The Tatler, Volume 4
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Title: The Tatler, Volume 4
Author: Sir Richard Steele
Joseph Addison
Editor: George Atherton Aitken
Release date: May 21, 2015 [eBook #49009]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TATLER, VOLUME 4 ***
The Tatler
Edited by
George A. Aitken
In Four Volumes
Volume Four
[Illustration: _B. Lens Senʳ delineavit_
_Isaac Bickerstaff Esq._
_Engraved by Wm. H. Ward & Co. L'd. from the Original by Sturt after
Lens._]
The Tatler
Edited with Introduction & Notes
by
George A. Aitken
_Author of_
"The Life of Richard Steele," &c.
[Illustration: DESORMAIS]
VOL. IV
New York
Hadley & Mathews
156 Fifth Avenue
London: Duckworth & Co.
1899
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
_To the_ Right Honourable
Charles Lord Halifax.[1]
_From the Hovel at Hamptonwick,
April 7, 1711._
MY LORD,
When I first resolved upon doing myself this honour, I could not but
indulge a certain vanity in dating from this little covert, where I
have frequently had the honour of your Lordship's company, and received
from you very many obligations. The elegant solitude of this place,
and the greatest pleasures of it, I owe to its being so near those
beautiful manors wherein you sometimes reside: it is not retiring from
the world, but enjoying its most valuable blessings, when a man is
permitted to share in your Lordship's conversations in the country.
All the bright images which the wits of past ages have left behind
them in their writings, the noble plans which the greatest statesmen
have laid down for administration of affairs, are equally the familiar
objects of your knowledge. But what is peculiar to your Lordship above
all the illustrious personages that have appeared in any age, is, that
wit and learning have from your example fallen into a new era. Your
patronage has produced those arts, which before shunned the commerce
of the world, into the service of life; and it is to you we owe, that
the man of wit has turned himself to be a man of business. The false
delicacy of men of genius, and the objections which others were apt
to insinuate against their abilities for entering into affairs, have
equally vanished. And experience has shown, that men of letters are not
only qualified with a greater capacity, but also a greater integrity
in the despatch of business. Your own studies have been diverted from
being the highest ornament, to the highest use to mankind, and the
capacities which would have rendered you the greatest poet of your
age, have to the advantage of Great Britain been employed in pursuits
which have made you the most able and unbiassed patriot. A vigorous
imagination, an extensive apprehension, and a ready judgment have
distinguished you in all the illustrious parts of administration, in
a reign attended with such difficulties, that the same talents without
the same quickness in the possession of them would have been incapable
of conquering. The natural success of such abilities has advanced
you to a seat in that illustrious House where you were received by a
crowd of your relations. Great as you are in your honours and personal
qualities, I know you will forgive a humble neighbour the vanity of
pretending to a place in your friendship, and subscribing himself,
My Lord,
Your Lordship's most obliged
and most devoted Servant,
RICHARD STEELE.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Charles Montague, grandson of the first Earl of Manchester, was
born in 1661, at Horton, in Northamptonshire, and was educated at
Westminster, and at Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1687 he joined
with Prior in writing the "County and the City Mouse," a burlesque on
Dryden's "Hind and Panther." Montague was amongst those who signed
the invitation sent to William of Orange. After the Revolution, he
was made a Lord of the Treasury (March 1692), Chancellor of the
Exchequer (1694), and First Lord of the Treasury in 1698. These last
two offices he held together until 1699. Among the important schemes
which he carried out were a re-coining of the money, the founding of
the Bank of England and the new East India Company, and the issue of
Exchequer bills. In 1700 he was made Auditor of the Exchequer, and was
created Baron Halifax. A Tory House of Commons twice attacked him, but
without success. In 1706 he took a leading part in the negotiations
which led to the Union with Scotland. He voted for the sentence upon
Dr. Sacheverell in 1710, and in the subsequent peace negotiations he
opposed the terms of the Treaty of Utrecht. In October 1714 he again
became First Lord of the Treasury, and was created Viscount Sunbury and
Earl of Halifax; but he died in May 1715. He was the patron of numerous
men of letters, and was lauded by many as a second Mæcenas. Pope says
he was "fed with soft dedication all day long." In 1711 Steele and
Addison dedicated the second volume of the _Spectator_ to Lord Halifax.
THE TATLER
BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESQ.
=No. 194.= [STEELE.[2]
From _Tuesday, July 4_, to _Thursday, July 6, 1710_.
Militat omnis amans.--OVID, Amor. El. ix. 1.
_From my own Apartment, July 5._
I was this morning reading the tenth canto in the fourth book of
Spenser, in which Sir Scudamore relates the progress of his courtship
to Amoret under a very beautiful allegory, which is one of the most
natural and unmixed of any in that most excellent author. I shall
transprose it, to use Mr. Bayes's term,[3] for the benefit of many
English lovers who have by frequent letters desired me to lay down some
rules for the conduct of their virtuous amours; and shall only premise,
that by the shield of love is meant a generous, constant passion for
the person beloved.
When the fame, says he, of this celebrated beauty first flew abroad, I
went in pursuit of her to the Temple of Love. This temple, continues
he, bore the name of the goddess Venus, and was seated in a most
fruitful island, walled by nature against all invaders. There was
a single bridge that led into the island, and before it a castle
garrisoned by twenty knights. Near the castle was an open plain, and
in the midst of it a pillar, on which was hung the shield of love; and
underneath it, in letters of gold, was this inscription:
_Happy the man who well can use his bliss;
Whose ever be the shield, fair Amoret be his._
My heart panted upon reading the inscription: I struck upon the shield
with my spear. Immediately issued forth a knight well mounted, and
completely armed, who, without speaking, ran fiercely at me. I received
him as well as I could, and by good fortune threw him out of the
saddle. I encountered the whole twenty successively, and leaving them
all extended on the plain, carried off the shield in token of victory.
Having thus vanquished my rivals, I passed on without impediment, till
I came to the outermost gate of the bridge, which I found locked and
barred. I knocked and called, but could get no answer. At last I saw
one on the other side of the gate, who stood peeping through a small
crevice. This was the porter; he had a double face resembling a Janus,
and was continually looking about him, as if he mistrusted some sudden
danger. His name, as I afterwards learned, was Doubt. Over against him
sat Delay, who entertained passengers with some idle story, while they
lost such opportunities as were never to be recovered. As soon as the
porter saw my shield, he opened the gate; but upon my entering, Delay
caught hold of me, and would fain have made me listen to her fooleries.
However, I shook her off, and passed forward till I came to the second
gate, the Gate of Good Desert, which always stood wide open; but in
the porch was a hideous giant, that stopped the entrance: his name
was Danger. Many warriors of good reputation, not able to bear the
sternness of his look, went back again. Cowards fled at the first sight
of him, except some few, who watching their opportunity, slipped by
him unobserved. I prepared to assault him; but upon the first sight of
my shield, he immediately gave way. Looking back upon him, I found his
hinder parts much more deformed and terrible than his face; Hatred,
Murder, Treason, Envy, and Detraction lying in ambush behind him, to
fall upon the heedless and unwary.
I now entered the Island of Love, which appeared in all the beauties
of art and nature, and feasted every sense with the most agreeable
objects. Amidst a pleasing variety of walks and alleys, shady seats and
flowery banks, sunny hills and gloomy valleys, were thousands of lovers
sitting, or walking together in pairs, and singing hymns to the deity
of the place.
I could not forbear envying this happy people, who were already in
possession of all they could desire. While I went forward to the
temple, the structure was beautiful beyond imagination. The gate stood
open. In the entrance sat a most amiable woman, whose name was Concord.
On either side of her stood two young men, both strongly armed, as if
afraid of each other. As I afterwards learned, they were both her sons,
but begotten of her by two different fathers; their names, Love and
Hatred.
The lady so well tempered and reconciled them both, that she forced
them to join hands; though I could not but observe, that Hatred turned
aside his face, as not able to endure the sight of his younger brother.
I at length entered the inmost temple, the roof of which was raised
upon a hundred marble pillars, decked with crowns, chains, and
garlands. The ground was strewn with flowers. A hundred altars, at each
of which stood a virgin priestess clothed in white, blazed all at once
with the sacrifice of lovers, who were perpetually sending up their
vows to heaven in clouds of incense.
In the midst stood the goddess herself, upon an altar, whose substance
was neither gold nor stone, but infinitely more precious than either.
About her neck flew numberless flocks of little Loves, Joys, and
Graces; and all about her altar lay scattered heaps of lovers,
complaining of the disdain, pride, or treachery of their mistresses.
One among the rest, no longer able to contain his grief, broke out into
the following prayer: "Venus, queen of grace and beauty, joy of gods
and men, who with a smile becalmest the seas, and renewest all nature;
goddess, whom all the different species in the universe obey with joy
and pleasure, grant I may at last obtain the object of my vows."
The impatient lover pronounced this with great vehemence; but I in a
soft murmur besought the goddess to lend me her assistance. While I was
thus praying, I chanced to cast my eye on a company of ladies, who were
assembled together in a corner of the temple waiting for the anthem.
The foremost seemed something elder and of a more composed countenance
than the rest, who all appeared to be under her direction. Her name
was Womanhood. On one side of her sat Shamefacedness, with blushes
rising in her cheeks, and her eyes fixed upon the ground: on the other
was Cheerfulness, with a smiling look, that infused a secret pleasure
into the hearts of all that saw her. With these sat Modesty, holding
her hand on her heart; Courtesy, with a graceful aspect, and obliging
behaviour; and the two sisters, who were always linked together, and
resembled each other, Silence and Obedience.
_Thus sat they all around in seemly rate,
And in the midst of them a goodly maid
Even in the lap of Womanhood there sat,
The which was all in lily-white arrayed,
Where silver streams among the linen strayed;
Like to the morn, when first her shining face
Hath to the gloomy world itself bewrayed.
That same was fairest Amoret in place,
Shining with beauty's light, and heavenly virtue's grace._
As soon as I beheld the charming Amoret, my heart throbbed with hopes.
I stepped to her, and seized her hand; when Womanhood immediately
rising up, sharply rebuked me for offering in so rude a manner to lay
hold on a virgin. I excused myself as modestly as I could, and at
the same time displayed my shield; upon which, as soon as she beheld
the god emblazoned with his bow and shafts, she was struck mute, and
instantly retired.
I still held fast the fair Amoret, and turning my eyes towards the
goddess of the place, saw that she favoured my pretensions with a
smile, which so emboldened me, that I carried off my prize.
The maid, sometimes with tears, sometimes with smiles, entreated me to
let her go: but I led her through the temple-gate, where the goddess
Concord, who had favoured my entrance, befriended my retreat.
* * * * *
This allegory is so natural, that it explains itself. The persons in it
are very artfully described, and disposed in proper places. The posts
assigned to Doubt, Delay, and Danger, are admirable. The Gate of Good
Desert has something noble and instructive in it. But above all, I am
most pleased with the beautiful group of figures in the corner of the
temple. Among these, Womanhood is drawn like what the philosophers call
a universal nature, and is attended with beautiful representatives of
all those virtues that are the ornaments of the female sex, considered
in its natural perfection and innocence.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] This paper may be by John Hughes, who published an edition of
Spenser in 1715.
[3] In the "Rehearsal," Act I.
=No. 195.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, July 6_, to _Saturday, July 8, 1710_.
_Grecian Coffee-house, July 7._
The learned world are very much offended at many of my ratiocinations,
and have but a very mean opinion of me as a politician. The reason
of this is, that some erroneously conceive a talent for politics to
consist in the regard to a man's own interest; but I am of quite
another mind, and think the first and essential quality towards being a
statesman is to have a public spirit. One of the gentlemen who are out
of humour with me, imputes my falling into a way wherein I am so very
awkward to a barrenness of invention, and has the charity to lay new
matter before me for the future. He is at the bottom my friend, but is
at a loss to know whether I am a fool or a physician, and is pleased
to expostulate with me with relation to the latter. He falls heavy
upon licentiates, and seems to point more particularly at us who are
not regularly of the faculty. But since he has been so civil to me as
to meddle only with those who are employed no further than about men's
lives, and not reflected upon me as of the astrological sect, who
concern ourselves about lives and fortunes also, I am not so much hurt
as to stifle any part of his fond letter.[4]
* * * * *
"SIR,
"I am afraid there is something in the suspicions of some people, that
you begin to be short of matter for your Lucubrations. Though several
of them now and then did appear somewhat dull and insipid to me, I was
always charitably inclined to believe the fault lay in myself, and that
I wanted the true key to uncipher your mysteries, and remember your
advertisement upon this account. But since I have seen you fall in an
unpardonable error, yea, with a relapse: I mean, since I have seen you
turn politician in the present unhappy dissensions, I have begun to
stagger, and could not choose but lessen the great value I had for the
censor of our isle. How is it possible that a man, whom interest did
naturally lead to a constant impartiality in these matters, and who
hath wit enough to judge that his opinion was not like to make many
proselytes; how is it possible, I say, that a little passion (for I
have still too good an opinion of you to think you was bribed by the
staggering party) could blind you so far as to offend the very better
half of the nation, and to lessen off so much the number of your
friends? Mr. Morphew will not have cause to thank you, unless you give
over, and endeavour to regain what you have lost. There is still a
great many themes you have left untouched; such as the ill-managements
of matters relating to law and physic, the setting down rules for
knowing the quacks in both professions. What a large field is there
left in discovering the abuses of the College, who had a charter and
privileges granted them to hinder the creeping in and prevailing of
quacks and pretenders; and yet grant licences to barbers, and write
letters of recommendation in the country towns, out of the reach of
their practice, in favour of mere boys; valuing the health and lives of
their countrymen no further than they get money by them. You have said
very little or nothing about the dispensation of justice in town and
country, where clerks are the counsellors to their masters.
"But as I can't expect that the censor of Great Britain should publish
a letter, wherein he is censured with too much reason himself; yet I
hope you will be the better for it, and think upon the themes I have
mentioned, which must certainly be of greater service to the world,
yourself, and Mr. Morphew, than to let us know whether you are a Whig
or a Tory. I am still
"Your Admirer and Servant,
"CATO JUNIOR."
* * * * *
This gentleman and I differ about the words "staggering" and "better
part"; but instead of answering to the particulars of this epistle, I
shall only acquaint my correspondent, that I am at present forming my
thoughts upon the foundation of Sir Scudamore's progress in Spenser,[5]
which has led me from all other amusements, to consider the state of
love in this island; and from the corruptions in the government of
that, to deduce the chief evils of life. In the meantime that I am thus
employed, I have given positive orders to Don Saltero,[6] of Chelsea,
the tooth-drawer, and Dr. Thomas Smith,[7] the corn-cutter, of King
Street, Westminster (who have the modesty to confine their pretensions
to manual operations), to bring me in, with all convenient speed,
complete lists of all who are but of equal learning with themselves,
and yet administer physic beyond the feet and gums. These advices I
shall reserve for my future leisure; but have now taken a resolution
to dedicate the remaining part of this instant July to the service
of the fair sex, and have almost finished a scheme for settling the
whole remainder of that sex who are unmarried, and above the age of
twenty-five.
In order to this good and public service, I shall consider the passion
of love in its full extent, as it is attended both with joys and
inquietudes; and lay down, for the conduct of my lovers, such rules as
shall banish the cares, and heighten the pleasures, which flow from
that amiable spring of life and happiness. There is no less than an
absolute necessity that some provision be made to take off the dead
stock of women in city, town, and country. Let there happen but the
least disorder in the streets, and in an instant you see the inequality
of the numbers of males and females. Besides that the feminine crowd on
such occasions is more numerous in the open way, you may observe them
also to the very garrets huddled together, four at least at a casement.
Add to this, that by an exact calculation of all that have come to town
by stage-coach or waggon for this twelvemonth last, three times in four
the treated persons have been males. This over-stock of beauty, for
which there are so few bidders, calls for an immediate supply of lovers
and husbands; and I am the studious knight-errant who have suffered
long nocturnal contemplations to find out methods for the relief of
all British females who at present seem to be devoted to involuntary
virginity. The scheme upon which I design to act, I have communicated
to none but a beauteous young lady (who has for some time left the
town), in the following letter:
* * * * *
"To AMANDA, in Kent.
"MADAM,
"I send with this, my discourse of ways and means for encouraging
marriage, and repeopling the island. You will soon observe, that
according to these rules, the mean considerations (which make beauty
and merit cease to be the objects of love and courtship) will be fully
exploded. I have unanswerably proved, that jointures and settlements
are the bane of happiness; and not only so, but the ruin even of their
fortunes who enter into them. I beg of you, therefore, to come to
town upon the receipt of this, where I promise you, you shall have as
many lovers as toasters; for there needed nothing but to make men's
interests fall in with their inclinations, to render you the most
courted of your sex. As many as love you will now be willing to marry
you: hasten then, and be the honourable mistress of mankind. Cassander,
and many others, stand in the Gate of Good Desert[8] to receive you. I
am,
"Madam,
"Your most obedient,
"Most humble Servant,
"ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."
FOOTNOTES:
[4] It has been suggested that this letter is by Swift. The _Examiner_,
vol. iv. No. 43, said that Steele's friends "acquainted him with many
little incidents and corruptions in low life which he has not touched
upon; but, instead of a favourable answer, he has rejected all their
hints for mirth and waggery, and transcribed scraps of politics, &c."
Another protest against Steele's incursion into politics is printed in
Lillie's "Original Letters sent to the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_" i. 56.
[5] See No. 194.
[6] See Nos. 34 and 221.
[7] See No. 103.
[8] "Faërie Queene," Book iv. c. 10. See No. 194.
=No. 196.= [STEELE.
From _Saturday, July 8_, to _Tuesday, July 11, 1710_.
Dulcis inexperto cultura potentis amici:
Expertus metuit----
HOR., I Ep. xviii. 86.
_From my own Apartment, July 10._
The intended course of my studies was altered this evening by a visit
from an old acquaintance, who complained to me, mentioning one upon
whom he had long depended, that he found his labour and perseverance in
his patron's service and interests wholly ineffectual; and he thought
now, after his best years were spent in a professed adherence to him
and his fortunes, he should in the end be forced to break with him,
and give over all further expectations from him. He sighed, and ended
his discourse by saying, "You, Mr. Censor, some time ago, gave us your
thoughts of the behaviour of great men to their creditors. This sort
of demand upon them, for what they invite men to expect, is a debt of
honour, which, according to custom, they ought to be most careful of
paying, and would be a very worthy subject for a lucubration."
Of all men living, I think, I am the most proper to treat of this
matter; because in the character and employment of censor, I have had
encouragement so infinitely above my desert, that what I say cannot
possibly be supposed to arise from peevishness, or any disappointment
in that kind which I myself have met with. When we consider patrons
and their clients, those who receive addresses, and those who are
addressed to, it must not be understood that the dependants are such as
are worthless in their natures, abandoned to any vice or dishonour,
or such as without a call thrust themselves upon men in power; nor
when we say patrons, do we mean such as have it not in their power,
or have no obligation, to assist their friends; but we speak of such
leagues where there are power and obligation on the one part, and merit
and expectation on the other. Were we to be very particular on this
subject, I take it that the division of patron and client may include a
third part of our nation. The want of merit and real worth will strike
out about ninety-nine in the hundred of these, and want of ability in
the patron will dispose of as many of that order. He who out of mere
vanity to be applied to will take up another's time and fortune in his
service, where he has no prospect of returning it, is as much more
unjust as those who took up my friend the upholder's[9] goods without
paying him for them. I say, he is as much more unjust as our life and
time is more valuable than our goods and movables. Among many whom you
see about the great, there is a contented, well-pleased set, who seem
to like the attendance for its own sake, and are early at the abodes
of the powerful, out of mere fashion. This sort of vanity is as well
grounded as if a man should lay aside his own plain suit, and dress
himself up in a gay livery of another's.
There are many of this species who exclude others of just expectation,
and make those proper dependants appear impatient, because they are
not so cheerful as those who expect nothing. I have made use of the
penny post for the instruction of these voluntary slaves, and informed
them, that they will never be provided for; but they double their
diligence upon admonition. Will Afterday has told his friends, that he
was to have the next thing these ten years; and Harry Linger has been
fourteen within a month of a considerable office. However the fantastic
complaisance which is paid to them may blind the great from seeing
themselves in a just light, they must needs (if they in the least
reflect) at some times have a sense of the injustice they do in raising
in others a false expectation. But this is so common a practice in all
the stages of power, that there are not more cripples come out of the
wars than from the attendance of patrons. You see in one a settled
melancholy, in another a bridled rage, a third has lost his memory,
and a fourth his whole constitution and humour. In a word, when you
see a particular cast of mind or body, which looks a little upon the
distracted, you may be sure the poor gentleman has formerly had great
friends. For this reason, I have thought it a prudent thing to take a
nephew of mine out of a lady's service, where he was a page, and have
bound him to a shoemaker.
But what of all the humours under the sun is the most pleasant
to consider, is, that you see some men lay as it were a set of
acquaintance by them, to converse with when they are out of employment,
who had no effect of their power when they were in. Here patrons and
clients both make the most fantastical figure imaginable. Friendship
indeed is most manifested in adversity; but I do not know how to behave
myself to a man who thinks me his friend at no other time but that.
Dick Reptile of our club had this in his head the other night, when
he said, "I am afraid of ill news when I am visited by any of my old
friends." These patrons are a little like some fine gentlemen, who
spend all their hours of gaiety with their wenches, but when they fall
sick, will let no one come near them but their wives. It seems, truth
and honour are companions too sober for prosperity. It is certainly
the most black ingratitude to accept of a man's best endeavours to be
pleasing to you, and return it with indifference.
I am so much of this mind, that Dick Estcourt[10] the comedian, for
coming one night to our club, though he laughed at us all the time he
was there, shall have our company at his play on Thursday. A man of
talents is to be favoured, or never admitted. Let the ordinary world
truck for money and wares, but men of spirit and conversation should
in every kind do others as much pleasure as they receive from them.
But men are so taken up with outward forms, that they do not consider
their actions; else how should it be, that a man shall deny that to
the entreaties and almost tears of an old friend, which he shall
solicit a new one to accept of? I remember, when I first came out of
Staffordshire, I had an intimacy with a man of quality, in whose gift
there fell a very good employment. All the town cried, "There's a
thing for Mr. Bickerstaff!" when, to my great astonishment, I found my
patron had been forced upon twenty artifices to surprise a man with it
who never thought of it. But sure it is a degree of murder to amuse
men with vain hopes. If a man takes away another's life, where is the
difference, whether he does it by taking away the minutes of his time,
or the drops of his blood? But indeed, such as have hearts barren of
kindness are served accordingly by those whom they employ, and pass
their lives away with an empty show of civility for love, and an
insipid intercourse of a commerce in which their affections are no way
concerned. But on the other side, how beautiful is the life of a patron
who performs his duty to his inferiors? a worthy merchant who employs
a crowd of artificers? a great lord who is generous and merciful to
the several necessities of his tenants? a courtier who uses his credit
and power for the welfare of his friends? These have in their several
stations a quick relish of the exquisite pleasure of doing good. In a
word, good patrons are like the guardian angels of Plato, who are ever
busy, though unseen, in the care of their wards; but ill patrons are
like the deities of Epicurus, supine, indolent, and unconcerned, though
they see mortals in storms and tempests even while they are offering
incense to their power.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] See No. 180.
[10] See Nos. 51 and 130.
=No. 197.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, July 11_, to _Thursday, July 13, 1710_.
Semper ego auditor tantum?--JUV., Sat. i. I.
_Grecian Coffee-house, July 12._
When I came hither this evening, the man of the house delivered me a
book very finely bound. When I received it, I overheard one of the boys
whisper another, and say, "It was a fine thing to be a great scholar!
What a pretty book that is!" It has indeed a very gay outside, and is
dedicated to me by a very ingenious gentleman, who does not put his
name to it. The title of it (for the work is in Latin) is, "Epistolarum
Obscurorum Virorum, ad Dm. M. Ortuinum Gratium, Volumina II. &c."[11]
("The Epistles of the Obscure Writers to Ortuinus, &c."). The purpose
of the work is signified in the dedication, in very elegant language,
and fine raillery. It seems this is a collection of letters which
some profound blockheads, who lived before our times, have written in
honour of each other, and for their mutual information in each other's
absurdities. They are mostly of the German nation, whence from time
to time inundations of writers have flowed, more pernicious to the
learned world than the swarms of Goths and Vandals to the politic. It
is, methinks, wonderful, that fellows could be awake, and utter such
incoherent conceptions, and converse with great gravity like learned
men, without the least taste of knowledge or good sense. It would have
been an endless labour to have taken any other method of exposing such
impertinences, than by an edition of their own works, where you see
their follies, according to the ambition of such _virtuosi_, in a most
correct edition.
Looking over these accomplished labours, I could not but reflect upon
the immense load of writings which the commonalty of scholars have
pushed into the world, and the absurdity of parents, who educate crowds
to spend their time in pursuit of such cold and sprightless endeavours
to appear in public. It seems therefore a fruitless labour to attempt
the correction of the taste of our contemporaries, except it was in
our power to burn all the senseless labours of our ancestors. There
is a secret propensity in nature from generation to generation in the
blockheads of one age to admire those of another; and men of the same
imperfections are as great admirers of each other, as those of the same
abilities.
This great mischief of voluminous follies proceeds from a misfortune
which happens in all ages, that men of barren geniuses, but fertile
imaginations, are bred scholars. This may at first appear a paradox;
but when we consider the talking creatures we meet in public places,
it will no longer be such. Ralph Shallow is a young fellow, that has
not by nature any the least propensity to strike into what has not
been observed and said every day of his life by others; but with
that inability of speaking anything that is uncommon, he has a great
readiness at what he can speak of, and his imagination runs into all
the different views of the subject he treats of in a moment. If Ralph
had learning added to the common chit-chat of the town, he would
have been a disputant upon all topics that ever were considered by
men of his own genius. As for my part, I never am teased by an empty
town-fellow, but I bless my stars that he was not bred a scholar. This
addition, we must consider, would have made him capable of maintaining
his follies. His being in the wrong would have been protected by
suitable arguments; and when he was hedged in by logical terms, and
false appearances, you must have owned yourself convinced before you
could then have got rid of him, and the shame of his triumph had been
added to the pain of his impertinence.
There is a sort of littleness in the minds of men of wrong sense, which
makes them much more insufferable than mere fools, and has the further
inconvenience of being attended by an endless loquacity. For which
reason, it would be a very proper work, if some well-wisher to human
society would consider the terms upon which people meet in public
places, in order to prevent the unseasonable declamations which we meet
with there. I remember, in my youth it was a humour at the University,
when a fellow pretended to be more eloquent than ordinary, and had
formed to himself a plot to gain all our admiration, or triumph over
us with an argument, to either of which he had no manner of call; I
say, in either of these cases, it was the humour to shut one eye. This
whimsical way of taking notice to him of his absurdity, has prevented
many a man from being a coxcomb. If amongst us on such an occasion
each man offered a voluntary rhetorician some snuff, it would probably
produce the same effect. As the matter now stands, whether a man will
or no, he is obliged to be informed in whatever another pleases to
entertain him with, though the preceptor makes these advances out of
vanity, and not to instruct, but insult him.
There is no man will allow him who wants courage to be called a
soldier; but men who want good sense are very frequently not only
allowed to be scholars, but esteemed for being such. At the same time
it must be granted, that as courage is the natural part of a soldier,
so is a good understanding of a scholar. Such little minds as these,
whose productions are collected in the volume to which I have the
honour to be patron, are the instruments for artful men to work with,
and become popular with the unthinking part of mankind. In courts,
they make transparent flatterers; in camps, ostentatious bullies;
in colleges, unintelligible pedants; and their faculties are used
accordingly by those who lead them.
When a man who wants judgment is admitted into the conversation of
reasonable men, he shall remember such improper circumstances, and draw
such groundless conclusions from their discourse, and that with such
colour of sense, as would divide the best set of company that can be
got together. It is just thus with a fool who has a familiarity with
books, he shall quote and recite one author against another, in such
a manner as shall puzzle the best understanding to refute him; though
the most ordinary capacity may observe, that it is only ignorance which
makes the intricacy. All the true use of that we call learning, is to
ennoble and improve our natural faculties, and not to disguise our
imperfections. It is therefore in vain for folly to attempt to conceal
itself by the refuge of learned languages. Literature does but make a
man more eminently the thing which nature made him; and Polyglottes,
had he studied less than he has, and written only in his mother tongue,
had been known only in Great Britain for a pedant.
Mr. Bickerstaff thanks Dorinda, and will both answer her letter,[12]
and take her advice.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Steele was apparently unaware that the letters in this famous book
were a satire, directed against the clergy of the Catholic Church. The
letters, written by Ulrich von Hutten and his friends, purported to
be from certain monks and theologians to Ortuinus Gratius, doctor of
theology. They were intended to ridicule the bad Latin of the clergy,
and in every way to satirise the anti-reform party. (See Bayle's
"Dictionary," Arts. Hochstrat and Hutten; and _Retrospective Review_,
v. 56.) The elegant edition of this book published in London in 1710,
in 12mo, was dedicated to Steele by the editor, Maittaire.
[12] No mention is afterwards made of Dorinda.
=No. 198.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, July 13_, to _Saturday, July 15, 1710_.
Quale sit id quod amas celeri circumspice mente,
Et tua læsuro substrahe colla jugo.
OVID, Rem. Amor., i. 89.[13]
_From my own Apartment, July 14._
THE HISTORY OF CÆLIA.
It is not necessary to look back into the first years of this young
lady, whose story is of consequence only as her life has lately met
with passages very uncommon. She is now in the twentieth year of her
age, and owes a strict, but cheerful education, to the care of an
aunt, to whom she was recommended by her dying father, whose decease
was hastened by an inconsolable affliction for the loss of her mother.
As Cælia is the offspring of the most generous passion that has been
known in our age, she is adorned with as much beauty and grace as the
most celebrated of her sex possess; but her domestic life, moderate
fortune, and religious education gave her but little opportunity, and
less inclination, to be admired in public assemblies. Her abode has
been for some years a convenient distance from the Cathedral of St.
Paul's, where her aunt and she chose to reside, for the advantage of
that rapturous way of devotion which gives ecstasy to the pleasures of
innocence, and, in some measure, is the immediate possession of those
heavenly enjoyments for which they are addressed.
As you may trace the usual thoughts of men in their countenances, there
appeared in the face of Cælia a cheerfulness, the constant companion of
unaffected virtue, and a gladness, which is as inseparable from true
piety. Her every look and motion spoke the peaceful, mild, resigning,
humble inhabitant that animated her beauteous body. Her air discovered
her body a mere machine of her mind, and not that her thoughts were
employed in studying graces and attractions for her person. Such
was Cælia when she was first seen by Palamede at her usual place of
worship. Palamede is a young man of two-and-twenty, well-fashioned,
learned, genteel, and discreet, and son and heir of a gentleman of a
very great estate, and himself possessed of a plentiful one by the
gift of an uncle. He became enamoured with Cælia, and after having
learned her habitation, had address enough to communicate his passion
and circumstances with such an air of good sense and integrity, as
soon obtained permission to visit and profess his inclinations towards
her. Palamede's present fortune and future expectations were no way
prejudicial to his addresses; but after the lovers had passed some time
in the agreeable entertainments of a successful courtship, Cælia one
day took occasion to interrupt Palamede in the midst of a very pleasing
discourse of the happiness he promised himself in so accomplished a
companion, and assuming a serious air, told him, there was another
heart to be won before he gained hers, which was that of his father.
Palamede seemed much disturbed at the overture, and lamented to her,
that his father was one of those too provident parents, who only
place their thoughts upon bringing riches into their families by
marriages, and are wholly insensible of all other considerations. But
the strictness of Cælia's rules of life made her insist upon this
demand; and the son, at a proper hour, communicated to his father the
circumstances of his love, and the merit of the object. The next day
the father made her a visit. The beauty of her person, the fame of her
virtue, and a certain irresistible charm in her whole behaviour on so
tender and delicate an occasion, wrought so much upon him, in spite of
all prepossessions, that he hastened the marriage with an impatience
equal to that of his son. Their nuptials were celebrated with a privacy
suitable to the character and modesty of Cælia, and from that day, till
a fatal one of last week, they lived together with all the joy and
happiness which attend minds entirely united.
It should have been intimated, that Palamede is a student of the
Temple, and usually retired thither early in a morning, Cælia still
sleeping.
It happened a few days since, that she followed him thither to
communicate to him something she had omitted in her redundant fondness
to speak of the evening before. When she came to his apartment, the
servant there told her, she was coming with a letter to her. While
Cælia in an inner room was reading an apology from her husband, that
he had been suddenly taken by some of his acquaintance to dine at
Brentford, but that he should return in the evening, a country girl,
decently clad, asked, if those were not the chambers of Mr. Palamede?
She was answered, they were, but that he was not in town. The stranger
asked, when he was expected at home? The servant replied, she would
go in and ask his wife. The young woman repeated the word "wife," and
fainted. This accident raised no less curiosity than amazement in
Cælia, who caused her to be removed into the inner room. Upon proper
applications to revive her, the unhappy young creature returned to
herself, and said to Cælia, with an earnest and beseeching tone, "Are
you really Mr. Palamede's wife?" Cælia replies, "I hope I do not look
as if I were any other in the condition you see me." The stranger
answers, "No, madam, he is my husband." At the same instant she threw
a bundle of letters into Cælia's lap, which confirmed the truth of
what she asserted. Their mutual innocence and sorrow made them look at
each other as partners in distress, rather than rivals in love. The
superiority of Cælia's understanding and genius gave her an authority
to examine into this adventure as if she had been offended against, and
the other the delinquent. The stranger spoke in the following manner:
"Madam, if it shall please you, Mr. Palamede having an uncle of a good
estate near Winchester, was bred at the school there, to gain the more
his good-will by being in his sight. His uncle died, and left him the
estate, which my husband now has. When he was a mere youth he set his
affections on me: but when he could not gain his ends he married me,
making me and my mother, who is a farmer's widow, swear we would never
tell it upon any account whatsoever; for that it would not look well
for him to marry such a one as me; besides, that his father would cut
him off of the estate. I was glad to have him in an honest way, and he
now and then came and stayed a night and away at our house. But very
lately he came down to see us, with a fine young gentleman his friend,
who stayed behind there with us, pretending to like the place for the
summer; but ever since Master Palamede went, he has attempted to abuse
me; and I ran hither to acquaint him with it, and avoid the wicked
intentions of his false friend."
Cælia had no more room for doubt, but left her rival the same agonies
she felt herself. Palamede returns in the evening, and finding his wife
at his chambers, learned all that had passed, and hastened to Cælia's
lodgings.
It is much easier to imagine than express the sentiments of either the
criminal or the injured at this encounter.
As soon as Palamede had found way for speech, he confessed his
marriage, and his placing his companion on purpose to vitiate his wife,
that he might break through a marriage made in his nonage, and devote
his riper and knowing years to Cælia. She made him no answer; but
retired to her closet. He returned to the Temple, where he soon after
received from her the following letter:
* * * * *
"SIR,
"You, who this morning were the best, are now the worst of men who
breathe vital air. I am at once overwhelmed with love, hatred, rage,
and disdain. Can infamy and innocence live together? I feel the weight
of the one too strong for the comfort of the other. How bitter, Heaven,
how bitter is my portion! How much have I to say; but the infant which
I bear about me stirs with my agitation. I am, Palamede, to live in
shame, and this creature be heir to it. Farewell for ever."
FOOTNOTES:
[13] This quotation is attributed erroneously to Horace in the early
editions.
=No. 199.= [STEELE.[14]
From _Saturday, July 15_, to _Tuesday, July 18, 1710_.
When we revolve in our thoughts such catastrophes as that in the
history of the unhappy Cælia, there seems to be something so hazardous
in the changing a single state of life into that of marriage, that (it
may happen) all the precautions imaginable are not sufficient to defend
a virgin from ruin by her choice. It seems a wonderful inconsistence
in the distribution of public justice, that a man who robs a woman of
an ear-ring or a jewel, should be punished with death; but one who by
false arts and insinuations should take from her her very self, is only
to suffer disgrace. This excellent young woman has nothing to console
herself with, but the reflection that her sufferings are not the effect
of any guilt or misconduct, and has for her protection the influence of
a power which, amidst the unjust reproach of all mankind, can give not
only patience, but pleasure to innocence in distress.
As the person who is the criminal against Cælia cannot be sufficiently
punished according to our present law, so are there numberless unhappy
persons without remedy according to present custom. That great ill
which has prevailed among us in these latter ages, is the making even
beauty and virtue the purchase of money. The generality of parents, and
some of those of quality, instead of looking out for introducing health
of constitution, frankness of spirit, or dignity of countenance, into
their families, lay out all their thoughts upon finding out matches
for their estates, and not their children. You shall have one form a
plot for the good of his family, that there shall not be six men in
England capable of pretending to his daughter. A second shall have a
son obliged, out of mere discretion, for fear of doing anything below
himself, follow all the drabs in town. These sage parents meet; and
as there is no pass, no courtship, between the young ones, it is no
unpleasant observation to behold how they proceed to treaty. There is
ever in the behaviour of each something that denotes his circumstance;
and honest Coupler the conveniencer says, he can distinguish upon sight
of the parties, before they have opened any point of their business,
which of the two has the daughter to sell. Coupler is of our club, and
I have frequently heard him declaim upon this subject, and assert, that
the marriage-settlements which are now used have grown fashionable even
within his memory.
When the theatre in some late reigns owed its chief support to those
scenes which were written to put matrimony out of countenance,
and render that state terrible, then it was that pin-money[15]
first prevailed, and all the other articles inserted which create
a diffidence; and intimate to the young people, that they are very
soon to be in a state of war with each other: though this had seldom
happened, except the fear of it had been expressed. Coupler will tell
you also, that jointures were never frequent till the age before his
own; but the women were contented with the third part of the estate the
law allotted them, and scorned to engage with men whom they thought
capable of abusing their children. He has also informed me, that those
who were the oldest benchers when he came to the Temple told him, the
first marriage-settlement of considerable length was the invention of
an old serjeant, who took the opportunity of two testy fathers, who
were ever squabbling to bring about an alliance between their children.
These fellows knew each other to be knaves, and the serjeant took hold
of their mutual diffidence, for the benefit of the law, to extend the
settlement to three skins of parchment.
To this great benefactor to the profession is owing the present
price current of lines and words. Thus is tenderness thrown out of
the question; and the great care is, what the young couple shall do
when they come to hate each other? I do not question but from this
one humour of settlements, might very fairly be deduced not only our
present defection in point of morals, but also our want of people. This
has given way to such unreasonable gallantries, that a man is hardly
reproachable that deceives an innocent woman, though she has never so
much merit, if she is below him in fortune. The man has no dishonour
following his treachery; and her own sex are so debased by force of
custom, as to say in the case of the woman, "How could she expect he
would marry her."
By this means the good offices, the pleasures and graces of life, are
not put into the balance: the bridegroom has given his estate out of
himself, and he has no more left but to follow the blind decree of his
fate, whether he shall be succeeded by a sot, or a man of merit, in his
fortune. On the other side, a fine woman, who has also a fortune, is
set up by way of auction; her first lover has ten to one against him.
The very hour after he has opened his heart and his rent-roll, he is
made no other use of, but to raise her price. She and her friends lose
no opportunity of publishing it to call in new bidders. While the poor
lover very innocently waits till the plenipotentiaries at the Inns of
Court have debated about the alliance, all the partisans of the lady
throw difficulties in the way, till other offers come in; and the man
who came first is not put in possession, till she has been refused by
half the town. If an abhorrence to such mercenary proceedings were well
settled in the minds of my fair readers, those of merit would have a
way opened to their advancement; nay, those who abound in wealth only,
would in reality find their account in it. It would not be in the power
of their prude acquaintance, their waiters, their nurses, cousins and
whisperers, to persuade them, that there are not above twenty men in
a kingdom (and those such as perhaps they may never set eyes on) whom
they can think of with discretion. As the case stands now, let any one
consider, how the great heiresses, and those to whom they were offered,
for no other reason but that they could make them suitable settlements,
live together. What can be more insipid, if not loathsome, than for
two persons to be at the head of a crowd, who have as little regard
for them as they for each other, and behold one another in an affected
sense of prosperity, without the least relish of that exquisite
gladness at meeting, that sweet inquietude at parting, together with
the charms of voice, look, gesture, and that general benevolence
between well-chosen lovers, which makes all things please, and leaves
not the least trifle indifferent.
But I am diverted from these sketches for future essays[16] in behalf
of my numerous clients of the fair sex, by a notice sent to my office
in Sheer Lane, that a blooming widow, in the third year of her
widowhood, and twenty-sixth of her age, designs to take a colonel of
twenty-eight. The parties request I would draw up their terms of coming
together, as having a regard to my opinion against long and diffident
settlements; and I have sent them the following indenture:
* * * * *
"We John ---- and Mary ---- having estates for life, resolve to take
each other. I John will venture my life to enrich thee Mary; and I
Mary will consult my health to nurse thee John. To which we have
interchangeably set our hands, hearts, and seals, this 17th of July,
1710."
FOOTNOTES:
[14] This paper was probably based on notes by Edward Wortley Montagu.
See note to No. 223.
[15] See Addison's paper in the _Spectator_; No. 295, and Sir Harry
Gubbin's complaints of "that cursed pin-money" in Steele's "Tender
Husband," act i. sc. 2. In No. 231 of the _Tatler_, Steele says, "The
lawyers finished the writings, in which, by the way, there was no
pin-money, and they were married."
[16] See No. 223.
=No. 200.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, July 18_, to _Thursday, July 20, 1710_.
_From my own Apartment, July 19._
Having devoted the greater part of my time to the service of the fair
sex, I must ask pardon of my men correspondents if I postpone their
commands, when I have any from the ladies which lie unanswered. That
which follows is of importance:
* * * * *
"SIR,
"You can't think it strange if I, who know little of the world, apply
to you for advice in the weighty affair of matrimony, since you
yourself have often declared it to be of that consequence as to require
the utmost deliberation. Without further preface, therefore, give
me leave to tell you, that my father at his death left me a fortune
sufficient to make me a match for any gentleman. My mother (for she
is still alive) is very pressing with me to marry; and I am apt to
think, to gratify her, I shall venture upon one of two gentlemen who
at this time make their addresses to me. My request is, that you would
direct me in my choice; which that you may the better do, I shall give
you their characters; and to avoid confusion, desire you to call them
by the names of Philander and Silvius. Philander is young, and has a
good estate; Silvius is as young, and has a better. The former has
had a liberal education, has seen the town, is retired from thence to
his estate in the country, is a man of few words, and much given to
books. The latter was brought up under his father's eye, who gave
him just learning enough to enable him to keep his accounts; but
made him withal very expert in country business, such as ploughing,
sowing, buying, selling, and the like. They are both very sober men,
neither of their persons is disagreeable, nor did I know which to
prefer till I had heard them discourse; when the conversation of
Philander so much prevailed, as to give him the advantage, with me, in
all other respects. My mother pleads strongly for Silvius, and uses
these arguments, that he not only has the larger estate at present,
but by his good husbandry and management increases it daily; that his
little knowledge in other affairs will make him easy and tractable;
whereas (according to her) men of letters know too much to make good
husbands. To part of this I imagine I answer effectually, by saying,
Philander's estate is large enough; that they who think £2000 a year
sufficient, make no difference between that and three. I easily believe
him less conversant in those affairs, the knowledge of which she so
much commends in Silvius; but I think them neither so necessary or
becoming in a gentleman as the accomplishments of Philander. It is no
great character of a man to say, he rides in his coach and six, and
understands as much as he who follows his plough. Add to this, that the
conversation of these sort of men seems so disagreeable to me, that
though they may make good bailiffs, I can hardly be persuaded they can
be good companions. It is possible I may seem to have odd notions,
when I say I am not fond of a man only for being of (what is called) a
thriving temper. To conclude, I own I am at a loss to conceive how good
sense should make a man an ill husband, or conversing with books less
complaisant.
"CÆLIA."
The resolution which this lady is going to take, she may very well say
is founded on reason: for after the necessities of life are served,
there is no manner of competition between a man of liberal education
and an illiterate. Men are not altered by their circumstances, but as
they give them opportunities of exerting what they are in themselves;
and a powerful clown is a tyrant in the most ugly form he can possibly
appear. There lies a seeming objection in the thoughtful manner of
Philander: but let her consider which she shall oftener have occasion
to wish, that Philander would speak, or Silvius hold his tongue.
The train of my discourse is prevented by the urgent haste of another
correspondent:
* * * * *
_July 14_.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"This comes to you from one of those virgins of twenty-five years old
and upwards, that you, like a patron of the distressed, promised to
provide for;[17] who makes it her humble request, that no occasional
stories or subjects may (as they have for three or four of your last
days) prevent your publishing the scheme you have communicated to
Amanda, for every day and hour is of the greatest consequence to
damsels of so advanced an age. Be quick then, if you intend to do any
service for
"Your Admirer,
"DIANA FORECAST."
In this important affair, I have not neglected the proposals of others.
Among them is the following sketch of a lottery for persons. The author
of it has proposed very ample encouragement, not only to myself, but
also to Charles Lillie and John Morphew. If the matter bears, I shall
not be unjust to his merit: I only desire to enlarge his plan; for
which purpose I lay it before the town, as well for the improvement as
encouragement of it.
_The Amicable Contribution for raising the Fortunes of Ten Young
Ladies._
"_Imprimis_, It is proposed to raise 100,000 crowns by way of lots,
which will advance for each lady £2500, which sum, together with one
of the ladies, the gentleman that shall be so happy as to draw a prize
(provided they both like), will be entitled to, under such restrictions
hereafter mentioned. And in case they do not like, then either party
that refuses shall be entitled to £1000 only, and the remainder to him
or her that shall be willing to marry, the man being first to declare
his mind. But it is provided, that if both parties shall consent to
have one another, the gentleman shall, before he receives the money
thus raised, settle £1000 of the same in substantial hands (who shall
be as trustees for the said ladies), and shall have the whole and sole
disposal of it for her use only.
"_Note._--Each party shall have three months' time to consider, after
an interview had, which shall be within ten days after the lots are
drawn.
"_Note also._--The name and place of abode of the prize shall be placed
on a proper ticket.
"_Item._--They shall be ladies that have had a liberal education,
between fifteen and twenty-three, all genteel, witty, and of unblamable
characters.
"The money to be raised shall be kept in an iron box, and when there
shall be 2000 subscriptions, which amounts to £500, it shall be taken
out and put into a goldsmith's hands, and the note made payable to the
proper lady, or her assigns (with a clause therein to hinder her from
receiving it, till the fortunate person that draws her shall first sign
the note), and so on till the whole sum is subscribed for: and as soon
as 100,000 subscriptions are completed, and 200 crowns more to pay the
charges, the lottery shall be drawn at a proper place, to be appointed
a fortnight before the drawing."
_Note._--Mr. Bickerstaff objects to the marriageable years here
mentioned; and is of opinion, they should not commence till after
twenty-three. But he appeals to the learned, both of Warwick Lane and
Bishopsgate Street,[18] on this subject.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] See No. 195.
[18] The College of Physicians met in Warwick Lane, and the Royal
Society at Gresham College, in Bishopsgate Street.
=No. 201.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, July 20_, to _Saturday, July 22, 1710_.
_White's Chocolate-house, July 21._
It has been often asserted in these papers, that the great source of
our wrong pursuits is the impertinent manner with which we treat women,
both in the common and important circumstances of life. In vain do we
say, the whole sex would run into England, while the privileges which
are allowed them do no way balance the inconveniences arising from
those very immunities. Our women have very much indulged to them in
the participation of our fortunes and our liberty; but the errors they
commit in the use of either, are by no means so impartially considered
as the false steps which are made by men. In the commerce of lovers,
the man makes the address, assails, and betrays, and yet stands in
the same degree of acceptance as he was in before he committed that
treachery: the woman, for no other crime but believing one whom she
thought loved her, is treated with shyness and indifference at the
best, and commonly with reproach and scorn. He that is past the power
of beauty may talk of this matter with the same unconcern as of any
other subject: therefore I shall take upon me to consider the sex, as
they live within rules, and as they transgress them. The ordinary class
of the good or the ill have very little influence upon the actions of
others; but the eminent in either kind are those who lead the world
below them. The ill are employed in communicating scandal, infamy, and
disease, like furies; the good distribute benevolence, friendship,
and health, like angels. The ill are damped with pain and anguish at
the sight of all that is laudable, lovely, or happy. The virtuous are
touched with commiseration toward the guilty, the disagreeable, and the
wretched. There are those who betray the innocent of their own sex, and
solicit the lewd of ours. There are those who have abandoned the very
memory, not only of innocence, but shame. There are those who never
forgave, nor could ever bear being forgiven. There are also who visit
the beds of the sick, lull the cares of the sorrowful, and double the
joys of the joyful. Such is the destroying fiend, such the guardian
angel, woman.
The way to have a greater number of the amiable part of womankind, and
lessen the crowd of the other sort, is to contribute what we can to
the success of well-grounded passions; and therefore I comply with the
request of an enamoured man in inserting the following billet:
* * * * *
"MADAM,
"Mr. Bickerstaff you always read, though me you will never hear. I am
obliged therefore to his compassion for the opportunity of imploring
yours. I sigh for the most accomplished of her sex. That is so just a
distinction of her to whom I write, that the owning I think so is no
distinction of me who write. Your good qualities are peculiar to you,
my admiration in common with thousands. I shall be present when you
read this, but fear every woman will take it for her character, sooner
than she who deserves it."
If the next letter which presents itself should come from the mistress
of this modest lover, and I make them break through the oppression of
their passions, I shall expect gloves at their nuptials.
* * * * *
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"You that are a philosopher know very well the make of the mind of
woman, and can best instruct me in the conduct of an affair which
highly concerns me. I never can admit my lover to speak to me of love,
yet think him impertinent when he offers to talk of anything else. What
shall I do with a man that always believes me? 'Tis a strange thing
this distance in men of sense; why do not they always urge their fate?
If we are sincere in our severity, you lose nothing by attempting. If
we are hypocrites, you certainly succeed."
_From my own Apartment, July 21._
Before I withdraw from business for the night, it is my custom to
receive all addresses to me, that others may go to rest as well as
myself, at least as far as I can contribute to it. When I called to
know if any would speak with me, I was informed that Mr. Mills,[19]
the player, desired to be admitted. He was so, and with much modesty
acquainted me, as he did other people of note, that "Hamlet" was to be
acted on Wednesday next for his benefit. I had long wanted to speak
with this person, because I thought I could admonish him of many things
which would tend to his improvement. In the general I observed to him,
that though action was his business, the way to that action was not to
study gesture, for the behaviour would follow the sentiments of the
mind.
Action to the player, is what speech is to an orator. If the matter be
well conceived, words will flow with ease; and if the actor is well
possessed of the nature of his part, a proper action will necessarily
follow. He informed me, that Wilks was to act Hamlet. I desired him, to
request of him in my name, that he would wholly forget Mr. Betterton;
for that he failed in no part of Othello, but where he had him in view.
An actor's forming himself by the carriage of another, is like the
trick among the widows, who lament their husbands as their neighbours
did theirs, and not according to their own sentiments of the deceased.
There is a fault also in the audience which interrupts their
satisfaction very much, that is, the figuring to themselves the actor
in some part wherein they formerly particularly liked him, and not
attending to the part he is at that time performing. Thus, whatever
Wilks (who is the strictest follower of nature) is acting, the vulgar
spectators turn their thoughts upon Sir Harry Wildair.
When I had indulged the loquacity of an old man for some time in such
loose hints, I took my leave of Mr. Mills, and was told, Mr. Elliot[20]
of St. James's Coffee-house would speak with me. His business was to
desire I would, as I am an astrologer, let him know beforehand who were
to have the benefit tickets in the ensuing lottery; which knowledge he
was of opinion he could turn to great account, as he was concerned in
news.
I granted his request, upon an oath of secrecy, that he would only
make his own use of it, and not let it be publicly known till after
they were drawn. I had not done speaking, when he produced to me a
plan which he had formed of keeping books, with the names of all such
adventurers, and the numbers of their tickets, as should come to him,
in order to give an hourly account[21] of what tickets shall come up
during the whole time of the lottery, the drawing of which is to begin
on Wednesday next. I liked his method of disguising the secret I had
told him, and pronounced him a thriving man who could so well watch the
motion of things, and profit by a prevailing humour and impatience so
aptly, as to make his honest industry agreeable to his customers, as it
is to be the messenger of their good fortune.
ADVERTISEMENT.
_From the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, July 20._
Ordered, that for the improvement of the pleasures of society, a member
of this house, one of the most wakeful of the soporific assembly beyond
Smithfield Bars, and one of the order of story-tellers in Holborn, may
meet and exchange stale matter, and report the same to their principals.
_N.B._--No man is to tell above one story in the same evening; but has
liberty to tell the same the night following.
Mr. Bickerstaff desires his love correspondents to vary the names they
shall assume in their future letters, for that he is overstocked with
Philanders.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] John Mills, the elder, who died in 1736. Cibber says that Mills
owed his advancement to Wilks, to whose friendship his qualities as an
"honest, quiet, careful man, of as few faults as excellences, commended
him." Mills' salary (see table printed in vol. ii. p. 164) was the same
as Betterton's--£4 a week, and £1 for his wife.
[20] On November 19, 1710, Swift and Steele met at the St. James's
Coffee-house. "This evening," says Swift, "I christened our coffee-man
Elliot's child, where the rogue had a most noble supper, and Steele and
I sat among some scurvy company over a bowl of punch; so that I am come
late home."
[21] See No. 202, end.
=No. 202.= [STEELE.
From _Saturday, July 22_, to _Tuesday, July 25, 1710_.
----Est hic,
Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus.
HOR., 1 Ep. xi. 30.
_From my own Apartment, July 24._
This afternoon I went to visit a gentleman of my acquaintance at Mile
End, and passing through Stepney Churchyard, I could not forbear
entertaining myself with the inscriptions on the tombs and graves.
Among others, I observed one with this notable memorial:
"Here lies the body of T.B."
This fantastical desire of being remembered only by the two first
letters of a name, led me into the contemplation of the vanity and
imperfect attainments of ambition in general. When I run back in my
imagination all the men whom I have ever known and conversed with in my
whole life, there are but very few who have not used their faculties
in the pursuit of what it is impossible to acquire, or left the
possession of what they might have been (at their setting out) masters,
to search for it where it was out of their reach. In this thought it
was not possible to forget the instance of Pyrrhus, who proposing to
himself in discourse with a philosopher,[22] one, and another, and
another conquest, was asked, what he would do after all that? "Then,"
says the King, "we will make merry." He was well answered, "What
hinders your doing that in the condition you are already?" The restless
desire of exerting themselves above the common level of mankind is not
to be resisted in some tempers; and minds of this make may be observed
in every condition of life. Where such men do not make to themselves or
meet with employment, the soil of their constitution runs into tares
and weeds. An old friend of mine, who lost a major's post forty years
ago, and quitted, has ever since studied maps, encampments, retreats,
and countermarches, with no other design but to feed his spleen and
ill-humour, and furnish himself with matter for arguing against all
the successful actions of others. He that at his first setting out in
the world was the gayest man in our regiment, ventured his life with
alacrity, and enjoyed it with satisfaction, encouraged men below him,
and was courted by men above him, has been ever since the most froward
creature breathing. His warm complexion spends itself now only in a
general spirit of contradiction; for which he watches all occasions,
and is in his conversation still upon sentry, treats all men like
enemies, with every other impertinence of a speculative warrior.
He that observes in himself this natural inquietude, should take all
imaginable care to put his mind in some method of gratification, or he
will soon find himself grow into the condition of this disappointed
major. Instead of courting proper occasions to rise above others,
he will be ever studious of pulling others down to him: it being
the common refuge of disappointed ambition, to ease themselves by
detraction. It would be no great argument against ambition, that there
are such mortal things in the disappointment of it; but it certainly
is a forcible exception, that there can be no solid happiness in the
success of it. If we value popular praise, it is in the power of the
meanest of the people to disturb us by calumny. If the fame of being
happy, we cannot look into a village but we see crowds in actual
possession of what we seek only the appearance. To this may be added,
that there is I know not what malignity in the minds of ordinary
men to oppose you in what they see you fond of; and it is a certain
exception against a man's receiving applause, that he visibly courts
it. However, this is not only the passion of great and undertaking
spirits, but you see it in the lives of such as one would believe were
far enough removed from the ways of ambition. The rural squires of this
nation even eat and drink out of vanity. A vainglorious fox-hunter
shall entertain half a county for the ostentation of his beef and
beer, without the least affection for any of the crowd about him.
He feeds them, because he thinks it a superiority over them that he
does so: and they devour him, because they know he treats them out of
insolence. This indeed is ambition in grotesque, but may figure to us
the condition of politer men, whose only pursuit is glory. When the
superior acts out of a principle of vanity, the dependant will be sure
to allow it him; because he knows it destructive of the very applause
which is courted by the man who favours him, and consequently makes him
nearer himself.
But as every man living has more or less of this incentive, which
makes men impatient of an inactive condition, and urges men to attempt
what may tend to their reputation, it is absolutely necessary they
should form to themselves an ambition which is in every man's power to
gratify. This ambition would be independent, and would consist only in
acting what to a man's own mind appears most great and laudable. It is
a pursuit in the power of every man, and is only a regular prosecution
of what he himself approves. It is what can be interrupted by no
outward accidents, for no man can be robbed of his good intention.
One of our society of the Trumpet therefore started last night a
notion which I thought had reason in it. "It is, methinks," said he,
"an unreasonable thing, that heroic virtue should (as it seems to be
at present) be confined to a certain order of men, and be attainable
by none but those whom fortune has elevated to the most conspicuous
stations. I would have everything to be esteemed as heroic which
is great and uncommon in the circumstances in the man who performs
it." Thus there would be no virtue in human life which every one of
the species would not have a pretence to arrive at, and an ardency
to exert. Since Fortune is not in our power, let us be as little as
possible in hers. Why should it be necessary that a man should be rich,
to be generous? If we measured by the quality, and not the quantity,
of things, the particulars which accompany an action are what should
denominate it mean or great. The highest station of human life is to
be attained by each man that pretends to it: for every man can be as
valiant, as generous, as wise, and as merciful, as the faculties and
opportunities which he has from Heaven and fortune will permit. He
that can say to himself, I do as much good, and am as virtuous, as my
most earnest endeavours will allow me, whatever is his station in the
world, is to himself possessed of the highest honour. If ambition is
not thus turned, it is no other than a continual succession of anxiety
and vexation. But when it has this cast, it invigorates the mind, and
the consciousness of its own worth is a reward which it is not in the
power of envy, reproach, or detraction, to take from it. Thus the seat
of solid honour is in a man's own bosom, and no one can want support
who is in possession of an honest conscience, but he who would suffer
the reproaches of it for other greatness.
_P.S._--I was going on in my philosophy, when notice was brought me
that there was a great crowd in my ante-chamber, who expected audience.
When they were admitted, I found they all met at my lodgings; each
coming upon the same errand, to know whether they were of the fortunate
in the lottery, which is now ready to be drawn. I was much at a loss
how to extricate myself from their importunity; but observing the
assembly made up of both sexes, I signified to them, that in this case
it would appear Fortune is not blind, for all the lots would fall upon
the wisest and the fairest. This gave so general a satisfaction, that
the room was soon emptied, and the company retired with the best air,
and the most pleasing grace, I had anywhere observed. Mr. Elliot[23]
of St. James's Coffee-house now stood alone before me, and signified
to me, he had now not only prepared his books, but had received a
very great subscription already. His design was, to advertise his
subscribers at their respective places of abode, within an hour after
their number is drawn, whether it was a blank or benefit, if the
adventurer lives within the bills of mortality; if he dwells in the
country, by the next post. I encouraged the man in his industry, and
told him, the ready path to good fortune was to believe there was no
such thing.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Cineas the orator (see Plutarch's "Life of Pyrrhus").
[23] See No. 201.
=No. 203.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, July 25_, to _Thursday, July 27, 1710_.
Ut tu fortunam, sic nos te, Celse, feremus.--HOR., 1 Ep. viii. 17.
_From my own Apartment, July 26._
It is natural for the imaginations of men who lead their lives in too
solitary a manner, to prey upon themselves, and form from their own
conceptions beings and things which have no place in nature. This
often makes an adept as much at a loss when he comes into the world
as a mere savage. To avoid therefore that ineptitude for society,
which is frequently the fault of us scholars, and has to men of
understanding and breeding something much more shocking and untractable
than rusticity itself, I take care to visit all public solemnities,
and go into assemblies as often as my studies will permit. This being
therefore the first day of the drawing of the lottery,[24] I did
not neglect spending a considerable time in the crowd: but as much
a philosopher as I pretend to be, I could not but look with a sort
of veneration upon the two boys which received the tickets from the
wheels, as the impartial and equal dispensers of the fortunes which
were to be distributed among the crowd, who all stood expecting the
same chance. It seems at first thought very wonderful, that one
passion should so universally have the pre-eminence of another in the
possession of men's minds as that in this case; all in general have a
secret hope of the great ticket: and yet fear in another instance, as
in going into a battle, shall have so little influence, as that though
each man believes there will be many thousands slain, each is confident
he himself shall escape. This certainty proceeds from our vanity; for
every man sees abundance in himself that deserves reward, and nothing
which should meet with mortification. But of all the adventurers that
filled the hall, there was one who stood by me, who I could not but
fancy expected the thousand pounds per annum, as a mere justice to his
parts and industry. He had his pencil and table-book, and was at the
drawing of each lot, counting how much a man with seven tickets was
now nearer the great prize, by the striking out another and another
competitor. This man was of the most particular constitution I had ever
observed; his passions were so active, that he worked in the utmost
stretch of hope and fear. When one rival fell before him, you might
see a short gleam of triumph in his countenance, which immediately
vanished at the approach of another. What added to the particularity
of this man, was, that he every moment cast a look, either upon the
commissioners, the wheels, or the boys. I gently whispered him, and
asked, when he thought the thousand pounds would come up? "Pugh!" says
he, "who knows that?" and then looks upon a little list of his own
tickets, which were pretty high in their numbers, and said it would not
come this ten days. This fellow will have a good chance, though not
that which he has put his heart on. The man is mechanically turned, and
made for getting. The simplicity and eagerness which he is in, argues
an attention to his point; though what he is labouring at does not
in the least contribute to it. Were it not for such honest fellows as
these, the men who govern the rest of their species would have no tools
to work with: for the outward show of the world is carried on by such
as cannot find out that they are doing nothing. I left my man with
great reluctance, seeing the care he took to observe the whole conduct
of the persons concerned, and compute the inequality of the chances
with his own hands and eyes. "Dear sir," said I, "they must rise early
that cheat you." "Ay," said he, "there's nothing like a man's minding
his business himself." "'Tis very true," said I; "the master's eye
makes the horse fat."
As it is much the greater number who are to go without prizes, it
is but very expedient to turn our lecture[25] to the forming just
sentiments on the subject of fortune. One said this morning, that
the chief lot he was confident would fall upon some puppy; but this
gentleman is one of those wrong tempers who approve only the unhappy,
and have a natural prejudice to the fortunate. But as it is certain
that there is a great meanness in being attached to a man purely for
his fortune, there is no less a meanness in disliking him for his
happiness. It is the same perverseness under different colours, and
both these resentments arise from mere pride.
The true greatness of mind consists in valuing men apart from their
circumstances, or according to their behaviour in them. Wealth is
a distinction only in traffic; but it must not be allowed as a
recommendation in any other particular, but only just as it is applied.
It was very prettily said, that we may learn the little value of
fortune by the persons on whom Heaven is pleased to bestow it.[26]
However, there is not a harder part in human life than becoming wealth
and greatness. He must be very well stocked with merit, who is not
willing to draw some superiority over his friends from his fortune: for
it is not every man that can entertain with the air of a guest, and do
good offices with the mien of one that receives them.
I must confess, I cannot conceive how a man can place himself in a
figure wherein he can so much enjoy his own soul, and that greatest
of pleasures, the just approbation of his own actions, than as an
adventurer on this occasion, to sit and see the lots go off without
hope or fear, perfectly unconcerned as to himself, but taking part in
the good fortune of others.
I will believe there are happy tempers in being, to whom all the good
that arrives to any of their fellow-creatures gives a pleasure. These
live in a course of substantial and lasting happiness, and have the
satisfaction to see all men endeavour to gratify them. This state of
mind not only lets a man into certain enjoyments, but relieves him from
as certain anxieties. If you will not rejoice with happy men, you must
repine at them. Dick Reptile alluded to this when he said, he would
hate no man out of pure idleness. As for my own part, I look at fortune
quite in another view than the rest of the world; and, by my knowledge
in futurity, tremble at the approaching prize which I see coming to a
young lady for whom I have much tenderness; and have therefore written
her the following letter, to be sent by Mr. Elliot with the notice of
her ticket:
* * * * *
"MADAM,
"You receive at the instant this comes to your hands, an account of
your having (what only you wanted) fortune; and to admonish you, that
you may not now want everything else. You had yesterday wit, virtue,
beauty; but you never heard of them till to-day. They say Fortune
is blind; but you will find she has opened the eyes of all your
beholders. I beseech you, madam, make use of the advantages of having
been educated without flattery. If you can still be Chloe, Fortune has
indeed been kind to you; if you are altered, she has it not in her
power to give you an equivalent."[27]
_Grecian Coffee-house, July 26._
Some time ago a virtuoso, my very good friend, sent me a plan of a
covered summer-house, which a little after was rallied by another of my
correspondents.[28] I cannot therefore defer giving him an opportunity
of making his defence to the learned in his own words.
* * * * *
"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.
"SIR, _July 15, 1710_.
"I have been this summer upon a ramble to visit several friends and
relations; which is the reason I have left you, and our ingenious,
unknown friend of South Wales, so long in your error concerning the
grass-plots in my green-house. I will not give you the particulars
of my gardener's conduct in the management of my covered garden, but
content myself with letting you know, that my little fields within
doors, though by their novelty they appear too extravagant to you to
subsist even in a regular imagination, are in the effect things that
require no conjuration. Your correspondent may depend upon it, that
under a sashed roof, which lets in the sun at all times, and the air
as often as is convenient, he may have grass-plots in the greatest
perfection, if he will be at the pains to water, mow, and roll them.
Grass and herbs in general, the less they are exposed to the sun and
wind, the livelier is their verdure. They require only warmth and
moisture; and if you were to see my plots, your eye would soon confess,
that the bowling-green at Marybone[29] wears not half so bright a
livery.
"The motto with which the gentleman has been pleased to furnish you, is
so very proper, and pleases me so well, that I design to have it set
upon the front of my green-house in letters of gold.
"I am, Sir, &c."
FOOTNOTES:
[24] See No. 124.
[25] Discourse.
[26] A writer in _Notes and Queries_ (March 19, 1887) has pointed out
that Luther says in his "Colloquies" (1652), p. 90, "Our Lord commonly
giveth riches to such gross asses to whom He affordeth nothing else
that is good."
[27] Chloe's reply is in No. 207.
[28] See Nos. 179 and 188.
[29] In 1728 we hear of persons arriving in London "from their
country-houses in Marylebone" (_cf._ No. 18). Marylebone Gardens, a
favourite place of entertainment, had in the centre a bowling-green,
"112 paces one way, 88 another," where persons of quality often played.
=No. 204.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, July 27_, to _Saturday, July 29, 1710_.
----Gaudent prænomine molles
Auriculæ.----
HOR., 2 Sat. v. 32.
_From my own Apartment, July 28._
Many are the inconveniences which happen from the improper manner of
address in common speech between persons of the same or of different
quality.
Among these errors, there is none greater than that of the impertinent
use of title, and a paraphrastical way of saying "you." I had the
curiosity the other day to follow a crowd of people near Billingsgate,
who were conducting a passionate woman who sold fish to a magistrate,
in order to explain some words which were ill taken by one of her own
quality and profession in the public market. When she came to make her
defence, she was so very full of, "his Worship," and of, "if it should
please his Honour," that we could for some time hardly hear any other
apology she made for herself than that of atoning for the ill language
she had been accused of towards her neighbour by the great civilities
she paid to her judge. But this extravagance in her sense of doing
honour, was no more to be wondered at than that her many rings on each
finger were worn as instances of finery and dress. The vulgar may thus
heap and huddle terms of respect, and nothing better be expected from
them; but for people of rank to repeat appellatives insignificantly,
is a folly not to be endured, neither with regard to our times or our
understanding. It is below the dignity of speech to extend it with more
words or phrases than are necessary to explain ourselves with elegance:
and it is, methinks, an instance of ignorance, if not of servitude, to
be redundant in such expressions.
I waited upon a man of quality some mornings ago: he happened to be
dressing; and his shoemaker fitting him, told him, that if his Lordship
would please to tread hard, or that if his Lordship would stamp a
little, his Lordship would find his Lordship's shoe will fit as easy
as any piece of work his Lordship should see in England. As soon as
my lord was dressed, a gentleman approached him with a very good air,
and told him, he had an affair which had long depended in the Lower
Courts, which, through the inadvertency of his ancestors on the one
side, and the ill arts of their adversaries on the other, could not
possibly be settled according to the rules of the Lower Courts: that
therefore he designed to bring his cause before the House of Lords next
session, where he should be glad if his Lordship should happen to be
present; for he doubted not but his cause would be approved by all men
of justice and honour. In this place the word "Lordship" was gracefully
inserted, because it was applied to him in that circumstance wherein
his quality was the occasion of the discourse, and wherein it was most
useful to the one, and most honourable to the other.
This way is so far from being disrespectful to the honour of nobles,
that it is an expedient for using them with greater deference. I would
not put "Lordship" to a man's hat, gloves, wig, or cane; but to desire
his Lordship's favour, his Lordship's judgment, or his Lordship's
patronage, is a manner of speaking which expresses an alliance between
his quality and his merit. It is this knowledge which distinguished
the discourse of the shoemaker from that of the gentleman. The highest
point of good-breeding, if any one can hit it, is to show a very nice
regard to your own dignity, and with that in your heart express your
value for the man above you.
But the silly humour to the contrary has so much prevailed, that
the slavish addition of title enervates discourse, and renders the
application of it almost ridiculous. We writers of diurnals are nearer
in our styles to that of common talk than any other writers, by which
means we use words of respect sometimes very unfortunately. The
_Post-Man_,[30] who is one of the most celebrated of our fraternity,
fell into this misfortune yesterday in his paragraph from Berlin of
July 26. "Count Wartenberg," says he, "Great Chamberlain, and Chief
Minister of this Court, who on Monday last accompanied the King of
Prussia to Oranienburg, was taken so very ill, that on Wednesday his
life was despaired of; and we had a report, that his Excellency was
dead."
I humbly presume, that it flattens the narration, to say "his
Excellency" in a case which is common to all men; except you would
infer what is not to be inferred, to wit, that the author designed to
say, "all wherein he excelled others was departed from him."
Were distinctions used according to the rules of reason and sense,
those additions to men's names would be, as they were first intended,
significant of their worth, and not their persons; so that in some
cases it might be proper to say, "The man is dead, but his excellency
will never die." It is, methinks, very unjust to laugh at a Quaker,
because he has taken up a resolution to treat you with a word, the most
expressive of complaisance that can be thought of, and with an air of
good-nature and charity calls you friend. I say, it is very unjust to
rally him for this term to a stranger, when you yourselves, in all your
phrases of distinction, confound phrases of honour into no use at all.
Tom Courtly, who is the pink of courtesy, is an instance of how little
moment an undistinguishing application of sounds of honour are to those
who understand themselves. Tom never fails of paying his obeisance to
every man he sees, who has title or office to make him conspicuous;
but his deference is wholly given to outward considerations. I, who
know him, can tell within half an acre how much land one man has more
than another by Tom's bow to him. Title is all he knows of honour,
and civility of friendship: for this reason, because he cares for no
man living, he is religiously strict in performing what he calls
his respects to you. To this end he is very learned in pedigree, and
will abate something in the ceremony of his approaches to a man, if
he is in any doubt about the bearing of his coat of arms. What is the
most pleasant of all his character is, that he acts with a sort of
integrity in these impertinences; and though he would not do any man
any solid kindness, he is wonderfully just and careful not to wrong his
quality. But as integrity is very scarce in the world, I cannot forbear
having respect for the impertinent: it is some virtue to be bound by
anything. Tom and I are upon very good terms for the respect he has for
the house of Bickerstaff. Though one cannot but laugh at his serious
consideration of things so little essential, one must have a value even
for a frivolous good conscience.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] See No. 155.
=No. 205.= [FULLER.[31]
From _Saturday, July 29_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 1, 1710_.
Νήπιοι, οὐδὲ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ἥμισυ παντός,
Οὐδ' ὅσον ἐν μαλάχῃ τε καὶ ἀσφοδέλῳ μέγ' ὄνειαρ.
HESIOD, Works and Days, 20.
_From my own Apartment, July 31._
Nature has implanted in us two very strong desires, hunger for the
preservation of the individual, and lust for the support of the
species; or, to speak more intelligibly, the former to continue
our own persons, and the latter to introduce others into the world.
According as men behave themselves with regard to these appetites,
they are above or below the beasts of the field, which are incited by
them without choice or reflection. But reasonable creatures correct
these incentives, and improve them into elegant motives of friendship
and society. It is chiefly from this homely foundation, that we are
under the necessity of seeking for the agreeable companion, and the
honourable mistress. By this cultivation of art and reason, our wants
are made pleasures, and the gratification of our desires, under proper
restrictions, a work no way below our noblest faculties. The wisest
man may maintain his character, and yet consider in what manner he
shall best entertain his friend, or divert his mistress: nay, it is so
far from being a derogation to him, that he can in no other instances
show so true a taste of his life or his fortune. What concerns one of
the above-mentioned appetites, as it is elevated into love, I shall
have abundant occasion to discourse of before I have provided for
the numberless crowd of damsels I have proposed to take care of. The
subject therefore of the present paper shall be that part of society
which owes its beginning to the common necessity of hunger. When this
is considered as the support of our being, we may take in under the
same head thirst also; otherwise when we are pursuing the glutton,
the drunkard may make his escape. The true choice of our diet, and
our companions at it, seems to consist in that which contributes
most to cheerfulness and refreshment: and these certainly are best
consulted by simplicity in the food, and sincerity in the company. By
this rule are in the first place excluded from pretence to happiness
all meals of state and ceremony, which are performed in dumb show and
greedy sullenness. At the boards of the great, they say, you shall
have a number attending with as good habits and countenances as the
guests, which only circumstance must destroy the whole pleasure of
the repast: for if such attendants are introduced for the dignity of
their appearance, modest minds are shocked by considering them as
spectators, or else look upon them as equals, for whose servitude they
are in a kind of suffering. It may be here added, that the sumptuous
sideboard to an ingenuous eye has often more the air of an altar than
a table. The next absurd way of enjoying ourselves at meals, is, where
the bottle is plied without being called for, where humour takes place
of appetite, and the good company are too dull or too merry to know any
enjoyment in their senses.
Though this part of time is absolutely necessary to sustain life, it
must be also considered, that life itself is to the endless being of
man but what a meal is to this life, not valuable for itself, but
for the purpose of it. If there be any truth in this, the expense
of many hours this way is somewhat unaccountable; and placing much
thought either in too great sumptuousness and elegance in this matter,
or wallowing in noise and riot at it, are both, though not equally,
unaccountable. I have often considered these different people with very
great attention, and always speak of them with the distinction of the
eaters and the swallowers. The eaters sacrifice all their senses and
understanding to this appetite: the swallowers hurry themselves out of
both, without pleasing this or any other appetite at all. The latter
are improved brutes, the former degenerated men. I have sometimes
thought it would not be improper to add to my dead and living men,
persons in an intermediate state of humanity, under the appellation of
dozers. The dozers are a sect, who, instead of keeping their appetites
in subjection, live in subjection to them; nay, they are so truly
slaves to them, that they keep at too great a distance ever to come
into their presence. Within my own acquaintance, I know those that I
daresay have forgot that they ever were hungry, and are no less utter
strangers to thirst and weariness, who are beholden to sauces for their
food, and to their food for their weariness.
I have often wondered, considering the excellent and choice spirits
that we have among our divines, that they do not think of putting
vicious habits into a more contemptible and unlovely figure than
they do at present. So many men of wit and spirit as there are in
sacred orders, have it in their power to make the fashion of their
side. The leaders in human society are more effectually prevailed
upon this way than can easily be imagined. I have more than one
in my thoughts at this time capable of doing this against all the
opposition of the most witty, as well as the most voluptuous. There
may possibly be more acceptable subjects, but sure there are none more
useful. It is visible, that though men's fortunes, circumstances, and
pleasures give them prepossessions too strong to regard any mention
either of punishments or rewards, they will listen to what makes them
inconsiderable or mean in the imaginations of others, and by degrees in
their own.
It is certain such topics are to be touched upon in the light we mean,
only by men of the most consummate prudence, as well as excellent wit:
for these discourses are to be made, if made to run into example,
before such as have their thoughts more intent upon the propriety than
the reason of the discourse. What indeed leads me into this way of
thinking, is, that the last thing I read was a sermon of the learned
Dr. South,[32] upon the Ways of Pleasantness. This admirable discourse
was made at court, where the preacher was too wise a man not to
believe; the greatest argument, in that place, against the pleasures
then in vogue, must be, that they lost greater pleasures by prosecuting
the course they were in. The charming discourse has in it whatever wit
and wisdom can put together. This gentleman has a talent of making all
his faculties bear to the great end of his hallowed profession. Happy
genius! he is the better man for being a wit. The best way to praise
this author is to quote him; and, I think, I may defy any man to say a
greater thing of him, or his ability, than that there are no paragraphs
in the whole discourse I speak of below these which follow.
After having recommended the satisfaction of the mind, and the pleasure
of conscience, he proceeds:
"An ennobling property of it is, that it is such a pleasure as never
satiates or wearies; for it properly affects the spirit, and a spirit
feels no weariness, as being privileged from the causes of it. But
can the epicure say so of any of the pleasures he so much dotes upon?
Do they not expire while they satisfy, and after a few minutes'
refreshment determine in loathing and unquietness? How short is the
interval between a pleasure and a burden! How undiscernible the
transition from one to the other! Pleasure dwells no longer upon the
appetite than the necessities of nature, which are quickly and easily
provided for; and then all that follows is a load and an oppression.
Every morsel to a satisfied hunger is only a new labour to a tired
digestion. Every draught to him that has quenched his thirst is but a
further quenching of nature, and a provision for rheum and diseases, a
drowning of the quickness and activity of the spirits.
"He that prolongs his meals, and sacrifices his time, as well as
his other conveniences, to his luxury, how quickly does he outsit
his pleasure! And then, how is all the following time bestowed upon
ceremony and surfeit! Till at length, after a long fatigue of eating,
and drinking, and babbling, he concludes the great work of dining
genteelly, and so makes a shift to rise from table, that he may lie
down upon his bed; where, after he has slept himself into some use of
himself, by much ado he staggers to his table again, and there acts
over the same brutish scene: so that he passes his whole life in a
dozed condition, between sleeping and waking, with a kind of drowsiness
and confusion upon his senses, which, what pleasure it can be, is hard
to conceive. All that is of it dwells upon the tip of his tongue, and
within the compass of his palate. A worthy prize for a man to purchase
with the loss of his time, his reason, and himself!"
FOOTNOTES:
[31] Samuel Partiger Fuller was M.P. for Petersfield from 1715 to
1722. Steele's letters show that he was an intimate friend of Fuller's
in 1716-17; and in February 1716, when Steele spoke in the House of
Commons on behalf of the noblemen condemned for the part they had taken
in the rebellion of 1715, he was seconded by Fuller. The following
passage from Steele's _Theatre_, No. 26, March 29, 1720, is the
authority for attributing this paper to young Fuller, then a secret
correspondent:
"I can hardly conceive a more laudable act, than declaring an
abhorrence of so fashionable a crime [viz., duelling], which weakness,
cowardice, and an impatience of the reproach of fools, have brought
upon reasonable men. This sort of behaviour cannot proceed but from a
true and undaunted courage; and I cannot but have in great veneration
a generous youth, who, in public, declared his assent and concurrence
to this law, by saying, that in spite of the prevailing custom, he
triumphed more in being a second to prevent, than he should have done
in being one to promote murder. A speech thus ingenuous could come only
from a heart that scorned reserves, in compliance to falsehood, to do
injury to truth.
"This was true greatness of mind; and the man who did it, could not
possibly do it for his own sake, but must be conscious of a courage
sufficient for his own defence, who could thus candidly, at this time
of life, rescue other men from the necessity of bearing contempt, or
doing an ill action.
"The mind usually exerts itself in all its faculties with an equal pace
towards maturity; and this gentleman, who at the age of sixteen could
form such pleasant pictures of the false and little ambitions of low
spirits, as Mr. Fuller did, to whom, when a boy, we owe, with several
other excellent pieces, "The Vainglorious Glutton," when a secret
correspondent of the _Tatler_: I say, such a one might easily, as he
proceeded in human life, arrive at this superior strength of mind at
four-and-twenty. The soul that labours against prejudice, and follows
reason, ripens in her capacities and grows in her talents at the same
time. As therefore courage is what a man attains by thought, as much as
he improves his wit by study, it is only from want of opportunities to
call the one or the other forth, and draw the respective qualities into
habit, if ever a man of sense is a coward."
[32] See Nos. 61 and 211. In the _Guardian_ (No. 135), Addison quotes
from South a passage which, he says, "cannot but make the man's heart
burn within him who reads it with due attention."
=No. 206.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Aug. 1_, to _Thursday, Aug. 3, 1710_.
Metiri se quemque suo modulo ac pede verum est.
HOR., 1 Ep. vii. 98.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 2._
The general purposes of men in the conduct of their lives (I mean with
relation to this life only), end in gaining either the affection or the
esteem of those with whom they converse. Esteem makes a man powerful in
business, and affection desirable in conversation; which is certainly
the reason that very agreeable men fail of their point in the world,
and those who are by no means such arrive at it with much ease. If it
be visible in a man's carriage that he has a strong passion to please,
no one is much at a loss how to keep measures with him, because there
is always a balance in people's hands to make up with him, by giving
him what he still wants in exchange for what you think fit to deny him.
Such a person asks with diffidence, and ever leaves room for denial
by that softness of his complexion. At the same time he himself is
capable of denying nothing, even what he is not able to perform. The
other sort of man who courts esteem, having a quite different view,
has as different a behaviour, and acts as much by the dictates of his
reason, as the other does by the impulse of his inclination. You must
pay for everything you have of him. He considers mankind as a people
in commerce, and never gives out of himself what he is sure will not
come in with interest from another. All his words and actions tend to
the advancement of his reputation and of his fortune, toward which he
makes hourly progress, because he lavishes no part of his good-will
upon such as do not make some advances to merit it. The man who values
affection sometimes becomes popular, he who aims at esteem seldom fails
of growing rich.
Thus far we have looked at these different men as persons who endeavour
to be valued and beloved from design or ambition; but they appear in
quite another figure, when you observe the men who are agreeable and
venerable from the force of their natural inclinations. We affect the
company of him who has least regard of himself in his carriage, who
throws himself into unguarded gaiety, voluntary mirth, and general
good-humour; who has nothing in his head but the present hour, and
seems to have all his interests and passions gratified, if every man
else in the room is as unconcerned as himself. This man usually has no
quality or character among his companions; let him be born of whom
he will, have what great qualities he please, let him be capable of
assuming for a moment what figure he pleases, he still dwells in the
imagination of all who know him but as Jack Such-a-One. This makes Jack
brighten up the room wherever he enters, and change the severity of the
company into that gaiety and good-humour into which his conversation
generally leads them. It is not unpleasant to observe even this sort of
creature go out of his character, to check himself sometimes for his
familiarities, and pretend so awkwardly at procuring to himself more
esteem than he finds he meets with. I was the other day walking with
Jack Gainly towards Lincoln's Inn Walks. We met a fellow who is a lower
officer where Jack is in the direction. Jack cries to him, so, "How is
it, Mr. ----?" He answers, "Mr. Gainly, I am glad to see you well."
This expression of equality gave my friend a pang, which appeared in a
flush of his countenance. "Prithee, Jack," says I, "do not be angry at
the man; for do what you will, the man can only love you: be contented
with the image the man has of thee; for if thou aimest at any other,
it must be hatred or contempt." I went on, and told him, "Look'ee,
Jack, I have heard thee sometimes talk like an oracle for half-an-hour,
with the sentiments of a Roman, the closeness of a school-man, and the
integrity of a divine; but then, Jack, while I admired thee, it was
upon topics which did not concern thyself, and where the greatness of
the subject (added to thy being personally unconcerned in it) created
all that was great in thy discourse." I did not mind his being a little
out of humour, but comforted him, by giving him several instances of
men of our acquaintance, who had no one quality in any eminence, that
were much more esteemed than he was with very many: but the thing is,
if your character is to give pleasure, men will consider you only in
that light, and not in those acts which turn to esteem and veneration.
When I think of Jack Gainly, I cannot but reflect also upon his sister
Gatty. She is young, witty, pleasant, innocent. This is her natural
character; but when she observes any one admired for what they call
a fine woman, she is all the next day womanly, prudent, observing,
and virtuous. She is every moment asked in her prudential behaviour,
whether she is not well? Upon which she as often answers in a fret,
"Do people think one must be always romping, always a Jack-pudding?" I
never fail to inquire of her, if my Lady Such-a-One, that awful beauty,
was not at the play last night? She knows the connection between that
question and her change of humour, and says, "It would be very well,
if some people would examine into themselves as much as they do into
others;" or, "Sure there is nothing in the world so ridiculous as an
amorous old man."
As I was saying, there is a class which every man is in by his post in
nature, from which it is impossible for him to withdraw to another,
and become it. Therefore it is necessary that each should be contented
with it, and not endeavour at any progress out of that tract. To
follow nature, is the only agreeable course; which is what I would
fain inculcate to those jarring companions, Flavia and Lucia. They
are mother and daughter. Flavia, who is the mamma, has all the charms
and desires of youth still about her, and not much turned of thirty:
Lucia is blooming and amorous, and but a little above fifteen. The
mother looks very much younger than she is, the girl very much older.
If it were possible to fix the girl to her sick-bed, and preserve the
portion (the use of which the mother partakes), the good widow Flavia
would certainly do it. But for fear of Lucia's escape, the mother is
forced to be constantly attended with a rival, that explains her age,
and draws off the eyes of her admirers. The jest is, they can never
be together in strangers' company, but Lucy is eternally reprimanded
for something very particular in her behaviour; for which she has the
malice to say, she hopes she shall always obey her parents. She carried
her passion and jealousy to that height the other day, that coming
suddenly into the room, and surprising Colonel Lofty speaking rapture
on one knee to her mother, she clapped down by him and asked her
blessing.
I do not know whether it is so proper to tell family occurrences of
this nature; but we every day see the same thing happen in the public
conversation in the world. Men cannot be contented with what is
laudable, but they must have all that is laudable. This affectation is
what destroys the familiar man into pretences to take state upon him,
and the contrary character to the folly of aiming at being winning and
complaisant. But in these cases men may easily lay aside what they are,
but can never arrive at what they are not.
As to the pursuits after affection and esteem, the fair sex are happy
in this particular, that with them the one is much more nearly related
to the other than in men. The love of a woman is inseparable from
some esteem of her; and as she is naturally the object of affection,
the woman who has your esteem has also some degree of your love.[33]
A man that dotes on a woman for her beauty, will whisper his friend,
"That creature has a great deal of wit when you are well acquainted
with her." And if you examine the bottom of your esteem for a woman,
you will find you have a greater opinion of her beauty than anybody
else. As to us men, I design to pass most of my time with the facetious
Harry Bickerstaff; but William Bickerstaff, the most prudent man of our
family, shall be my executor.
FOOTNOTES:
[33] "Inseparable always from his passion is the exalted admiration he
feels; and his love is the very flower of his respect" (Forster's Essay
on Steele).
=No. 207.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Aug. 3_, to _Saturday, Aug. 5, 1710_.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 4._
Having yesterday morning received a paper of Latin verses, written
with much elegance in honour of these my papers, and being informed
at the same time that they were composed by a youth under age, I read
them with much delight, as an instance of his improvement. There is
not a greater pleasure to old age, than seeing young people entertain
themselves in such a manner as that we can partake of their enjoyments.
On such occasions we flatter ourselves that we are not quite laid aside
in the world, but that we are either used with gratitude for what we
were, or honoured for what we are. A well-inclined young man, and whose
good-breeding is founded upon the principles of nature and virtue,
must needs take delight in being agreeable to his elders, as we are
truly delighted when we are not the jest of them. When I say this, I
must confess I cannot but think it a very lamentable thing that there
should be a necessity for making that a rule of life, which should
be, methinks, a mere instinct of nature. If reflection upon a man in
poverty, whom we once knew in riches, is an argument of commiseration
with generous minds; sure old age, which is a decay from that vigour
which the young possess, and must certainly (if not prevented against
their will) arrive at, should be more forcibly the object of that
reverence which honest spirits are inclined to from a sense of being
themselves liable to what they observe has already overtaken others.
My three nephews, whom in June last was twelvemonth I disposed of
according to their several capacities and inclinations, the first to
the University, the second to a merchant, and the third to a woman
of quality as her page, by my invitation dined with me to-day. It
is my custom often, when I have a mind to give myself a more than
ordinary cheerfulness, to invite a certain young gentlewoman of our
neighbourhood to make one of the company. She did me that favour this
day. The presence of a beautiful woman of honour, to minds which
are not trivially disposed, displays an alacrity which is not to be
communicated by any other object. It was not unpleasant to me to look
into her thoughts of the company she was in. She smiled at the party
of pleasure I had thought of for her, which was composed of an old
man and three boys. My scholar, my citizen, and myself were very soon
neglected; and the young courtier, by the bow he made to her at her
entrance, engaged her observation without a rival. I observed the
Oxonian not a little discomposed at this preference, while the trader
kept his eye upon his uncle. My nephew Will had a thousand secret
resolutions to break in upon the discourse of his younger brother,
who gave my fair companion a full account of the fashion, and what
was reckoned most becoming to this complexion, and what sort of habit
appeared best upon the other shape. He proceeded to acquaint her,
who of quality was well or sick within the bills of mortality, and
named very familiarly all his lady's acquaintance, not forgetting
her very words when he spoke of their characters. Besides all this,
he had a road of flattery; and upon her inquiring what sort of woman
Lady Lovely was in her person, "Really, madam," says the jackanapes,
"she is exactly of your height and shape; but as you are fair, she is
a brown woman." There was no enduring that this fop should outshine
us all at this unmerciful rate, therefore I thought fit to talk to
my young scholar concerning his studies; and because I would throw
his learning into present service, I desired him to repeat to me the
translation he had made of some tender verses in Theocritus. He did so,
with an air of elegance peculiar to the college to which I sent him.
I made some exceptions to the turn of the phrases, which he defended
with much modesty, as believing in that place the matter was rather to
consult the softness of a swain's passion, than the strength of his
expressions. It soon appeared that Will had outstripped his brother
in the opinion of our young lady. A little poetry to one who is bred
a scholar has the same effect that a good carriage of his person has
on one who is to live in courts. The favour of women is so natural a
passion, that I envied both the boys their success in the approbation
of my guest; and I thought the only person invulnerable was my young
trader. During the whole meal, I could observe in the children a mutual
contempt and scorn of each other, arising from their different way of
life and education, and took that occasion to advertise them of such
growing distastes, which might mislead them in their future life, and
disappoint their friends, as well as themselves, of the advantages
which might be expected from the diversity of their professions and
interests.
The prejudices which are growing up between these brothers from
the different ways of education, are what create the most fatal
misunderstandings in life. But all distinctions of disparagement merely
from our circumstances, are such as will not bear the examination of
reason. The courtier, the trader, and the scholar should all have an
equal pretension to the denomination of a gentleman. That tradesman
who deals with me in a commodity which I do not understand with
uprightness, has much more right to that character, than the courtier
who gives me false hopes, or the scholar who laughs at my ignorance.
The appellation of gentleman is never to be affixed to a man's
circumstances, but to his behaviour in them. For this reason I shall
ever, as far as I am able, give my nephews such impressions as shall
make them value themselves rather as they are useful to others, than as
they are conscious of merit in themselves. There are no qualities from
which we ought to pretend to the esteem of others, but such as render
us serviceable to them; for free men have no superiors but benefactors.
I was going on like a true old fellow to this purpose to my guests,
when I received the following epistle:
* * * * *
"SIR,
"I have yours,[34] with notice of a benefit ticket of £400 per annum,
both enclosed by Mr. Elliot, who had my numbers for that purpose. Your
philosophic advice came very seasonably to me with that good fortune;
but I must be so sincere with you as to acknowledge, I owe my present
moderation more to my own folly than your wisdom. You will think this
strange till I inform you, that I had fixed my thoughts upon the £1000
a year, and had with that expectation laid down so many agreeable
plans for my behaviour towards my new lovers and old friends, that I
have received this favour of fortune with an air of disappointment.
This is interpreted by all who know not the springs of my heart as a
wonderful piece of humility. I hope my present state of mind will grow
into that; but I confess my conduct to be now owing to another cause.
However, I know you will approve my taking hold even of imperfections
to find my way towards virtue, which is so feeble in us at the best,
that we are often beholden to our faults for the first appearances of
it. I am,
"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"CHLOE."
FOOTNOTES:
[34] See No. 203.
=No. 208.= [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Aug. 5_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 8, 1710_.
Si dixeris "æstuo," sudat.----
JUV., Sat. iii. 103.
_From my own Apartment Aug. 7._
An old acquaintance who met me this morning seemed overjoyed to see
me, and told me, I looked as well as he had known me do these forty
years: but, continued he, "not quite the man you were when we visited
together at Lady Brightly's. Oh, Isaac! those days are over. Do you
think there are any such fine creatures now living as we then conversed
with?" He went on with a thousand incoherent circumstances, which, in
his imagination, must needs please me; but they had the quite contrary
effect. The flattery with which he began, in telling me how well I
wore, was not disagreeable; but his indiscreet mention of a set of
acquaintances we had outlived, recalled ten thousand things to my
memory, which made me reflect upon my present condition with regret.
Had he indeed been so kind as, after a long absence, to felicitate me
upon an indolent and easy old age, and mentioned how much he and I had
to thank for, who at our time of day could walk firmly, eat heartily,
and converse cheerfully, he had kept up my pleasure in myself. But
of all mankind there are none so shocking as these injudicious civil
people. They ordinarily begin upon something that they know must be
a satisfaction; but then, for fear of the imputation of flattery,
they follow it with the last thing in the world of which you would be
reminded. It is this that perplexes civil persons. The reason that
there is such a general outcry amongst us against flatterers, is, that
there are so very few good ones. It is the nicest art in this life,
and is a part of eloquence which does not want the preparation that is
necessary to all other parts of it, that your audience should be your
well-wishers: for praise from an enemy is the most pleasing of all
commendations.
It is generally to be observed, that the person most agreeable to a
man for a constancy is he that has no shining qualities, but is a
certain degree above great imperfections, whom he can live with as
his inferior, and who will either overlook or not observe his little
defects. Such an easy companion as this, either now and then throws
out a little flattery, or lets a man silently flatter himself in his
superiority to him. If you take notice, there is hardly a rich man in
the world who has not such a led friend[35] of small consideration,
who is a darling for his insignificancy. It is a great ease to have
one in our own shape a species below us, and who, without being listed
in our service, is by nature of our retinue. These dependants are of
excellent use on a rainy day, or when a man has not a mind to dress
or to exclude solitude, when one has neither a mind to that or to
company. There are of this good-natured order who are so kind as to
divide themselves, and do these good offices to many. Five or six
of them visit a whole quarter of the town, and exclude the spleen
without fees from the families they frequent. If they do not prescribe
physic, they can be company when you take it. Very great benefactors
to the rich, or those whom they call people at their ease, are your
persons of no consequence. I have known some of them, by the help of a
little cunning, make delicious flatterers. They know the course of the
town and the general characters of persons: by this means they will
sometimes tell the most agreeable falsehoods imaginable. They will
acquaint you, that such a one of a quite contrary party said, that
though you were engaged in different interests, yet he had the greatest
respect for your good sense and address. When one of these has a little
cunning, he passes his time in the utmost satisfaction to himself and
his friends: for his position is never to report or speak a displeasing
thing to his friend. As for letting him go on in an error, he knows
advice against them is the office of persons of greater talents and
less discretion.
The Latin word for a flatterer (_assentator_) implies no more than
a person that barely consents; and indeed such a one, if a man were
able to purchase or maintain him, cannot be bought too dear. Such a
one never contradicts you, but gains upon you, not by a fulsome way
of commending you in broad terms, but liking whatever you propose or
utter; at the same time is ready to beg your pardon, and gainsay you,
if you chance to speak ill of yourself. An old lady is very seldom
without such a companion as this, who can recite the names of all her
lovers, and the matches refused by her in the days when she minded such
vanities (as she is pleased to call them, though she so much approves
the mention of them). It is to be noted, that a woman's flatterer is
generally older than herself, her years serving at once to recommend
her patroness's age, and to add weight to her complaisance in all other
particulars.
We gentlemen of small fortunes are extremely necessitous in this
particular. I have indeed one who smokes with me often; but his parts
are so low, that all the incense he does me is to fill his pipe with
me, and to be out at just as many whiffs as I take. This is all the
praise or assent that he is capable of, yet there are more hours when I
would rather be in his company than that of the brightest man I know.
It would be a hard matter to give an account of this inclination to be
flattered; but if we go to the bottom of it, we shall find that the
pleasure in it is something like that of receiving money which lay out.
Every man thinks he has an estate of reputation, and is glad to see one
that will bring any of it home to him: it is no matter how dirty a bag
it is conveyed to him in, or by how clownish a messenger, so the money
is good. All that we want to be pleased with flattery, is to believe
that the man is sincere who gives it us. It is by this one accident
that absurd creatures often outrun the more skilful in this art. Their
want of ability is here an advantage, and their bluntness, as it is the
seeming effect of sincerity, is the best cover to artifice.
Terence introduces a flatterer talking to a coxcomb whom he cheats out
of a livelihood, and a third person on the stage makes on him this
pleasant remark, "This fellow has an art of making fools madmen."[36]
The love of flattery is indeed sometimes the weakness of a great mind;
but you see it also in persons who otherwise discover no manner of
relish of anything above mere sensuality. These latter it sometimes
improves, but always debases the former. A fool is in himself the
object of pity till he is flattered. By the force of that his stupidity
is raised into affectation, and he becomes of dignity enough to be
ridiculous. I remember a droll, that upon one's saying, "The times
are so ticklish that there must great care be taken what one says in
conversation," answered with an air of surliness and honesty, "If
people will be free, let them be so in the manner that I am, who never
abuse a man but to his face." He had no reputation for saying dangerous
truths; therefore when it was repeated, "You abuse a man but to his
face?" "Yes," says he, "I flatter him."
It is indeed the greatest of injuries to flatter any but the unhappy,
or such as are displeased with themselves for some infirmity. In this
latter case we have a member of our club, that when Sir Jeffery falls
asleep, wakens him with snoring. This makes Sir Jeffery hold up for
some moments the longer, to see there are men younger than himself
among us who are more lethargic than he is.
When flattery is practised upon any other consideration, it is the most
abject thing in nature; nay, I cannot think of any character below the
flatterer, except he that envies him. You meet with fellows prepared
to be as mean as possible in their condescensions and expressions;
but they want persons and talents to rise up to such a baseness. As a
coxcomb is a fool of parts, so is a flatterer a knave of parts.
The best of this order that I know, is one who disguises it under a
spirit of contradiction or reproof. He told an errant driveller the
other day, that he did not care for being in company with him, because
he heard he turned his absent friends into ridicule. And upon Lady
Autumn's[37] disputing with him about something that happened at the
Revolution, he replied with a very angry tone, "Pray, madam, give me
leave to know more of a thing in which I was actually concerned, than
you, who were then in your nurse's arms."
FOOTNOTES:
[35] A hanger-on. As Mr. Dobson points out, Thackeray gives the title
of "led-captain" to Lord Steyne's toady and trencher-man, Mr. Wagg
("Vanity Fair," chap. xxi.).
[36] "Eunuchus," act ii. sc. 2, l. 23.
[37] See Nos. 36 and 140.
=No. 209.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Aug. 8_, to _Thursday, Aug. 10, 1710_.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 9._
A noble painter, who has an ambition to draw a history-piece, has
desired of me to give him a subject on which he may show the utmost
force of his art and genius. For this purpose I have pitched upon that
remarkable incident between Alexander the Great and his physician.
This Prince, in the midst of his conquests in Persia, was seized by a
violent fever; and according to the account we have of his vast mind,
his thoughts were more employed about his recovery as it regarded the
war, than as it concerned his own life. He professed, a slow method
was worse than death to him, because it was what he more dreaded, an
interruption of his glory. He desired a dangerous, so it might be a
speedy remedy. During this impatience of the King, it is well known
that Darius had offered an immense sum to any who should take away
his life. But Philippus, the most esteemed and most knowing of his
physicians, promised, that within three days' time he would prepare a
medicine for him which should restore him more expeditiously than could
be imagined. Immediately after this engagement, Alexander receives a
letter from the most considerable of his captains, with intelligence,
that Darius had bribed Philippus to poison him. Every circumstance
imaginable favoured this suspicion; but this monarch, who did nothing
but in an extraordinary manner, concealed the letter; and while the
medicine was preparing, spent all his thoughts upon his behaviour
in this important incident. From his long soliloquy he came to this
resolution: "Alexander must not lie here alive to be oppressed by his
enemy. I will not believe my physician guilty; or, I will perish rather
by his guilt than my own diffidence."
At the appointed hour, Philippus enters with the potion. One cannot
but form to one's self on occasion the encounter of their eyes,
the resolution in those of the patient, and the benevolence in the
countenance of the physician. The hero raised himself in his bed, and
holding the letter in one hand, and the potion in the other, drank
the medicine. It will exercise my friend's pencil and brain to place
this action in its proper beauty. A prince observing the features of
a suspected traitor after having drank the poison he offered him, is
a circumstance so full of passion, that it will require the highest
strength of his imagination to conceive it, much more to express it.
But as painting is eloquence and poetry in mechanism, I shall raise
his ideas, by reading with him the finest draughts of the passions
concerned in this circumstance from the most excellent poets and
orators. The confidence which Alexander assumes from the air of
Philippus's face as he is reading his accusation, and the generous
disdain which is to rise in the features of a falsely accused man, are
principally to be regarded. In this particular he must heighten his
thoughts, by reflecting, that he is not drawing only an innocent man
traduced, but a man zealously affected to his person and safety, full
of resentment for being thought false. How shall we contrive to express
the highest admiration mingled with disdain? How shall we in strokes of
a pencil say what Philippus did to his Prince on this occasion? "Sir,
my life never depended on yours more than it does now. Without knowing
this secret, I prepared the potion, which you have taken as what
concerned Philippus no less than Alexander; and there is nothing new in
this adventure, but that it makes me still more admire the generosity
and confidence of my master." Alexander took him by the hand, and
said, "Philippus, I am confident you had rather I had any other way to
have manifested the faith I have in you, than a case which so nearly
concerns me: and in gratitude I now assure you, I am anxious for the
effect of your medicine, more for your sake than my own."[38]
My painter is employed by a man of sense and wealth to furnish him a
gallery, and I shall join with my friend in the designing part. It is
the great use of pictures to raise in our minds either agreeable ideas
of our absent friends, or high images of eminent personages. But the
latter design is, methinks, carried on in a very improper way; for to
fill a room full of battle-pieces, pompous histories of sieges, and
a tall hero alone in a crowd of insignificant figures about him, is
of no consequence to private men. But to place before our eyes great
and illustrious men in those parts and circumstances of life wherein
their behaviour may have an effect upon our minds, as being such as
we partake with them merely as they were men: such as these, I say,
may be just and useful ornaments of an elegant apartment. In this
collection therefore that we are making, we will not have the battles,
but the sentiments of Alexander. The affair we were just now talking
of, has circumstances of the highest nature, and yet their grandeur has
little to do with his fortune. If by observing such a piece as that of
his taking a bowl of poison with so much magnanimity, a man, the next
time he has a fit of the spleen, is less froward to his friend or his
servants; thus far is some improvement.
I have frequently thought, that if we had many draughts which were
historical of certain passions, and had the true figure of the great
men we see transported by them, it would be of the most solid advantage
imaginable. To consider this mighty man on one occasion administer to
the wants of a poor soldier, benumbed with cold, with the greatest
humanity; at another, barbarously stabbing a faithful officer: at
one time, so generously chaste and virtuous as to give his captive
Statira her liberty; at another, burning a town at the instigation of
Thais--this sort of changes in the same person are what would be more
beneficial lessons of morality than the several revolutions in a great
man's fortune. There are but one or two in an age to whom the pompous
incidents of his life can be exemplary; but I or any man may be as
sick, as good-natured, as compassionate, and as angry as Alexander the
Great. My purpose in all this chat is, that so excellent a furniture
may not for the future have so romantic a turn, but allude to incidents
which come within the fortunes of the ordinary race of men. I do not
know but it is by the force of this senseless custom that people are
drawn in postures they would not for half they are worth be surprised
in. The unparalleled fierceness of some rural squires drawn in red,
or in armour, who never dreamed to destroy anything above a fox, is a
common and ordinary offence of this kind. But I shall give an account
of our whole gallery on another occasion.
FOOTNOTES:
[38] Q. Curtius, "Hist.," iii. 6, &c.
=No. 210.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Aug. 10_, to _Saturday, Aug. 12, 1710_.
_Sheer Lane, Aug. 10._
I did myself the honour this day to make a visit to a lady of quality,
who is one of those who are ever railing at the vices of the age,
but mean only one vice, because it is the only vice they are not
guilty of. She went so far as to fall foul on a young woman who has
had imputations; but whether they were just or not, no one knows but
herself. However that is, she is in her present behaviour modest,
humble, pious, and discreet. I thought it became me to bring this
censorious lady to reason, and let her see she was a much more vicious
woman than the person she spoke of.
"Madam," said I, "you are very severe to this poor young woman, for a
trespass which I believe Heaven has forgiven her, and for which you
see she is for ever out of countenance." "Nay, Mr. Bickerstaff," she
interrupted, "if you at this time of day contradict people of virtue,
and stand up for ill women--" "No, no, madam," said I, "not so fast;
she is reclaimed, and I fear you never will be. Nay, nay, madam, do not
be in a passion, but let me tell you what you are. You are indeed as
good as your neighbours, but that is being very bad. You are a woman at
the head of a family, and lead a perfect town lady's life. You go on
your own way, and consult nothing but your glass. What imperfections
indeed you see there, you immediately mend as fast as you can. You may
do the same by the faults I tell you of, for they are much more in your
power to correct.
"You are to know, then, that you visiting ladies, that carry your
virtue from house to house with so much prattle in each other's
applause, and triumph over other people's faults, I grant you have but
the speculation of vice in your own conversations, but promote the
practice of it in all others you have to do with.
"As for you, madam, your time passes away in dressing, eating,
sleeping, and praying. When you rise in a morning, I grant you an hour
spent very well; but you come out to dress in so froward a humour,
that the poor girl who attends you, curses her very being in that she
is your servant, for the peevish things you say to her; when this poor
creature is put into a way, that good or evil are regarded but as they
relieve her from the hours she has and must pass with you. The next you
have to do with is your coachman and footmen. They convey your ladyship
to church. While you are praying there, they are cursing, swearing,
and drinking in an alehouse. During the time also which your ladyship
sets apart for heaven, you are to know, that your cook is swearing and
fretting in preparation for your dinner. Soon after your meal you make
visits, and the whole world that belongs to you speaks all the ill of
you which you are repeating of others. You see, madam, whatever way you
go, all about you are in a very broad one. The morality of these people
it is your proper business to inquire into; and till you reform them,
you had best let your equals alone; otherwise, if I allow you you are
not vicious, you must allow me you are not virtuous."
I took my leave, and received at my coming home the following letter:
* * * * *
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"I have lived a pure and undefiled virgin these twenty-seven years; and
I assure you, 'tis with great grief and sorrow of heart I tell you,
that I become weary and impatient of the derision of the gigglers of
our sex, who call me old maid, and tell me I shall lead apes.[39] If
you are truly a patron of the distressed, and an adept in astrology,
you will advise whether I shall or ought to be prevailed upon by the
impertinencies of my own sex, to give way to the importunities of
yours. I assure you, I am surrounded with both, though at present a
forlorn.
"I am, &c."
I must defer my answer to this lady out of a point of chronology. She
says, she has been twenty-seven years a maid; but I fear, according
to a common error, she dates her virginity from her birth, which is a
very erroneous method; for a woman of twenty is no more to be thought
chaste so many years, than a man of that age can be said to have been
so long valiant. We must not allow people the favour of a virtue till
they have been under the temptation to the contrary. A woman is not
a maid till her birthday, as we call it, of her fifteenth year. My
plaintiff is therefore desired to inform me, whether she is at present
in her twenty-eighth or forty-third year, and she shall be despatched
accordingly.[40]
_St. James's Coffee-house, Aug. 11._[41]
A merchant came hither this morning, and read a letter from a
correspondent of his at Milan. It was dated of the 7th instant, N.S.
The following is an abstract of it: On the 25th of the last month, five
thousand men were on their march in the Lampourdan, under the command
of General Wesell, having received orders from his Catholic Majesty to
join him in his camp with all possible expedition. The Duke of Anjou
soon had intelligence of their motion, and took a resolution to decamp,
in order to intercept them, within a day's march of our army. The King
of Spain was apprehensive the enemy might make such a movement, and
commanded General Stanhope[42] with a body of horse, consisting of
fourteen squadrons, to observe their course, and prevent their passage
over the rivers Segre and Noguera between Lerida and Balaguer. It
happened to be the first day that officer had appeared abroad after
a dangerous and violent fever; but he received the King's commands
on this occasion with a joy which surmounted his present weakness,
and on the 27th of last month came up with the enemy on the plains
of Balaguer. The Duke of Anjou's rear-guard consisting of twenty-six
squadrons, that general sent intelligence of their posture to the King,
and desired his Majesty's orders to attack them. During the time which
he waited for his instructions, he made his disposition for the charge,
which was to divide themselves into three bodies; one to be commanded
by himself in the centre, a body on the right by Count Maurice of
Nassau, and the third on the left by the Earl of Rochford.[43] Upon the
receipt of his Majesty's direction to attack the enemy, the general
himself charged with the utmost vigour and resolution, while the Earl
of Rochford and Count Maurice extended themselves on his right and
left, to prevent the advantage the enemy might make of the superiority
of their numbers. What appears to have misled the enemy's general
in this affair was, that it was not supposed practicable that the
confederates would attack him till they had received a reinforcement.
For this reason he pursued his march without facing about, till we
were actually coming on to engagement. General Stanhope's disposition
made it impracticable to do it at that time, Count Maurice and the
Earl of Rochford attacking them in the instant in which they were
forming themselves. The charge was made with the greatest gallantry,
and the enemy very soon put into so great disorder, that their whole
cavalry were commanded to support their rear-guard. Upon the advance
of this reinforcement, all the horse of the King of Spain were come
up to sustain General Stanhope, insomuch that the battle improved
to a general engagement of the cavalry of both armies. After a warm
dispute for some time, it ended in the utter defeat of all the Duke
of Anjou's horse. Upon the despatch of these advices, that Prince was
retiring towards Lerida. We have no account of any considerable loss on
our side, except that both those heroic youths, the Earl of Rochford
and Count Nassau, fell in this action. They were, you know, both sons
of persons who had a great place in the confidence of your late King
William; and I doubt not but their deaths will endear their families,
which were ennobled by him, in your nation. General Stanhope has been
reported by the enemy dead of his wounds; but he received only a slight
contusion on the shoulder.
"_P.S._--We acknowledge you here a mighty brave people; but you are
said to love quarrelling so well, that you cannot be quiet at home. The
favourers of the House of Bourbon among us affirm, that this Stanhope,
who could as it were get out of his sick-bed to fight against their
King of Spain, must be of the anti-monarchical party."
FOOTNOTES:
[39] Lady Strafford, writing in 1712, says: "Sis Betty ... hopes you'll
provide her a husband against she comes, for she begins to be in fears
of leading apes in hell" ("Wentworth Papers," 285).
[40] See reply in No. 212.
[41] The fifth paper of the first volume of the _Examiner_ is a
critique on this article, with a comparison of the account of the same
events given in the _Gazette_.
"We too are sorry," says the writer, "for the loss of the Earl of
Rochford; but I am afraid Isaac Bickerstaff, who now compliments him
with the title of 'heroic youth,' has forgot the _Tatler_ of Tun, Gun,
and Pistol." This seems to allude to No. 24.
In the conclusion of the paper, Steele is reproached for meddling
with matters of State, and warned in a contemptuous manner, with a
reference, no doubt, to his being gazetteer, &c., to take care of
himself. Arguments of a different kind, it is said, were made use of
about this time, to detach Steele from his party, equally in vain.
[42] James Stanhope, who became Secretary of State on the accession
of George I., and Earl Stanhope in 1718, had been appointed
commander-in-chief of the British forces in Spain in 1708. He died in
1721.
[43] William, second Earl of Rochford, brigadier-general, was
thirty-six years of age when he was killed at the battle of Almenara.
=No. 211.= [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Aug. 12_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 15, 1710_.
----Nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum.
JUV., Sat. vii. 56.
_Sunday, Aug. 13._
If there were no other consequence of it, but barely that human
creatures on this day assemble themselves before their Creator, without
regard to their usual employments, their minds at leisure from the
cares of this life, and their bodies adorned with the best attire
they can bestow on them; I say, were this mere outward celebration of
a Sabbath all that is expected from men, even that were a laudable
distinction, and a purpose worthy the human nature. But when there is
added to it the sublime pleasure of devotion, our being is exalted
above itself; and he who spends a seventh day in the contemplation of
the next life, will not easily fall into the corruptions of this in
the other six. They who never admit thoughts of this kind into their
imagination, lose higher and sweeter satisfactions than can be raised
by any other entertainment. The most illiterate man who is touched
with devotion, and uses frequent exercises of it, contracts a certain
greatness of mind, mingled with a noble simplicity, that raises him
above those of the same condition; and there is an indelible mark of
goodness in those who sincerely possess it. It is hardly possible it
should be otherwise; for the fervours of a pious mind will naturally
contract such an earnestness and attention towards a better being,
as will make the ordinary passages of life go off with a becoming
indifference. By this, a man in the lowest condition will not appear
mean, or in the most splendid fortune, insolent.
As to all the intricacies and vicissitudes under which men are
ordinarily entangled with the utmost sorrow and passion, one who is
devoted to Heaven when he falls into such difficulties is led by a
clue through a labyrinth. As to this world, he does not pretend to
skill in the mazes of it, but fixes his thoughts upon one certainty,
that he shall soon be out of it. And we may ask very boldly, What can
be a more sure consolation than to have a hope in death? When men are
arrived at thinking of their very dissolution with pleasure, how few
things are there that can be terrible to them? Certainly nothing can
be dreadful to such spirits, but what would make death terrible to
them, falsehood towards man, or impiety towards Heaven. To such as
these, as there are certainly many such, the gratifications of innocent
pleasures are doubled, even with reflections upon their imperfection.
The disappointments which naturally attend the great promises we make
ourselves in expected enjoyments, strike no damp upon such men, but
only quicken their hopes of soon knowing joys, which are too pure to
admit of allay or satiety.
It is thought among the politer part of mankind an imperfection to want
a relish of any of those things which refine our lives. This is the
foundation of the acceptance which eloquence, music, and poetry make
in the world; and I know not why devotion, considered merely as an
exaltation of our happiness, should not at least be so far regarded as
to be considered. It is possible the very inquiry would lead men into
such thoughts and gratifications as they did not expect to meet with
in this place. Many a good acquaintance has been lost from a general
prepossession in his disfavour, and a severe aspect has often hid under
it a very agreeable companion.
There are no distinguishing qualities among men to which there are
not false pretenders; but though none is more pretended to than that
of devotion, there are, perhaps, fewer successful impostors in this
kind than any other. There is something so natively great and good
in a person that is truly devout, that an awkward man may as well
pretend to be genteel, as a hypocrite to be pious. The constraint in
words and actions are equally visible in both cases, and anything set
up in their room does but remove the endeavourers the further off
their pretensions. But however the sense of true piety is abated,
there is no other motive of action that can carry us through all the
vicissitudes of life with alacrity and resolution. But piety, like
philosophy, when it is superficial, does but make men appear the worse
for it; and a principle that is but half received, does but distract,
instead of guiding our behaviour. When I reflect upon the unequal
conduct of Lotius, I see many things that run directly counter to his
interest; therefore I cannot attribute his labours for the public good
to ambition. When I consider his disregard to his fortune, I cannot
esteem him covetous. How then can I reconcile his neglect of himself,
and his zeal for others? I have long suspected him to be a little
pious: but no man ever hid his vice with greater caution than he does
his virtue. It was the praise of a great Roman, that he had rather be,
than appear good. But such is the weakness of Lotius, that I dare say,
he had rather be esteemed irreligious than devout. By I know not what
impatience of raillery he is wonderfully fearful of being thought too
great a believer. A hundred little devices are made use of to hide a
time of private devotion; and he will allow you any suspicion of his
being ill employed, so you do not tax him with being well. But alas!
how mean is such a behaviour? To boast of virtue is a most ridiculous
way of disappointing the merit of it, but not so pitiful as that of
being ashamed of it. How unhappy is the wretch who makes the most
absolute and independent motive of action the cause of perplexity and
inconstancy? How much another figure does Cælicola[44] make with all
who know him? His great and superior mind, frequently exalted by the
raptures of heavenly meditation, is to all his friends of the same use
as if an angel were to appear at the decision of their disputes. They
very well understand he is as much disinterested and unbiassed as such
a being. He considers all applications made to him, as those addresses
will effect his own application to heaven. All his determinations are
delivered with a beautiful humility; and he pronounces his decisions
with the air of one who is more frequently a supplicant than a judge.
Thus humble, and thus great, is the man who is moved by piety, and
exalted by devotion. But behold this recommended by the masterly hand
of a great divine[45] I have heretofore made bold with:
"It is such a pleasure as can never cloy or overwork the mind; a
delight that grows and improves under thought and reflection; and
while it exercises, does also endear itself to the mind. All pleasures
that affect the body must needs weary, because they transport; and
all transportation is a violence; and no violence can be lasting, but
determines upon the falling of the spirits, which are not able to keep
up that height of motion that the pleasure of the senses raises them
to. And therefore how inevitably does an immoderate laughter end in a
sigh, which is only nature's recovering itself after a force done to
it; but the religious pleasure of a well-disposed mind moves gently,
and therefore constantly. It does not effect by rapture and ecstasy,
but is like the pleasure of health, greater and stronger than those
that call up the senses with grosser and more affecting impressions.
No man's body is as strong as his appetites; but Heaven has corrected
the boundlessness of his voluptuous desires by stinting his strengths,
and contracting his capacities.... The pleasure of the religious man
is an easy and a portable pleasure, such a one as he carries about in
his bosom, without alarming either the eye or envy of the world. A man
putting all his pleasure into this one, is like a traveller putting all
his goods into one jewel; the value is the same, and the convenience
greater."
FOOTNOTES:
[44] Possibly John Hughes, author of the "Siege of Damascus," who
contributed to both _Tatler_ and _Spectator_. He died in 1720, aged
forty-seven. In the _Theatre_ (No. 15) Steele said that Hughes's "head,
hand, or heart was always employed in something worthy imitation."
[45] Dr. South (see Nos. 61 and 205).
=No. 212.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Aug. 15_, to _Thursday, Aug. 17, 1710_.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 16._
I have had much importunity to answer the following letter:
* * * * *
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"Reading over a volume of yours, I find the words _simplex munditiis_
mentioned as a description of a very well-dressed woman.[46] I beg
of you, for the sake of the sex, to explain these terms. I cannot
comprehend what my brother means, when he tells me they signify my own
name, which is,
"Sir,
"Your humble Servant,
"PLAIN ENGLISH."
I think the lady's brother has given us a very good idea of that
elegant expression, it being the greatest beauty of speech to be
close and intelligible. To this end nothing is to be more carefully
consulted than plainness. In a lady's attire this is the single
excellence; for to be what some call fine, is the same vice in that
case as to be florid is in writing or speaking. I have studied and
written on this important subject till I almost despair of making a
reformation in the females of this island, where we have more beauty
than in any spot in the universe, if we did not disguise it by false
garniture, and detract from it by impertinent improvements. I have
by me a treatise concerning pinners, which I have some hopes will
contribute to the amendment of the present head-dresses, to which I
have solid and unanswerable objections. But most of the errors in that
and other particulars of adorning the head, are crept into the world
from the ignorance of modern tirewomen; for it is come to that pass,
that an awkward creature in the first year of her apprenticeship, that
can hardly stick a pin, shall take upon her to dress a woman of the
first quality. However, it is certain that there requires in a good
tirewoman a perfect skill in optics; for all the force of ornament is
to contribute to the intention of the eyes. Thus she who has a mind to
look killing, must arm her face accordingly, and not leave her eyes
and cheeks undressed. There is Araminta so sensible of this, that she
never will see even her own husband without a hood[47] on. Can any one
living bear to see Miss Gruel, lean as she is, with her hair tied back
after the modern way? But such is the folly of our ladies, that because
one who is a beauty, out of ostentation of her being such, takes care
to wear something that she knows cannot be of any consequence to her
complexion; I say, our women run on so heedlessly in the fashion,
that though it is the interest of some to hide as much of their faces
as possible, yet because a leading toast appeared with a backward
head-dress, the rest shall follow the mode, without observing that the
author of the fashion assumed it because it could become no one but
herself.
Flavia[48] is ever well dressed, and always the genteelest woman you
meet: but the make of her mind very much contributes to the ornament of
her body. She has the greatest simplicity of manners of any of her sex.
This makes everything look native about her, and her clothes are so
exactly fitted, that they appear as it were part of her person. Every
one that sees her, knows her to be of quality; but her distinction
is owing to her manner, and not to her habit. Her beauty is full of
attraction, but not of allurement. There is such a composure in her
looks, and propriety in her dress, that you would think it impossible
she should change the garb you one day see her in for anything so
becoming, till you next day see her in another. There is no other
mystery in this, but that however she is apparelled, she is herself the
same: for there is so immediate a relation between our thoughts and
gestures, that a woman must think well to look well.
But this weighty subject I must put off for some other matters in which
my correspondents are urgent for answers, which I shall do where I can,
and appeal to the judgment of others where I cannot.
* * * * *
_Aug. 15, 1710_.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"Taking the air the other day on horseback in the Green Lane that leads
to Southgate, I discovered coming towards me a person well mounted in
a mask; and I accordingly expected, as any one would, to have been
robbed. But when we came up with each other, the spark, to my greater
surprise, very peaceably gave me the way; which made me take courage
enough to ask him, if he masqueraded, or how? He made me no answer,
but still continued _incognito_. This was certainly an ass in a lion's
skin; a harmless bull-beggar,[49] who delights to fright innocent
people, and set them a-galloping. I bethought myself of putting as good
a jest upon him, and had turned my horse, with a design to pursue him
to London, and get him apprehended, on suspicion of being a highwayman:
but when I reflected, that it was the proper office of the magistrate
to punish only knaves, and that we had a censor of Great Britain for
people of another denomination, I immediately determined to prosecute
him in your court only. This unjustifiable frolic I take to be neither
wit nor humour: therefore hope you will do me, and as many others as
were that day frighted, justice. I am,
"Sir,
"Your Friend and Servant,
"J. L."
* * * * *
"SIR,
"The gentleman begs your pardon, and frighted you out of fear of
frightening you; for he is just come out of the smallpox."
* * * * *
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"Your distinction concerning the time of commencing virgins[50] is
allowed to be just. I write you my thanks for it, in the twenty-eighth
year of my life, and twelfth of my virginity. But I am to ask you
another question, May a woman be said to live any more years a maid
than she continues to be courted?
"I am, &c."
* * * * *
_Aug. 15, 1710_.
"SIR,
"I observe that the _Post-Man_ of Saturday last, giving an account of
the action in Spain, has this elegant turn of expression: 'General
Stanhope,[51] who in the whole action expressed as much bravery as
conduct, received a contusion in his right shoulder.' I should be glad
to know, whether this cautious politician means to commend or to rally
him, by saying, 'He expressed as much bravery as conduct'? If you can
explain this dubious phrase, it will inform the public, and oblige,
"Sir,
"Your humble Servant, &c."
FOOTNOTES:
[46] See No. 151.
[47] The _Spectator_ contains accounts of the new-fashioned hoods,
which were made in various tints, especially cherry-colour. In the
reign of King William the ladies wore a high head-dress, as appears
from the following passage in a letter of Swift to Esther Johnson,
dated Nov. 22, 1711: "I dined to-day with Sir Thomas Hanmer, whose
lady, the Duchess of Grafton, wears a great high head-dress, such as
was in fashion fifteen years ago, and looks like a mad woman in it, yet
she has great remains of beauty." In the _Spectator_ (No. 98) Addison
refers to these high head-dresses as in fashion ten years earlier,
_i.e._ about 1701.
[48] This picture of Flavia has been thought to be a representation of
Mrs. Anne Oldfield (see No. 10), of whom Cibber wrote: "Had her birth
placed her in a higher rank of life, she had certainly appeared in
reality what in the character of Lady Betty Modish she only excellently
acted, an agreeable gay woman of quality, a little too conscious of
her natural attractions. I have often seen her in private societies,
where women of the first rank might have borrowed some part of their
behaviour, without the least diminution of their sense of dignity."
From this passage it will be seen that the account of a lady "of
quality," with "the greatest simplicity of manners," can hardly be a
description of Mrs. Oldfield. Moreover, the name "Flavia" occurs in No.
239, by Addison, and it appears that the lady there referred to was
Miss Osborne, who became Atterbury's wife.
[49] Something used to frighten children. _Cf._ Sir T. Smith's
"Appendix to his Life," p. 34: "As children be afraid of bear-bugs and
bull-beggars."
[50] See No. 210
[51] Ibid.
=No. 213.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, Aug. 17_, to _Saturday, Aug. 19, 1710_.
_Sheer Lane, Aug. 16._
There has of late crept in among the downright English a mighty spirit
of dissimulation. But before we discourse of this vice, it will be
necessary to observe, that the learned make a difference between
simulation and dissimulation.[52] Simulation is a pretence of what
is not, and dissimulation a concealment of what is. The latter is
our present affair. When you look round you in public places in this
island, you see the generality of mankind carry in their countenance
an air of challenge or defiance: and there is no such man to be found
among us who naturally strives to do greater honours and civilities
than he receives. This innate sullenness or stubbornness of complexion
is hardly to be conquered by any of our islanders. For which reason,
however they may pretend to choose one another, they make but very
awkward rogues; and their dislike to each other is seldom so well
dissembled, but it is suspected. When once it is so, it had as good
be professed. A man who dissembles well must have none of what we call
stomach, otherwise he will be cold in his professions of good-will
where he hates; an imperfection of the last ill consequence in
business. This fierceness in our natures is apparent from the conduct
of our young fellows, who are not got into the schemes and arts of life
which the children of this world walk by. One would think that, of
course, when a man of any consequence for his figure, his mien, or his
gravity, passes by a youth, he should certainly have the first advances
of salutation; but he is, you may observe, treated in a quite different
manner, it being the very characteristic of an English temper to defy.
As I am an Englishman, I find it a very hard matter to bring myself
to pull off the hat first; but it is the only way to be upon any good
terms with those we meet with: therefore the first advance is of high
moment. Men judge of others by themselves; and he that will command
with us must condescend. It moves one's spleen very agreeably to see
fellows pretend to be dissemblers without this lesson. They are so
reservedly complaisant till they have learned to resign their natural
passions, that all the steps they make towards gaining those whom they
would be well with, are but so many marks of what they really are, and
not of what they would appear.
The rough Britons, when they pretend to be artful towards one another,
are ridiculous enough; but when they set up for vices they have
not, and dissemble their good with an affectation of ill, they are
insupportable. I know two men in this town who make as good figures
as any in it, that manage their credit so well as to be thought
atheists, and yet say their prayers morning and evening. Tom Springly
the other day pretended to go to an assignation with a married woman
at Rosamond's Pond,[53] and was seen soon after reading the responses
with great gravity at six-of-clock prayers.
_Sheer Lane, Aug. 17._
Though the following epistle bears a just accusation of myself, yet in
regard it is a more advantageous piece of justice to another, I insert
it at large:
* * * * *
_Garraway's Coffee-house,
Aug. 10._
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"I have lately read your paper[54] wherein you represent a conversation
between a young lady, your three nephews, and yourself; and am not
a little offended at the figure you give your young merchant in the
presence of a beauty. The topic of love is a subject on which a man is
more beholden to nature for his eloquence, than to the instruction of
the schools, or my lady's woman. From the two latter, your scholar and
page must have reaped all their advantage above him. I know by this
time you have pronounced me a trader. I acknowledge it, but cannot bear
the exclusion from any pretence of speaking agreeably to a fine woman,
or from any degree of generosity that way. You have among us citizens
many well-wishers, but it is for the justice of your representations,
which we, perhaps, are better judges of than you (by the account you
give of your nephew) seem to allow.
"To give you an opportunity of making us some reparation, I desire
you would tell your own way the following instance of heroic love in
the city. You are to remember, that somewhere in your writings, for
enlarging the territories of virtue and honour, you have multiplied
the opportunities of attaining to heroic virtue, and have hinted, that
in whatever state of life a man is, if he does things above what is
ordinarily performed by men of his rank, he is in those instances a
hero.[55]
"Tom Trueman, a young gentleman of eighteen years of age, fell
passionately in love with the beauteous Almira, daughter to his master.
Her regard for him was no less tender. Trueman was better acquainted
with his master's affairs than his daughter, and secretly lamented
that each day brought him by many miscarriages nearer bankruptcy than
the former. This unhappy posture of their affairs the youth suspected
was owing to the ill management of a factor, in whom his master had
an entire confidence. Trueman took a proper occasion, when his master
was ruminating on his decaying fortune, to address him for leave
to spend the remainder of his time with his foreign correspondent.
During three years' stay in that employment he became acquainted
with all that concerned his master; and by his great address in the
management of that knowledge, saved him ten thousand pounds. Soon after
this accident, Trueman's uncle left him a considerable estate. Upon
receiving that advice, he returned to England, and demanded Almira of
her father. The father, overjoyed at the match, offered him the £10,000
he had saved him, with the further proposal of resigning to him all his
business. Trueman refused both, and retired into the country with his
bride, contented with his own fortune, though perfectly skilled in all
the methods of improving it.
"It is to be noted, that Trueman refused twenty thousand pounds with
another young lady; so that reckoning both his self-denials, he is to
have in your court the merit of having given £30,000 for the woman he
loved. This gentleman I claim your justice to; and hope you will be
convinced, that some of us have larger views than only cash debtor,
_per contra_ creditor.
"Yours,
"RICHARD TRAFFIC."
"_N.B._--Mr. Thomas Trueman of Lime Street is entered among the heroes
of domestic life.
"CHARLES LILLIE."
FOOTNOTES:
[52] Bacon has an essay "Of Simulation and Dissimulation"; and Sallust,
in his character of Catiline ("Bell. Cat." v.), says, "Animus,
subdolus, varius, cujus rei libet simulator ac dissimulator."
[53] See No. 60.
[54] See No. 207.
[55] See the story of Sergeant Hall in No. 87.
=No. 214.= [STEELE.[56]
From _Saturday, Aug. 19_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 22, 1710_.
----Soles et aperta serena
Prospicere, et certis poteris cognoscere signis.
VIRG., Georg. i. 393.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 21._
In every party there are two sorts of men, the rigid and the supple.
The rigid are an intractable race of mortals, who act upon principle,
and will not, forsooth, fall into any measures that are not consistent
with their received notions of honour. These are persons of a stubborn,
unpliant morality, that sullenly adhere to their friends when they are
disgraced, and to their principles, though they are exploded. I shall
therefore give up this stiff-necked generation to their own obstinacy,
and turn my thoughts to the advantage of the supple, who pay their
homage to places, and not persons; and without enslaving themselves
to any particular scheme of opinions, are as ready to change their
conduct in point of sentiment as of fashion. The well-disciplined part
of a court are generally so perfect at their exercise, that you may see
a whole assembly, from front to rear, face about at once to a new man
of power, though at the same time they turn their backs upon him that
brought them thither. The great hardship these complaisant members of
society are under, seems to be the want of warning upon any approaching
change or revolution; so that they are obliged in a hurry to tack about
with every wind, and stop short in the midst of a full career, to the
great surprise and derision of their beholders.
When a man foresees a decaying ministry, he has leisure to grow a
malcontent, reflect upon the present conduct, and by gradual murmurs
fall off from his friends into a new party, by just steps and measures.
For want of such notices, I have formerly known a very well-bred person
refuse to return a bow of a man whom he thought in disgrace, that was
next day made Secretary of State; and another, who after a long neglect
of a minister, came to his levee, and made professions of zeal for his
service the very day before he was turned out.
This produces also unavoidable confusions and mistakes in the
descriptions of great men's parts and merits. That ancient lyric, Mr.
D'Urfey,[57] some years ago wrote a dedication to a certain lord,
in which he celebrated him for the greatest poet and critic of that
age, upon a misinformation in Dyer's Letter[58], that his noble patron
was made Lord Chamberlain. In short, innumerable votes, speeches, and
sermons have been thrown away, and turned to no account, merely for
want of due and timely intelligence. Nay, it has been known, that a
panegyric has been half printed off, when the poet, upon the removal of
the minister, has been forced to alter it into a satire.
For the conduct therefore of such useful persons as are ready to do
their country service upon all occasions, I have an engine in my
study, which is a sort of a Political Barometer, or, to speak more
intelligibly, a State Weather-Glass, that, by the rising and falling
of a certain magical liquor, presages all changes and revolutions
in government, as the common glass does those of the weather. This
weather-glass is said to have been invented by Cardan,[59] and given by
him as a present to his great countryman and contemporary Machiavel,
which (by the way) may serve to rectify a received error in chronology,
that places one of these some years after the other. How or when it
came into my hands, I shall desire to be excused if I keep to myself;
but so it is, that I have walked by it for the better part of a
century, to my safety at least, if not to my advantage; and have among
my papers, a register of all the changes that happened in it from the
middle of Queen Elizabeth's reign.
In the time of that princess, it stood long at Settled Fair. At the
latter end of King James the First, it fell to Cloudy. It held several
years after at Stormy; insomuch that at last despairing of seeing any
clear weather at home, I followed the royal exile, and some time after
finding my glass rise, returned to my native country with the rest of
the loyalists. I was then in hopes to pass the remainder of my days
in Settled Fair: but alas! during the greatest part of that reign,
the English nation lay in a Dead Calm, which, as it is usual, was
followed by high winds and tempests till of late years: in which, with
unspeakable joy and satisfaction, I have seen our political weather
returned to Settled Fair. I must only observe, that for all this last
summer my glass has pointed at Changeable. Upon the whole, I often
apply to Fortune Æneas's speech to the sybil:
_----Non ulla laborum,
O virgo, nova mi fades inopinave surgit:
Omnia præcepi, atque animo me cum ante peregi._[60]
The advantages which have accrued to those whom I have advised in
their affairs, by virtue of this sort of prescience, have been very
considerable. A nephew of mine, who has never put his money into the
stocks, or taken it out, without my advice, has in a few years raised
five hundred pounds to almost so many thousands. As for myself, who
look upon riches to consist rather in content than possessions, and
measure the greatness of the mind rather by its tranquillity than its
ambition, I have seldom used my glass to make my way in the world, but
often to retire from it. This is a by-path to happiness, which was
first discovered to me by a most pleasing apothegm of Pythagoras: "When
the winds," says he, "rise, worship the echo." That great philosopher
(whether to make his doctrines the more venerable, or to gild his
precepts with the beauty of imagination, or to awaken the curiosity
of his disciples; for I will not suppose what is usually said, that
he did it to conceal his wisdom from the vulgar) has couched several
admirable precepts in remote allusions and mysterious sentences. By the
winds in this apothegm, are meant State hurricanes and popular tumults.
"When these arise," says he, "worship the echo;" that is, withdraw
yourself from the multitude into deserts, woods, solitudes, or the like
retirements, which are the usual habitations of the echo.
FOOTNOTES:
[56] It is not unlikely that the account of a State weather-glass in
this paper is by Addison, who was the author of the description of an
ecclesiastical thermometer in No. 220.
[57] See Nos. 1, 11, and 43. The dedication was to the Second Part of
"Don Quixote," which D'Urfey addressed to Charles, Earl of Dorset, in
these lines:
"You have, my Lord, a patent from above,
And can monopolise both wit and love,
Inspired and blest by Heaven's peculiar care,
Adored by all the wise and all the fair;
To whom the world united give this due,
Best judge of men, and best of poets too."
[58] See No. 18.
[59] Jerome Cardan (1501-1576), physician and astrologer (see Professor
Henry Morley's "Life of Girolamo Cardano," 1854).
[60] Virgil, "Æneid," vi. 103.
=No. 215.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Aug. 22_, to _Thursday, Aug. 24, 1710_.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 23._
Lysander has written to me out of the country, and tells me, after
many other circumstances, that he had passed a great deal of time with
much pleasure and tranquillity, till his happiness was interrupted by
an indiscreet flatterer, who came down into those parts to visit a
relation. With the circumstances in which he represents the matter,
he had no small provocation to be offended, for he attacked him in so
wrong a season, that he could not have any relish of pleasure in it;
though, perhaps, at another time, it might have passed upon him without
giving him much uneasiness. Lysander had, after a long satiety of the
town, been so happy as to get to a solitude he extremely liked, and
recovered a pleasure he had long discontinued, that of reading. He was
got to the bank of a rivulet, covered by a pleasing shade, and fanned
by a soft breeze, which threw his mind into that sort of composure and
attention in which a man, though with indolence, enjoys the utmost
liveliness of his spirits, and the greatest strength of his mind at
the same time. In this state, Lysander represents that he was reading
Virgil's "Georgics"; when on a sudden the gentleman above-mentioned
surprised him, and, without any manner of preparation, falls upon him
at once. "What! I have found you out at last, after searching all over
the wood. We wanted you at cards after dinner, but you are much better
employed. I have heard indeed that you are an excellent scholar: but at
the same time, is it not a little unkind to rob the ladies, who like
you so well, of the pleasure of your company? But that is indeed the
misfortune of you great scholars, you are seldom so fit for the world
as those who never trouble themselves with books. Well, I see you are
taken up with your learning there, and I'll leave you." Lysander says,
he made him no answer, but took a resolution to complain to me.
It is a substantial affliction, when men govern themselves by the rules
of good-breeding, that by the very force of them they are subjected to
the insolence of those who either never will, or never can, understand
them. The superficial part of mankind form to themselves little
measures of behaviour from the outside of things. By the force of these
narrow conceptions, they act amongst themselves with applause, and do
not apprehend they are contemptible to those of higher understanding,
who are restrained by decencies above their knowledge from showing
a dislike. Hence it is, that because complaisance is a good quality
in conversation, one impertinent takes upon him on all occasions to
commend; and because mirth is agreeable, another thinks fit eternally
to jest. I have of late received many packets of letters complaining
of these spreading evils. A lady who is lately arrived at the Bath
acquaints me, there was in the stage-coach wherein she went down, a
common flatterer, and a common jester. These gentlemen were (she tells
me) rivals in her favour; and adds, if there ever happened a case
wherein of two persons one was not liked more than another, it was in
that journey. They differed only in proportion to the degree of dislike
between the nauseous and the insipid. Both these characters of men
are born out of a barrenness of imagination. They are never fools by
nature, but become such out of an impotent ambition of being what she
never intended them, men of wit and conversation. I therefore think fit
to declare, that according to the known laws of this land, a man may
be a very honest gentleman, and enjoy himself and his friend, without
being a wit; and I absolve all men from taking pains to be such for
the future. As the present case stands, is it not very unhappy that
Lysander must be attacked and applauded in a wood, and Corinna jolted
and commended in a stage-coach; and this for no manner of reason, but
because other people have a mind to show their parts? I grant indeed,
if these people (as they have understanding enough for it) would
confine their accomplishments to those of their own degree of talents,
it were to be tolerated; but when they are so insolent as to interrupt
the meditations of the wife, the conversations of the agreeable, and
the whole behaviour of the modest, it becomes a grievance naturally in
my jurisdiction. Among themselves, I cannot only overlook, but approve
it. I was present the other day at a conversation, where a man of this
height of breeding and sense told a young woman of the same form, "To
be sure, madam, everything must please that comes from a lady." She
answered, "I know, sir, you are so much a gentleman that you think so."
Why, this is very well on both sides; and it is impossible that such
a gentleman and lady should do other than think well of one another.
These are but loose hints of the disturbances in human society, of
which there is yet no remedy; but I shall in a little time publish
tables of respect and civility, by which persons may be instructed in
the proper times and seasons, as well as at what degree of intimacy a
man may be allowed to commend or rally his companions; the promiscuous
licence of which is at present far from being among the small errors in
conversation.
_P.S._--The following letter was left, with a request to be immediately
answered, lest the artifices used against a lady in distress may come
into common practice:
* * * * *
"SIR,
"My elder sister buried her husband about six months ago; and at his
funeral, a gentleman of more art than honesty, on the night of his
interment, while she was not herself, but in the utmost agony of her
grief, spoke to her of the subject of love. In that weakness and
distraction which my sister was in (as one ready to fall is apt to lean
on anybody), he obtained her promise of marriage, which was accordingly
consummated eleven weeks after. There is no affliction comes alone,
but one brings another. My sister is now ready to lie-in. She humbly
asks of you, as you are a friend to the sex, to let her know who is
the lawful father of this child, or whether she may not be relieved
from this second marriage, considering it was promised under such
circumstances as one may very well suppose she did not what she did
voluntarily, but because she was helpless otherwise. She is advised
something about engagements made in gaol, which she thinks the same as
to the reason of the thing. But, dear sir, she relies upon your advice,
and gives you her service; as does
"Your humble Servant,
"REBECCA MIDRIFFE."
The case is very hard; and I fear, the plea she is advised to make,
from the similitude of a man who is in duress, will not prevail. But
though I despair of remedy as to the mother, the law gives the child
his choice of his father where the birth is thus legally ambiguous.
"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.
"_The humble Petition of the Company of Linendrapers residing
within the Liberty of Westminster;_
"Showeth--That there has of late prevailed among the ladies so great an
affectation of nakedness, that they have not only left the bosom wholly
bare, but lowered their stays some inches below the former mode.[61]
"That in particular, Mrs. Arabella Overdo has not the least appearance
of linen, and our best customers show but little above the small of
their backs.
"That by this means, your petitioners are in danger of losing the
advantage of covering a ninth part of every woman of quality in Great
Britain.
"Your petitioners humbly offer the premises to your indulgence's
consideration, and shall ever, &c."
Before I answer this petition, I am inclined to examine the offenders
myself.
FOOTNOTES:
[61] This mode, which originated in the reign of King Charles II.,
is shown in Sir Peter Lely's ladies; but Walpole says that Vandyck's
habits are those of the times, but Lely's are fantastic dresses.
The prevalence and dislike of this fashion occasioned in 1678 the
publication of a book translated from the French by Edward Cooke, under
the following title, "A Just and Reasonable Reprehension of Naked
Breasts and Shoulders, written by a grave and learned Papist."
Half a century after the _Tatler_, the "moulting of their clothes" by
ladies was again the subject of comment by the moral essayist. There
are several papers on the subject in the _World_ (Nos. 6, 21, 169,
&c.), in which it is remarked that it was the fashion to undress to go
abroad, and to dress when at home and not seeing company.
=No. 216.= [ADDISON.
From _Thursday, Aug. 24_, to _Saturday, Aug. 26, 1710_.
--Nugis addere pondus.--HOR., 1 Ep. xix. 42.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 25._
Nature is full of wonders; every atom is a standing miracle, and
endowed with such qualities as could not be impressed on it by a power
and wisdom less than infinite. For this reason, I would not discourage
any searches that are made into the most minute and trivial parts of
the creation. However, since the world abounds in the noblest fields of
speculation, it is, methinks, the mark of a little genius to be wholly
conversant among insects, reptiles, animalcules, and those trifling
rarities that furnish out the apartment of a virtuoso.
There are some men whose heads are so oddly turned this way, that
though they are utter strangers to the common occurrences of life, they
are able to discover the sex of a cockle, or describe the generation
of a mite, in all its circumstances. They are so little versed in the
world, that they scarce know a horse from an ox; but at the same
time will tell you, with a great deal of gravity, that a flea is a
rhinoceros, and a snail an hermaphrodite. I have known one of these
whimsical philosophers who has set a greater value upon a collection of
spiders than he would upon a flock of sheep, and has sold his coat off
his back to purchase a tarantula.
I would not have a scholar wholly unacquainted with these secrets and
curiosities of nature; but certainly the mind of man, that is capable
of so much higher contemplations, should not be altogether fixed upon
such mean and disproportioned objects. Observations of this kind are
apt to alienate us too much from the knowledge of the world, and to
make us serious upon trifles, by which means they expose philosophy
to the ridicule of the witty, and contempt of the ignorant. In short,
studies of this nature should be the diversions, relaxations, and
amusements; not the care, business, and concern of life.
It is indeed wonderful to consider, that there should be a sort of
learned men who are wholly employed in gathering together the refuse
of nature, if I may call it so, and hoarding up in their chests and
cabinets such creatures as others industriously avoid the sight of.
One does not know how to mention some of the most precious parts of
their treasure without a kind of an apology for it. I have been shown
a beetle valued at twenty crowns, and a toad at a hundred: but we must
take this for a general rule, that whatever appears trivial or obscene
in the common notions of the world, looks grave and philosophical in
the eye of a virtuoso.
To show this humour in its perfection, I shall present my reader with
the legacy of a certain virtuoso, who laid out a considerable estate
in natural rarities and curiosities, which upon his death-bed he
bequeathed to his relations and friends, in the following words:
_The Will of a Virtuoso._
I Nicholas Gimcrack being in sound health of mind, but in great
weakness of body, do by this my last will and testament bestow my
worldly goods and chattels in manner following:
_Imprimis_, to my dear wife,
One box of butterflies,
One drawer of shells,
A female skeleton,
A dried cockatrice.
_Item_, to my daughter Elizabeth,
My receipt for preserving dead caterpillars.
As also my preparations of winter May-dew, and embryo pickle.
_Item_, to my little daughter Fanny,
Three crocodile's eggs.
And upon the birth of her first child, if she marries with her mother's
consent,
The nest of a humming-bird.
_Item_, to my eldest brother, as an acknowledgment for the lands he has
vested in my son Charles, I bequeath
My last year's collection of grasshoppers.
_Item_, to his daughter Susanna, being his only child, I bequeath my
English weeds pasted on royal paper.
With my large folio of Indian cabbage.
_Item_, to my learned and worthy friend Dr. Johannes Elscrikius,
Professor in Anatomy, and my associate in the studies of nature, as an
eternal monument of my affection and friendship for him, I bequeath
My rat's testicles, and
Whale's pizzle,
to him and his issue male; and in default of such issue in the said
Dr. Elscrikius, then to return to my executor and his heirs for ever.
Having fully provided for my nephew Isaac, by making over to him some
years since
A horned scarabæus,
The skin of a rattlesnake, and
The mummy of an Egyptian king,
I make no further provision for him in this my will.
My eldest son John having spoken disrespectfully of his little sister,
whom I keep by me in spirits of wine, and in many other instances
behaved himself undutifully towards me, I do disinherit, and wholly cut
off from any part of this my personal estate, by giving him a single
cockle-shell.
To my second son Charles, I give and bequeath all my flowers, plants,
minerals, mosses, shells, pebbles, fossils, beetles, butterflies,
caterpillars, grasshoppers, and vermin, not above specified: as also
all my monsters, both wet and dry, making the said Charles whole and
sole executor of this my last will and testament; he paying, or causing
to be paid, the aforesaid legacies within the space of six months after
my decease. And I do hereby revoke all other wills whatsoever by me
formerly made.[62]
ADVERTISEMENT.
Whereas an ignorant upstart in astrology has publicly endeavoured to
persuade the world, that he is the late John Partridge, who died the
28th of March 1708; these are to certify all whom it may concern, that
the true John Partridge was not only dead at that time, but continues
so to this present day.
Beware of counterfeits, for such are abroad.
FOOTNOTES:
[62] See No. 221.
=No. 217.= [STEELE.
From _Saturday, Aug. 26_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 29, 1710_.
Atque deos atque astra vocat crudelia mater.
VIRG., Eclog. v. 23.
_From my own Apartment, Aug. 28._
As I was passing by a neighbour's house this morning, I overheard the
wife of the family speak things to her husband which gave me much
disturbance, and put me in mind of a character which I wonder I have
so long omitted, and that is, an outrageous species of the fair sex
which is distinguished by the term Scolds. The generality of women are
by nature loquacious: therefore mere volubility of speech is not to be
imputed to them, but should be considered with pleasure when it is used
to express such passions as tend to sweeten or adorn conversation: but
when, through rage, females are vehement in their eloquence, nothing in
the world has so ill an effect upon the features; for by the force of
it, I have seen the most amiable become the most deformed, and she that
appeared one of the Graces, immediately turned into one of the Furies.
I humbly conceive, the great cause of this evil may proceed from a
false notion the ladies have of what we call a modest woman. They have
too narrow a conception of this lovely character, and believe they have
not at all forfeited their pretensions to it, provided they have no
imputations on their chastity. But alas! the young fellows know they
pick out better women in the side-boxes[63] than many of those who pass
upon the world and themselves for modest.
Modesty never rages, never murmurs, never pouts: when it is
ill-treated, it pines, it beseeches, it languishes. The neighbour I
mention is one of your common modest women, that is to say, those as
are ordinarily reckoned such. Her husband knows every pain in life
with her but jealousy. Now because she is clear in this particular,
the man can't say his soul is his own, but she cries, "No modest woman
is respected nowadays." What adds to the comedy in this case is, that
it is very ordinary with this sort of women to talk in the language
of distress: they will complain of the forlorn wretchedness of their
condition, and then the poor helpless creatures shall throw the next
thing they can lay their hands on at the person who offends them. Our
neighbour was only saying to his wife, she went a little too fine, when
she immediately pulled his periwig off, and stamping it under her feet,
wrung her hands, and said, "Never modest woman was so used." These
ladies of irresistible modesty are those who make virtue unamiable; not
that they can be said to be virtuous, but as they live without scandal;
and being under the common denomination of being such, men fear to meet
their faults in those who are as agreeable as they are innocent.
I take the bully among men, and the scold among women, to draw the
foundation of their actions from the same defect in the mind. A bully
thinks honour consists wholly in being brave, and therefore has regard
to no one rule of life, if he preserves himself from the accusation of
cowardice. The froward woman knows chastity to be the first merit in
a woman; and therefore, since no one can call her one ugly name, she
calls all mankind all the rest.
These ladies, where their companions are so imprudent as to take their
speeches for any other than exercises of their own lungs, and their
husband's patience, gain by the force of being resisted, and flame
with open fury, which is no way to be opposed but by being neglected:
though at the same time human frailty makes it very hard to relish
the philosophy of contemning even frivolous reproach. There is a very
pretty instance of this infirmity in the man of the best sense that
ever was, no less a person than Adam himself. According to Milton's
description of the first couple, as soon as they had fallen, and the
turbulent passions of anger, hatred, and jealousy first entered their
breasts, Adam grew moody, and talked to his wife, as you may find it
in the 359th page, and ninth book, of "Paradise Lost," in the octavo
edition, which out of heroics, and put into domestic style, would run
thus:
"Madam, if my advice had been of any authority with you when that
strange desire of gadding possessed you this morning, we had still been
happy: but your cursed vanity and opinion of your own conduct, which is
certainly very wavering when it seeks occasions of being proved, has
ruined both yourself, and me who trusted you."
Eve had no fan in her hand to ruffle, or tucker to pull down,[64] but
with a reproachful air she answered:
"Sir, do you impute that to my desire of gadding, which might have
happened to yourself with all your wisdom and gravity? The serpent
spoke so excellently, and with so good a grace, that--Besides, what
harm had I ever done him, that he should design me any? Was I to have
been always at your side, I might as well have continued there, and
been but your rib still: but if I was so weak a creature as you thought
me, why did you not interpose your sage authority more absolutely? You
denied me going as faintly, as you say I resisted the serpent. Had not
you been too easy, neither you or I had now transgressed."
Adam replied, "Why, Eve, hast thou the impudence to upbraid me as the
cause of thy transgression for my indulgence to thee? Thus it will
ever be with him who trusts too much to woman: at the same time that
she refuses to be governed, if she suffers by her obstinacy, she will
accuse the man that shall leave her to herself."
_Thus they in mutual accusation spent
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning:
And of their vain contest appeared no end._[65]
This to the modern will appear but a very faint piece of conjugal
enmity; but you are to consider, that they were but just begun to be
angry, and they wanted new words for expressing their new passions. But
her accusing him of letting her go, and telling him how good a speaker
and how fine a gentleman the devil was, we must reckon, allowing for
the improvements of time, that she gave him the same provocation as
if she had called him cuckold. The passionate and familiar terms
with which the same case, repeated daily for so many thousand years,
has furnished the present generation, were not then in use; but the
foundation of debate has ever been the same, a contention about their
merit and wisdom. Our general mother was a beauty, and hearing there
was another now in the world, could not forbear (as Adam tells her)
showing herself, though to the devil, by whom the same vanity made her
liable to be betrayed.
I cannot, with all the help of science and astrology, find any other
remedy for this evil, but what was the medicine in this first quarrel;
which was, as appeared in the next book, that they were convinced of
their being both weak, but one weaker than the other.
If it were possible that the beauteous could but rage a little before
a glass, and see their pretty countenances grow wild, it is not to be
doubted but it would have a very good effect; but that would require
temper: for Lady Firebrand, upon observing her features swell when
her maid vexed her the other day, stamped her dressing-glass under
her feet. In this case, when one of this temper is moved, she is
like a witch in an operation, and makes all things turn round with
her. The very fabric is in a vertigo when she begins to charm. In an
instant, whatever was the occasion that moved her blood, she has such
intolerable servants, Betty is so awkward, Tom can't carry a message,
and her husband has so little respect for her, that she, poor woman, is
weary of this life, and was born to be unhappy.
_Desunt multa._
ADVERTISEMENT.
The season now coming on in which the town will begin to fill, Mr.
Bickerstaff gives notice, that from the 1st of October next, he will be
much wittier than he has hitherto been.[66]
FOOTNOTES:
[63] See No. 50.
[64] The tucker "ran in a small kind of ruffle round the uppermost
verge of the woman's stays, and by that means covered a great pa
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