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The Tatler, Volume 2

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Title: The Tatler, Volume 2

Author: Sir Richard Steele
        Joseph Addison

Editor: George Atherton Aitken


        
Release date: May 26, 2014 [eBook #45769]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TATLER, VOLUME 2 ***

  The Tatler

  Edited by
  George A. Aitken

  In Four Volumes
  Volume Two

[Illustration: _The R.t Hon.ble Joseph Addison Esq. one of his
Majesty's Secretary's of State._

_Engraved by Wm. H. Ward & Co. L'd. from the Original by Smith after
Kneller._]




The Tatler

Edited with Introduction & Notes

by
George A. Aitken

_Author of_
"The Life of Richard Steele," &c.

[Illustration]

Vol. II


New York
Hadley & Mathews
156 Fifth Avenue

London: Duckworth & Co.
1899


Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press




_To_ Edward Wortley Montagu,[1] Esq.


  SIR,

When I send you this volume, I am rather to make you a request than
a Dedication. I must desire, that if you think fit to throw away any
moments on it, you would not do it after reading those excellent pieces
with which you are usually conversant. The images which you will meet
with here, will be very faint, after the perusal of the Greeks and
Romans, who are your ordinary companions. I must confess I am obliged
to you for the taste of many of their excellences, which I had not
observed until you pointed them to me. I am very proud that there are
some things in these papers which I know you pardon;[2] and it is no
small pleasure to have one's labours suffered by the judgment of a man,
who so well understands the true charms of eloquence and poesy. But I
direct this address to you, not that I think I can entertain you with
my writings, but to thank you for the new delight I have, from your
conversation, in those of other men.

May you enjoy a long continuance of the true relish of the happiness
Heaven has bestowed upon you. I know not how to say a more affectionate
thing to you, than to wish that you may be always what you are; and
that you may ever think, as I know you now do, that you have a much
larger fortune than you want.

  I am, Sir,
  Your most obedient, and most humble Servant,
  ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Edward Wortley Montagu, an intimate friend of Addison and Steele,
was the second son of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and grandson of
Edward Montagu, the first Earl of Sandwich. He was chosen a Member of
Parliament for Huntingdon in 1705, and in all other parliaments but
two to the end of her reign. On the accession of George I. he became
one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and was afterwards
Ambassador-Extraordinary to the Porte. He set out, January 27, 1716,
and having finished his negotiations returned in 1718. In the first
parliament called by King George I. he was chosen for the city of
Westminster, and afterwards served for Huntingdon. He was a member for
the city of Peterborough when he died, January 22, 1761, aged 80 years,
before he was able to alter his will, as he intended, in favour of his
son. He married the famous Lady Mary Pierrepont, eldest daughter of the
Duke of Kingston, in 1712, and by her he had issue an only son, Edward
Wortley Montagu, who was M.P. in three parliaments for Bossiney, in
Cornwall; and a daughter Mary, married to John Stuart, Earl of Bute,
August 24, 1736.

[2] There is no doubt that Wortley Montagu contributed papers and hints
for the _Tatler_ ("Letters of Lady M. W. Montagu," ed. Moy Thomas, i.
5, 10, 62). See specially No. 223.




THE TATLER

BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESQ.




No. 50. [STEELE.[3]

From _Tuesday, August 2_, to _Thursday, August 4, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 2._


_The History of Orlando the Fair. Chap. I._

Whatever malicious men may say of our lucubrations, we have no design
but to produce unknown merit, or place in a proper light the actions
of our contemporaries who labour to distinguish themselves, whether it
be by vice or virtue. For we shall never give accounts to the world
of anything, but what the lives and endeavours of the persons (of
whom we treat) make the basis of their fame and reputation. For this
reason it is to be hoped, that our appearance is reputed a public
benefit; and though certain persons may turn what we mean for panegyric
into scandal, let it be answered once for all, that if our praises
are really designed as raillery, such malevolent persons owe their
safety from it only to their being too inconsiderable for history. It
is not every man who deals in ratsbane, or is unseasonably amorous,
that can adorn story like Æsculapius;[4] nor every stockjobber of
the India Company can assume the port, and personate the figure
of Aurengezebe.[5] My noble ancestor, Mr. Shakespeare, who was of
the race of the Staffs, was not more fond of the memorable Sir
John Falstaff, than I am of those worthies; but the Latins have an
admirable admonition expressed in two words, to wit, _nequid nimis_,
which forbids my indulging myself on those delightful subjects, and
calls me to do justice to others, who make no less figures in our
generation: of such, the first and most renowned is, that eminent hero
and lover, Orlando[6] the handsome, whose disappointments in love, in
gallantry, and in war, have banished him from public view, and made
him voluntarily enter into a confinement, to which the ungrateful age
would otherwise have forced him. Ten _lustra_ and more are wholly
passed since Orlando first appeared in the metropolis of this island:
his descent noble, his wit humorous, his person charming. But to none
of these recommendatory advantages was his title so undoubted as that
of his beauty. His complexion was fair, but his countenance manly;
his stature of the tallest, his shape the most exact; and though in
all his limbs he had a proportion as delicate as we see in the works
of the most skilful statuaries, his body had a strength and firmness
little inferior to the marble of which such images are formed. This
made Orlando the universal flame of all the fair sex: innocent virgins
sighed for him, as Adonis; experienced widows, as Hercules. Thus did
this figure walk alone the pattern and ornament of our species, but of
course the envy of all who had the same passions, without his superior
merit and pretences to the favour of that enchanting creature, woman.
However, the generous Orlando believed himself formed for the world,
and not to be engrossed by any particular affection. He sighed not for
Delia, for Chloris, for Chloe, for Betty, nor my lady, nor for the
ready chambermaid, nor distant baroness: woman was his mistress, and
the whole sex his seraglio. His form was always irresistible: and if we
consider, that not one of five hundred can bear the least favour from a
lady without being exalted above himself; if also we must allow, that a
smile from a side-box[7] has made Jack Spruce half mad, we can't think
it wonderful that Orlando's repeated conquests touched his brain: so it
certainly did, and Orlando became an enthusiast in love; and in all his
address, contracted something out of the ordinary course of breeding
and civility. However (powerful as he was), he would still add to the
advantages of his person that of a profession which the ladies favour,
and immediately commenced soldier. Thus equipped for love and honour,
our hero seeks distant climes and adventures, and leaves the despairing
nymphs of Great Britain to the courtship of beau and witlings till
his return. His exploits in foreign nations and courts have not been
regularly enough communicated unto us, to report them with that
veracity which we profess in our narrations: but after many feats of
arms (which those who were witnesses to them have suppressed out of
envy, but which we have had faithfully related from his own mouth in
our public streets) Orlando, returns home full, but not loaded with
years. Beau born in his absence made it their business to decry his
furniture, his dress, his manner; but all such rivalry he suppressed
(as the philosopher did the sceptic, who argued there was no such thing
as motion) by only moving. The beauteous Villaria,[8] who only was
formed for his paramour, became the object of his affection. His first
speech to her was as follows:

     "Madam,--It is not only that nature has made us two the most
     accomplished of each sex, and pointed to us to obey her dictates
     in becoming one; but that there is also an ambition in following
     the mighty persons you have favoured. Where kings and heroes, as
     great as Alexander, or such as could personate Alexander,[9] have
     bowed, permit your general to lay his laurels."

According to Milton:

    _The fair with conscious majesty approved
    His pleaded reason;_[10]

and fortune had now supplied Orlando with necessaries for his
high taste of gallantry and pleasure: his equipage and economy had
something in them more sumptuous and gallant than could be received
in our degenerate age; therefore his figure (though highly graceful)
appeared so exotic, that it assembled all the Britons under the age of
sixteen, who saw his grandeur, to follow his chariot with shouts and
acclamations, which he regarded with the contempt which great minds
affect in the midst of applauses. I remember I had the honour to see
him one day stop, and call the youths about him, to whom he spake as
follows:

"Good bastard,--Go to school, and don't lose your time in following
my wheels: I am loth to hurt you, because I know not but you are all
my own offspring: hark'ee, you sirrah with the white hair, I am sure
you are mine: there is half-a-crown. Tell your mother, this, with the
half-crown I gave her when I got you, comes to five shillings. Thou
hast cost me all that, and yet thou art good for nothing. Why, you
young dogs, did you never see a man before?" "Never such a one as you,
noble general," replied a truant from Westminster. "Sirrah, I believe
thee: there is a crown for thee. Drive on, coachman."

This vehicle, though sacred to love, was not adorned with doves: such
an hieroglyphic denoted too languishing a passion. Orlando therefore
gave the eagle,[11] as being of a constitution which inclined him
rather to seize his prey with talons, than pine for it with murmurs.


_From my own Apartment, August 2._

I have received the following letter from Mr. Powell of the Bath,[12]
who, I think, runs from the point between us, which I leave the whole
world to judge.

  _To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._

  "SIR,

"Having a great deal of more advantageous business at present on my
hands, I thought to have deferred answering your _Tatler_ of the
21st instant, till the company was gone, and season over; but having
resolved not to regard any impertinences of your paper, except what
relate particularly to me, I am the more easily induced to answer you
(as I shall find time to do it): First, partly lest you should think
yourself neglected, which I have reason to believe you would take
heinously ill. Secondly, partly because it will increase my fame, and
consequently my audience, when all the quality shall see with how much
wit and raillery I show you--I don't care a farthing for you. Thirdly,
partly because, being without books,[13] if I don't show much learning,
it will not be imputed to my having none.

"I have travelled Italy, France, and Spain, and fully comprehend what
any German artist in the world can do; yet cannot I imagine, why
you should endeavour to disturb the repose and plenty which (though
unworthy) I enjoy at this place. It cannot be, that you take offence
at my prologues and epilogues, which you are pleased to miscall foolish
and abusive. No, no, until you give a better,[14] I shall not forbear
thinking, that the true reason of your picking a quarrel with me was,
because it is more agreeable to your principles, as well as more to
the honour of your assured victory, to attack a governor. Mr. Isaac,
Mr. Isaac, I can see into a millstone as far as another (as the saying
is). You are for sowing the seeds of sedition and disobedience among
my puppets, and your zeal for the (good old) cause would make you
persuade Punch to pull the string from his chops, and not move his jaw
when I have a mind he should harangue. Now I appeal to all men, if
this is not contrary to that uncontrollable, unaccountable dominion,
which by the laws of nature I exercise over them; for all sorts of wood
and wire were made for the use and benefit of man: I have therefore
an unquestionable right to frame, fashion, and put them together,
as I please; and, having made them what they are, my puppets are my
property, and therefore my slaves: nor is there in nature anything
more just, than the homage which is paid by a less to a more excellent
being: so that, by the right therefore of a superior genius, I am their
supreme moderator, although you would insinuate (agreeably to your
levelling principles) that I am myself but a great puppet, and can
therefore have but a co-ordinate jurisdiction with them. I suppose I
have now sufficiently made it appear, that I have a paternal right[15]
to keep a puppet-show, and this right I will maintain in my prologues
on all occasions.

"And therefore, if you write a defence of yourself against this my
self-defence, I admonish you to keep within bounds; for every day
will not be so propitious to you as the 29th of April; and perhaps my
resentment may get the better of my generosity, and I may no longer
scorn to fight one who is not my equal with unequal weapons: there
are such things as _scandalums magnatums_;[16] therefore take heed
hereafter how you write such things as I cannot easily answer, for that
will put me in a passion.

"I order you to handle only these two propositions, to which our
dispute may be reduced: the first, whether I have not an absolute
power, whenever I please, to light a pipe with one of Punch's legs, or
warm my fingers with his whole carcass? The second, whether the devil
would not be in Punch, should he by word or deed oppose my sovereign
will and pleasure? And then, perhaps, I may (if I can find leisure for
it) give you the trouble of a second letter.

"But if you intend to tell me of the original of puppet-shows, and
the several changes, and revolutions that have happened in them,
since Thespis, and I don't care who, that's _noli me tangere_; I have
solemnly engaged to say nothing of what I can't approve. Or, if you
talk of certain contracts with the mayor and burgesses, or fees to the
constables, for the privilege of acting, I will not write one single
word about any such matters;[17] but shall leave you to be mumbled by
the learned and very ingenious author of a late book, who knows very
well what is to be said and done in such cases.[18] He is now shuffling
the cards, and dealing to Timothy; but if he wins the game, I will send
him to play at backgammon with you; and then he will satisfy you, that
deuce-ace makes five.

"And so, submitting myself to be tried by my country, and allowing any
jury of twelve good men, and true, to be that country; not excepting
any (unless Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff) to be of the panel,[19] for you are
neither good nor true; I bid you heartily farewell; and am,

  "Sir,
  Your loving Friend,
  POWELL.[20]

  "Bath, _July 28_."

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Nichols suggests that this and the following number were by
Addison, who had sent Steele another packet or two from Ireland since
the appearance of No. 32. Perhaps Steele made one paper, headed "The
History of Orlando the Fair," serve for two numbers (50, 51). The
personal character of these papers may have caused Steele to omit them
in the list of Addison's papers which he gave to Tickell. See _Tatler_,
No. 32.

[4] Dr. Radcliffe; see Nos. 44, 46, 47.

[5] See No. 46.

[6] Robert Feilding, commonly known by the name of Beau Feilding, a
handsome and very comely gentleman, was tried for felony at the Old
Bailey, December 4, 1706. He had married, as the indictment sets forth,
on November 25, 1705, Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, having a former
wife then living. In the course of the evidence at this trial, it
appears, that sixteen days before, viz. November 9, 1705, Mrs. Villars,
a very bad woman, had artfully drawn him into a marriage with one Mary
Wadsworth, spinster, in the mistaken belief of her being Mrs. Deleau,
a widow, with a fortune of £60,000. His marriage with the duchess
was therefore set aside, and her Grace was allowed the liberty of
marrying again. He craved the benefit of his clergy, and when sentence
was given, that he should be burnt in his hand, produced the Queen's
warrant to suspend execution, and was admitted to bail. In his will,
dated April 9, 1712, and proved on May 12 following, he is styled
"Robert Feilding, of Feilding Hall, in the county of Warwick, Esq.,"
and appears to have had some estates at Lutterworth. He is mentioned
by Swift among those who have made "mean figures" on some remarkable
occasions. Feilding, having injured his fortune by his gallantry and
extravagance in early life, repaired the breaches he had made in it,
by his first marriage with the Countess of Purbeck, a widow lady of an
ancient and noble family in Ireland, who had a large fortune of her
own, to which she had added considerably by a former marriage; she was
the only daughter and heiress of Barnham Swift, Lord Carlingford, who
was of the same family with the Dean of St. Patrick's. Feilding is said
to have lived happily for some years with this lady, who was a zealous
Roman Catholic, and could have no great difficulty in inducing a man
who had no religion to profess himself a proselyte to her religious
persuasion. See No. 51 (Nichols).--On July 29, 1706, Lady Wentworth
wrote to Lord Raby that the Duchess of Cleveland had got Feilding sent
to Newgate "for threatning to kill her two sons for taking her part,
when he beet her and broke open her closet door and took four hundred
pd. out.... He beat her sadly and she cried out murder in the street
out of the window, and he shot a blunderbuss at the people" ("Wentworth
Papers," pp. 58-9). See, too, Luttrell's "Diary," June, July, and
October, 1706, _passim_.

[7] The side-boxes were usually reserved for men, ladies sitting in the
front boxes, and Pope describes men ogling and bowing from the side
boxes. See, too, the _Spectator_, Nos. 311, 377. But Swift ("Polite
Conversation," 1738) writes: "Pray, Mr. Neverout, what lady was that
you were talking with in the side box?" A wench in a side-box was
looked upon with suspicion. See Nos. 145, 217. In the _Theatre_ (No. 3)
Steele says: "Three of the fair sex for the front boxes, two gentlemen
of wit and pleasure for the side boxes, and three substantial citizens
for the pit!"

[8] Barbara, daughter and heiress to William Villiers, Viscount
Grandison. She became the mistress of Charles II., who made her
husband--Roger Palmer--Earl of Castlemain, and afterwards made her
Duchess of Cleveland. On Lord Castlemain's death in 1705 she married
Beau Feilding, from whom she was subsequently divorced. She died of
dropsy on October 9, 1709.

[9] An allusion to Cardell Goodman, the actor (died 1699), one of the
"mighty persons" favoured by the duchess, whose paramour he became. His
chief parts were Julius Cæsar and Alexander the Great.

[10]

        "She what was honour knew,
    And with obsequious majesty approved
    My pleaded reason."

  "Paradise Lost," viii. 507-9.



[11] The Feildings were Counts of the German Empire.

[12] See No. 44: "Our friend the _Tatler_, under the notion of Mr.
Powell at the Bath, has, in my mind, entered into the depth of the
argument in dispute [between Hoadly and the Bishop of Exeter] and
given a complete answer to all that the reverend Bishop either can or
will say upon the subject; and Ben should have referred his lordship
to be mumbled, as he calls it, by Mr. Bickerstaff, as his lordship
had threatened him with that usage, from the worthy author of Timothy
and Philatheus." (Letter from Thomas Sergeant, Esq. to Hughes;
"Correspondence of John Hughes, Esq.," 1772, i. 38.)--[Nichols.] A MS.
note, which may have been written any time after 1734, when Hoadly was
made Bishop of Winchester, has been added in my copy of the original
folio number, at the end of this letter: "Written by Dr. Hoadly, Bp: of
Winchster." It seems not improbable that Hoadly did himself write this
letter.

[13] These words occur in the "Bishop of Exeter's Answer to Mr.
Hoadly's Letter," 1709, p. 3.

[14] "And till I can hear of a better reason, &c., I shall not forbear
thinking that the true reason of it was, because I am (though unworthy,
yet by God's permission and the Queen's favour) a Bishop; and a
Bishop is thought by some people to be a sort of an ecclesiastical
governor."--("Answer," p. 5.)

[15] Filmer, in his work on Patriarchal Government, contended that all
government ought to be absolute and monarchical.

[16] "Why, sir, 1. As to other answer, I don't know but that I might
answer it by an action of _scand. mag._, but that I should scorn
to fight an adversary with unequal weapons."--("Bishop of Exeter's
Answer," &c., p. 27.)

[17] "If your reply shall be about original contracts, revolutions,
&c., I tell you plainly that I ain't at leisure, nor I shan't be at
leisure, nor I won't be at leisure, to write you so much as one single
line about such matters."--("Answer to Mr. Hoadly's Considerations,"
&c.)

[18] The allusion is to Oldisworth's "Timothy and Philatheus, in which
the principles and projects of a late whimsical book, entitled, 'The
Rights of the Christian Church,' &c. [by Dr. Tindal] are fairly stated
and answered in their kinds. Written by a Layman." London, three vols.
1709.

[19] "Referring myself to be tried by God and my country, not excepting
against any one person's being on the panel, but only Mr. Benjamin
Hoadly, Rector of St. Peter's Poor."--("Answer," p. 22.)

[20] "Note: that proper cuts for the historical part of the paper are
now almost finished, by an engraver lately arrived from Paris, and will
be sold at all the toy shops in London and Westminster." (Folio.)




No. 51. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, August 4_, to _Saturday, August 6, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 5._


_The History of Orlando the Fair.[21] Chap. II._

Fortune being now propitious to the gay Orlando, he dressed, he spoke,
he moved, as a man might be supposed to do in a nation of pigmies, and
had an equal value for our approbation or dislike. It is usual for
those who profess a contempt of the world, to fly from it and live in
obscurity; but Orlando, with a greater magnanimity, contemned it, and
appeared in it to tell them so. If therefore his exalted mien met with
an unwelcome reception, he was sure always to double the cause which
gave the distaste. You see our beauties affect a negligence in the
ornament of their hair, and adjusting their head-dresses, as conscious
that they adorn whatever they wear. Orlando had not only this humour
in common with other beauties, but also had a neglect whether things
became him or not, in a world he contemned. For this reason, a noble
particularity appeared in all his economy, furniture, and equipage.
And to convince the present little race, how unequal all their
measures were to an antediluvian, as he called himself, in respect of
the insects which now appear for men, he sometimes rode in an open
tumbril,[22] of less size than ordinary, to show the largeness of his
limbs, and the grandeur, of his personage, to the greater advantage:
at other seasons, all his appointments had a magnificence, as if it
were formed by the genius of Trimalchio[23] of old, which showed itself
in doing ordinary things with an air of pomp and grandeur.[24] Orlando
therefore called for tea by beat of drum; his valet got ready to shave
him by a trumpet "To horse"; and water was brought for his teeth when
the sound was changed to "Boots and saddle."

In all these glorious excesses from the common practice, did the happy
Orlando live and reign in an uninterrupted tranquillity, till an
unlucky accident brought to his remembrance, that one evening he was
married before he courted the nuptials of Villaria.[25] Several fatal
memorandums were produced to revive the memory of this accident, and
the unhappy lover was for ever banished her presence, to whom he owed
the support of his just renown and gallantry. But distress does not
debase noble minds; it only changes the scene, and gives them new glory
by that alteration. Orlando therefore now raves in a garret,[26] and
calls to his neighbour-skies to pity his dolors, and find redress for
an unhappy lover. All high spirits, in any great agitation of mind,
are inclined to relieve themselves by poetry. The renowned porter of
Oliver[27] had not more volumes around his cell in the College of
Bedlam, than Orlando in his present apartment. And though inserting
poetry in the midst of prose be thought a licence among correct writers
not to be indulged, it is hoped, the necessity of doing it to give a
just idea of the hero of whom we treat, will plead for the liberty
we shall hereafter take, to print Orlando's soliloquies in verse and
prose, after the manner of great wits, and such as those to whom they
are nearly allied.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 5._

A great deal of good company of us were this day to see, or rather
to hear, an artful person[28] do several feats of activity with his
throat and windpipe. The first thing wherewith he presented us, was a
ring of bells, which he imitated in a most miraculous manner; after
that he gave us all the different notes of a pack of hounds, to our
great delight and astonishment. The company expressed their applause
with much noise; and never was heard such an harmony of men and dogs:
but a certain plump merry fellow, from an angle of the room, fell a
crowing like a cock so ingeniously, that he won our hearts from the
other operator in an instant. As soon as I saw him, I recollected I
had seen him on the stage, and immediately knew it to be Tom Mirrour,
the comical actor.[29] He immediately addressed himself to me, and
told me, he was surprised to see a _virtuoso_ take satisfaction in
any representations below that of human life; and asked me, whether
I thought this acting bells and dogs was to be considered under the
notion of wit, humour, or satire? "Were it not better," continued he,
"to have some particular picture of man laid before your eyes, that
might incite your laughter?" He had no sooner spoke the word, but he
immediately quitted his natural shape, and talked to me in a very
different air and tone from what he had used before; upon which all
that sat near us laughed; but I saw no distortion in his countenance,
or anything that appeared to me disagreeable. I asked Pacolet, what
meant that sudden whisper about us? For I could not take the jest. He
answered: "The gentleman you were talking to, assumed your air and
countenance so exactly, that all fell a laughing to see how little you
knew yourself, or how much you were enamoured with your own image. But
that person," continued my monitor, "if men would make the right use
of him, might be as instrumental to their reforming errors in gesture,
language, and speech, as a dancing-master, linguist, or orator. You see
he laid yourself before you with so much address, that you saw nothing
particular in his behaviour: he has so happy a knack of representing
errors and imperfections, that you can bear your faults in him as well
as in yourself: he is the first mimic that ever gave the beauties, as
well as the deformities, of the man he acted. What Mr. Dryden said of a
very great man[30] may be well applied to him:

                                _He is
    Not one, but all mankind's epitome._"

You are to know, that this pantomime may be said to be a species of
himself. He has no commerce with the rest of mankind, but as they are
the objects of imitation; like the Indian fowl, called the mock-bird,
who has no note of his own, but hits every sound in the wood as soon as
he hears it; so that Mirrour is at once a copy and an original. Poor
Mirrour's fate (as well as talent) is like that of the bird we just now
spoke of. The nightingale, the linnet, the lark, are delighted with his
company; but the buzzard, the crow, and the owl, are observed to be
his mortal enemies. Whenever Sophronius meets Mirrour, he receives him
with civility and respect, and well knows, a good copy of himself can
be no injury to him; but Bathillus shuns the street where he expects to
meet him; for he that knows his every step and look is constrained and
affected, must be afraid to be rivalled in his action, and of having it
discovered to be unnatural, by its being practised by another as well
as himself.


_From my own Apartment, August 5._

Letters from Coventry and other places have been sent to me, in answer
to what I have said in relation to my antagonist Mr. Powell,[31] and
advise me, with warm language, to keep to subjects more proper for me
than such high points. But the writers of these epistles mistake the
use and service I propose to the learned world by such observations:
for you are to understand, that the title of this paper gives me a
right in taking to myself, and inserting in it, all such parts of any
book or letter which are foreign to the purpose intended, or professed
by the writer: so that suppose two great divines should argue, and
treat each other with warmth and levity unbecoming their subject or
character, all that they say unfit for that place is very proper to
be inserted here. Therefore from time to time, in all writings which
shall hereafter be published, you shall have from me extracts of all
that shall appear not to the purpose; and for the benefit of the gentle
reader, I will show what to turn over unread and what to peruse. For
this end I have a mathematical sieve preparing, in which I will sift
every page and paragraph, and all that falls through I shall make bold
with for my own use. The same thing will be as beneficial in speech;
for all superfluous expressions in talk fall to me also: as, when a
pleader at the Bar designs to be extremely impertinent and troublesome,
and cries, "Under favour of the Court----With submission, my lord----I
humbly offer----" and, "I think I have well considered this matter;
for I would be very far from trifling with your lordship's time, or
trespassing upon your patience----However, thus I will venture to
say"--and so forth. Or else, when a sufficiently self-conceited coxcomb
is bringing out something in his own praise, and begins, "Without
vanity, I must take this upon me to assert." There is also a trick
which the fair sex have, that will greatly contribute to swell my
volumes: as, when a woman is going to abuse her best friend, "Pray,"
says she, "have you heard what I said of Mrs. such a one: I am heartily
sorry to hear anything of that kind, of one I have so great a value
for; but they make no scruple of telling it; and it was not spoken of
to me as a secret, for now all the town rings of it." All such flowers
in rhetoric, and little refuges for malice, are to be noted, and
naturally belong only to Tatlers. By this method you will immediately
find volumes contract themselves into octavos, and the labour of a
fortnight got over in half a day.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 5._

Last night arrived a mail from Lisbon, which gives a very pleasing
account of the posture of affairs in that part of the world, the enemy
having been necessitated wholly to abandon the blockade of Olivenza.
These advices say that Sir John Jennings[32] was arrived at Lisbon.
When that gentleman left Barcelona, his Catholic Majesty was taking all
possible methods for carrying on an offensive war. It is observed with
great satisfaction in the Court of Spain, that there is a very good
intelligence between the general officers; Count Staremberg and Mr.
Stanhope[33] acting in all things with such unanimity, that the public
affairs receive great advantages from their personal friendship and
esteem to each other, and mutual assistance in promoting the service of
the common cause.

This is to give notice that if any able-bodied Palatine will enter into
the bonds of matrimony with Betty Pepin,[34] the said Palatine shall be
settled in a freehold of 40s. per annum in the County of Middlesex.[35]

FOOTNOTES:

[21] Beau Feilding. See No. 50.

[22] Properly speaking, the tumbril was a truck, the contents of which
could be easily shot out. It was often used for the conveyance of
corpses.

[23] The "Banquet of Trimalchio" is the most complete and best known of
the fragments of Petronius Arbiter's satiric romance "Saturæ."

[24] Egerton (or whoever wrote the "Memoirs of Gamesters") confirms
what is here said of Feilding's vanity in displaying his figure
(p. 70). Feilding was not a man of real courage; his dress was
always extraordinary, and the liveries of his footmen were equally
fantastical; they generally wore yellow coats, with black feathers in
their hats, and black sashes.--("Memoirs of Gamesters," pp. 208-211.)

[25] The Duchess of Cleveland. See No. 50.

[26] Feilding died of fever, at the age of 61, in a house in Scotland
Yard.

[27] Cromwell's porter, Daniel, who was for many years in Bedlam, is
said to have been the original from whom Caius Gabriel Cibber copied a
figure of a lunatic on the gate of the hospital. He was given to the
study of mystical divines. See Dr. King's Works, 1776, i. 217, and
Granger's "Biog. Hist." 1824, vi. 12.

[28] Probably Clinch, of Barnet. From the _London Daily Post_, 1734,
it appears that on December 11, in that year, died, aged about 70, the
famous Mr. Clinch, of Barnet, who diverted the town many years with
imitating a drunken man, old woman, pack of hounds, &c. He exhibited at
the corner of Bartholomew Lane, by the Royal Exchange. See _Spectator_,
No. 24.

[29] Estcourt. See No. 20.

[30] George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. See "Absalom and
Architophel," p. 545:

    "A man so various that he seemed to be
    Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
    Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,
    Was everything by starts, and nothing long."



[31] Dr. Blackall. See No. 45.

[32] Admiral Sir John Jennings (1664-1743) was employed during 1709-10
in watching the Straits of Gibraltar. Afterwards he was made one of
the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, and Governor of Greenwich
Hospital.

[33] In August James Stanhope, afterwards first Earl Stanhope
(1673-1721), went to Gibraltar to command an expedition against Cadiz;
but the idea was abandoned.

[34] See No. 24, and "Pylades and Corinna," i. 67.

[35] This is an animadversion, says Nichols, on the method of securing
votes, and extending his influence in Middlesex, adopted by a knight
near Brentford. In the copy of the _Tatler_, in folio, with old MS.
notes, mentioned in a note to No. 4, Palatine is said to have been
"Mr. A--- n, K--- t of the shire"; and this appears to be correct, for
on March 3, 1708-9, at Brentford, John Austin, Esq., was unanimously
chosen knight of the shire for Middlesex, in the room of Sir John
Wolstenholm, deceased (Luttrell's "Diary," vi. 414). Mr. Austin was not
re-elected after the dissolution in 1710.




No. 52. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 6_, to _Tuesday August 9, 1709_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_White's Chocolate-house, August 7._


_Delamira resigns her Fan._[36]

Long had the crowd of the gay and young stood in suspense as to their
fate in their passion to the beauteous Delamira; but all their hopes
are lately vanished by the declaration that she has made of her choice
to take the happy Archibald[37] for her companion for life. Upon her
making this public, the expense of sweet powder and jessamine[38] are
considerably abated; and the mercers and milliners complain of her
want of public spirit, in not concealing longer a secret which was so
much to the benefit of trade. But so it has happened; and no one was
in confidence with her in carrying on this treaty but the matchless
Virgulta, whose despair of ever entering the matrimonial state, made
her, some nights before Delamira's resolution was made known to the
world, address herself to her in the following manner:

"Delamira, you are now going into that state of life, wherein the use
of your charms is wholly to be applied to the pleasing only one man.
That swimming air of your body; that jaunty bearing of your head over
one shoulder; and that inexpressible beauty in your manner of playing
your fan, must be lowered into a more confined behaviour, to show that
you would rather shun than receive addresses in the future. Therefore,
dear Delamira, give me those excellences you leave, and acquaint me
with your manner of charming. For I take the liberty of our friendship
to say, that when I consider my own stature, motion, complexion, wit
or breeding, I cannot think myself any way your inferior; yet do I go
through crowds without wounding a man, and all my acquaintance marry
round me, while I live a virgin unasked, and (I think) unregarded."

Delamira heard her with great attention, and with that dexterity which
is natural to her, told her, that all she had above the rest of her
sex and contemporary beauties was wholly owing to a fan[39] (which
was left her by her mother, and had been long in the family), which
whoever had in possession, and used with skill, should command the
hearts of all her beholders: "And since," said she, smiling, "I have
no more to do with extending my conquests or triumphs, I'll make you
a present of this inestimable rarity." Virgulta made her expressions
of the highest gratitude for so uncommon a confidence in her, and
desired she would show her what was peculiar in the management of
that utensil, which rendered it of such general force while she was
mistress of it. Delamira replied, "You see, madam, Cupid is the
principal figure painted on it; and the skill in playing this fan is,
in several motions of it, to let him appear as little as possible;
for honourable lovers fly all endeavours to ensnare them; and your
Cupid must hide his bow and arrow, or he'll never be sure of his game.
You may observe," continued she, "that in all public assemblies, the
sexes seem to separate themselves, and draw up to attack each other
with eyeshot: that is the time when the fan, which is all the armour
of woman, is of most use in our defence; for our minds are construed
by the waving of that little instrument, and our thoughts appear in
composure or agitation according to the motion of it. You may observe,
when Will Peregrine comes into the side-box,[40] Miss Gatty flutters
her fan[41] as a fly does its wings round a candle; while her elder
sister, who is as much in love with him as she is, is as grave as a
vestal at his entrance, and the consequence is accordingly. He watches
half the play for a glance from her sister, while Gatty is overlooked
and neglected. I wish you heartily as much success in the management
of it as I have had: if you think fit to go on where I left off, I
will give you a short account of the execution I have made with it.
Cymon, who is the dullest of mortals, and though a wonderful great
scholar, does not only pause, but seems to take a nap with his eyes
open between every other sentence in his discourse: him have I made a
leader in assemblies; and one blow on the shoulder as I passed by him,
has raised him to a downright impertinent in all conversations. The
airy Will Sampler is become as lethargic by this my wand, as Cymon is
sprightly. Take it, good girl, and use it without mercy; for the reign
of beauty never lasted full three years, but it ended in marriage, or
condemnation to virginity. As you fear therefore the one, and hope for
the other, I expect an hourly journal of your triumphs; for I have it
by certain tradition, that it was given to the first who wore it by
an enchantress, with this remarkable power, that it bestows a husband
in half a year to her who does not overlook her proper minute; but
assigns to a long despair the woman who is well offered, and neglects
that proposal. May occasion attend your charms, and your charms slip no
occasion. Give me, I say, an account of the progress of your forces at
our next meeting; and you shall hear what I think of my new condition.
I should meet my future spouse this moment. Farewell. Live in just
terror of the dreadful words, SHE WAS."


_From my own Apartment, August 8._

I had the honour this evening to visit some ladies, where the subject
of the conversation was Modesty, which they commended as a quality
quite as becoming in men as in women. I took the liberty to say, it
might be as beautiful in our behaviour as in theirs; yet it could
not be said, it was as successful in life; for as it was the only
recommendation in them, so it was the greatest obstacle to us both
in love and business. A gentleman present was of my mind, and said,
that we must describe the difference between the modesty of women and
that of men, or we should be confounded in our reasonings upon it;
for this virtue is to be regarded with respect to our different ways
of life. The woman's province is to be careful in her economy, and
chaste in her affection: the man's to be active in the improvement of
his fortune, and ready to undertake whatever is consistent with his
reputation for that end. Modesty therefore in a woman has a certain
agreeable fear in all she enters upon; and in men it is composed of a
right judgment of what is proper for them to attempt. From hence it
is, that a discreet man is always a modest one. It is to be noted
that modesty in a man is never to be allowed as a good quality, but a
weakness, if it suppresses his virtue, and hides it from the world,
when he has at the same time a mind to exert himself. A French author
says very justly, that modesty is to the other virtues in a man, what
shade in a picture is to the parts of the thing represented: it makes
all the beauties conspicuous which would otherwise be but a wild heap
of colours. This shade on our actions must therefore be very justly
applied; for if there be too much, it hides our good qualities, instead
of showing them to advantage. Nestor[42] in Athens was an unhappy
instance of this truth; for he was not only in his profession the
greatest man of that age, but had given more proofs of it than any
other man ever did; yet for want of that natural freedom and audacity
which is necessary in commerce with men, his personal modesty overthrew
all his public actions. Nestor was in those days a skilful architect,
and in a manner the inventor of the use of mechanic powers, which he
brought to so great perfection that he knew to an atom what foundation
would bear such a superstructure: and they record of him that he was so
prodigiously exact that for the experiment-sake he built an edifice of
great beauty, and seeming strength; but contrived so as to bear only
its own parts, and not to admit the addition of the least particle.
This building was beheld with much admiration by all the _virtuosi_
of that time; but fell down with no other pressure but the settling
of a wren upon the top of it.[43] But Nestor's modesty was such that
his art and skill were soon disregarded for want of that manner with
which men of the world support and assert the merit of their own
performances. Soon after this example of his art Athens was, by the
treachery of its enemies, burnt to the ground. This gave Nestor the
greatest occasion that ever builder had to render his name immortal,
and his person venerable: for all the new city rose according to his
disposition, and all the monuments of the glories and distresses of
that people were erected by that sole artist. Nay, all their temples,
as well as houses, were the effects of his study and labour; insomuch,
that it was said by an old sage, "Sure, Nestor will now be famous; for
the habitations of gods, as well as men, are built by his contrivance."
But this bashful quality still put a damp upon his great knowledge,
which has as fatal an effect upon men's reputation as poverty; for as
it was said, the poor man saved the city, and the poor man's labour
was forgot; so here we see, the modest man built the city, and the
modest man's skill was unknown.[44] Thus we see every man is the maker
of his own fortune; and what is very odd to consider, he must in some
measure be the trumpet of his fame: not that men are to be tolerated
who directly praise themselves, but they are to be endued with a
sort of defensive eloquence, by which they shall be always capable of
expressing the rules and arts by which they govern themselves. Varillus
was the man of all I have read of the happiest in the true possession
of this quality of modesty. My author says of him, Modesty in Varillus
is really a virtue; for it is a voluntary quality, and the effect
of good sense. He is naturally bold and enterprising; but so justly
discreet, that he never acts or speaks anything, but those who behold
him know he has forborne much more than he has performed or uttered,
out of deference to the persons before whom he is. This makes Varillus
truly amiable, and all his attempts successful; for as bad as the world
is thought to be by those who are perhaps unskilled in it, want of
success in our actions is generally owing to want of judgment in what
we ought to attempt, or a rustic modesty which will not give us leave
to undertake what we ought. But how unfortunate this diffident temper
is to those who are possessed with it may be best seen in the success
of such as are wholly unacquainted with it. We have one peculiar
elegance in our language above all others, which is conspicuous in
the term "fellow." This word added to any of our adjectives extremely
varies, or quite alters the sense of that with which it is joined.
Thus, though a modest man is the most unfortunate of all men, yet a
modest fellow is as superlatively happy. A modest fellow is a ready
creature, who with great humility, and as great forwardness, visits his
patrons at all hours, and meets them in all places, and has so moderate
an opinion of himself, that he makes his court at large. If you won't
give him a great employment, he will be glad of a little one. He has
so great a deference for his benefactor's judgment, that as he thinks
himself fit for anything he can get, so he is above nothing which is
offered; like the young bachelor of arts, who came to town recommended
to a chaplain's place; but none being vacant, modestly accepted of
that of a postillion. We have very many conspicuous persons of this
undertaking yet modest turn; I have a grandson who is very happy in
this quality: I sent him at the time of the last peace into France. As
soon as he landed at Calais, he sent me an exact account of the nature
of the people, and the policies of the King of France. I got him since
chosen a member of a corporation: the modest creature, as soon as he
came into the Common Council, told a senior burgess, he was perfectly
out in the orders of their house. In other circumstances, he is so
thoroughly modest a fellow, that he seems to pretend only to things he
understands. He is a citizen only at Court, and in the city a courtier.
In a word, to speak the characteristical difference between a modest
man and a modest fellow; the modest man is in doubt in all his actions;
a modest fellow never has a doubt from his cradle to his grave.

FOOTNOTES:

[36] This article may be by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[37] Probably Lord Archibald Hamilton, son to William, third Duke of
Hamilton. He was M.P. for Lanarkshire, and afterwards Governor of
Jamaica. He married Lady Jane Hamilton, youngest daughter of James,
sixth Earl of Abercorn, and died in 1754.

[38] Charles Lillie ("British Perfumer," p. 191) gives directions for
making jessamine hair powder. It was usually prepared from orange
flowers, which had been sifted from orange-flower hair powder, placed
between alternate layers of starch powder.

[39] Gay wrote a poem on "The Fan," in three books, and Addison devoted
a paper (_Spectator_, No. 102) to an elaborate account of the exercise
of this female weapon.

[40] See No. 50.

[41] "The Fluttering of the Fan is the last, and, indeed, the
masterpiece of the whole exercise.... There is an infinite variety of
motions to be made use of in the Flutter of a Fan" (_Spectator_, No.
102).

[42] The allusion is to Sir Christopher Wren, who died in 1723, in his
ninety-first year. He lived, according to the inscription by his son in
St. Paul's Cathedral, _non sibi, sed bono publico_.

[43] This passage alludes to an opposition which was made to a digest
of designs for the reparation of St. Paul's, laid before the King
and the commissioners in the beginning of 1666, which, the author
insinuates, was rather an opposition to Sir C. Wren, than to his plan;
it continued, however, till within a few days of the fire on September
2 in that year, which put the reparation of the cathedral out of the
question. There was likewise another model of St. Paul's, to which Sir
Christopher (certainly the best judge, and far from being mercenary)
gave the preference, and which he would have executed with more
cheerfulness and satisfaction, had he not been overruled by those whom
it was his duty to obey. (Nichols.)

[44] Wren was not able to carry out the scheme for rebuilding the City
in the way he had hoped. It appears that he received only about £200 a
year for building St. Paul's, and £100 a year for rebuilding the other
City churches.




No. 53. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 9_, to _Thursday, August 10, 1709_.

       *       *       *       *       *


_White's Chocolate-house, August 10._


_The Civil Husband._[45]

The fate and character of the inconstant Osmyn, is a just excuse for
the little notice taken by his widow, of his departure out of this
life, which was equally troublesome to Elmira his faithful spouse, and
to himself. That life passed between them after this manner, is the
reason that the town has just now received a lady with all that gaiety,
after having been a relict but three months, which other women hardly
assume under fifteen after such a disaster. Elmira is the daughter
of a rich and worthy citizen, who gave her to Osmyn with a portion
which might have obtained her an alliance with our noblest houses,
and fixed her in the eye of the world, where her story had not been
now to be related: for her good qualities had made her the object of
universal esteem among the polite part of mankind, from whom she has
been banished and immured till the death of her gaoler. It is now full
fifteen years since that beauteous lady was given into the hands of
the happy Osmyn, who in the sense of all the world received at that
time a present more valuable than the possession of both the Indies.
She was then in her early bloom, with an understanding and discretion
very little inferior to the most experienced matrons. She was not
beholden to the charms of her sex, that her company was preferable to
any Osmyn could meet with abroad; for were all she said considered,
without regard to her being a woman, it might stand the examination of
the severest judges: for she had all the beauty of her own sex, with
all the conversation-accomplishments of ours. But Osmyn very soon grew
surfeited with the charms of her person by possession, and of her mind
by want of taste; for he was one of that loose sort of men, who have
but one reason for setting any value on the fair sex, who consider even
brides but as new women, and consequently neglect them when they cease
to be such. All the merit of Elmira could not prevent her becoming a
mere wife within few months after her nuptials; and Osmyn had so little
relish for her conversation, that he complained of the advantages
of it. "My spouse," said he to one of his companions, "is so very
discreet, so good, so virtuous, and I know not what, that I think her
person is rather the object of esteem than of love; and there is such a
thing as a merit, which causes rather distance than passion." But there
being no medium in the state of matrimony, their life began to take
the usual gradations to become the most irksome of all beings. They
grew in the first place very complaisant; and having at heart a certain
knowledge that they were indifferent to each other, apologies were made
for every little circumstance which they thought betrayed their mutual
coldness. This lasted but few months, when they showed a difference of
opinion in every trifle; and as a sign of certain decay of affection,
the word "perhaps" was introduced in all their discourse. "I have a
mind to go to the Park," says she; "but perhaps, my dear, you will want
the coach on some other occasion." He would very willingly carry her to
the play; but perhaps, she had rather go to Lady Centaur's[46] and play
at ombre.[47] They were both persons of good discerning, and soon found
that they mortally hated each other, by their manner of hiding it.
Certain it is, that there are some genios which are not capable of pure
affection, and a man is born with talents for it as much as for poetry
or any other science. Osmyn began too late to find the imperfection of
his own heart, and used all the methods in the world to correct it,
and argue himself into return of desire and passion for his wife, by
the contemplation of her excellent qualities, his great obligations to
her, and the high value he saw all the world except himself did put
upon her. But such is man's unhappy condition, that though the weakness
of the heart has a prevailing power over the strength of the head,
yet the strength of the head has but small force against the weakness
of the heart. Osmyn therefore struggled in vain to revive departed
desire; and therefore resolved to retire to one of his estates in the
country, and pass away his hours of wedlock by the noble diversions of
the field; and in the fury of a disappointed lover, made an oath, to
leave neither stag, fox, nor hare living, during the days of his wife.
Besides that country sports would be an amusement, he hoped also, that
his spouse would be half killed by the very sense of seeing this town
no more, and would think her life ended as soon as she left it. He
communicated his design to Elmira, who received it (as now she did all
things) like a person too unhappy to be relieved or afflicted by the
circumstance of place. This unexpected resignation made Osmyn resolve
to be as obliging to her as possible; and if he could not prevail upon
himself to be kind, he took a resolution at least to act sincerely, and
to communicate frankly to her the weakness of his temper, to excuse the
indifference of his behaviour. He disposed his household in the way
to Rutland, so as he and his lady travelled only in the coach for the
convenience of discourse. They had not gone many miles out of town,
when Osmyn spoke to this purpose:

     "My dear, I believe I look quite as silly, now I am going to
     tell you I do not love you, as when I first told you I did. We
     are now going into the country together, with only one hope for
     making this life agreeable, survivorship: desire is not in our
     power; mine is all gone for you. What shall we do to carry it with
     decency to the world, and hate one another with discretion?"

The lady answered without the least observation on the extravagance of
his speech:

"My dear, you have lived most of your days in a Court, and I have not
been wholly unacquainted with that sort of life. In Courts, you see
good-will is spoken with great warmth, ill will covered with great
civility. Men are long in civilities to those they hate, and short in
expressions of kindness to those they love. Therefore, my dear, let us
be well-bred still, and it is no matter, as to all who see us, whether
we love or hate: and to let you see how much you are beholden to me
for my conduct, I have both hated and despised you, my dear, this half
year; and yet neither in language nor behaviour has it been visible
but that I loved you tenderly. Therefore, as I know you go out of town
to divert life in pursuit of beasts, and conversation with men just
above them; so, my life, from this moment, I shall read all the learned
cooks who have ever writ, study broths, plaisters, and conserves, till
from a fine lady I become a notable woman. We must take our minds a
note or two lower, or we shall be tortured by jealousy or anger. Thus
I am resolved to kill all keen passions by employing my mind on little
subjects, and lessening the easiness of my spirit; while you, my dear,
with much ale, exercise, and ill company, are so good as to endeavour
to be as contemptible as it is necessary for my quiet I should think
you."

To Rutland they arrived, and lived with great, but secret impatience
for many successive years, till Osmyn thought of a happy expedient to
give their affairs a new turn. One day he took Elmira aside, and spoke
as follows:

"My dear, you see here the air is so temperate and serene, the
rivulets, the groves, and soil, so extremely kind to nature, that we
are stronger and firmer in our health since we left the town; so that
there is no hope of a release in this place: but if you will be so
kind as to go with me to my estate in the Hundreds of Essex, it is
possible some kind damp may one day or other relieve us. If you will
condescend to accept of this offer, I will add that whole estate to
your jointure in this county."

Elmira, who was all goodness, accepted the offer, removed accordingly,
and has left her spouse in that place to rest with his fathers.

This is the real figure in which Elmira ought to be beheld in this
town, and not thought guilty of an indecorum, in not professing the
sense, or bearing the habit of sorrow, for one who robbed her of all
the endearments of life, and gave her only common civility, instead
of complacency of manners, dignity of passion, and that constant
assemblage of soft desires and affections which all feel who love, but
none can express.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 10._

Mr. Truman, who is a mighty admirer of dramatic poetry, and knows I am
about a tragedy, never meets me, but he is giving admonitions and hints
for my conduct. "Mr. Bickerstaff," said he, "I was reading last night
your second act you were so kind to lend me; but I find you depend
mightily upon the retinue of your hero to make him magnificent. You
make guards, and ushers, and courtiers, and commons, and nobles, march
before, and then enters your prince, and says they can't defend him
from his love. Why, prithee Isaac, who ever thought they could? Place
me your loving monarch in a solitude; let him have no sense at all of
his grandeur, but let it be eaten up with his passion. He must value
himself as the greatest of lovers, not as the first of princes: and
then let him say a more tender thing than ever man said before--for
his feather and eagle's beak is nothing at all. The man is to be
expressed by his sentiments and affections, and not by his fortune or
equipage. You are also to take care, that at his first entrance he
says something which may give us an idea of what we are to expect in
a person of his way of thinking. Shakespeare is your pattern."[48] In
the tragedy of "Cæsar," he introduces his hero in his nightgown. He
had at that time all the power of Rome: deposed consuls, subordinate
generals, and captive princes, might have preceded him; but his genius
was above such mechanic methods of showing greatness. Therefore he
rather presents that great soul debating upon the subject of life and
death with his intimate friends, without endeavouring to prepossess his
audience with empty show and pomp. When those who attend him talk of
the many omens which had appeared that day, he answers:

    _Cowards die many times before their deaths;
    The valiant never taste of death but once.
    Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
    It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
    Seeing that death, a necessary end,
    Will come, when it will come.[49]_

When the hero has spoken this sentiment, there is nothing that is great
which cannot be expected, from one whose first position is the contempt
of death to so high a degree, as making his exit a thing wholly
indifferent, and not a part of his care, but that of heaven and fate.



_St. James's Coffee-house, August 10._

Letters from Brussels of the 15th instant, N.S., say, that
Major-General Ravignan returned on the 8th with the French king's
answer to the intended capitulation for the citadel of Tournay; which
is, that he does not think fit to sign that capitulation, except the
Allies will grant a cessation of arms in general, during the time in
which all acts of hostility were to have ceased between the citadel
and the besiegers. Soon after the receipt of this news, the cannon on
each side began to play. There are two attacks against the citadel,
commanded by General Lottum and General Schuylemberg, which are both
carried on with great success; and it is not doubted but the citadel
will be in the hands of the Allies before the last day of this month.
Letters from Ipres say, that on the 9th instant, part of the garrison
of that place had mutinied in two bodies, each consisting of two
hundred; who being dispersed the same day, a body of eight hundred
appeared in the market-place at nine the night following, and seized
all manner of provisions; but were with much difficulty quieted. The
governor has not punished any of the offenders, the dissatisfaction
being universal in that place; and it is thought, the officers foment
those disorders; that the Ministry may be convinced of the necessity
of paying those troops, and supplying them with provisions. These
advices add, that on the 14th the Marquis d'Este passed express through
Brussels from the Duke of Savoy, with advice, that the army of his
royal highness had forced the retrenchments of the enemy in Savoy, and
defeated that body of men which guarded those passes under the command
of the Marquis de Thouy.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] Perhaps this article is by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[46] The name of a character in Jonson's "Silent Woman."

[47] A game of cards played by three persons, of which particulars will
be found in Pope's "Rape of the Lock."

[48] In the _Spectator_, No. 42, Addison ridiculed the way in which
dignity was sought for the hero on the stage by means of grand dresses
and guards with halberts and battleaxes. "Can all the trappings or
equipage of a king or hero give Brutus half that pomp and majesty which
he receives from a few lines in Shakespeare?"

[49] "Julius Cæsar," act ii. sc. 2.




No. 54. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, August 11_, to _Saturday, August 13, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 12._


_Of the Government of Affection._[50]

When labour was pronounced to be the portion of man, that doom reached
the affections of his mind, as well as his person, the matter on which
he was to feed, and all the animal and vegetable world about him. There
is therefore an assiduous care and cultivation to be bestowed upon our
passions and affections; for they, as they are the excrescences of our
souls, like our hair and beards, look horrid or becoming, as we cut
or let them grow. All this grave preface is meant to assign a reason
in nature for the unaccountable behaviour of Duumvir,[51] the husband
and keeper. Ten thousand follies had this unhappy man escaped, had he
made a compact with himself to be upon his guard, and not permitted
his vagrant eye to let in so many different inclinations upon him, as
all his days he has been perplexed with. But indeed at present he has
brought himself to be confined only to one prevailing mistress; between
whom and his wife, Duumvir passes his hours in all the vicissitudes
which attend passion and affection, without the intervention of reason.
Laura his wife, and Phyllis his mistress, are all with whom he has had,
for some months, the least amorous commerce. Duumvir has passed the
noon of life; but cannot withdraw from those entertainments which are
pardonable only before that stage of our being, and which after that
season are rather punishments than satisfaction: for palled appetite
is humorous, and must be gratified with sauces rather than food. For
which end Duumvir is provided with an haughty, imperious, expensive,
and fantastic mistress, to whom he retires from the conversation of
an affable, humble, discreet, and affectionate wife. Laura receives
him after absence with an easy and unaffected complacency; but that
he calls insipid: Phyllis rates him for his absence, and bids him
return from whence he came: this he calls spirit and fire. Laura's
gentleness is thought mean; Phyllis' insolence, sprightly. Were you
to see him at his own home, and his mistress's lodgings, to Phyllis
he appears an obsequious lover, to Laura an imperious master. Nay, so
unjust is the taste of Duumvir, that he owns Laura has no ill quality,
but that she is his wife; Phyllis no good one, but that she is his
mistress. And he has himself often said, were he married to any one
else, he would rather keep Laura than any woman living; yet allows at
the same time, that Phyllis, were she a woman of honour, would have
been the most insipid animal breathing. The other day Laura, who has
a voice like an angel, began to sing to him: "Fie, madam," he cried,
"we must be past all these gaieties." Phyllis has a note as rude and
as loud as that of a milkmaid: when she begins to warble, "Well," says
he, "there is such a pleasing simplicity in all that wench does." In
a word, the affectionate part of his heart being corrupted, and his
true taste that way wholly lost, he has contracted a prejudice to all
the behaviour of Laura, and a general partiality in favour of Phyllis.
It is not in the power of the wife to do a pleasing thing, nor in the
mistress to commit one that is disagreeable. There is something too
melancholy in the reflection on this circumstance to be the subject of
raillery. He said a sour thing to Laura at dinner the other day; upon
which she burst into tears. "What the devil, madam," says he, "can't I
speak in my own house?" He answered Phyllis a little abruptly at supper
the same evening; upon which she threw his periwig into the fire.
"Well," said he, "thou art a brave termagant jade; do you know, hussy,
that fair wig cost forty guineas?" O Laura! is it for this that the
faithful Chromius sighed for you in vain? How is thy condition altered,
since crowds of youth hung on thy eye, and watched its glances? It is
not many months since Laura was the wonder and pride of her own sex, as
well as the desire and passion of ours. At plays and at balls, the just
turn of her behaviour, the decency of her virgin charms, chastised,
yet added to diversions. At public devotions, her winning modesty, her
resigned carriage, made virtue and religion appear with new ornaments,
and in the natural apparel of simplicity and beauty. In ordinary
conversations, a sweet conformity of manners, and a humility which
heightened all the complacencies of good breeding and education, gave
her more slaves than all the pride of her sex ever made woman wish for.
Laura's hours are now spent in the sad reflections on her choice, and
that deceitful vanity (almost inseparable from the sex) of believing,
she could reclaim one that had so often ensnared others; as it now is,
it is not even in the power of Duumvir himself to do her justice: for
though beauty and merit are things real, and independent on taste and
opinion, yet agreeableness is arbitrary, and the mistress has much
the advantage of the wife. But whenever fate is so kind to her and
her spouse as to end her days, with all this passion for Phyllis, and
indifference for Laura, he has a second wife in view, who may avenge
the injuries done to her predecessor. Aglaura is the destined lady, who
has lived in assemblies, has ambition and play for her entertainment,
and thinks of a man, not as the object of love, but the tool of
her interest or pride. If ever Aglaura comes to the empire of this
inconstant, she will endear the memory of her predecessor. But in the
meantime, it is melancholy to consider, that the virtue of a wife is
like the merit of a poet, never justly valued till after death.


_From my own Apartment, August 11._

As we have professed, that all the actions of men are our subject, the
most solemn are not to be omitted, if there happen to creep into their
behaviour anything improper for such occasions. Therefore the offence
mentioned in the following epistles (though it may seem to be committed
in a place sacred from observation) is such, that it is our duty to
remark upon it; for though he who does it is himself only guilty of an
indecorum, he occasions a criminal levity in all others who are present
at it.

       *       *       *       *       *

"MR. BICKERSTAFF,

"It being mine, as well as the opinion of many others, that your papers
are extremely well fitted to reform any irregular or indecent practice,
I present the following as one which requires your correction. Myself,
and a great many good people who frequent the divine service at St.
Paul's, have been a long time scandalised by the imprudent conduct
of Stentor[52] in that cathedral. This gentleman, you must know, is
always very exact and zealous in his devotion, which, I believe, nobody
blames; but then he is accustomed to roar and bellow so terribly loud
in the responses, that he frightens even us of the congregation, who
are daily used to him; and one of our petty canons, a punning Cambridge
scholar,[53] calls his way of worship, a bull offering. His harsh
untunable pipe is no more fit than a raven's to join with the music of
a choir; yet nobody having been enough his friend, I suppose, to inform
him of it, he never fails, when present, to drown the harmony of every
hymn and anthem, by an inundation of sound beyond that of the bridge at
the ebb of the tide, or the neighbouring lions in the anguish of their
hunger. This is a grievance which, to my certain knowledge, several
worthy people desire to see redressed; and if by inserting this epistle
in your paper, or by representing the matter your own way, you can
convince Stentor, that discord in a choir is the same sin that schism
is in the Church in general, you would lay a great obligation upon us,
and make some atonement for certain of your paragraphs which have not
been highly approved by us. I am,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble Servant,
  JEOFFRY CHANTICLEER.

  "St. Paul's Churchyard, _August 11_."

It is wonderful there should be such a general lamentation, and the
grievance so frequent, and yet the offender never know anything of it.
I have received the following letter from my kinsman at the Heralds'
Office, near the same place:

     "DEAR COUSIN,

     "This office, which has had its share in the impartial justice of
     your censures, demands at present your vindication of their rights
     and privileges. There are certain hours when our young heralds
     are exercised in the faculties of making proclamation, and other
     vociferations, which of right belong to us only to utter: but at
     the same hours, Stentor in St. Paul's Church, in spite of the
     coaches, carts, London cries, and all other sounds between us,
     exalts his throat to so high a key, that the most noisy of our
     order is utterly unheard. If you please to observe upon this, you
     will ever oblige, &c."

There have been communicated to me some other ill consequences from
the same cause; as, the overturning of coaches by sudden starts of the
horses as they passed that way, women pregnant frightened, and heirs to
families lost; which are public disasters, though arising from a good
intention: but it is hoped, after this admonition, that Stentor will
avoid an act of so great supererogation, as singing without a voice.

But I am diverted from prosecuting Stentor's reformation, by an
account, that the two faithful lovers, Lysander and Coriana, are dead;
for no longer ago than the 1st of the last month they swore eternal
fidelity to each other, and to love till death. Ever since that time,
Lysander has been twice a day at the chocolate-house, visits in every
circle, is missing four hours in four and twenty, and will give no
account of himself. These are undoubted proofs of the departure of
a lover; and consequently Coriana is also dead as a mistress. I have
written to Stentor to give this couple three calls at the church door,
which they must hear if they are living within the bills of mortality;
and if they do not answer at that time, they are from that moment added
to the number of my defunct.[54]

FOOTNOTES:

[50] This article may be by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[51] It has been suggested that Duumvir is meant for the Duke of
Ormond, and this view is supported by the MS. annotator mentioned in a
note to No. 4. James Butler, second Duke of Ormond, married, at the age
of eighteen, Anne, daughter of Lord Hyde, afterward Earl of Rochester.
After her death in 1685 he married Lady Mary Somerset, daughter of
Henry, first Duke of Beaufort. In 1711 he became Captain-General and
Commander-in-Chief of the land forces, but after the accession of
George I. he was impeached of high treason, and attainted. He died in
exile in 1745.

[52] Dr. William Stanley, Dean of St. Asaph and Canon of St. Paul's,
where he was buried on his death in 1731. The loudness of his voice is
alluded to again in Nos. 56, 61, 67, 70, and 241.

[53] "Mr. C--l--n" (MS. note).--This was probably John Colson
(1680-1760), who became Lucasian professor of mathematics in 1739. He
is described by Cole, the antiquary, as "an humourist and peevish."




No. 55. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 13_, to _Tuesday, August 16, 1709_.

    ----Paulo majora canamus.--VIRG., Ecl. iv. 1.

       *       *       *       *       *


_White's Chocolate-house, August 15._

While others are busied in relations which concern the interests
of princes, the peace of nations, and revolutions of empire, I
think (though these are very large subjects) my theme of discourse
is sometimes to be of matters of a yet higher consideration. The
slow steps of Providence and Nature, and strange events which are
brought about in an instant, are what, as they come within our view
and observation, shall be given to the public. Such things are not
accompanied with show and noise, and therefore seldom draw the eyes
of the unattentive part of mankind; but are very proper at once
to exercise our humanity, please our imaginations, and improve
our judgments. It may not therefore be unuseful to relate many
circumstances, which were observable upon a late cure done upon a young
gentleman who was born blind, and on the 29th of June last received his
sight at the age of twenty years, by the operation of an oculist. This
happened no farther off than Newington, and the work was prepared for
in the following manner: The operator, Mr. Grant,[55] having observed
the eyes of his patient, and convinced his friends and relations, among
others the Rev. Mr. Caswell, minister of the place, that it was highly
probable he should remove the obstacle which prevented the use of his
sight; all his acquaintance, who had any regard for the young man, or
curiosity to be present when one of full age and understanding received
a new sense, assembled themselves on this occasion. Mr. Caswell[56]
being a gentleman particularly curious, desired the whole company,
in case the blindness should be cured, to keep silence, and let the
patient make his own observations, without the direction of anything he
had received by his other senses, or the advantage of discovering his
friends by their voices. Among several others, the mother, brethren,
sisters, and a young gentlewoman for whom he had a passion, were
present. The work was performed with great skill and dexterity. When
the patient first received the dawn of light, there appeared such
an ecstasy in his action, that he seemed ready to swoon away in the
surprise of joy and wonder. The surgeon stood before him with his
instruments in his hand. The young man observed him from head to foot;
after which he surveyed himself as carefully, and seemed to compare him
to himself; and observing both their hands, seemed to think they were
exactly alike, except the instruments, which he took for parts of his
hands. When he had continued in this amazement some time, his mother
could not longer bear the agitations of so many passions as thronged
upon her, but fell upon his neck, crying out, "My son! my son!" The
youth knew her voice, and could speak no more than, "Oh me! are you
my mother?" and fainted. The whole room, you will easily conceive,
were very affectionately employed in recovering him; but above all,
the young gentlewoman who loved him, and whom he loved, shrieked in
the loudest manner. That voice seemed to have a sudden effect upon
him as he recovered, and he showed a double curiosity in observing
her as she spoke and called to him; till at last he broke out, "What
has been done to me? Whither am I carried? Is all this about me, the
thing I have heard so often of? Is this the light? Is this seeing?
Were you always thus happy, when you said you were glad to see each
other? Where is Tom, who used to lead me? But I could now, methinks,
go anywhere without him." He offered to move, but seemed afraid of
everything around him. When they saw his difficulty, they told him,
till he became better acquainted with his new being, he must let the
servant still lead him. The boy was called for, and presented to him.
Mr. Caswell asked him, what sort of thing he took Tom to be before he
had seen him. He answered, he believed there was not so much of him as
of himself; but he fancied him the same sort of creature. The noise
of this sudden change made all the neighbourhood throng to the place
where he was. As he saw the crowd thickening, he desired Mr. Caswell
to tell him how many there were in all to be seen. The gentleman,
smiling, answered him, that it would be very proper for him to return
to his late condition, and suffer his eyes to be covered, till they had
received strength; for he might remember well enough, that by degrees
he had from little and little come to the strength he had at present in
his ability of walking and moving; and that it was the same thing with
his eyes, which, he said, would lose the power of continuing to him
that wonderful transport he was now in, except he would be contented
to lay aside the use of them, till they were strong enough to bear the
light without so much feeling, as he knew he underwent at present. With
much reluctance he was prevailed upon to have his eyes bound, in which
condition they kept him in a dark room, till it was proper to let the
organ receive its objects without further precaution. During the time
of this darkness, he bewailed himself in the most distressed manner,
and accused all his friends, complaining, that some incantation had
been wrought upon him, and some strange magic used to deceive him into
an opinion, that he had enjoyed what they called sight. He added, that
the impressions then let in upon his soul would certainly distract him,
if he were not so at that present. At another time he would strive to
name the persons he had seen among the crowd after he was couched,
and would pretend to speak (in perplexed terms of his own making) of
what he in that short time observed, But on the 6th instant it was
thought fit to unbind his head, and the young woman whom he loved was
instructed to open his eyes accordingly, as well to endear herself
to him by such a circumstance, as to moderate his ecstasies by the
persuasion of a voice, which had so much power over him as hers ever
had. When this beloved young woman began to restore him, she talked to
him as follows:

"Mr. William, I am now taking the binding off, though when I consider
what I am doing, I tremble with the apprehension, that (though I have
from my very childhood loved you, dark as you were, and though you had
conceived so strong a love for me) yet you will find there is such a
thing as beauty, which may ensnare you into a thousand passions of
which you now are innocent, and take you from me for ever. But before I
put myself to that hazard, tell me in what manner that love you always
professed to me entered into your heart; for its usual admission is at
the eyes."

The young man answered, "Dear Lydia, if I am to lose by sight the soft
pantings which I have always felt when I heard your voice; if I am no
more to distinguish the step of her I love when she approaches me, but
to change that sweet and frequent pleasure for such an amazement as I
knew the little time I lately saw: or if I am to have anything besides,
which may take from me the sense I have of what appeared most pleasing
to me at that time (which apparition it seems was you): pull out these
eyes, before they lead me to be ungrateful to you, or undo myself. I
wished for them but to see you; pull them out, if they are to make me
forget you."

       *       *       *       *       *

Lydia was extremely satisfied with these assurances; and pleased
herself with playing with his perplexities. In all his talk to her, he
showed but very faint ideas of anything which had not been received at
the ear; and closed his protestation to her by saying, that if he were
to see Valentia and Barcelona, whom he supposed the most esteemed of
all women, by the quarrel there was about them, he would never like any
but Lydia.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 15._

We have repeated advices of the entire defeat of the Swedish army
near Pultowa[57] on the 27th June, O.S., and letters from Berlin give
the following account of the remains of the Swedish army since the
battle: Prince Menzikoff being ordered to pursue the victory, came
up with the Swedish army (which was left to the command of General
Lewenhaupt) on the 30th of June, O.S., on the banks of the Boristhenes;
whereupon he sent General Lewenhaupt a summons to submit to his present
fortune: Lewenhaupt immediately despatched three general officers to
that prince, to treat about a capitulation; but the Swedes, though
they consisted of 15,000 men, were in so great want of provision
and ammunition, that they were obliged to surrender themselves at
discretion. His Czarish Majesty despatched an express to General Goltz,
with an account of these particulars, and also with instructions to
send out detachments of his cavalry to prevent the King of Sweden's
joining his army in Poland. That prince made his escape with a small
party by swimming over the Boristhenes; and it was thought, he designed
to retire into Poland by the way of Volhinia. Advices from Berne of
the 11th instant say, that the General Diet of the Helvetic Body held
at Baden concluded on the 6th; but the deputies of the six cantons,
who are deputed to determine the affair of Tockenburg, continue their
application to that business, notwithstanding some new difficulties
started by the Abbot of St. Gall. Letters from Geneva of the 9th say,
that the Duke of Savoy's cavalry had joined Count Thaun, as had also
two Imperial regiments of hussars; and that his royal highness's army
was disposed in the following manner: the troops under the command of
Count Thaun are extended from Constans to St. Peter de Albigni. Small
parties are left in several posts from thence to Little St. Bernard, to
preserve the communication with Piedmont by the Valley of Aosta. Some
forces are also posted at Taloir, and in the Castle of Doin, on each
side of the Lake of Anneci. General Rhebinder is encamped in the Valley
of Oulx with 10,000 foot, and some detachments of horse: his troops are
extended from Exilles to Mount Genevre, so that he may easily penetrate
into Dauphine on the least motion of the enemy; but the Duke of Berwick
takes all necessary precautions to prevent such an enterprise. That
General's headquarters are at Francin; and he hath disposed his army
in several parties, to preserve a communication with the Maurienne and
Briançon. He hath no provisions for his army but from Savoy; Provence
and Dauphine being unable to supply him with necessaries. He left
two regiments of dragoons at Annen, who suffered very much in the
late action at Tessons, where they lost 1500 who were killed on the
spot, 4 standards, and 300 prisoners, among whom were 40 officers.
The last letters from the Duke of Marlborough's camp at Orchies of
the 19th instant advise, that Monsieur Ravignan being returned from
the French Court with an account, that the King of France refused to
ratify the capitulation for the surrender of the citadel of Tournay,
the approaches have been carried on with great vigour and success:
our miners have discovered several of the enemy's mines, who have
sprung divers others, which did little execution; but for the better
security of the troops, both assaults are carried on by the cautious
way of sapping. On the 18th, the confederate army made a general forage
without any loss. Marshal Villars continues in his former camp, and
applies himself with great diligence in casting up new lines behind the
old on the Scarp. The Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene designed to
begin a general review of the army on the 20th.

FOOTNOTES:

[54] "Deceased" (folio).

[55] Roger Grant was sworn oculist and operator in ordinary to Queen
Anne, September 27, 1710; and on the death of Sir William Read, he
was sworn oculist in ordinary to George I. in 1715 (_Weekly Packet_,
No. 159). He died in 1724. A pamphlet, published in 1709, price 2d.,
called, "A full and true Account of a Miraculous Cure of a Young Man
in Newington, that was born Blind, and was in Five Minutes brought to
perfect Sight. By Mr. Roger Grant, Oculist," was in reality intended to
expose Grant as an impostor. William Jones, son of Annabella Jones, of
Newington, Surrey, was, in the twentieth year of his age, couched by
Grant, on June 19, 1709. On Sunday, July 24, he went, we are told, to
the parish church of St. Mary, Newington, and requested the minister
to offer up thanks for his recovery; and next day he and his mother
went to the minister to ask him to certify a statement to the effect
that Jones was born blind and now had his sight very well. The minister
objected to doing this, although Jones and his mother urged that Grant
would charge for the cure if they did not get the certificate. The
pamphlet states that at last they got the minister's signature forged,
and then Grant published the certificate in the _Daily Courant_ for
July 30, 1709. On August 16 another paper came out, stating that the
minister was present at the operation. The minister told all who made
inquiries the truth; that the boy was not born blind, but only with an
imperfection in his sight; and that now he saw very little with the
left eye, and not at all with the right. On August 8, Grant got the
mother to make an affidavit respecting her son's blindness and cure
before a magistrate. This affidavit is printed in the "British Apollo,"
vol. ii. No. 91 (January 20 to 23, 1710). The following advertisement
is taken from the same periodical, vol. ii. No. 39 (August 5 to 10,
1709): "As it would be no less disrespectful and injurious to the
public, to conceal the merits of Mr. Grant, oculist; therefore, we,
the Minister, Churchwardens, and Overseers of the poor of the parish
of St. Mary, Newington Butts, do certify, that William Jones, of the
same parish, aged twenty years, who was born blind, on his application
to Mr. Grant aforesaid, who dwells in St. Christopher's Court, behind
the Royal Exchange, was by him couched on Wednesday, June 29, 1709,
and by the blessing of God, on the skilful hand of Mr. Grant, the said
Jones, in five minutes' time, was brought to see, and at this time
hath his sight very well. This case being so particularly remarkable,
and gratisly performed, we do, therefore, give this public testimony
under our hands, this 25th of July, 1709.--Minister, William Taswell;
Churchwardens, James Comber, William Dale; Overseers, Francis Trosse,
William Benskin, Walker Wood, John Ship." The Jones case is included
in a list of Grant's cures, "Account of some Cures," &c., printed on a
folio sheet which is supposed to have been issued in 1713 (Brit. Mus.
1830, c. (18)). The pamphleteer from whom I have quoted, adds that
Grant was bred up a cobbler, or, as some say, a tinker; and he was an
Anabaptist preacher. Nichols says that "Grant seems to have been more
ingenious and reputable than most of his brother and sister oculists;
but, if we may judge from his very numerous advertisements, he was not
less vain, or less indelicate." A correspondent of the _Spectator_ (see
No. 472) bore testimony to the benefit he had himself derived from
Grant, and said that many blind persons had been cured.

[56] Dr. William Taswell (here called Caswell), king's scholar at
Westminster, was elected student of Christ Church in 1670. He became
M.A. in 1677, B.D. in 1685, and D.D. in 1698.

[57] Charles XII. of Sweden was defeated by the Czar at Pultowa in
July 1709, and was wounded by a musket-ball in the heel. After the
defeat of his army he crossed the Boristhenes with three hundred men.
Two thousand Swedes under General Lewenhaupt surrendered to Prince
Menzikoff on the banks of the Boristhenes after the battle. Charles
XII. sought refuge among the Turks, and retired to Bender.




No. 56. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 16_, to _Thursday, August 18, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 17._

There is a young foreigner committed to my care, who puzzles me
extremely in the questions he asks about the persons of figure we meet
in public places. He has but very little of our language, and therefore
I am mightily at a loss to express to him things, for which they have
no word in that tongue to which he was born. It has been often my
answer, upon his asking, who such a fine gentleman is? that he is what
we call a "sharper," and he wants my explication. I thought it would
be very unjust to tell him, he is the same the French call Coquin; the
Latins, Nebulo; or the Greeks, #Raskal#.[58] For as custom is the most
powerful of all laws, and that the order of men we call sharpers are
received amongst us, not only with permission, but favour, I thought
it unjust to use them like persons upon no establishment. Besides
that, it would be an unpardonable dishonour to our country, to let him
leave us with an opinion, that our nobility and gentry kept company
with common thieves and cheats; I told him, they were a sort of tame
hussars that were allowed in our cities, like the wild ones in our
camp, who had all the privileges belonging to us, but at the same time
were not tied to our discipline or laws. Aletheus, who is a gentleman
of too much virtue for the age he lives in, would not let this matter
be thus palliated, but told my pupil, that he was to understand, that
distinction, quality, merit, and industry, were laid aside amongst
us by the incursions of these civil hussars, who had got so much
countenance, that the breeding and fashion of the age turned their way
to the ruin of order and economy in all places where they are admitted.
But Sophronius, who never falls into heat upon any subject, but applies
proper language, temper, and skill, with which the thing in debate is
to be treated, told the youth, that gentleman had spoken nothing, but
what was literally true; but fell upon it with too much earnestness to
give a true idea of that sort of people he was declaiming against, or
to remedy the evil which he bewailed: for the acceptance of these men
being an ill which hath crept into the conversation part of our lives,
and not into our constitution itself, it must be corrected where it
began, and consequently is to be amended only by bringing raillery and
derision upon the persons who are guilty, or converse with them. "For
the sharpers," continued he, "at present are not as formerly, under
the acceptation of pickpockets; but are by custom erected into a real
and venerable body of men, and have subdued us to so very particular a
deference to them, that though they are known to be men without honour
or conscience, no demand is called a debt of honour so indisputably
as theirs. You may lose your honour to them, but they lay none against
you: as the priesthood in Roman Catholic countries can purchase what
they please for the Church, but they can alienate nothing from it. It
is from this toleration, that sharpers are to be found among all sorts
of assemblies and companies, and every talent amongst men is made use
of by some one or other of the society for the good of their common
cause: so that an unexperienced young gentleman is as often ensnared
by his understanding as his folly: for who could be unmoved, to hear
the eloquent Dromio explain the constitution, talk in the key of Cato,
with the severity of one of the ancient sages, and debate the greatest
question of State in a common chocolate or coffee-house; who could, I
say, hear this generous declamator, without being fired at his noble
zeal, and becoming his professed follower, if he might be admitted.
Monoculus'[59] gravity would be no less inviting to a beginner in
conversation, and the snare of his eloquence would equally catch one
who had never seen an old gentleman so very wise, and yet so little
severe. Many other instances of extraordinary men among the brotherhood
might be produced; but every man who knows the town, can supply himself
with such examples without their being named." Will. Vafer, who is
skilful at finding out the ridiculous side of a thing, and placing it
in a new and proper light (though he very seldom talks), thought fit
to enter into this subject. He has lately lost certain loose sums,
which half the income of his estate will bring in within seven years:
besides which, he proposes to marry to set all right. He was therefore
indolent enough to speak of this matter with great impartiality. "When
I look round me," said this easy gentleman, "and consider in a just
balance us bubbles, elder brothers, whose support our dull fathers
contrived to depend upon certain acres; with the rooks, whose ancestors
left them the wide world; I cannot but admire their fraternity, and
contemn my own. Is not Jack Heyday much to be preferred to the knight
he has bubbled? Jack has his equipage, his wenches, and his followers:
the knight so far from a retinue, that he is almost one of Jack's.
However, he is gay, you see, still; a florid outside--his habit speaks
the man--and since he must unbutton, he would not be reduced outwardly,
but is stripped to his upper coat. But though I have great temptation
to it, I will not at this time give the history of the losing side, but
speak the effects of my thoughts, since the loss of my money, upon the
gaining people. This ill fortune makes most men contemplative and given
to reading; at least it has happened so to me; and the rise and fall of
the family of sharpers in all ages has been my contemplation."

       *       *       *       *       *

I find, all times have had of this people; Homer, in his excellent
heroic poem, calls them Myrmidons, who were a body who kept among
themselves, and had nothing to lose; therefore never spared either
Greek or Trojan, when they fell in their way, upon a party. But there
is a memorable verse which gives us an account of what broke that
whole body, and made both Greeks and Trojans masters of the secret
of their warfare and plunder. There is nothing so pedantic as many
quotations; therefore I shall inform you only, that in this battalion
there were two officers called Thersites and Pandarus; they were both
less renowned for their beauty than their wit; but each had this
particular happiness, that they were plunged over head and ears in
the same water, which made Achilles invulnerable; and had ever after
certain gifts which the rest of the world were never to enjoy. Among
others, they were never to know they were the most dreadful to the
sight of all mortals, never to be diffident of their own abilities,
never to blush, or ever to be wounded but by each other. Though some
historians say, gaming began among the Lydians to divert hunger, I
could cite many authorities to prove it had its rise at the siege of
Troy; and that Ulysses won the sevenfold shield at hazard. But be that
as it may, the ruin of the corps of the myrmidons proceeded from a
breach between Thersites and Pandarus. The first of these was leader
of a squadron, wherein the latter was but a private man; but having
all the good qualities necessary for a partisan, he was the favourite
of his officer. But the whole history of the several changes in the
order of sharpers, from those myrmidons to our modern men of address
and plunder, will require that we consult some ancient manuscripts.
As we make these inquiries, we shall diurnally communicate them to
the public, that the knights of the industry may be better understood
by the good people of England. These sort of men in some ages, were
sycophants and flatterers only, and were endued with arts of life to
capacitate them for the conversation of the rich and great; but now
the bubble courts the impostor, and pretends at the utmost to be but
his equal. To clear up the reasons and causes in such revolutions,
and the alteration of conduct between fools and cheats, shall be one
of our labours for the good of this kingdom. How therefore pimps,
footmen, fiddlers, and lackeys, are elevated into companions in this
present age, shall be accounted for from the influence of the planet
Mercury[60] on this island; the ascendency of which sharper over Sol,
who is a patron of the Muses, and all honest professions, has been
noted by the learned Job Gadbury[61] to be the cause, that cunning and
trick are more esteemed than art and science. It must be allowed also,
to the memory of Mr. Partridge, late of Cecil Street in the Strand,
that in his answer to an horary question, at what hour of the night
to set a foxtrap in June 1705, he has largely discussed, under the
character of Reynard, the manner of surprising all sharpers as well as
him. But of these great points, after more mature deliberation.


  _St. James's Coffee-house, August 17._

  "_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._

  "SIR,

"We have nothing at present new, but that we understand by some
owlers,[62] old people die in France. Letters from Paris of the 10th
instant, N.S., say, that Monsieur d'André Marquis d'Oraison died at
85; Monsieur Brumars, at 102 years, died for love of his wife, who
was 92 at her death, after seventy years' cohabitation. Nicolas de
Boutheiller, parish preacher of Sasseville, being a bachelor, held out
till 116. Dame Claude de Massy, relict of Monsieur Peter de Monceaux,
Grand Audiencer of France, died on the 7th instant, aged 107. Letters
of the 17th say, Monsieur Chrestien de Lamoignon died on the 7th
instant, a person of great piety and virtue; but having died young, his
age is concealed for reasons of State. On the 15th his most Christian
Majesty, attended by the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Duke and
Duchess of Berry, assisted at the procession which he yearly performs,
in memory of a vow made by Lewis XIII. 1638: for which act of piety,
his Majesty received absolution of his confessor, for the breach of all
inconvenient vows made by himself. I am,

  "Sir,
  Your most humble Servant,
  HUMPHREY KIDNEY."[63]


  _From my own Apartment, August 17._

I am to acknowledge several letters which I have lately received; among
others, one subscribed "Philanthropis," another "Emilia," both which
shall be honoured. I have a third from an officer of the army, wherein
he desires I would do justice to the many gallant actions which have
been done by men of private characters, or officers of lower stations,
during this long war; that their families may have the pleasure of
seeing we lived in an age wherein men of all orders had their proper
share in fame and glory. There is nothing I should undertake with
greater pleasure than matter of this kind: if therefore they who are
acquainted with such facts, would please to communicate them, by letter
directed to me at Mr. Morphew's, no pains should be spared to put them
in a proper and distinguishing light.

       *       *       *       *       *

This is to admonish Stentor,[64] that it was not admiration of his
voice, but my publication of it, which has lately increased the number
of his hearers.

FOOTNOTES:

[58] "Rascal," in Greek letters.

[59] See No. 36.

[60] Mercury was the god of thieves.

[61] An astrologer and almanac maker, who died in 1715. John Gadbury,
an older astrologer, was his master.

[62] Persons who carry contraband goods.

[63] A waiter; see No. 1.

[64] See No. 54.




No. 57. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, August 18_, to _Saturday, August 20, 1709_.

    Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.

  JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 19._

I was this evening representing a complaint sent me out of the country
from Emilia. She says, her neighbours there have so little sense of
what a refined lady of the town is, that she, who was a celebrated wit
in London, is in that dull part of the world in so little esteem, that
they call her in their base style a tongue-pad. Old Truepenny bid me
advise her to keep her wit till she comes to town again, and admonish
her, that both wit and breeding are local; for a fine Court lady is
as awkward among country housewives, as one of them would appear in a
drawing-room. It is therefore the most useful knowledge one can attain
at, to understand among what sort of men we make the best figure; for
if there be a place where the beauteous and accomplished Emilia is
unacceptable, it is certainly a vain endeavour to attempt pleasing
in all conversations. Here is Will. Ubi, who is so thirsty after the
reputation of a companion, that his company is for anybody that will
accept of it; and for want of knowing whom to choose for himself, is
never chosen by others. There is a certain chastity of behaviour which
makes a man desirable, and which, if he transgresses, his wit will have
the same fate with Delia's beauty, which no one regards, because all
know it is within their power. The best course Emilia can take, is, to
have less humility; for if she could have as good an opinion of herself
for having every quality, as some of her neighbours have of themselves
with one, she would inspire even them with a sense of her merit, and
make that carriage (which is now the subject of their derision) the
sole object of their imitation. Till she has arrived at this value of
herself, she must be contented with the fate of that uncommon creature,
a woman too humble.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 19._

Since my last, I have received a letter from Tom Trump, to desire that
I would do the fraternity of gamesters the justice to own, that there
are notorious sharpers who are not of their class. Among others, he
presented me with the picture of Harry Coppersmith in little, who (he
says) is at this day worth half a plum,[65] by means much more indirect
than by false dice. I must confess, there appeared some reason in what
he asserted; and he met me since, and accosted me in the following
manner: "It is wonderful to me, Mr. Bickerstaff, that you can pretend
to be a man of penetration, and fall upon us knights of the industry
as the wickedest of mortals, when there are so many who live in the
constant practice of baser methods unobserved. You cannot (though
you know the story of myself and the North Briton) but allow I am an
honester man than Will. Coppersmith, for all his great credit among
the Lombards. I get my money by men's follies, and he gets his by
their distresses. The declining merchant communicates his griefs to
him, and he augments them by extortion. If therefore regard is to be
had to the merit of the persons we injure, who is the more blamable,
he that oppresses an unhappy man, or he that cheats a foolish one? All
mankind are indifferently liable to adverse strokes of fortune; and he
who adds to them, when he might relieve them, is certainly a worse
subject, than he who unburdens a man whose prosperity is unwieldy to
him. Besides all which, he that borrows of Coppersmith, does it out of
necessity; he that plays with me, does it out of choice." I allowed
Trump there are men as bad as himself, which is the height of his
pretensions; and must confess, that Coppersmith is the most wicked and
impudent of all sharpers: a creature that cheats with credit, and is
a robber in the habit of a friend. The contemplation of this worthy
person made me reflect on the wonderful successes I have observed men
of the meanest capacities meet with in the world, and recollected
an observation I once heard a sage man make, which was, that he had
observed, that in some professions, the lower the understanding, the
greater the capacity. I remember, he instanced that of a banker, and
said, "That the fewer appetites, passions, and ideas a man had, he was
the better for his business." There is little Sir Tristram,[66] without
connection in his speech, or so much as common sense, has arrived by
his own natural parts at one of the greatest estates amongst us. But
honest Sir Tristram knows himself to be but a repository for cash: he
is just such a utensil as his iron chest, and may rather be said to
hold money, than possess it. There is nothing so pleasant as to be in
the conversation of these wealthy proficients. I had lately the honour
to drink half a pint with Sir Tristram, Harry Coppersmith, and Giles
Twoshoes. These wags give one another credit in discourse according to
their purses; they jest by the pound, and make answers as they honour
bills. Without vanity, I thought myself the prettiest fellow of the
company; but I had no manner of power over one muscle in their faces,
though they sneered at every word spoken by each other. Sir Tristram
called for a pipe of tobacco; and telling us tobacco was a pot-herb,
bid the drawer bring in the other half-pint. Twoshoes laughed at the
knight's wit without moderation. I took the liberty to say, it was but
a pun. "A pun!" says Coppersmith: "you would be a better man by £10,000
if you could pun like Sir Tristram." With that, they all burst out
together. The queer curs maintained this style of dialogue till we had
drunk our quarts apiece by half-pints. All I could bring away with me,
is, that Twoshoes is not worth £20,000; for his mirth, though he was as
insipid as either of the others, had no more effect upon the company,
than if he had been a bankrupt.


_From my own Apartment, August 19._

I have heard, it has been advised by a Diocesan to his inferior clergy,
that instead of broaching opinions of their own, and uttering doctrines
which may lead themselves and hearers into errors, they would read some
of the most celebrated sermons printed by others for the instruction
of their congregations. In imitation of such preachers at second-hand,
I shall transcribe from Bruyère one of the most elegant pieces of
raillery and satire which I have ever read. He describes the French, as
if speaking of a people not yet discovered, in the air and style of a
traveller.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I have heard talk of a country where the old men are gallant, polite
and civil: the young men, on the contrary, stubborn, wild, without
either manners or civility. They are free from passion for women, at
the age when in other countries they begin to feel it; and prefer
beasts, victuals, and ridiculous amours, before them. Amongst these
people, he is sober who is never drunk with anything but wine; the
too frequent use of it has rendered it flat and insipid to them: they
endeavour by brandy, and other strong liquors, to quicken their taste,
already extinguished, and want nothing to complete their debauches,
but to drink aqua fortis. The women of that country hasten the decay
of their beauty, by their artifices to preserve it: they paint their
cheeks, eyebrows, and shoulders, which they lay open, together with
their breasts, arms and ears, as if they were afraid to hide those
places which they think will please, and never think they show enough
of them. The physiognomies of the people of that country are not at
all neat, but confused and embarrassed with a bundle of strange hair,
which they prefer before their natural: with this they weave something
to cover their heads, which descends half-way down their bodies, hides
their features, and hinders you from knowing men by their faces. This
nation has besides this, their God and their king. The grandees go
every day at a certain hour to a temple they call a church: at the
upper end of that temple there stands an altar consecrated to their
God, where the priest celebrates some mysteries which they call holy,
sacred and tremendous. The great men make a vast circle at the foot
of the altar, standing with their backs to the priest and the holy
mysteries, and their faces erected towards their king, who is seen on
his knees upon a throne, and to whom they seem to direct the desires of
their hearts, and all their devotion. However, in this custom there is
to be remarked a sort of subordination; for the people appear adoring
their prince and their prince adoring God. The inhabitants of this
region call it----It is from forty-eight degrees of latitude, and more
than eleven hundred leagues by sea, from the Iroquois and Hurons."

       *       *       *       *       *

Letters from Hampstead[67] say, there is a coxcomb arrived there, of
a kind which is utterly new. The fellow has courage, which he takes
himself to be obliged to give proofs of every hour he lives. He is ever
fighting with the men, and contradicting the women. A lady who sent him
to me, superscribed him with this description out of Suckling:

    "_I am a man of war and might,
    And know thus much, that I can fight,
    Whether I am in the wrong or right,
                Devoutly._

    "_No woman under heaven I fear,
    New oaths I can exactly swear;
    And forty healths my brains will bear,
                Most stoutly._"


FOOTNOTES:

[65] A plum is £100,000.

[66] Sir Francis Child, according to the annotator mentioned in a note
to No. 4. Sir Francis Child, the founder of the banking-house, was
elected Lord Mayor in 1698, and was afterwards M.P. for the City and
for Devizes. He died in 1713.

[67] Hampstead was quite a health resort, with chalybeate springs. The
following advertisement appeared in No. 201: "A consort of music will
be performed in the Great Room at Hampstead, this present Saturday, the
22nd inst., at the desire of the gentlemen and ladies living in and
near Hampstead, by the best masters. Several of the opera songs, by a
girl of nine years, a scholar of Mr. Tenoe's, who never performed in
public, but once at York Buildings, with very good success. To begin
exactly at five, for the conveniency of gentlemen's returning. Tickets
to be had only at the Wells, at 2_s._ 6_d._ each. For the benefit of
Mr. Tenoe."




No. 58. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 20_, to _Tuesday, August 23, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 22._

Poor Cynthio[68] (who does me the honour to talk to me now and then
very freely of his most secret thoughts, and tells me his most private
frailties) owned to me, that though he is in his very prime of life,
love had killed all his desires, and he was now as much to be trusted
with a fine lady, as if he were eighty. "That one passion for Clarissa
has taken up," said he, "my whole soul, and all my idle flames are
extinguished, as you may observe, ordinary fires are often put out
by the sunshine." This was a declaration not to be made, but upon
the highest opinion of a man's sincerity; yet as much a subject of
raillery as such a speech would be, it is certain, that chastity is a
nobler quality, and as much to be valued in men as in women. The mighty
Scipio, who (as Bluffe[69] says in the comedy) was a pretty fellow in
his time, was of this mind, and is celebrated for it by an author of
good sense. When he lived, wit, and humour, and raillery, and public
success, were at as high a pitch in Rome, as at present in England; yet
I believe, there was no man in those days thought that general at all
ridiculous in his behaviour in the following account of him: Scipio,
at four and twenty years of age,[70] had obtained a great victory,
and a multitude of prisoners of each sex, and all conditions, fell
into his possession: among others, an agreeable virgin in her early
bloom and beauty. He had too sensible a spirit to see the most lovely
of all objects without being moved with passion: besides which, there
was no obligation of honour or virtue to restrain his desires towards
one who was his by the fortune of war. But a noble indignation, and
a sudden sorrow, which appeared in her countenance, when a conqueror
cast his eyes upon her, raised his curiosity to know her story. He was
informed, that she was a lady of the highest condition in that country,
and contracted to Indibilis, a man of merit and quality. The generous
Roman soon placed himself in the condition of that unhappy man, who was
to lose so charming a bride; and though a youth, a bachelor, a lover,
and a conqueror, immediately resolved to resign all the invitations
of his passion, and the rights of his power, to restore her to her
destined husband. With this purpose he commanded her parents and
relations, as well as her husband, to attend him at an appointed time.
When they met, and were waiting for the general, my author frames to
himself the different concern of an unhappy father, a despairing lover,
and a tender mother, in the several persons who were so related to
the captive. But for fear of injuring the delicate circumstances with
an old translation, I shall proceed to tell you, that Scipio appears
to them, and leads in his prisoner into their presence. The Romans
(as noble as they were) seemed to allow themselves a little too much
triumph over the conquered; therefore, as Scipio approached, they all
threw themselves on their knees, except the lover of the lady: but
Scipio observing in him a manly sullenness, was the more inclined to
favour him, and spoke to him in these words: "It is not the manner of
the Romans to use all the power they justly may: we fight not to ravage
countries, or break through the ties of humanity; I am acquainted
with your worth, and your interest in this lady: fortune has made me
your master; but I desire to be your friend. This is your wife; take
her, and may the gods bless you with her. But far be it from Scipio
to purchase a loose and momentary pleasure at the rate of making an
honest man unhappy." Indibilis' heart was too full to make him any
answer, but he threw himself at the feet of the general and wept aloud.
The captive lady fell into the same posture, and they both remained
so till the father burst into the following words: "O divine Scipio!
The gods have given you more than human virtue. O glorious leader! O
wondrous youth! Does not that obliged virgin give you, while she prays
to the gods for your prosperity, and thinks you sent down from them,
raptures, above all the transports which you could have reaped from
the possession of her injured person?" The temperate Scipio answered
him without much emotion, and, saying, "Father, be a friend to Rome,"
retired. An immense sum was offered as her ransom; but he sent it to
her husband, and smiling, said, "This is a trifle after what I have
given him already; but let Indibilis know, that chastity at my age is
a much more difficult virtue to practise than generosity." I observed,
Cynthio was very much taken with my narrative; but told me, this was a
virtue that would bear but a very inconsiderable figure in our days.
However I took the liberty to say, that we ought not to lose our ideas
of things, though we had debauched our true relish in our practice. For
after we have done laughing, solid virtue will keep its place in men's
opinions: and though custom made it not so scandalous as it ought
to be, to ensnare innocent women, and triumph in the falsehood; such
actions as we have here related, must be accounted true gallantry, and
rise the higher in our esteem, the farther they are removed from our
imitation.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 22._

A man would be apt to think in this laughing town, that it were
impossible a thing so exploded as speaking hard words should be
practised by any one that had ever seen good company; but as if there
were a standard in our minds as well as bodies, you see very many just
where they were twenty years ago, and more they cannot, will not arrive
at. Were it not thus, the noble Martius would not be the only man in
England whom nobody can understand, though he talks more than any man
else, Will. Dactyle the epigrammatist, Jack Comma the grammarian, Nick
Cross-grain who writes anagrams, and myself, made a pretty company at
a corner of this room, and entered very peaceably upon a subject fit
enough for us; which was, the examination of the force of the particle
"for," when Martius joined us. He being well known to us all, asked
what we were upon? For he had a mind to consummate the happiness of
the day, which had been spent among the stars of the first magnitude,
among the men of letters; and therefore, to put a period to it, as he
had commenced it, he should be glad to be allowed to participate of the
pleasure of our society. I told him the subject. "Faith, gentlemen,"
said Martius, "your subject is humble; and if you would give me leave
to elevate the conversation, I should humbly offer, that you would
enlarge your inquiries to the word 'forasmuch': for though I take
it," said he, "to be but one word; yet, the particle 'much' implying
quantity, the particle 'as' similitude, it will be greater, and
more like ourselves, to treat of 'forasmuch.'" Jack Comma is always
serious, and answered, "Martius, I must take the liberty to say, that
you have fallen into all this error and profuse manner of speech by a
certain hurry in your imagination, for want of being more exact in the
knowledge of the parts of speech; and it is so with all men who have
not well studied the particle 'for.' You have spoken 'for' without
making any inference, which is the great use of that particle. There is
no manner of force in your observation of quantity and similitude in
the syllables 'as' and 'much.' But it is ever the fault of men of great
wit to be incorrect; which evil they run into by an indiscreet use of
the word 'for.' Consider all the books of controversy which have been
written, and I'll engage you will observe, that all the debate lies in
this point, whether they brought in 'for' in a just manner, or forced
it in for their own use, rather than as understanding the use of the
word itself? There is nothing like familiar instances: you have heard
the story of the Irishman, who reading, 'Money for Live Hair,' took a
lodging and expected to be paid for living at that house. If this man
had known 'for' was in that place, of a quite different signification
from the particle 'to,' he could not have fallen into the mistake of
taking 'live' for what the Latins call _vivere_, or rather _habitare_"
Martius seemed at a loss; and admiring his profound learning, wished
he had been bred a scholar, for he did not take the scope of his
discourse. This wise debate, of which we had much more, made me reflect
upon the difference of their capacities, and wonder that there could
be as it were a diversity in men's genius for nonsense; that one
should bluster, while another crept in absurdities. Martius moves
like a blind man, lifting his legs higher than the ordinary way of
stepping; and Comma, like one who is only short-sighted, picking his
way when he should be marching on. Want of learning makes Martius a
brisk entertaining fool, and gives himself a full scope; but that
which Comma has, and calls learning, makes him diffident, and curb his
natural misunderstanding, to the great loss of the men of raillery.
This conversation confirmed me in the opinion, that learning usually
does but improve in us what nature endowed us with. He that wants good
sense, is unhappy in having it, for he has thereby only more ways of
exposing himself; and he that has sense, knows that learning is not
knowledge, but rather the art of using it.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 22._

We[71] have undoubted intelligence of the defeat of the King of Sweden;
and that prince (who for some years had hovered like an approaching
tempest, and was looked up at by all the nations of Europe, which
seemed to expect their fate according to the course he should take),
is now, in all probability, an unhappy exile, without the common
necessaries of life. His Czarish Majesty treats his prisoners with
great gallantry and distinction. Count Rheinsfeldt has had particular
marks of his Majesty's esteem, for his merit and services to his
master; but Count Piper, whom his Majesty believes author of the
most violent councils into which his prince entered, is disarmed and
entertained accordingly. That decisive battle was ended at nine in the
morning, and all the Swedish generals dined with the Czar that very
day, and received assurances that they should find Muscovy was not
unacquainted with the laws of honour and humanity.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] Lord Hinchinbroke; see Nos. 5, 22, 35.

[69] Captain Bluffe, in Congreve's "Old Bachelor," act ii. sc. 2:
"Faith, Hannibal was a very pretty fellow; but, Sir Joseph, comparisons
are odious; Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days, it must
be granted; but, alas, sir, were he alive now, he would be nothing,
nothing in the earth."

[70] He was really 27 at this time. Steele seems to have based this
article on a translation of Valerius Maximus. Florus says that Scipio
declined to see the lady; Livy's account is in his twenty-sixth book,
chap. 50.

[71] "Though we have men of intelligence that have spoken of the
proposals of peace and conferences which have been held at Tournay,
there are no certain advices of any such treaty. We" (folio).




No. 59. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 23_, to _Thursday, August 25, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 24._

Æsop has gained to himself an immortal renown for figuring the manners,
desires, passions, and interests of men, by fables of beasts and birds:
I shall in my future accounts of our modern heroes and wits, vulgarly
called "sharpers," imitate the method of that delightful moralist; and
think, I cannot represent those worthies more naturally than under the
shadow of a pack of dogs; for this set of men are like them, made up
of finders, lurchers, and setters. Some search for the prey, others
pursue others take it; and if it be worth it, they all come in at the
death, and worry the carcass. It would require a most exact knowledge
of the field, and the harbours where the deer lie, to recount all
the revolutions in the chase: but I am diverted from the train of my
discourse of the fraternity about this town by letters from Hampstead,
which give me an account, there is a late institution there, under the
name of a raffling-shop, which is, it seems, secretly supported by a
person who is a deep practitioner in the law, and, out of tenderness
of conscience, has, under the name of his maid Sisly, set up this
easier way of conveyancing and alienating estates from one family to
another. He is so far from having an intelligence with the rest of the
fraternity, that all the humbler cheats who appear there, are faced by
the partners in the bank, and driven off by the reflection of superior
brass. This notice is given to all the silly faces that pass that
way, that they may not be decoyed in by the soft allurement of a fine
lady, who is the sign to the pageantry. And at the same time Signior
Hawksly, who is the patron of the household, is desired to leave off
this interloping trade, or admit, as he ought to do, the knights of
the industry to their share in the spoil. But this little matter is
only by way of digression. Therefore to return to our worthies: the
present race of terriers and hounds would starve, were it not for the
enchanted Actæon, who has kept the whole pack for many successions
of hunting seasons. Actæon has long tracts of rich soil; but had the
misfortune in his youth to fall under the power of sorcery, and has
been ever since, some parts of the year, a deer, and in some parts a
man. While he is a man (such is the force of magic), he no sooner grows
to such a bulk and fatness, but he is again turned into a deer, and
hunted till he is lean; upon which he returns to his human shape. Many
arts have been tried, and many resolutions taken by Actæon himself,
to follow such methods as would break the enchantment; but all have
hitherto proved ineffectual. I have therefore, by midnight watchings
and much care, found out, that there is no way to save him from the
jaws of his hounds, but to destroy the pack, which, by astrological
prescience, I find I am destined to perform. For which end I have
sent out my familiar, to bring me a list of all the places where they
are harboured, that I may know where to sound my horn, and bring them
together, and take an account of their haunts and their marks, against
another opportunity.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 24._

The author of the ensuing letter, by his name, and the quotations he
makes from the ancients, seems a sort of spy from the old world, whom
we moderns ought to be careful of offending; therefore I must be free,
and own it a fair hit where he takes me, rather than disoblige him.[72]

     "SIR,

     "Having a peculiar humour of desiring to be somewhat the better or
     wiser for what I read, I am always uneasy when, in any profound
     writer (for I read no others), I happen to meet with what I
     cannot understand. When this falls out, it is a great grievance
     to me that I am not able to consult the author himself about
     his meaning; for commentators are a sect that has little share
     in my esteem. Your elaborate writings have, among many others,
     this advantage, that their author is still alive, and ready (as
     his extensive charity makes us expect) to explain whatever may
     be found in them too sublime for vulgar understandings. This,
     sir, makes me presume to ask you, how the Hampstead hero's[73]
     character could be perfectly new when the last letters came away,
     and yet Sir John Suckling so well acquainted with it sixty years
     ago? I hope, sir, you will not take this amiss: I can assure you,
     I have a profound respect for you; which makes me write this,
     with the same disposition with which Longinus bids us read Homer
     and Plato. 'When in reading,' says he, 'any of those celebrated
     authors, we meet with a passage to which we cannot well reconcile
     our reasons, we ought firmly to believe, that were those great
     wits present to answer for themselves, we should to our wonder
     be convinced, that we only are guilty of the mistakes we before
     attributed to them.' If you think fit to remove the scruple that
     now torments me, it will be an encouragement to me to settle a
     frequent correspondence with you, several things falling in my way
     which would not, perhaps, be altogether foreign to your purpose,
     and whereon your thoughts would be very acceptable to

  "Your most humble Servant,
  OBADIAH GREENHAT."


I own this is clean, and Mr. Greenhat has convinced me that I have writ
nonsense; yet am I not at all offended at him.

    _Scimus, et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim._[74]

This is the true art of raillery, when a man turns another into
ridicule, and shows at the same time he is in good humour, and not
urged by malice against the person he rallies. Obadiah Greenhat has
hit this very well: for to make an apology to Isaac Bickerstaff, an
unknown student and horary historian, as well as astrologer, and with
a grave face to say, he speaks of him by the same rules with which he
would treat Homer or Plato, is to place him in company where he cannot
expect to make a figure; and makes him flatter himself, that it is
only being named with them which renders him most ridiculous. I have
not known, and I am now past my grand climacteric, being sixty-four
years of age, according to my way of life, or rather (if you will allow
punning in an old gentleman) according to my way of pastime; I say,
old as I am, I have not been acquainted with many of the Greenhats.
There is indeed one Zedekiah Greenhat, who is lucky also in his way.
He has a very agreeable manner; for when he has a mind thoroughly to
correct a man, he never takes from him anything, but he allows him
something for it; or else, he blames him for things wherein he is not
defective, as well as for matters wherein he is. This makes a weak man
believe he is in jest in the whole. The other day he told Beau Prim,
who is thought impotent, that his mistress had declared she would not
have him, because he was a sloven, and had committed a rape. The beau
bit at the banter, and said very gravely, he thought to be clean was
as much as was necessary; and that as to the rape, he wondered by what
witchcraft that should come to her ears; but it had indeed cost him
a hundred pounds to hush the affair. The Greenhats are a family with
small voices and short arms, therefore they have power with none but
their friends: they never call after those who run away from them, or
pretend to take hold of you if you resist. But it has been remarkable,
that all who have shunned their company, or not listened to them, have
fallen into the hands of such as have knocked out their own brains, or
broken their bones. I have looked over our pedigree upon the receipt
of this epistle, and find the Greenhats are akin to the Staffs. They
descend from Maudlin, the left-handed wife of Nehemiah Bickerstaff,
in the reign of Harry II. And it is remarkable, that they are all
left-handed, and have always been very expert at single rapier. A man
must be very much used to their play to know how to defend himself; for
their posture is so different from that of the right-handed, that you
run upon their swords if you push forward; and they are in with you,
if you offer to fall back without keeping your guard. There have been
other letters lately sent to me which relate to other people: among
others, some whom I have heretofore declared to be so, are deceased.
I must not therefore break through rules so far, as to speak ill of
the dead. This maxim extends to all but the late Partridge, who still
denies his death. I am informed indeed by several, that he walks; but I
shall with all convenient speed lay him.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 24._

We hear from Tournay, that on the night between the 22nd and 23rd, they
went on with their works in the enemy's mines, and levelled the earth
which was taken out of them. The next day, at eight in the morning,
when the French observed we were relieving our trenches, they sprung
a larger mine than any they had fired during this siege, which killed
only four private sentinels. The ensuing night, we had three men and
two officers killed, as also seven men wounded. Between the 24th and
25th, we repaired some works, which the enemy had ruined. On the next
day, some of the enemy's magazines blew up; and it is thought they were
destroyed on purpose by some of their men, who are impatient of the
hardships of the present service. There happened nothing remarkable for
two or three days following. A deserter, who came out of the citadel on
the 27th, says, the garrison is brought to the utmost necessity; that
their bread and water are both very bad; and that they were reduced to
eat horse-flesh. The manner of fighting in this siege has discovered a
gallantry in our men unknown to former ages; their meeting with adverse
parties underground, where every step is taken with apprehensions of
being blown up with mines below them, or crushed by the fall of the
earth above them, and all this acted in darkness, has something in it
more terrible than ever is met with in any other part of a soldier's
duty. However, this is performed with great cheerfulness. In other
parts of the war we have also good prospects: Count Thaun has taken
Annecy, and the Count de Merci marched into Franche Comté, while his
Electoral Highness is much superior in number to Monsieur d'Harcourt;
so that both on the side of Savoy and Germany, we have reason to expect
very suddenly some great event.

FOOTNOTES:

[72] This letter was by Swift, and is printed in Scott's edition of his
works. The remainder of the article may be by either Swift or Addison.

[73] See No. 57.

[74] Horace, "Ars Poetica," II.




No. 60. [STEELE.[75]

From _Thursday, August 25_, to _Saturday, August 27_, 1709.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 26._

To proceed regularly in the history of my worthies, I ought to give
you an account of what has passed from day to day in this place; but a
young fellow of my acquaintance has so lately been rescued out of the
hands of the knights of the industry, that I rather choose to relate
the manner of his escape from them, and the uncommon way which was used
to reclaim him, than to go on in my intended diary. You are to know
then, that Tom Wildair is a student of the Inner Temple, and has spent
his time, since he left the university for that place, in the common
diversions of men of fashion; that is to say, in whoring, drinking, and
gaming. The two former vices he had from his father; but was led into
the last by the conversation of a partisan of the Myrmidons, who had
chambers near him. His allowance from his father was a very plentiful
one for a man of sense, but as scanty for a modern fine gentleman.
His frequent losses had reduced him to so necessitous a condition,
that his lodgings were always haunted by impatient creditors, and
all his thoughts employed in contriving low methods to support
himself, in a way of life from which he knew not how to retreat, and
in which he wanted means to proceed. There is never wanting some
good-natured person to send a man an account of what he has no mind
to hear; therefore many epistles were conveyed to the father of
this extravagant, to inform him of the company, the pleasures, the
distresses, and entertainments, in which his son passed his time. The
old fellow received these advices with all the pain of a parent, but
frequently consulted his pillow to know how to behave himself on such
important occasions, as the welfare of his son, and the safety of his
fortune. After many agitations of mind, he reflected, that necessity
was the usual snare which made men fall into meanness, and that a
liberal fortune generally made a liberal and honest mind; he resolved
therefore to save him from his ruin, by giving him opportunities of
tasting what it is to be at ease, and enclosed to him the following
order upon Sir Tristram Cash:[76]


     "SIR,

     "Pray pay to Mr. Tho. Wildair, or order, the sum of one thousand
     pounds, and place it to the account of,

  "Yours,
  HUMPHREY WILDAIR."


Tom was so astonished at the receipt of this order, that though he knew
it to be his father's hand, and that he had always large sums at Sir
Tristram's; yet a thousand pounds was a trust of which his conduct had
always made him appear so little capable, that he kept his note by him,
till he writ to his father the following letter:

     "HONOURED FATHER,

     "I have received an order under your hand for a thousand pounds,
     in words at length, and I think I could swear it is your hand. I
     have looked it over and over twenty thousand times. There is in
     plain letters, T, H, O, U, S, A, N, D,: and after it, the letters
     P, O, U, N, D, S. I have it still by me, and shall, I believe,
     continue reading it till I hear from you."

The old gentleman took no manner of notice of the receipt of his
letter; but sent him another order for three thousand pounds more.
His amazement on this second letter was unspeakable. He immediately
double-locked his door, and sat down carefully to reading and comparing
both his orders. After he had read them till he was half mad, he walked
six or seven turns in his chamber, then opens his door, then locks it
again; and to examine thoroughly this matter, he locks his door again,
puts his table and chairs against it; then goes into his closet, and
locking himself in, read his notes over again about nineteen times,
which did but increase his astonishment. Soon after, he began to
recollect many stories he had formerly heard of persons who had been
possessed with imaginations and appearances which had no foundation
in nature, but had been taken with sudden madness in the midst of a
seeming clear and untainted reason. This made him very gravely conclude
he was out of his wits; and with a design to compose himself, he
immediately betakes him to his nightcap, with a resolution to sleep
himself into his former poverty and senses. To bed therefore he goes at
noonday, but soon rose again, and resolved to visit Sir Tristram upon
this occasion. He did so, and dined with the knight, expecting he would
mention some advice from his father about paying him money; but no such
thing being said, "Look you, Sir Tristram," said he, "you are to know,
that an affair has happened, which----" "Look you," says Tristram,
"I know, Mr. Wildair, you are going to desire me to advance; but the
late call of the bank, where I have not yet made my last payment, has
obliged me----" Tom interrupted him, by showing him the bill of a
thousand pounds. When he had looked at it for a convenient time, and
as often surveyed Tom's looks and countenance; "Look you, Mr. Wildair,
a thousand pounds----" Before he could proceed, he shows him the order
for three thousand more. Sir Tristram examined the orders at the light,
and finding at the writing the name, there was a certain stroke in one
letter, which the father and he had agreed should be to such directions
as he desired might be more immediately honoured, he forthwith pays the
money. The possession of four thousand pounds gave my young gentleman
a new train of thoughts: he began to reflect upon his birth, the great
expectations he was born to, and the unsuitable ways he had long
pursued. Instead of that unthinking creature he was before, he is now
provident, generous, and discreet. The father and son have an exact and
regular correspondence, with mutual and unreserved confidence in each
other. The son looks upon his father as the best tenant he could have
in the country, and the father finds the son the most safe banker he
could have in the City.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 26._

There is not anything in nature so extravagant, but that you will find
one man or other that shall practise or maintain it; otherwise, Harry
Spondee could not have made so long an harangue as he did here this
evening concerning the force and efficacy of well-applied nonsense.
Among ladies, he positively averred, it was the most prevailing part of
eloquence; and had so little complaisance as to say, a woman is never
taken by her reason, but always by her passion. He proceeded to assert,
the way to move that, was only to astonish her. "I know," continued
he, "a very late instance of this; for being by accident in the next
room to Strephon, I could not help overhearing him as he made love to a
certain great lady's woman. The true method in your application to one
of this second rank of understanding, is not to elevate and surprise,
but rather to elevate and amaze. Strephon is a perfect master in this
kind of persuasion: his way is, to run over with a soft air a multitude
of words, without meaning or connection, but such as do each of them
apart give a pleasing idea, though they have nothing to do with each
other as he assembles them. After the common phrases of salutation,
and making his entry into the room, I perceived he had taken the
fair nymph's hand, and kissing it, said, 'Witness to my happiness ye
groves! Be still ye rivulets! Oh! woods, caves, fountains, trees,
dales, mountains, hills, and streams! Oh! fairest, could you love
me?' To which I overheard her answer, with a very pretty lisp, 'Oh!
Strephon, you are a dangerous creature: why do you talk these tender
things to me? But you men of wit----' 'Is it then possible,' said the
enamoured Strephon, 'that she regards my sorrows? Oh! Pity, thou balmy
cure to an heart overloaded. If rapture, solicitation, soft desire,
and pleasing anxiety----But still I live in the most afflicting of all
circumstances, doubt----Cannot my charmer name the place and moment?

    _There all those joys insatiably to prove,
    With which rich beauty feeds the glutton love._

Forgive me, madam, it is not that my heart is weary of its chain,
but----' This incoherent stuff was answered by a tender sigh, 'Why
do you put your wit to a weak woman?' Strephon saw he had made some
progress in her heart, and pursued it, by saying that he would
certainly wait upon her at such an hour near Rosamond's Pond;[77] and
then----The sylvian deities, and rural powers of the place, sacred
and inviolable to love; love, the mover of all noble hearts, should
hear his vows repeated by the streams and echoes. The assignation
was accordingly made." This style he calls the unintelligible method
of speaking his mind; and I'll engage, had this gallant spoken plain
English, she had never understood him half so readily: for we may
take it for granted, that he'll be esteemed as a very cold lover, who
discovers to his mistress that he is in his senses.


_From my own Apartment, August 26._

The following letter came to my hand, with a request to have the
subject recommended to our readers, particularly the smart fellows,
who are desired to repair to Major Touchhole,[78] who can help them to
firelocks that are only fit for exercise.


_Just ready for the Press_,

"Mars Triumphant, or, London's Glory: being the whole art of
Encampment, with the method of embattling Armies, marching them off,
posting the Officers, forming Hollow Squares, and the various Ways
of paying the Salute with the Halfpike; as it was performed by the
Trained-bands of London this year One thousand seven hundred and
nine, in that Nursery of Bellona the Artillery-ground.[79] Wherein
you have a new method how to form a strong line of foot, with large
intervals between each platoon, very useful to prevent the breaking in
of horse. A civil way of performing the military ceremony; wherein the
major alights from his horse, and at the head of his company salutes
the lieutenant-colonel; and the lieutenant-colonel, to return the
compliment, courteously dismounts, and after the same manner salutes
his major: exactly as it was performed, with abundance of applause,
on the 5th of July last. Likewise an account of a new invention made
use of in the Red Regiment to quell mutineering captains; with several
other things alike useful for the public. To which is added, An
Appendix by Major Touchhole; proving the method of discipline now used
in our armies to be very defective. With an essay towards an amendment.
Dedicated to the Lieutenant-Colonel of the First Regiment."

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Bickerstaff has now in the press, "A Defence of awkward Fellows
against the Class of the Smarts: with a Dissertation upon the Gravity
which becomes weighty Persons. Illustrated by way of Fable, and a
Discourse on the Nature of the Elephant, the Cow, the Dray-horse,
and the Dromedary, which have motions equally steady and grave. To
this is added, a Treatise written by an Elephant (according to Pliny)
against receiving Foreigners into the Forest. Adapted to some present
Circumstances. Together with Allusions to such Beasts as declare
against the poor Palatines."

FOOTNOTES:

[75] See No. 56.

[76] See No. 57.

[77] This "lake of love" (No. 170) was a sheet of water in the
south-west corner of St. James's Park, "long consecrated," as Warburton
says, "to disastrous love and elegiac poetry." It is frequently
mentioned in plays of the time as a place of assignation. See Pope's
"Rape of the Lock":

    "This the blest lover shall for Venus take,
    And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake."

The anxious father of an heiress, who had given him the slip, says
(_Spectator_, No. 311), "After an hour's search she returned of
herself, having been taking a walk, as she told me, by Rosamond's
Pond." The pond was filled up in 1770.

[78] Said to be a Mr. Gregory, of Thames Street, a train-band major.
See also No. 265.

[79] See Nos. 28, 41.




No. 61. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, August 27_, to _Tuesday, August 30, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 29._

Among many phrases which have crept into conversation, especially
of such company as frequent this place, there is not one which
misleads me more, than that of a fellow of a great deal of fire. This
metaphorical term, "fire," has done much good in keeping coxcombs in
awe of one another; but at the same time it has made them troublesome
to everybody else. You see in the very air of a fellow of fire,
something so expressive of what he would be at, that if it were not
for self-preservation, a man would laugh out. I had last night the
fate to drink a bottle with two of these firemen, who are indeed
dispersed like the myrmidons[80] in all quarters, and to be met with
among those of the most different education. One of my companions was
a scholar with fire; the other a soldier of the same complexion. My
learned man would fall into disputes, and argue without any manner
of provocation or contradiction: the other was decisive without
words, and would give a shrug or an oath to express his opinion. My
learned man was a mere scholar, and my man of war as mere a soldier.
The particularity of the first was ridiculous; that of the second,
terrible. They were relations by blood, which in some measure moderated
their extravagances towards each other: I gave myself up merely as a
person of no note in the company, but as if brought to be convinced,
that I was an inconsiderable thing, any otherwise than that they would
show each other to me, and make me spectator of the triumph they
alternately enjoyed. The scholar has been very conversant with books,
and the other with men only; which makes them both superficial: for
the taste of books is necessary to our behaviour in the best company,
and the knowledge of men is required for a true relish of books: but
they have both fire, which makes one pass for a man of sense, and
the other for a fine gentleman. I found I could easily enough pass
my time with the scholar; for if I seemed not to do justice to his
parts and sentiments, he pitied me, and let me alone. But the warrior
could not let it rest there; I must know all that happened within his
shallow observations of the nature of the war: to all which he added,
an air of laziness, and contempt of those of his companions who were
eminent for delighting in the exercise and knowledge of their duty.
Thus it is, that all the young fellows of much animal life, and little
understanding, that repair to our armies, usurp upon the conversation
of reasonable men, under the notion of having fire. The word has
not been of greater use to shallow lovers, to supply them with chat
to their mistresses, than it has been to pretended men of pleasure
to support them in being pert and dull, and saying of every fool of
their order, "Such a one has fire." There is a Colonel Truncheon, who
marches with divisions ready on all occasions; a hero who never doubted
in his life, but is ever positively fixed in the wrong, not out of
obstinate opinion, but invincible stupidity. It is very unhappy for
this latitude of London, that it is possible for such as can learn
only fashion, habit, and a set of common phrases of salutation, to
pass with no other accomplishments in this nation of freedom for men
of conversation and sense. All these ought to pretend to, is, not to
offend; but they carry it so far, as to be negligent, whether they
offend or not; for they have fire. But their force differs from true
spirit, as much as a vicious from a mettlesome horse. A man of fire
is a general enemy to all the waiters where you drink, is the only
man affronted at the company's being neglected, and makes the drawers
abroad, his _valet-de-chambre_ and footman at home, know, he is not
to be provoked without danger. This is not the fire that animates the
noble Marinus,[81] a youth of good nature, affability, and moderation.
He commands his ship, as an intelligence moves its orb; he is the
vital life, and his officers the limbs of the machine. His vivacity is
seen in doing all the offices of life with readiness of spirit, and
propriety in the manner of doing them. To be ever active in laudable
pursuits, is the distinguishing character of a man of merit; while the
common behaviour of every gay coxcomb of fire is to be confidently in
the wrong, and dare to persist in it.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 29._

It is a common objection against writings of a satirical mixture, that
they hurt men in their reputations, and consequently in their fortunes
and possessions; but a gentleman who frequents this room declared, he
was of opinion it ought to be so, provided such performances had their
proper restrictions. The greatest evils in human society are such as
no law can come at; as in the case of ingratitude, where the manner of
obliging very often leaves the benefactor without means of demanding
justice, though that very circumstance should be the more binding to
the person who has received the benefit. On such an occasion, shall it
be possible for the malefactor to escape?

And is it not lawful to set marks upon persons who live within the
law, and do base things? Shall not we use the same protection of those
laws to punish them, which they have to defend themselves? We shall
therefore take it for a very moral action to find a good appellation
for offenders, and to turn them into ridicule under feigned names.
I am advertised by a letter of August the 25th, that the name of
Coppersmith[82] has very much wanted explanation in the city, and by
that means unjustly given, by those who are conscious they deserve
it themselves, to an honest and worthy citizen[83]--belonging to the
Copper Office; but that word is framed out of a moral consideration
of wealth amongst men, whereby he that has gotten any part of it by
injustice and extortion, is to be thought in the eye of virtuous men
so much the poorer for such gain. Thus all the gold which is torn from
our neighbours, by making advantage of their wants, is copper; and
I authorise the Lombards to distinguish themselves accordingly. All
the honest, who make a reasonable profit, both for the advantage of
themselves and those they deal with, are goldsmiths; but those who tear
unjustly all they can, coppersmiths. At the same time I desire him who
is most guilty, to sit down satisfied with riches and contempt, and
be known by the title of the Coppersmith; as being the chief of that
respected, contemptible fraternity.

This is the case of all others mentioned in our lucubrations,
particularly of Stentor,[84] who goes on in his vociferations at St.
Paul's with so much obstinacy, that he has received admonition from
St. Peter's for it from a person of eminent wit and piety;[85] but who
is by old age reduced to the infirmity of sleeping at a service, to
which he had been fifty years attentive, and whose death, whenever it
happens, may, with that of the saints, well be called, falling asleep;
for the innocence of his life makes him expect it as indifferently as
he does his ordinary rest. This gives him a cheerfulness of spirit to
rally his own weakness, and hath made him write to Stentor to hearken
to my admonitions. "Brother Stentor," said he, "for the repose of the
church, hearken to Bickerstaff, and consider, that while you are so
devout at St. Paul's, we cannot sleep for you at St. Peter's."


_From my own Apartment, August 29._

There has been lately sent me a much harder question than was ever yet
put to me since I professed astrology; to wit, how far, and to what
age, women ought to make their beauty their chief concern? The regard
and care of their faces and persons are as variously to be considered,
as their complexions themselves differ; but if one may transgress
against the careful practice of the fair sex so much as to give an
opinion against it, I humbly presume, that less care, better applied,
would increase their empire, and make it last as long as life. Whereas
now, from their own example, we take our esteem of their merit; for it
is very just, that she who values herself only on her beauty, should
be regarded by others on no other consideration. There is certainly
a liberal and pedantic education among women as well as men, and the
merit lasts accordingly. She therefore that is bred with freedom,
and in good company, considers men according to their respective
characters and distinctions; while she that is locked up from such
observations, will consider her father's butler not as a butler, but
as a man. In like manner, when men converse with women, the well-bred
and intelligent are looked upon with an observation suitable to their
different talents and accomplishments, without respect to their sex;
while a mere woman can be observed under no consideration but that of a
woman; and there can be but one reason for placing any value upon her,
or losing time in her company. Wherefore I am of opinion, that the rule
for pleasing long, is, to obtain such qualifications as would make them
so were they not women. Let the beauteous Cleomira then show us her
real face, and know, that every stage of life has its peculiar charms,
and that there is no necessity for fifty to be fifteen: that childish
colouring of her cheeks is as ungraceful, as that shape would have been
when her face wore its real countenance. She has sense, and ought to
know, that if she will not follow nature, nature will follow her. Time
then has made that person, which had (when I visited her grandfather)
an agreeable bloom, sprightly air, and soft utterance, now no less
grateful in a lovely aspect, an awful manner, and maternal wisdom. But
her heart was so set upon her first character, that she neglects and
repines at her present; not that she is against a more staid conduct
in others, for she recommends gravity, circumspection, and severity of
countenance, to her daughter. Thus, against all chronology, the girl
is the sage, the mother the fine lady. But these great evils proceed
from an unaccountable wild method in the education of the better half
of the world, the women. We have no such thing as a standard for good
breeding. I was the other day at my Lady Wealthy's, and asked one of
her daughters, how she did? She answered, she never conversed with men.
The same day I visited at Lady Plantwell's, and asked her daughter the
same question. She answers, "What's that to you, you old thief?" and
gives me a slap on the shoulders. I defy any man in England, except
he knows the family before he enters, to be able to judge whether he
shall be agreeable or not, when he comes into it. You find either some
odd old woman, who is permitted to rule as long as she lives, in hopes
of her death, and to interrupt all things; or some impertinent young
woman, who will talk sillily upon the strength of looking beautifully.
I will not answer for it, but that it may be, that I (like all other
old fellows) have a fondness for the fashions and manners which
prevailed when I was young and in fashion myself: but certain it is,
that the taste of grace and beauty is very much lowered! The fine
women they show me nowadays, are at best but pretty girls to me, who
have seen Sacharissa,[86] when all the world repeated the poems she
inspired; and Villaria,[87] when a youthful king was her subject. The
things you follow and make songs on now, should be sent to knit, or sit
down to bobbing or bone-lace: they are indeed neat, and so are their
sempstresses; they are pretty, and so are their handmaids. But that
graceful motion, that awful mien, and that winning attraction, which
grew upon them from the thoughts and conversations they met with in my
time, are now no more seen. They tell me I am old: I am glad I am so;
for I don't like your present young ladies. Those among us who do set
up for anything of decorum, do so mistake the matter, that they offend
on the other side. Five young ladies who are of no small fame for their
great severity of manners and exemplary behaviour, would lately go
nowhere with their lovers but to an organ-loft in a church, where they
had a cold treat, and some few opera songs, to their great refreshment
and edification. Whether these prudent persons had not been as much so
if this had been done at a tavern, is not very hard to determine. It is
such silly starts and incoherences which undervalue the beauteous sex,
and puzzle us in our choice of sweetness of temper and simplicity of
manners, which are the only lasting charms of woman. But I must leave
this important subject at present, for some matters which press for
publication; as you will observe in the following letter:

     "DEAR SIR,

     "It is natural for distant relations to claim kindred with a
     rising family; though at this time, zeal to my country, not
     interest, calls me out. The City forces[88] being shortly to take
     the field, all good Protestants would be pleased that their arms
     and valour should shine with equal lustre. A council of war was
     lately held, the Honourable Colonel Mortar being president. After
     many debates, it was unanimously resolved, that Major Blunder,
     a most expert officer, should be detached for Birmingham to buy
     arms, and to prove his firelocks on the spot, as well to prevent
     expense, as disappointment in the day of battle. The major
     being a person of consummate experience, was invested with a
     discretionary power. He knew from ancient story, that securing
     the rear, and making a glorious retreat, was the most celebrated
     piece of conduct. Accordingly such measures were taken to prevent
     surprise in the rear of his arms, that even Pallas herself, in the
     shape of rust, could not invade them. They were drawn into close
     order, firmly embodied, and arrived securely without touch-holes.
     Great and national actions deserve popular applause; and as
     praise is no expense to the public, therefore, dearest kinsman, I
     communicate this to you, as well to oblige this nursery of heroes,
     as to do justice to my native country. I am

  "Your most
  Affectionate Kinsman,
  OFFSPRING TWIG.

  "London, _August 26_, Artillery Ground.

     "A war-horse, belonging to one of the colonels of the artillery,
     to be let or sold. He may be seen, adorned with ribands, and set
     forth to the best advantage, the next training day."

FOOTNOTES:

[80] See No. 56.

[81] Perhaps Lord Forbes (afterwards third Earl of Granard), a naval
officer on friendly terms with Swift. (See "Journal to Stella," July
21-23, 1711, and No. 271, note.) He was born in 1685, and was therefore
only 24 in 1709.

[82] See No. 57.

[83] Probably Sir Humphrey Mackworth (1657-1727), the governor of
a company formed for working copper mines in England. Yalden wrote
verses "To Sir Humphrey Mackworth on working the mines." In 1709,
after internal quarrels in the Corporation, Mackworth was accused
of peculation, and in 1710 the House of Commons voted him guilty of
fraud; but a bill alienating his estates fell through owing to the
failing power of the Whigs. Mackworth was one of the founders of the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, and published some books on
religious subjects, besides many political pamphlets.

[84] See No. 54.

[85] Dr. Robert South, who was, when this paper was written, nearly 75,
and in bad health. In January 1709, Swift wrote to Lord Halifax, "Pray,
my lord, desire Dr. South to die about the fall of the leaf," and in
October Halifax wrote, "Dr. South holds out still, but he cannot be
immortal." He lived until 1716.

[86] Waller's "Sacharissa" was Lady Dorothy Sidney (1617-1684),
daughter of Robert, second Earl of Leicester, and wife of Robert,
second Earl of Sunderland.

[87] The Duchess of Cleveland; see No. 50.

[88] See No. 60.




No. 62. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, August 30_, to _Thursday, September 1, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, August 31._

This place being frequented by persons of condition, I am desired to
recommend a dog kennel to any who shall want a pack. It lies not far
from Suffolk Street,[89] and is kept by two who were formerly dragoons
in the French service; but left plundering for the more orderly life of
keeping dogs: besides that, according to their expectation, they find
it more profitable, as well as more conducing to the safety of their
skin, to follow this trade, than the beat of drum. Their residence is
very convenient for the dogs to whelp in, and bring up a right breed to
follow the scent. The most eminent of the kennel are bloodhounds, which
lead the van, and are as follow:


_A List of the Dogs._

Jowler, of a right Irish breed, called Captain.

Rockwood, of French race, with long hair, by the courtesy of England
called also Captain.

Pompey, a tall hound, kennelled in a convent in France, and knows a
rich soil.

The two last hunt in couple, and are followed by,

Ringwood, a French black whelp of the same breed, a fine open-mouthed
dog; and an old sick hound, always in kennel; but of the true blood,
with a good nose, French breed.

There is also an Italian greyhound, with good legs, and knows perfectly
the ground from Ghent to Paris.

Ten setting dogs, right English.

Four mongrels, of the same nation.

And twenty whelps, fit for any game.

These curs are so extremely hungry, that they are too keen at the
sport, and worry their game before the keepers can come in. The other
day a wild boar from the north rushed into the kennel, and at first
indeed defended himself against the whole pack; but they proved at
last too many for him, and tore twenty-five pounds of flesh from off
his back, with which they filled their bellies, and made so great a
noise in the neighbourhood, that the keepers are obliged to hasten the
sale. That quarter of the town where they are kennelled is generally
inhabited by strangers, whose blood the hounds have often sucked in
such a manner, that many a German count, and other _virtuosi_, who come
from the Continent, have lost the intention of their travels, and been
unable to proceed on their journey.

If these hounds are not very soon disposed of to some good purchaser,
as also those at the kennels nearer St. James's, it is humbly proposed,
that they may be altogether transported to America, where the dogs are
few, and the wild beasts many. Or, that during their stay in these
parts, some eminent justice of the peace may have it in particular
direction to visit their harbours; and that the Sheriff of Middlesex
may allow him the assistance of the common hangman to cut off their
ears, or part of them, for distinction-sake, that we may know the
bloodhounds from the mongrels and setters. Till these things are
regulated, you may inquire at a house belonging to Paris at the upper
end of Suffolk Street, or a house belonging to Ghent, opposite to the
lower end of Pall Mall, and know further.

It were to be wished that these curs were disposed of; for it is a
very great nuisance to have them tolerated in cities. That of London
takes care, that the common hunt, assisted by the Sergeants and
bailiffs, expel them wherever they are found within the walls; though
it is said, some private families keep them, to the destruction of
their neighbours: but it is desired, that all who know of any of these
curs, or have been bit by them, would send me their marks, and the
houses where they are harboured, and I do not doubt but I shall alarm
the people so well, as to have them used like mad dogs wherever they
appear. In the meantime, I advise all such as entertain this kind
of vermin, that if they give me timely notice that their dogs are
dismissed, I shall let them go unregarded, otherwise am obliged to
admonish my fellow subjects in this behalf, and instruct them how to
avoid being worried, when they are going about their lawful professions
and callings. There was lately a young gentleman bit to the bone; who
has now indeed recovered his health, but is as lean as a skeleton. It
grieved my heart to see a gentleman's son run among the hounds; but he
is, they tell me, as fleet and as dangerous as the best of the pack.


_Will's Coffee-house, August 31._

This evening was spent at our table in discourse of propriety of
words and thoughts, which is Mr. Dryden's definition of wit;[90] but
a very odd fellow, who would intrude upon us, and has a briskness of
imagination more like madness than regular thought, said,[91] that
Harry Jacks was the first who told him of the taking of the citadel
of Tournay,[92] "and," says he, "Harry deserves a statue more than
the boy who ran to the Senate with a thorn in his foot to tell of a
victory." We were astonished at the assertion, and Spondee asked him,
"What affinity is there between that boy and Harry, that you say their
merit resembles so much as you just now told us?" "Why," says he,
"Harry you know is in the French interest, and it was more pain to him
to tell the story of Tournay, than to the boy to run upon a thorn to
relate a victory which he was glad of." The gentleman who was in the
chair upon the subject of propriety of words and thoughts, would by no
means allow, that there was wit in this comparison; and urged, that to
have anything gracefully said, it must be natural; and that whatsoever
was introduced in common discourse with so much premeditation, was
insufferable. That critic went on: "Had Mr. Jacks," said he, "told
him the citadel was taken, and another had answered, 'He deserves a
statue as well as the Roman boy, for he told it with as much pain';
it might have passed for a sprightly expression: but there is a wit
for discourse, and a wit for writing. The easiness and familiarity of
the first, is not to savour in the least of study; but the exactness
of the other, is to admit of something like the freedom of discourse,
especially in discourses of humanity, and what regards the Belles
Lettres. I do not in this allow, that Bickerstaff's _Tatlers_, or
discourses of wit by retail, and for the penny, should come within the
description of writing." I bowed at his compliment, and--but he would
not let me proceed.

You see in no place of conversation the perfection of speech so much
as in an accomplished woman. Whether it be, that there is a partiality
irresistible when we judge of that sex, or whatever it is, you may
observe a wonderful freedom in their utterance, and an easy flow of
words, without being distracted (as we often are who read much) in the
choice of dictions and phrases. My Lady Courtly is an instance of this:
she was talking the other day of dress, and did it with so excellent an
air and gesture, that you would have sworn she had learned her action
from our Demosthenes. Besides which, her words were particularly
well adapted to the matter she talked of, that the dress was a new
thing to us men. She avoided the terms of art in it, and described an
unaffected garb and manner in so proper terms, that she came up to that
of Horace's "_simplex munditiis_";[93] which, whoever can translate in
two words, has as much eloquence as Lady Courtly. I took the liberty to
tell her, that all she had said with so much good grace, was spoken in
two words in Horace, but would not undertake to translate them; upon
which she smiled, and told me, she believed me a very great scholar,
and I took my leave.


_From my own Apartment, August 31._

I have been just now reading the introduction to the History of
Catiline by Sallust, an author who is very much in my favour; but
when I reflect upon his professing himself wholly disinterested, and
at the same time see how industriously he has avoided saying anything
to the praise of Cicero, to whose vigilance the commonwealth owed its
safety, it very much lessens my esteem for that writer; and is one
argument, among others, for laughing at all who pretend to be out of
the interests of the world, and profess purely to act for the service
of mankind, without the least regard to themselves. I do not deny
but that the rewards are different; some aim at riches, others at
honour, by their public services. However, they are all pursuing some
end to themselves, though indeed those ends differ as much as right
and wrong. The most graceful way then, I should think, would be to
acknowledge, that you aim at serving yourselves; but at the same time
make it appear, it is for the service of others that you have these
opportunities. Of all the disinterested professors I have ever heard
of, I take the boatswain of Dampier's ship to be the most impudent, but
the most excusable.[94] You are to know, that in the wild searches that
navigator was making, they happened to be out at sea, far distant from
any shore, in want of all the necessaries of life; insomuch, that they
began to look, not without hunger, on each other. The boatswain was a
fat, healthy, fresh fellow, and attracted the eyes of the whole crew.
In such an extreme necessity, all forms of superiority were laid aside:
the captain and lieutenant were safe only by being carrion, and the
unhappy boatswain in danger only by being worth eating. To be short,
the company were unanimous, and the boatswain must be cut up. He saw
their intention, and desired he might speak a few words before they
proceeded; which being permitted, he delivered himself as follows:

     "GENTLEMEN SAILORS,

     "Far be it that I should speak it for any private interest of my
     own, but I take it, that I should not die with a good conscience,
     if I did not confess to you that I am not sound. I say, gentlemen,
     justice, and the testimony of a good conscience, as well as love
     of my country, to which I hope you will all return, oblige me
     to own, that Black Kate at Deptford has made me very unsafe to
     eat; and (I speak it with shame) I am afraid, gentlemen, I should
     poison you."

This speech had a good effect in the boatswain's favour; but the
surgeon of the ship protested, he had cured him very well, and offered
to eat the first steak of him himself.

The boatswain replied (like an orator, with a true notion of the
people, and in hopes to gain time) that he was heartily glad if
he could be for their service, and thanked the surgeon for his
information. "However," said he, "I must inform you, for your own
good, that I have ever since my cure been very thirsty and dropsical;
therefore I presume it would be much better to tap me, and drink me
off, than eat me at once, and have no man in the ship fit to be drank."
As he was going on with his harangue, a fresh gale arose, and gave
the crew hopes of a better repast at the nearest shore, to which they
arrived next morning.

Most of the self-denials we meet with are of this sort; therefore I
think he acts fairest who owns, he hopes at least to have brother's
fare, without professing that he gives himself up with pleasure to be
devoured for the preservation of his fellows.


_St. James's Coffee-house, August 31._

Letters from the Hague of the 6th of September, N.S., say, that the
governor of the citadel at Tournay having offered their highnesses the
Duke of Marlborough and the Prince of Savoy to surrender that place
on the 31st of the last month, on terms which were not allowed them
by those princes, hostilities were thereupon renewed; but that on the
3rd the place was surrendered, with a seeming condition granted to the
besieged above that of being prisoners of war; for they were forthwith
to be conducted to Condé, but were to be exchanged for prisoners of
the Allies, and particularly those of Warneton were mentioned in the
demand. Both armies having stretched towards Mons with the utmost
diligence, that of the Allies, though they passed the much more
difficult road, arrived first before that town, which they have now
actually invested; and the quartermaster-general was, at the time of
despatching these letters, marking the ground for the encampment of the
covering army.


_To the Booksellers, or others whom this Advertisement may concern._

Mr. Omicron,[95] the unborn poet, gives notice, that he writes all
treatises as well in verse as prose, being a ninth son, and translates
out of all languages, without learning or study.

If any bookseller will treat for his pastoral on the "Siege and
Surrender of the Citadel of Tournay," he must send in his proposals
before the news of a capitulation for any other town.

The undertaker for either play-house may have an opera written by him;
or, if it shall suit their design, a satire upon operas; both ready for
next winter.

This is to give notice, that Richard Farloe, M.A., well known for
his acuteness in dissection of dead bodies, and his great skill in
osteology, has now laid by that practice; and having, by great study,
and much labour, acquired the knowledge of an antidote for all the most
common maladies of the stomach, is removed, and may be applied to, at
any time of the day, in the south entrance from Newgate Street into
Christ's Hospital.

FOOTNOTES:

[89] Gambling-houses were very numerous at this time; they were largely
supported by foreign adventurers, many of whom lived in Suffolk Street,
Haymarket.

[90] Dryden defines wit as "a propriety of thoughts and words; or,
in other terms, thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the subject"
(Preface to "The State of Innocence"). Addison observes that this "is
not so properly a definition of wit, as of good writing in general"
(_Spectator_, No. 62).

[91] "Told us" (folio).

[92] See news paragraph below.

[93] I Od. v. 5. See No. 212, for Steele's remarks on a well-dressed
woman, in reply to a lady who asked what was the meaning of these words.

[94] William Dampier (1652-1715), captain, traveller and buccaneer,
tells another story of a voyage in 1686, when provisions were nearly
exhausted. "The men had contrived first to kill Captain Swan and eat
him when the victuals were gone, and after him all of us who were
accessory in promoting the undertaking this voyage. This made Captain
Swan say to me, after our arrival at Guam, 'Ah, Dampier, you would have
made them but a poor meal'; for I was as lean as the captain was lusty
and fleshy."

[95] It has been suggested that there is here a reference to John
Oldmixon, the Whig historian and journalist; but in No. 71 Steele seems
to disclaim such an intention.




No. 63. [STEELE, ETC.

From _Thursday September 1_, to _Saturday, September 3, 1709_.


_White's Chocolate-house, September 2._


_Of the Enjoyment of Life with Regard to others._[96]

I have ever thought it the greatest diminution to the Roman glory
imaginable, that in their institution of public triumphs, they led
their enemies in chains when they were prisoners. It is to be allowed,
that doing all honour to the superiority of heroes above the rest of
mankind, must needs conduce to the glory and advantage of a nation;
but what shocks the imagination to reflect upon, is, that a polite
people should think it reasonable, that an unhappy man, who was no way
inferior to the victor, but by the chance of war, should be led like a
slave at the wheels of his chariot. Indeed these other circumstances
of a triumph, that it was not allowed in a civil war, lest part of it
should be in tears, while the other was making acclamations; that it
should not be allowed, except such a number were slain in battle; that
the general should be disgraced who made a false muster of his dead:
these, I say, had great and politic ends in their being established,
and tended to the apparent benefit of the commonwealth. But this
behaviour to the conquered had no foundation in nature or policy,
only to gratify the insolence of a haughty people, who triumphed
over barbarous nations, by acting what was fit only for those very
barbarians to practise. It seems wonderful, that they who were so
refined as to take care, that to complete the honour done to the
victorious officer, no power should be known above him in the Empire
on the day of his triumph, but that the consuls themselves should be
but guests at his table that evening, could not take it into thought
to make the man of chief note among his prisoners one of the company.
This would have improved the gladness of the occasion, and the victor
had made a much greater figure, in that no other man appeared unhappy
on his day, than in that no other man appeared great. But we will waive
at present such important incidents, and turn our thoughts rather to
the familiar part of human life, and we shall find, that the great
business we contend for, is in a less degree what those Romans did on
more solemn occasions, to triumph over our fellow creatures; and there
is hardly a man to be found, who would not rather be in pain to appear
happy, than be really happy and thought miserable. This men attempt
by sumptuous equipages, splendid houses, numerous servants, and all
the cares and pursuits of an ambitious or fashionable life. Bromeo
and Tabio are particularly ill-wishers to each other, and rivals in
happiness. There is no way in nature so good to procure the esteem of
the one, as to give him little notices of certain secret points wherein
the other is uneasy. Gnatho has the skill of doing this, and never
applauds the improvements Bromeo has been many years making, and ever
will be making; but he adds, "Now this very thing was my thought when
Tabio was pulling up his underwood, yet he never would hear of it; but
now your gardens are in this posture, he is ready to hang himself.
Well, to be sincere, that situation of his can never make an agreeable
seat: he may make his house and appurtenances what he pleases; but he
cannot remove them to the same ground where Bromeo stands. But of all
things under the sun, a man that is happy at second-hand is the most
monstrous." "It is a very strange madness," answers Bromeo, "if a
man on these occasions can think of any end but pleasing himself. As
for my part, if things are convenient, I hate all ostentation: there
is no end of the folly of adapting our affairs to the imagination of
others." Upon which, the next thing he does, is to enlarge whatever he
hears his rival has attempted to imitate him in; but their misfortune
is, that they are in their time of life, in their estates, and in their
understandings equal; so that the emulation may continue to the last
day of their lives. As it stands now, Tabio has heard Bromeo has lately
purchased two hundred a year in the annuities since he last settled the
account of their happiness, in which he thought himself to have the
balance. This may seem a very fantastical way of thinking in these men;
but there is nothing so common, as a man's endeavouring rather to go
farther than some other person towards an easy fortune, than to form
any certain standard that would make himself happy.


_Will's Coffee-house, September 2._

Mr. Dactile has been this evening very profuse of his eloquence upon
the talent of turning things into ridicule; and seemed to say very
justly, that there was generally in it something too disingenuous
for the society of liberal men, except it were governed by the
circumstances of persons, time, and place. "This talent," continued
he, "is to be used as a man does his sword, not to be drawn but in
his own defence, or to bring pretenders and impostors in society to
a true light." But we have seen this faculty so mistaken, that the
burlesque of Virgil himself has passed, among men of little taste, for
wit; and the noblest thoughts that can enter into the heart of man,
levelled with ribaldry and baseness: though by the rules of justice,
no man ought to be ridiculed for any imperfection, who does not set
up for eminent sufficiency in that way wherein he is defective. Thus
cowards, who would hide themselves by an affected terror in their mien
and dress; and pedants, who would show the depth of their knowledge
by a supercilious gravity, are equally the objects of laughter. Not
that they are in themselves ridiculous for their want of courage, or
weakness of understanding, but that they seem insensible of their
own place in life, and unhappily rank themselves with those, whose
abilities, compared to their defects, make them contemptible. At the
same time, it must be remarked, that risibility being the effect of
reason, a man ought to be expelled from sober company who laughs
without it. "Ha! ha!" says Will. Truby, who sat by, "will any man
pretend to give me laws when I should laugh, or tell me what I should
laugh at?" "Look ye," answered Humphrey Slyboots, "you are mightily
mistaken; you may, if you please, make what noise you will, and nobody
can hinder an English gentleman from putting his face into what posture
he thinks fit; but, take my word for it, that motion which you now
make with your mouth open, and the agitation of your stomach, which
you relieve by holding your sides, is not laughter: laughter is a more
weighty thing than you imagine; and I'll tell you a secret, you never
did laugh in your life; and truly I am afraid you never will, except
you take great care to be cured of those convulsive fits." Truby left
us, and when he had got two yards from us, "Well," said he, "you are
strange fellows," and was immediately taken with another fit.

The Trubies are a well-natured family, whose particular make is such,
that they have the same pleasure out of good Will, which other people
have in that scorn which is the cause of laughter: therefore their
bursting into the figures of men when laughing, proceeds only from a
general benevolence they are born with; as the Slyboots smile only on
the greatest occasion of mirth; which difference is caused rather from
a different structure of their organs, than that one is less moved than
the other. I know Sowerly frets inwardly when Will. Truby laughs at
him; but when I meet him, and he bursts out, I know it is out of his
abundant joy to see me, which he expresses by that vociferation which
is in others laughter. But I shall defer considering this subject at
large, till I come to my treatise of oscitation, laughter, and ridicule.


_From my own Apartment, September 2._

The following letter being a panegyric upon me for a quality which
every man may attain, an acknowledgment of his faults; I thought it for
the good of my fellow writers to publish it.[97]

     "SIR,

     "It must be allowed, that Esquire Bickerstaff is of all authors
     the most ingenuous. There are few, very few, that will own
     themselves in a mistake, though all the world see them to be
     in downright nonsense. You'll be pleased, sir, to pardon this
     expression, for the same reason for which you once desired us to
     excuse you when you seemed anything dull. Most writers, like the
     generality of Paul Lorrain's Saints,[98] seem to place a peculiar
     vanity in dying hard. But you, sir, to show a good example to
     your brethren, have not only confessed, but of your own accord
     mended the indictment. Nay, you have been so good-natured as to
     discover beauties in it, which, I'll assure you, he that drew it
     never dreamed of: and to make your civility the more accomplished,
     you have honoured him with the title of your kinsman, which,
     though derived by the left hand, he is not a little proud of. My
     brother (for such Obadiah is) being at present very busy about
     nothing, has ordered me to return you his sincere thanks for
     all these favours; and, as a small token of his gratitude to
     communicate to you the following piece of intelligence, which,
     he thinks, belongs more properly to you than to any other of
     our modern historians. Madonella,[99] who as it was thought had
     long since taken her flight towards the ethereal mansions, still
     walks, it seems, in the regions of mortality; where she has
     found, by deep reflections on the revolution mentioned in yours
     of June 23rd, that where early instructions have been wanting
     to imprint true ideas of things on the tender souls of those of
     her sex, they are never after able to arrive at such a pitch of
     perfection, as to be above the laws of matter and motion; laws
     which are considerably enforced by the principles usually imbibed
     in nurseries and boarding-schools. To remedy this evil, she has
     laid the scheme of a college for young damsels; where, instead
     of scissors, needles, and sampler; pens, compasses, quadrants,
     books, manuscripts, Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, are to take up their
     whole time. Only on holidays the students will, for moderate
     exercise, be allowed to divert themselves with the use of some of
     the lightest and most voluble weapons; and proper care will be
     taken to give them at least a superficial tincture of the ancient
     and modern Amazonian tactics. Of these military performances, the
     direction is undertaken by Epicene,[100] the writer of Memoirs
     from the Mediterranean, who, by the help of some artificial
     poisons conveyed by smells, has within these few weeks brought
     many persons of both sexes to an untimely fate; and, what is more
     surprising, has, contrary to her profession, with the same odours,
     revived others who had long since been drowned in the whirlpools
     of Lethe. Another of the professors is to be a certain lady,[101]
     who is now publishing two of the choicest Saxon novels, which are
     said to have been in as great repute with the ladies of Queen
     Emma's Court, as the Memoirs from the new Atalantis are with those
     of ours. I shall make it my business to inquire into the progress
     of this learned institution, and give you the first notice of
     their philosophical transactions, and searches after nature.

  "Yours, &c.,
  TOBIAH GREENHAT."




_St. James's Coffee-house, September 2._

This day we have received advices by the way of Ostend, which give an
account of an engagement between the French and the Allies on the 11th
instant, N.S.[102] Marshal Boufflers arrived in the enemy's camp on
the 5th, and acquainted Marshal Villars, that he did not come in any
character, but to receive his commands for the king's service, and
communicate to him his orders upon the present posture of affairs.
On the 9th, both armies advanced towards each other, and cannonaded
all the ensuing day till the close of the evening, and stood on their
arms all that night. On the day of battle, the cannonading was renewed
about seven: the Duke of Argyle had orders to attack the wood Saar on
the right, which he executed so successfully, that he pierced through
it, and won a considerable post. The Prince of Orange had the same
good fortune in a wood on the left: after which, the whole body of
the confederates, joined by the forces from the siege, marched up,
and engaged the enemy, who were drawn up at some distance from these
woods. The dispute was very warm for some time; but towards noon the
French began to give ground from one wing to the other: which advantage
being observed by our generals, the whole army was urged on with fresh
vigour, and in a few hours the day ended with the entire defeat of the
enemy.

FOOTNOTES:

[96] Probably this article is by Addison; see note to No. 50.

[97] Nichols suggested that this letter was by Swift, and it is printed
in Scott's edition of his works.

[98] Paul Lorrain (died 1719) was the Ordinary of Newgate. In their
"dying speeches," compiled by Lorrain, criminals commonly professed to
be penitent, and were thus called "Lorrain's Saints." See _Spectator_,
Nos. 338, 341.

[99] Mary Astell; see No. 32.

[100] Mrs. de la Rivière Manley (1672-1724), who afterwards attacked
Steele, without ground, as the author of this article. Subsequently she
became a writer for the Tories. She is best known by her scandalous
"Secret Memoirs and Manners of several Persons of Quality, of both
Sexes, from the New Atalantis," 1709, which was continued in "Memoirs
of Europe towards the close of the Eighth Century," 1710.

[101] Elizabeth Elstob published, in 1709, an excellent English
translation of an Anglo-Saxon homily. In 1715 she brought out "English
Rudiments of Grammar for the Anglo-Saxon Tongue." Afterwards, being in
poor circumstances, she kept a school with indifferent success, until
1739, when she was appointed governess to the Duchess of Portland's
children. She died in 1756, aged 73, and was buried at St. Margaret's,
Westminster.

[102] The Battle of Malplaquet.




No. 64. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, September 3_, to _Tuesday, September 6, 1709_.

    Quæ caret ora cruore nostro?--HOR. I Od. ii. 36.


_From my own Apartment, September 5._

When I lately spoke of triumphs, and the behaviour of the Romans on
those occasions,[103] I knew by my skill in astrology, that there was a
great event approaching to our advantage; but not having yet taken upon
me to tell fortunes, I thought fit to defer the mention of the battle
of Mons[104] till it happened; which moderation was no final pain to
me: but I should wrong my art, if I concealed that some of my aërial
intelligencers had signified to me the news of it even from Paris,
before the arrival of Lieutenant-Colonel Graham[105] in England. All
nations, as well as persons, have their good and evil genius attending
them; but the kingdom of France has three, the last of which is neither
for it nor against it in reality, but has for some months past acted
an ambiguous part, and attempted to save its ward from the incursion
of its powerful enemies, by little subterfuges and tricks, which a
nation is more than undone when it is reduced to practise. Thus,
instead of giving exact accounts and representations of things, they
tell what is indeed true, but at the same time a falsehood when all the
circumstances come to be related.

Pacolet was at the Court of France on Friday night last, when this
genius of that kingdom came thither in the shape of a post-boy, and
cried out, that Mons was relieved, and the Duke of Marlborough marched.
Pacolet was much astonished at this account, and immediately changed
his form, and flew to the neighbourhood of Mons, from whence he found
the Allies had really marched, and began to inquire into the reasons of
this sudden change, and half feared he had heard a truth of the posture
of the French affairs, even in their own country. But upon diligent
inquiry among the aërials who attend these regions, and consultation
with the neighbouring peasants, he was able to bring me the following
account of the motions of the armies since they retired from about that
place, and the action which followed thereupon.

On Saturday the 7th of September, N.S., the confederate army was
alarmed in their camp at Havre by intelligence, that the enemy were
marching to attack the Prince of Hesse. Upon this advice, the Duke of
Marlborough commanded that the troops should immediately move, which
was accordingly performed, and they were all joined on Sunday the 8th
at noon. On that day in the morning it appeared, that instead of being
attacked, the advanced guard of the detachment commanded by the Prince
of Hesse had dispersed and taken prisoners a party of the enemy's
horse, which was sent out to observe the march of the confederates.
The French moved from Quiverain on Sunday in the morning, and inclined
to the right from thence all that day. The 9th, the Monday following,
they continued their march till on Tuesday the 10th they possessed
themselves of the woods of Dour and Blaugies. As soon as they came
into that ground, they threw up entrenchments with all expedition.
The Allies arrived within few hours after the enemy was posted; but
the Duke of Marlborough thought fit to wait for the arrival of the
reinforcement which he expected from the siege of Tournay. Upon notice
that these troops were so far advanced as to be depended on for an
action the next day, it was accordingly resolved to engage the enemy.

It will be necessary for understanding the greatness of the action,
and the several motions made in the time of the engagement, that you
have in your mind an idea of the place. The two armies on the 11th
instant were both drawn up before the woods of Dour, Blaugies, Sart and
Jansart; the army of the Prince of Savoy on the right before that of
Blaugies; the forces of Great Britain in the centre on his left; those
of the High Allies, with the wood Sart, as well as a large interval
of plain ground, and Jansart, on the left of the whole. The enemy
were entrenched in the paths of the woods, and drawn up behind two
entrenchments over against them, opposite to the armies of the Duke of
Marlborough and Prince Eugene. There were also two lines entrenched in
the plains over against the army of the States. This was the posture
of the French and confederate forces when the signal was given, and
the whole line moved on to the charge. The Dutch army, commanded by
the Prince of Hesse, attacked with the most undaunted bravery; and
after a very obstinate resistance, forced the first entrenchment of
the enemy in the plain between Sart and Jansart; but were repulsed in
their attack on the second with great slaughter on both sides. The Duke
of Marlborough, while this was transacting on the left, had with very
much difficulty marched through Sart, and beaten the enemy from the
several entrenchments they had thrown up in it. As soon as the Duke had
marched into the plain, he observed the main body of the enemy drawn
up and entrenched in the front of his army. This situation of the
enemy, in the ordinary course of war, is usually thought an advantage
hardly to be surmounted; and might appear impracticable to any but that
army which had just overcome greater difficulties. The Duke commanded
the troops to form, but to forbear charging till further order. In
the meantime he visited the left of our line, where the troops of the
States had been engaged. The slaughter on this side had been very
great, and the Dutch incapable of making further progress, except
they were suddenly reinforced. The right of our line was attacked
soon after their coming upon the plain; but they drove back the enemy
with such bravery, that the victory began to incline to the Allies
by the precipitate retreat of the French to their works, from whence
they were immediately beaten. The Duke upon observing this advantage
on the right, commanded the Earl of Orkney to march with a sufficient
number of battalions to force the enemy from their entrenchments on the
plain between the woods of Sart and Jansart; which being performed,
the horse of the Allies marched into the plains, covered by their own
foot, and forming themselves in good order, the cavalry of the enemy
attempted no more, but to cover the foot in their retreat. The Allies
made so good use of the beginning of the victory, that all their troops
moved on with fresh resolution, till they saw the enemy fly before
them towards Condé and Maubeuge; after whom proper detachments were
made, who made a terrible slaughter in the pursuit. In this action it
is said Prince Eugene was wounded, as also the Duke of Aremberg, and
Lieutenant-General Webb. The Count of Oxenstern, Colonel Lalo, and Sir
Thomas Pendergrass, killed. This wonderful success, obtained under all
the difficulties that could be opposed in the way of an army, must be
acknowledged as owing to the genius, courage and conduct of the Duke of
Marlborough, a consummate hero; who has lived not only beyond the time
in which Cæsar said, he was arrived at a satiety of life and glory; but
also been so long the subject of panegyric, that it is as hard to say
anything new in his praise, as to add to the merit which requires such
eulogiums.


_Will's Coffee-house, September 5._

The following letter[106] being very explanatory of the true design
of our Lucubrations, and at the same time an excellent model for
performing it, it is absolutely necessary, for the better understanding
our works, to publish it.

  "_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._

  "SIR,

     "Though I have not the honour to be of the family of the Staffs,
     nor related to any branch of it, yet I applaud your wholesome
     project of making wit useful.

     "This is what has been, or should have been, intended by the
     best comedies. But nobody (I think) before you thought of a way
     to bring the stage as it were into the coffee-house, and there
     attack those gentlemen who thought themselves out of the reach of
     raillery, by prudently avoiding its chief walks and districts. I
     smile when I see a solid citizen of threescore read the article
     from Will's Coffee-house, and seem to be just beginning to learn
     his alphabet of wit in spectacles; and to hear the attentive table
     sometimes stop him with pertinent queries which he is puzzled
     to answer, and then join in commending it the sincerest way, by
     freely owning he don't understand it.

     "In pursuing this design, you will always have a large scene
     before you, and can never be at a loss for characters to entertain
     a town so plentifully stocked with them. The follies of the finest
     minds, which a philosophic surgeon knows how to dissect, will best
     employ your skill: and of this sort, I take the liberty to send
     you the following sketch.

     "Cleontes is a man of good family, good learning, entertaining
     conversation, and acute wit. He talks well, is master of style,
     and writes not contemptibly in verse. Yet all this serves but to
     make him politely ridiculous; and he is above the rank of common
     characters, only to have the privilege of being laughed at by
     the best. His family makes him proud and scornful; his learning,
     assuming and absurd; and his wit, arrogant and satirical. He mixes
     some of the best qualities of the head with the worst of the
     heart. Everybody is entertained by him, while nobody esteems him.
     I am,

  "Sir,
  Your most affectionate Monitor,
  _Josiah Couplet._"


Lost from the Tree in Pall Mall, two Irish dogs, belonging to the
pack of London; one a tall white wolf-dog; the other a black nimble
greyhound (not very sound) and supposed to be gone to the Bath by
instinct for cure. The man of the inn from whence they ran being now
there, is desired, if he meets either of them, to tie them up. Several
others are lost about Tunbridge and Epsom;[107] which whoever will
maintain, may keep.

FOOTNOTES:

[103] No. 63.

[104] Now known as the battle of Malplaquet. It was soon followed by
the fall of Mons.

[105] Colone

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