, that the expressions mentioned in the papers written to her, were become mere words, and that she had been always ready to marry any of those who said they died for her; but that they made their escape as soon as they found themselves pitied or believed. She ended her discourse by desiring I would for the future settle the meaning of the words, "I die," in letters of love.
Mrs. Pindust behaved herself with such an air of innocence, that she easily gained credit, and was acquitted. Upon which occasion, I gave it as a standing rule, that any persons who in any letter, billet, or discourse, should tell a woman he died for her, should, if she pleased, be obliged to live with her, or be immediately interred, upon such their own confession, without bail or mainprize.
It happened, that the very next who was brought before me was one of her admirers, who was indicted upon that very head. A letter which he acknowledged to be his own hand was read; in which were the following words: "Cruel creature, I die for you." It was observable, that he took snuff all the time his accusation was reading. I asked him, how he came to use these words, if he were not a dead man? He told me, he was in love with the lady, and did not know any other way of telling her so; and that all his acquaintance took the same method. Though I was moved with compassion towards him by reason of the weakness of his parts, yet for example's sake, I was forced to answer, "Your sentence shall be a warning to all the rest of your companions, not to tell lies for want of wit." Upon this, he began to beat his snuff-box with a very saucy air; and opening it again, "Faith, Isaac," said he, "thou art a very unaccountable old fellow--prithee, who gave thee power of life and death? What a pox hast thou to do with ladies and lovers? I suppose thou wouldst have a man be in company with his mistress, and say nothing to her. Dost thou call breaking a jest, telling a lie? Ha! is that thy wisdom, old Stiffrump, ha?" He was going on with this insipid commonplace mirth, sometimes opening his box, sometimes shutting it, then viewing the picture on the lid, and then the workmanship of the hinge, when, in the midst of his eloquence, I ordered his box to be taken from him; upon which he was immediately struck speechless, and carried off stone dead.[347]
The next who appeared, was a hale old fellow of sixty. He was brought in by his relations, who desired leave to bury him. Upon requiring a distinct account of the prisoner, a credible witness deposed, that he always rose at ten of the clock, played with his cat till twelve, smoked tobacco till one, was at dinner till two, then took another pipe, played at backgammon till six, talked of one Madam Frances, an old mistress of his, till eight, repeated the same account at the tavern till ten, then returned home, took another pipe, and then to bed. I asked him what he had to say for himself. "As to what," said he, "they mention concerning Madam Frances--" I did not care for hearing a Canterbury tale, and therefore thought myself seasonably interrupted by a young gentleman who appeared in the behalf of the old man, and prayed an arrest of judgment; for that he the said young man held certain lands by his the said old man's life. Upon this, the solicitor of the Upholders took an occasion to demand him also, and thereupon produced several evidences that witnessed to his life and conversation. It appeared, that each of them divided their hours in matters of equal moment and importance to themselves and to the public. They rose at the same hour: while the old man was playing with his cat, the young one was looking out of his window; while the old man was smoking his pipe, the young man was rubbing his teeth; while one was at dinner, the other was dressing; while one was at backgammon, the other was at dinner; while the old fellow was talking of Madam Frances, the young one was either at play, or toasting women whom he never conversed with. The only difference was, that the young man had never been good for anything; the old man, a man of worth before he knew Madam Frances. Upon the whole, I ordered them to be both interred together, with inscriptions proper to their characters, signifying, that the old man died in the year 1689, and was buried in the year 1709. And over the young one it was said, that he departed this world in the twenty-fifth year of his death.
The next class of criminals were authors in prose and verse. Those of them who had produced any still-born work, were immediately dismissed to their burial, and were followed by others, who, notwithstanding some sprightly issue in their lifetime, had given proofs of their death by some posthumous children, that bore no resemblance to their elder brethren. As for those who were the fathers of a mixed progeny, provided always they could prove the last to be a live child, they escaped with life, but not without loss of limbs; for in this case, I was satisfied with amputation of the parts which were mortified.
These were followed by a great crowd of superannuated benchers of the Inns of Court, senior Fellows of colleges, and defunct statesmen; all whom I ordered to be decimated indifferently, allowing the rest a reprieve for one year, with a promise of a free pardon in case of resuscitation.
There were still great multitudes to be examined; but finding it very late, I adjourned the court; not without the secret pleasure that I had done my duty, and furnished out a handsome execution.
Going out of the court, I received a letter, informing me, that in pursuance of the edict of justice in one of my late visions, all those of the fair sex began to appear pregnant who had run any hazard of it; as was manifest by a particular swelling in the petticoats of several ladies in and about this great city. I must confess, I do not attribute the rising of this part of the dress to this occasion, yet must own, that I am very much disposed to be offended with such a new and unaccountable fashion. I shall, however, pronounce nothing upon it till I have examined all that can be said for and against it. And in the meantime, think fit to give this notice to the fair ladies who are now making up their winter suits, that they may abstain from all dresses of that kind till they shall find what judgment will be passed upon them; for it would very much trouble me, that they should put themselves to an unnecessary expense; and could not but think myself to blame, if I should hereafter forbid them the wearing of such garments, when they have laid out money upon them, without having given them any previous admonition.[348]
_N.B._--A letter of the 16th instant about one of the 5th will be answered according to the desire of the party, which he will see in few days.
FOOTNOTES:
[346] "Sir Richard Steele joined in this paper" (Tickell)
[347] An account of the effects of this gentleman is given by Hughes in No. 113.
[348] See Nos. 113 and 116.
No. 111. [ADDISON and STEELE.[349]
From _Thursday, Dec. 22_, to _Saturday, Dec. 24, 1709_.
----Procul O! procul este, profani!--VIRG., Æn. vi. 258.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 23._
The watchman, who does me particular honours, as being the chief man in the lane, gave so very great a thump at my door last night, that I awakened at the knock, and heard myself complimented with the usual salutation of "Good morrow, Mr. Bickerstaff; good morrow, my masters all." The silence and darkness of the night disposed me to be more than ordinarily serious; and as my attention was not drawn out among exterior objects by the avocations of sense, my thoughts naturally fell upon myself. I was considering, amidst the stillness of the night, what was the proper employment of a thinking being? what were the perfections it should propose to itself? and what the end it should aim at? My mind is of such a particular cast, that the falling of a shower of rain, or the whistling of wind, at such a time, is apt to fill my thoughts with something awful and solemn. I was in this disposition, when our bellman began his midnight homily (which he has been repeating to us every winter night for these twenty years) with the usual exordium:
_Oh! mortal man, thou that art born in sin!_
Sentiments of this nature, which are in themselves just and reasonable, however debased by the circumstances that accompany them, do not fail to produce their natural effect in a mind that is not perverted and depraved by wrong notions of gallantry, politeness, and ridicule. The temper which I now found myself in, as well as the time of the year, put me in mind of those lines in Shakespeare, wherein, according to his agreeable wildness of imagination, he has wrought a country tradition into a beautiful piece of poetry. In the tragedy of "Hamlet," where the ghost vanishes upon the cock's crowing, he takes occasion to mention its crowing all hours of the night about Christmas time, and to insinuate a kind of religious veneration for that season.
_It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dares walk abroad; The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, no witch has power to charm; So hallowed, and so gracious is the time._[350]
This admirable author, as well as the best and greatest men of all ages, and of all nations, seems to have had his mind thoroughly seasoned with religion, as is evident by many passages in his plays, that would not be suffered by a modern audience; and are therefore certain instances, that the age he lived in had a much greater sense of virtue than the present.
It is indeed a melancholy reflection to consider, that the British nation, which is now at a greater height of glory for its counsels and conquests than it ever was before, should distinguish itself by a certain looseness of principles, and a falling off from those schemes of thinking, which conduce to the happiness and perfection of human nature. This evil comes upon us from the works of a few solemn blockheads, that meet together with the zeal and seriousness of apostles, to extirpate common-sense, and propagate infidelity. These are the wretches, who, without any show of wit, learning, or reason, publish their crude conceptions with an ambition of appearing more wise than the rest of mankind, upon no other pretence than that of dissenting from them. One gets by heart a catalogue of title-pages and editions; and immediately to become conspicuous, declares that he is an unbeliever. Another knows how to write a receipt, or cut up a dog, and forthwith argues against the immortality of the soul. I have known many a little wit, in the ostentation of his parts, rally the truth of the Scripture, who was not able to read a chapter in it. These poor wretches talk blasphemy for want of discourse, and are rather the objects of scorn or pity, than of our indignation; but the grave disputant, that reads and writes, and spends all his time in convincing himself and the world that he is no better than a brute, ought to be whipped out of a government, as a blot to a civil society, and a defamer of mankind. I love to consider an infidel, whether distinguished by the title of deist, atheist, or free-thinker, in three different lights, in his solitudes, his afflictions, and his last moments.
A wise man that lives up to the principles of reason and virtue, if one considers him in his solitude, as taking in the system of the universe, observing the mutual dependence and harmony by which the whole frame of it hangs together, beating down his passions, or swelling his thoughts with magnificent ideas of Providence, makes a nobler figure in the eye of an intelligent being, than the greatest conqueror amidst all the pomps and solemnities of a triumph. On the contrary, there is not a more ridiculous animal than an atheist in his retirement. His mind is incapable of rapture or elevation: he can only consider himself as an insignificant figure in a landscape, and wandering up and down in a field or a meadow, under the same terms as the meanest animals about him, and as subject to as total a mortality as they, with this aggravation, that he is the only one amongst them who lies under the apprehension of it.
In distresses, he must be of all creatures the most helpless and forlorn; he feels the whole pressure of a present calamity, without being relieved by the memory of anything that is passed, or the prospect of anything that is to come. Annihilation is the greatest blessing that he proposes to himself, and a halter or a pistol the only refuge he can fly to. But if you would behold one of these gloomy miscreants in his poorest figure, you must consider him under the terrors, or at the approach, of death.
About thirty years ago I was a-shipboard with one of these vermin, when there arose a brisk gale, which could frighten nobody but himself. Upon the rolling of the ship he fell upon his knees, and confessed to the chaplain, that he had been a vile atheist, and had denied a Supreme Being ever since he came to his estate. The good man was astonished, and a report immediately ran through the ship, that there was an atheist upon the upper deck. Several of the common seamen, who had never heard the word before, thought it had been some strange fish; but they were more surprised when they saw it was a man, and heard out of his own mouth, that he never believed till that day that there was a God. As he lay in the agonies of confession, one of the honest tars whispered to the boatswain, that it would be a good deed to heave him overboard. But we were now within sight of port, when of a sudden the wind fell, and the penitent relapsed, begging all of us that were present, as we were gentlemen, not to say anything of what had passed.
He had not been ashore above two days, when one of the company began to rally him upon his devotion on shipboard, which the other denied in so high terms, that it produced the lie on both sides, and ended in a duel. The atheist was run through the body, and after some loss of blood, became as good a Christian as he was at sea, till he found that his wound was not mortal. He is at present one of the free-thinkers of the age, and now writing a pamphlet against several received opinions concerning the existence of fairies.
As I have taken upon me to censure the faults of the age and country which I live in, I should have thought myself inexcusable to have passed over this crying one, which is the subject of my present discourse. I shall therefore from time to time give my countrymen particular cautions against this distemper of the mind, that is almost become fashionable, and by that means more likely to spread. I have somewhere either read or heard a very memorable sentence, that a man would be a most insupportable monster, should he have the faults that are incident to his years, constitution, profession, family, religion, age, and country; and yet every man is in danger of them all. For this reason, as I am an old man, I take particular care to avoid being covetous, and telling long stories. As I am choleric, I forbear not only swearing, but all interjections of fretting, as "Pugh!" "Pish!" and the like. As I am a layman, I resolve not to conceive an aversion for a wise and a good man, because his coat is of a different colour from mine. As I am descended of the ancient family of the Bickerstaffs, I never call a man of merit an upstart. As a Protestant, I do not suffer my zeal so far to transport me, as to name the Pope and the devil together. As I am fallen into this degenerate age, I guard myself particularly against the folly I have been now speaking of. And as I am an Englishman, I am very cautious not to hate a stranger, or despise a poor Palatine.[351]
FOOTNOTES:
[349] "Steele assisted in this paper" (Tickell).
[350] "Hamlet," act i. sc. i.
No. 112. [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Dec. 24_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 27, 1709_.
Accedat suavitas quædam oportet sermonum, atque morum, haudquaquam mediocre condimentum amicitiæ. Tristitia autem, et in omni re severitas absit. Habet illa quidem gravitatem, sed amicitia remissior esse debet, et liberior, et dulcior, et ad omnem comitatem facilitatemque proclivior.--CICERO, De Amicitia, xviii. 66.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 26._
As I was looking over my letters this morning, I chanced to cast my eye upon the following one, which came to my hands about two months ago from an old friend of mine, who, as I have since learned, was the person that wrote the agreeable epistle inserted in my paper of the third of the last month.[352] It is of the same turn with the other, and may be looked upon as a specimen of right country letters.
"Sir,
"This sets out to you from my summer-house upon the terrace, where I am enjoying a few hours' sunshine, the scanty sweet remains of a fine autumn. The year is almost at the lowest; so that in all appearance, the rest of my letters between this and spring will be dated from my parlour fire, where the little fond prattle of a wife and children will so often break in upon the connection of my thoughts, that you will easily discover it in my style. If this winter should prove as severe as the last, I can tell you beforehand, that I am likely to be a very miserable man, through the perverse temper of my eldest boy. When the frost was in its extremity, you must know, that most of the blackbirds, robins, and finches of the parish (whose music had entertained me in the summer) took refuge under my roof. Upon this, my care was, to rise every morning before day to set open my windows for the reception of the cold and the hungry, whom at the same time I relieved with a very plentiful alms, by strewing corn and seeds upon the floors and shelves. But Dicky, without any regard to the laws of hospitality, considered the casements as so many traps, and used every bird as a prisoner at discretion. Never did tyrant exercise more various cruelties: some of the poor creatures he chased to death about the room; others he drove into the jaws of a bloodthirsty cat; and even in his greatest acts of mercy, either clipped the wings, or singed the tails, of his innocent captives. You will laugh, when I tell you I sympathised with every bird in its misfortunes; but I believe you will think me in the right for bewailing the child's unlucky humour. On the other hand, I am extremely pleased to see his younger brother carry a universal benevolence towards everything that has life. When he was between four and five years old, I caught him weeping over a beautiful butterfly, which he chanced to kill as he was playing with it; and I am informed, that this morning he has given his brother three halfpence (which was his whole estate) to spare the life of a tomtit. These are at present the matters of greatest moment within my observation, and I know are too trifling to be communicated to any but so wise a man as yourself, and from one who has the happiness to be,
"Your most faithful, And most obedient Servant."
The best critic that ever wrote, speaking of some passages in Homer which appear extravagant or frivolous, says indeed that they are dreams, but the dreams of Jupiter. My friend's letter appears to me in the same light. One sees him in an idle hour; but at the same time in the idle hour of a wise man. A great mind has something in it too severe and forbidding, that is not capable of giving itself such little relaxations, and of condescending to these agreeable ways of trifling. Tully, when he celebrates the friendship of Scipio and Lælius,[353] who were the greatest, as well as the politest, men of their age, represents it as a beautiful passage in their retirement, that they used to gather up shells on the seashore, and amuse themselves with the variety of shape and colour which they met with in those little unregarded works of nature. The great Agesilaus could be a companion to his own children, and was surprised by the ambassadors of Sparta[354] as he was riding among them upon a hobby-horse. Augustus indeed had no playfellows of his own begetting; but is said to have passed many of his hours with little Moorish boys at a game of marbles, not unlike our modern taw. There is (methinks) a pleasure in seeing great men thus fall into the rank of mankind, and entertain themselves with diversions and amusements that are agreeable to the very weakest of the species. I must frankly confess, that it is to me a beauty in Cato's character, that he would drink a cheerful bottle with a friend; and I cannot but own, that I have seen with great delight one of the most celebrated authors[355] of the last age feeding the ducks in St. James's Park. By instances of this nature, the heroes, the statesmen, the philosophers, become as it were familiar with us, and grow the more amiable the less they endeavour to appear awful. A man who always acts in the severity of wisdom, or the haughtiness of quality, seems to move in a personated part: it looks too constrained and theatrical for a man to be always in that character which distinguishes him from others. Besides that, the slackening and unbending our minds on some occasions, makes them exert themselves with greater vigour and alacrity when they return to their proper and natural state.
As this innocent way of passing a leisure hour is not only consistent with a great character, but very graceful in it, so there are two sorts of people to whom I would most earnestly recommend it. The first are those who are uneasy out of want of thought; the second are those who are so out of a turbulence of spirit. The first are the impertinent, and the second the dangerous part of mankind.
It grieves me to the very heart when I see several young gentlemen, descended of honest parents, run up and down hurrying from one end of the town to the other, calling in at every place of resort, without being able to fix a quarter of an hour in any, and in a particular haste without knowing for what. It would (methinks) be some consolation, if I could persuade these precipitate young gentlemen to compose this restlessness of mind, and apply themselves to any amusement, how trivial soever, that might give them employment, and keep them out of harm's way. They cannot imagine how great a relief it would be to them if they could grow sedate enough to play for two or three hours at a game of pushpin. But these busy, idle animals are only their own tormentors: the turbulent and dangerous are for embroiling counsels, stirring up seditions, and subverting constitutions, out of a mere restlessness of temper, and an insensibility of all the pleasures of life that are calm and innocent. It is impossible for a man to be so much employed in any scene of action as to have great and good affairs enough to fill up his whole time; there will still be chasms and empty spaces, in which a working mind will employ itself to its own prejudice, or that of others, unless it can be at ease in the exercise of such actions as are in themselves indifferent. How often have I wished, for the good of the nation, that several famous politicians could take any pleasure in feeding ducks. I look upon an able statesman out of business like a huge whale, that will endeavour to overturn the ship unless he has an empty cask to play with.
But to return to my good friend and correspondent, I am afraid we shall both be laughed at, when I confess, that we have often gone out into the field to look upon a bird's nest; and have more than once taken an evening's walk together on purpose to see the sun set. I shall conclude with my answer to his foregoing letter:
"DEAR SIR,
"I thank you for your obliging letter, and your kindness to the distressed, who will, doubtless, express their gratitude to you themselves the next spring. As for Dick the tyrant, I must desire you will put a stop to his proceedings; and at the same time take care, that his little brother be no loser by his mercy to the tomtit. For my own part, I am excluded all conversation with animals that delight only in a country life, and am therefore forced to entertain myself as well as I can with my little dog and cat. They both of them sit by my fire every night, expecting my coming home with impatience; and at my entrance, never fail of running up to me, and bidding me welcome, each of them in his proper language. As they have been bred up together from their infancy, and seen no other company, they have learned each other's manners, so that the dog often gives himself the airs of a cat, and the cat, in several of her motions and gestures, affects the behaviour of the little dog. When they are at play, I often make one with them; and sometimes please myself with considering, how much reason and instinct are capable of delighting each other. Thus, you see, I have communicated to you the material occurrences in my family, with the same freedom that you use to me; as I am with the same sincerity and affection,
"Your most faithful, Humble Servant, ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."
#/
FOOTNOTES:
[351] See No. 69.
[352] No. 89. Nichols suggested that the old friend was Steele's fellow-collegian, Richard Parker, vicar of Embleton, in Northumberland.
[353] The friendship of C. Lælius Sapiens with the younger Scipio Africanus is described in Cicero's "Lælius, sive de Amicitia."
[354] A mistake for Persia. Agesilaus II., King of Sparta, reigned from 398 to 361 B.C., and was, says Plutarch, "as good as thought commander and king of all Greece."
[355] Probably St. Evremond, for whom the office of Governor of the Duck Island was created. Cibber ("Apology," 4th edition, i. 24) says of Charles II., "Even his indolent amusement of playing with his dogs, and feeding his ducks, in St. James Park (which I have seen him do), made the common people adore him."
No. 113. [HUGHES.[356]
From _Tuesday, Dec. 27_, to _Thursday, Dec. 29, 1709_.
Ecce iterum Crispinus!--JUV., Sat. iv. 1.
_Haymarket, Dec. 23._
Whereas the gentleman that behaved himself in a very disobedient and obstinate manner at his late trial in Sheer Lane on the 20th instant,[357] and was carried off dead upon the taking away of his snuff-box, remains still unburied; the Company of Upholders not knowing otherwise how they should be paid, have taken his goods in execution to defray the charge of his funeral. His said effects are to be exposed to sale by auction at their office in the Haymarket on the 4th of January next, and are as follow:
A very rich tweezer-case, containing twelve instruments for the use of each hour in the day.
Four pounds of scented snuff, with three gilt snuff-boxes; one of them with an invisible hinge, and a looking-glass in the lid.
Two more of ivory, with the portraitures on their lids of two ladies of the town; the originals to be seen every night in the side-boxes[358] of the play-house.
A sword with a steel diamond hilt, never drawn but once at May Fair.[359]
Six clean packs of cards, a quart of orange-flower water, a pair of French scissors, a toothpick case, and an eyebrow brush.
A large glass case, containing the linen and clothes of the deceased; among which are, two embroidered suits, a pocket perspective, a dozen pair of red-heeled shoes, three pair of red silk stockings, and an amber-headed cane.
The strong box of the deceased, wherein were found, five billet-doux, a Bath shilling, a crooked sixpence, a silk garter, a lock of hair, and three broken fans.
A press for books; containing on the upper shelf,
Three bottles of diet-drink. Two boxes of pills. A syringe, and other mathematical instruments.
On the second shelf are several miscellaneous works; as,
Lampoons. Plays. Tailors' bills. And an almanac for the year 1700.
On the third shelf,
A bundle of letters unopened, endorsed (in the hand of the deceased), "Letters from the old gentleman."
Lessons for the flute.
Toland's "Christianity not Mysterious."[360]. And a paper filled with patterns of several fashionable stuffs.
On the lowest shelf,
One shoe. A pair of snuffers. A French grammar. A mourning hat-band: and half a bottle of usquebaugh.
There will be added to these goods, to make a complete auction, a collection of gold snuff-boxes and clouded canes,[361] which are to continue in fashion for three months after the sale.
The whole are to be set up and prized by Charles Bubbleboy,[362] who is to open the auction with a speech.
* * * * *
I find that I am so very unhappy, that while I am busy in correcting the folly and vice of one sex, several exorbitances break out in the other. I have not thoroughly examined their new-fashioned petticoats, but shall set aside one day in the next week for that purpose. The following petition on this subject was presented to me this morning:
"The humble Petition of WILLIAM JINGLE, Coach-maker and Chair-maker of the Liberty of Westminster.
"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., Censor of Great Britain:
"Showeth--That upon the late invention of Mrs. Catherine Cross-stitch, mantle-maker, the petticoats of ladies were too wide for entering into any coach or chair which was in use before the said invention.
"That for the service of the said ladies, your petitioner has built a round chair, in the form of a lanthorn, six yards and a half in circumference, with a stool in the centre of it; the said vehicle being so contrived, as to receive the passenger by opening in two in the middle, and closing mathematically when she is seated.
"That your petitioner has also invented a coach for the reception of one lady only, who is to be let in at the top.
"That the said coach has been tried by a lady's woman in one of these full petticoats, who was let down from a balcony, and drawn up again by pulleys, to the great satisfaction of her lady and all who beheld her.
"Your petitioner therefore most humbly prays, that for the encouragement of ingenuity and useful inventions, he may be heard before you pass sentence upon the petticoats aforesaid.
"And your petitioner, &c."
I have likewise received a female petition, signed by several thousands, praying, that I would not any longer defer giving judgment in the case of the petticoat, many of them having put off the making new clothes till such time as they know what verdict I will pass upon it. I do therefore hereby certify to all whom it may concern, that I do design to set apart Tuesday next for the final determination of that matter, having already ordered a jury of matrons to be impanelled, for the clearing up of any difficult points that may arise in the trial.
* * * * *
Being informed, that several dead men in and about this city do keep out of the way and abscond, for fear of being buried; and being willing to respite their interment, in consideration of their families, and in hopes of their amendment, I shall allow them certain privileged places, where they may appear to one another, without causing any let or molestation to the living, or receiving any in their own persons from the Company of Upholders. Between the hours of seven and nine in the morning, they may appear in safety at St. James's Coffee-house, or at White's, if they do not keep their beds, which is more proper for men in their condition. From nine to eleven, I allow them to walk from Story's to Rosamond's Pond[363] in the Park, or in any other public walks which are not frequented by the living at that time. Between eleven and three, they are to vanish, and keep out of sight till three in the afternoon; at which time they may go to 'Change till five; and then, if they please, divert themselves at the Haymarket, or Drury Lane, till the play begins. It is further granted in favour of these persons, that they may be received at any table where there are more present than seven in number; provided, that they do not take upon them to talk, judge, commend, or find fault with any speech, action, or behaviour of the living. In which case, it shall be lawful to seize their persons at any place or hour whatsoever, and to convey their bodies to the next undertakers; anything in this advertisement to the contrary notwithstanding.
FOOTNOTES:
[356] On the authority of the Rev. John Duncombe (see Hughes's "Correspondence," iii. 7).
[357] See No. 110.
[358] See No. 50.
[359] See No. 4.
[360] Published first in 1696. We are told that John Toland "was once the butt of the _Tatler_" (_Examiner_, vol. iv. No. 35).
[361] _Cf._ Pope's "Odyssey"--
"The handle smooth and plain, Made of the clouded olive's easy grain."
[362] Charles Mather; see No. 27.
No. 114. [ADDISON and STEELE[364]
From _Thursday, Dec. 29_, to _Saturday, Dec. 31, 1709_.
Ut in vitâ, sic in studiis, pulcherrimum et humanissimum existimo, severitatem comitatemque miscere, ne illa in tristitiam, hæc in petulantium procedat.--PLIN., Epist.
_Sheer Lane, Dec. 30._
I was walking about my chamber this morning in a very gay humour, when I saw a coach stop at my door, and a youth about fifteen alighting out of it, whom I perceived to be the eldest son of my bosom friend that I gave some account of in my paper of the 17th of the last month.[365] I felt a sensible pleasure rising in me at the sight of him, my acquaintance having begun with his father when he was just such a stripling, and about that very age. When he came up to me, he took me by the hand, and burst out in tears. I was extremely moved, and immediately said, "Child, how does your father do?" He began to reply, "My mother--" but could not go on for weeping. I went down with him into the coach, and gathered out of him, that his mother was then dying, and that while the holy man was doing the last offices to her, he had taken that time to come and call me to his father, who, he said, would certainly break his heart if I did not go and comfort him. The child's discretion in coming to me of his own head, and the tenderness he showed for his parents, would have quite overpowered me, had I not resolved to fortify myself for the seasonable performances of those duties which I owed to my friend. As we were going, I could not but reflect upon the character of that excellent woman, and the greatness of his grief for the loss of one who has ever been the support to him under all other afflictions. How, thought I, will he be able to bear the hour of her death, that could not, when I was lately with him, speak of a sickness, which was then past, without sorrow. We were now got pretty far into Westminster, and arrived at my friend's house. At the door of it I met Favonius,[366] not without a secret satisfaction to find he had been there. I had formerly conversed with him at this house; and as he abounds with that sort of virtue and knowledge which makes religion beautiful, and never leads the conversation into the violence and rage of party disputes, I listened to him with great pleasure. Our discourse chanced to be upon the subject of death, which he treated with such a strength of reason, and greatness of soul, that instead of being terrible, it appeared to a mind rightly cultivated, altogether to be contemned, or rather to be desired. As I met him at the door, I saw in his face a certain glowing of grief and humanity, heightened with an air of fortitude and resolution, which, as I afterwards found, had such an irresistible force, as to suspend the pains of the dying, and the lamentation of the nearest friends who attended her. I went up directly to the room where she lay, and was met at the entrance by my friend, who, notwithstanding his thoughts had been composed a little before at the sight of me, turned away his face and wept. The little family of children renewed the expressions of their sorrow according to their several ages and degrees of understanding. The eldest daughter was in tears, busied in attendance upon her mother; others were kneeling about the bedside: and what troubled me most was, to see a little boy, who was too young to know the reason, weeping only because his sisters did. The only one in the room who seemed resigned and comforted, was the dying person. At my approach to the bedside, she told me, with a low broken voice, "This is kindly done. Take care of your friend--don't go from him." She had before taken leave of her husband and children, in a manner proper for so solemn a parting, and with a gracefulness peculiar to a woman of her character. My heart was torn in pieces to see the husband on one side suppressing and keeping down the swellings of his grief, for fear of disturbing her in her last moments; and the wife even at that time concealing the pains she endured, for fear of increasing his affliction. She kept her eyes upon him for some moments after she grew speechless, and soon after closed them for ever. In the moment of her departure, my friend (who had thus far commanded himself) gave a deep groan, and fell into a swoon by her bedside.[367] The distraction of the children, who thought they saw both their parents expiring together, and now lying dead before them, would have melted the hardest heart; but they soon perceived their father recover, whom I helped to remove into another room, with a resolution to accompany him till the first pangs of his affliction were abated. I knew consolation would now be impertinent; and therefore contented myself to sit by him, and condole with him in silence. For I shall here use the method of an ancient author,[368] who, in one of his epistles relating the virtues and death of Macrinus's wife, expresses himself thus:[369] "I shall suspend my advice to this best of friends, till he is made capable of receiving it by those three great remedies (_necessitas ipsa_, _dies longa_, _et satietas doloris_) the necessity of submission, length of time, and satiety of grief."
In the meantime, I cannot but consider with much commiseration, the melancholy state of one who has had such a part of himself torn from him, and which he misses in every circumstance of life. His condition is like that of one who has lately lost his right arm, and is every moment offering to help himself with it. He does not appear to himself the same person in his house, at his table, in company, or in retirement; and loses the relish of all the pleasures and diversions that were before entertaining to him by her participation of them. The most agreeable objects recall the sorrow for her with whom he used to enjoy them. This additional satisfaction, from the taste of pleasures in the society of one we love, is admirably described in Milton, who represents Eve, though in Paradise itself, no further pleased with the beautiful objects around her than as she sees them in company with Adam, in that passage so inexpressibly charming.
"_With thee conversing, I forget all time, All seasons, and their change; all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers, and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild; the silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven her starry train. But neither breath of morn when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun In this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night, With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet._"[370]
The variety of images in this passage is infinitely pleasing, and the recapitulation of each particular image, with a little varying of the expression, makes one of the finest turns of words that I have ever seen; which I rather mention, because Mr. Dryden has said in his preface to Juvenal, that he could meet with no turn of words in Milton.[371]
It may further be observed, that though the sweetness of these verses has something in it of a pastoral, yet it excels the ordinary kind, as much as the scene of it is above an ordinary field or meadow. I might here, since I am accidentally led into this subject, show several passages in Milton that have as excellent turns of this nature as any of our English poets whatsoever; but shall only mention that which follows, in which he describes the fallen angels engaged in the intricate disputes of predestination, free-will, and foreknowledge; and to humour the perplexity, makes a kind of labyrinth in the very words that describe it:
_Others apart sat on a hill retired, In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high Of Providence, foreknowledge, will and fate, Fixed fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute, And found no end in wandering mazes lost._[372]
FOOTNOTES:
[363] Story's Gate and Rosamond's Pond were at opposite ends of Birdcage Walk (see No. 60).
[364] "Steele assisted in this paper" (Tickell).
[365] No. 95.
[366] Dr. Smalridge (see No. 72).
[367] What follows is said to have been written by Addison. "It would seem as though Steele felt himself unable to proceed, and his friend had taken the pen from his trembling hand" (Forster, "Historical and Biographical Essays," 1858, ii. 141).
[368] Pliny, Book viii., Epist. 5.
[369] "Says very justly" (folio).
[370] "Paradise Lost," iv. 639.
[371] "But as he [Milton] endeavours everywhere to express Homer, whose age had not arrived to that fineness, I found in him a true sublimity, lofty thoughts which were clothed with admirable Grecisms, and ancient words which he had been digging from the mines of Chaucer and of Spenser, and which, with all their rusticity, had somewhat of venerable in them. But I found not there neither that for which I looked ['beautiful turns']." (Dryden's" Discourse on Satire.")
[372] "Paradise Lost," ii. 557.
THE END OF THE SECOND VOLUME
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. London & Edinburgh
Transcriber's Notes:
Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were corrected.
Italics markup is denoted by _underscores_.
Greek text has been transliterated and is denoted by #number marks#.
P. 74 & 257 added missing footnote anchors.
P. 188 added missing footnote number.