- . M y ■ % ys>>.. \- ■• . 4 -. ■-■'-■ a:';., v; :'■ ; --v ;)i.:3: Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/tatlerwithnotesaOOaddi (StM. pUitt^ Tatt Hay man Puix! J.W. Steel Scalp* TaTLER .A^!^266. I ■ : ; 1'H' 1 ^. ;. .' - . ¥• • • * li- k >> i ’ THE h V 1 TATLER , WITH NOTES, AND A GENERAL INDEX. VaRESQUE ACQUILET EUNDO.” VIRG. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. BOmK COTXMl lilRlRT CH ESTNUT mm M A 8S. PHILADELPHIA: M. WALLIS WOODWARD & Co. 11 MINOR STREET. STEBEOTTPEI) BY t. JOHNSON. 1835 . ! SL 1835 CONTENTS. Historical and Biographical Preface. Original Dedications. Introduction— Character of an absent Lover — Betterton’s Benefit — Continental Intel- ligence-Death of Mr. Partridge .... Steele. The Medicine Harrison. Continental Intelligence — Raillery on the state of France Steele. Play-house, a Poem, by Blackmore — Tapes- try-Continental Intelligence — Benefit of Bickerstaff , . . Plan of the Work— Characters of Chloe and Clarissa— Dramatic News— Strolling Com- pany — Continental Intelligence — Island of Felicia Fallen State of Love — Cynthia, the absent Lover— Project for the Advancement of Religion — Continental Intelligence — Sto- ry of Unnion and Valentine — Character of the Duke of Marlborough Visit from Sappho — Criticism on Homer and , Virgil— Journal of the Iliad— Continental Intelligence— Characters of Alexander and Cffisar The Author’s Will— Raillery on Marriage — Characters of a Coquette and a Coxcomb — Epsom Wells, a Comedy — Continental Intelligence Reformation of the Stage— Continental Intel- ligence — A Dream of the State of England Congreve’s Old Bachelor Description of the Morning Swift. Character of Timon— Fastorella converted from Coquetry— Continental Intelligence Steele Empire of Beauty — Continental Intelligence A Similitude— On Death- Modern Prophets Genealogy of the Staffs Twisden. Continental Intelligence Steele. Corruption of Manners and Language — Bite A Winter Piece Phillips. Verses by Dryden. Adventures of the Tatler’s Guardian Angel, Pacolet — Continental Intelligence . . . Steele. Character of Verus — Earl of Essex and Al- chymist— Dumb Fortune-teller and Wi dow — To Correspondents Story of Pacolet — Gamesters — Pleasure . Characters at Bath— Letter to Castabella On Panegyric — Naked Truth criticised . On Signs : (probably) Addison. Distress of Newswriters History of Esquires — Busy Body — A Trip to the Jubilee— Letter from Madame Main- tenon Complaint of a Lady Dramatic News and Criticism .... Addison. Continental Intelligence Characters of a Gentleman and a Pretty Fel- low— The Fox— Dramatic Writers of the last and present Age — Letter on Mr. Bick- erstaflTs Prophecy of his Death— Witch- craft — Continental Intelligence .... Cynthia in Love— Lindamira's Lovers — Cave Underhill — Young Lady in Love with a Rake Cure for Fits in Married Ladies— Letter to the French King— Continental Intelligence Character of a very Pretty Fellow— A Toast Addison. Continental Inteliigence-Lines to the French King Steele. On Duelling — Advice generally unwelcome — Continental Intelligence Letter from a Pretty Fellow — from Louis XIV.— Duelling Character of a Rake— a Coquette— Verses on a Parrot — Letter from Jeffry Nicknack — Continental Intelligence On Duelling — Continental Intelligence . . Steele. No. 29. Letter from Tim. Switch on Duelling— Cri- tics and Wits — Continental Intelligence Steele 30. Character of the Author’s three Nephews— Style of Love Letters 31. Duelling — Letter to the Author on his being little know’n in the Country — Continental Intelligence 32. Platonic Ladies— Madonella Swift. On Punning Steele. 33. Mrs. Jenny Distaff on the Treatment of the Fair Sex— Attempts to seduce her — Conti- nental Intelligence 34. Cures performed by the Author— Saltero’s Coffee-house 35. Snuff-taking- Cynthia’s Courtship — Ham- let’s Direction to the Players Family of X s : (probably) Swift. Continental Intelligence Steele. 36. Mrs. Jenny Distaff— Characters at Epsom — Of African us Addison. Continental Intelligence Steele. 37. On the Fox-hunter’s Speech— Caesar to his Party at the Rubicon Addison. 38. On Duelling— Whisperers without Business — Characters Continental Intelligence Steele. 39. Oxford and its Almanack— Dialogue on Duels 40. Cure of Lunatics— On Love and Marriage 41. E.xercise at Arms — Character of a (Question- er— The Author accused of Personalities 42. Lines on Bribery Character of .Aspasia Congreve. Inventory of the Play-house Addison. 43. D'Urfey’s Dedication Steele. New System of Philosophy Addison. On the Sublime . , Steele. 44. Esculapius in Love with Hebe — Sale of the Play-house Articles — Humourous Com- plaint of Punch— The Country Gentleman who cannot bear a Jest — Continental In- telligence 45. Story of Teraminta— Puppet-shows— Scene of bodily Wit— Characters of Florio and Senecio 46. Character and Gallantries of Aurengezebe — Lines on the March to Tournay without beat of Drum— Continental Intelligence 47. Character of Sir Taffety Trippet— Cure for the Spleen— Passions expressed by Shak- speare 48. Shades of Conscience and Honour— Genius of Credit 49. Love and Lust — Florio and Limberham — Nocturnus 50. History of Orlando the Fair — Powell's Pup pet-show 51. History of Orlando, Chap. 2 — Pantomime Tricks— Powell’s Puppet-show .... 52. Use of Delamira’s Fan— On Modesty— Cha- racters of Nestor and Varillus— The mo- dest Man and the modest Fellow . . . 53. The civil Husband — Dramatic Criticism — Continental Intelligence 54. The Government of Affection — The Wife and the Mistress — Complaint against Stentor — Death of Lisander and Coriana . . . 55. Story of a Cure performed on a blind young Man — Continental Intelligence .... 56. On Sharpers — Instances of Longevity in France — Notices to C’orrespondents . . 57. Emilia, a Woman too humble— Sharping Extortioners — Satire on the French ap- plied to the English — New (Joxcomb . . 58. Continence of Scipio— Grammatical Pedant- ry — Continental Intelligence 59. On Sharpers— Raffling Shops— Character of Actaion— Author accused of writing Non- sense :? IV CONTENTS. No. Family of Greenhats Swift. Continental Intelligence Steele. 60. A Rake reclaimed by his Father’s Liberality — Women to be gained by Nonsense — Mars Triumphant — Advertisement . . . 61. Men of Fire described — Use of Satire — Dis- tinction between Goldsmiths and Copper- smiths — Stentor — Education and Beauty of Women— Letter from the Artillery Ground 62. Sharpers described as a Pack of Dogs — On Wit — Women the best Speakers— Sallust censured — Story of Dampier’s Boatswain —Continental intelligence 63. Of the Enjoyment of Life with regard to others— Use of Ridicule Madonella’s Platonic College Swift. Continental Intelligence ....... Steele 64. Continental Intelligence Character of Cleontes Hughes. 65. Character of a Battle-Critic— Conduct of the Bath Sharpers Steele. 66. Eloquence of the Pulpit .... Swift and Steele. Infelicity of Riches to one who is not a Gen- tleman — Sharpers — Continental Intelli- gence Steele. 67. Proposals for tables of Fame Swift. Continental Intelligence— Skill of Transition Steele. 68. Tables of Fame— Female Sharpers .... Swift. Causes of Tears— Notice of a Sharper— Of a Book Steele. 69. On acting our parts in Life well— Promotion of Eboracensis — Letter from two Ladies inclined to marry the same Man — Bravery of the Allies — Various Notices . . . . 70. Eloquence of the Pulpit .... Swift and Steele. List of Sharpers Steele. 71. Danger of Satirical Writings Irregular conduct of a Clergyman .... Swift. Betterton’s Hamlet— Reformation of Man- ners at Oxford Steele. 72. Story of Pcetas and Arria— Want of Ear- nestness in the Pulpit— Favonius— Deci- sion of a Wager 73. Letter from Monoculus, and Answer . . . Account of a Club of Gamesters . . . Hughes. Election for Q,ueenhithe Ward Steele. 74. Letter from a Lover— Letter on the Tenden- cy of satirical Characters— Table of Fame — Continental Intelligence 75. Miss Jenny’s Marriage— Choice of Matches in the Bickerstaff Family . Mdison and Steele. 76. Errors of Good nature — Complaint of Love- well Barebones Defence of the Tatler Hughes. Continental Intelligence — Notice to a young Gentleman Steele. 77. Affectation of Faults and Imperfections — Original Letter from Marshal Boufflers — Bath Physicians 78. Letters soliciting Places at the Table of Fame — Character of Hippocrates— Advertise- ment and Notice to Correspondents . . 79. Advice to married Persons — Mrs. Jenny’s Wedding-dinner — Notice of a Pamphlet 80. Exorbitant Price of Books — Letters from a splenetic Gentleman— From a Limper — Continental Intelligence 81. Vision of the Table of Fame Addison. Taking of Mons Steele. 82. Story of the Cornish Lovers— Of a Lover who kills his Mistress 83. Remarks on the Table of Fame— 3Iaria de- clares a Passion for the Author — His An- swer — Advantage of being able to say, No — Continental Intelligence 84. Censure of Ladies who attend Trials for Rapes— Case of Lucretia— Egotism of the French Writers — On giving Advice, a Fable 85. Matrimonial Q,uarrel and Reconciliation — Character of the Dappers— Death of Cyn- thio 86. Scene of Country Etiquette Addison. On Modesty Steele. 87. Humorous Criticism on Serjeant Hall’s Let- ter — Glory shared among an Army . . . 88. Of Story-tellers under the Names of Gunners andGunsters A Dancing-master practising by Book . Addison No. 89. Letter to the Author— His History of his Life— Evil of unreasonable Visits — Play- ers saying more than is set down to them Stesie. 90. Unity of Sentiment in treating the Passion of Love— Its allegorical History . . . Addison. On a Scene in Richard III Steele. 91. Maria’s Visit — A Case of Love and Envy — Impertinence of Nic Doubt — Play-house — Scene of a true and feigned Poet . . . 92. On Praise with Exceptions — Libellers — Re- commendation of Charles Lillie .... 93. Letter from Switzerland— Remarks on Tra- velling — Fool- not to be exported — The Author’s Precautions against Assaults Addison. 94. Story of Clarinda and Chine — Recommend- ation of Mr. Lillie— Notices of an Alma- nack, &c Steele. 95. Scene of Domestic Felicity 96. Every worthless Man a dead Man— Pecu- liarities of Dress — Game killed by the French King — Charles Lillie .... Addison. 97. Hercules courted by Pleasure and Virtue, an Allegory 98. Letter from a Woman in Love — Impressive Tendency of Poetry Steele. 99. Advantages from having but one Theatre — Attack and Expulsion of Divito — Re- monstrance of the Upholders 100. Goddess of Justice distributing Rewards Addison. 101. Danger of Authors from Pirates .... Notices Steele. 102. Continuance of the Vision of the Goddess of Justice Addison. 103. Applications for Permission to use Canes, &c Addison and Steele. 104. Happiness, how secured in the married State Steele. 105. History of Will Rosin — .Art of Knocking . 106. Catalogue of Poetical Stock — Criticism on a Passag ■ in Hamlet— Surrender of Mr. Jeffery Grograin 107. Case of a Lo ver tormented by a Coquette 108. Degradation ofthe Stage-Dimiity of Human Nature— Errors of the French Writers Addison. 109. Fashionable Visiting — Notice from the Up- holders Steele. 110. Court of Judicature of the Dead in Reason Addison and Steele. 111. On the Prevalence of Irreligious Principles Addison and Steele. 112. Amusements and Relaxations of great Men — Misfortune of Idleness Steele. 113. Inventory of a Beau Hughes. Petition of William Jingle, Coach-maker— Notice to the Dead Steele. 114. Death-bed Scene Addison and Steele. 115. Squire Nicolini — Taste for Puppet-Shows — Death and Character of Sir Hannibal — Fable Steele. 116. Court of Judicature on the Petticoat , Addison. 117. On the Pleasure derived from the Deliver- ance of the Good from Danger — The Au- thor's Dream 118. Irregular Conduct of the Dead — Letters from Partridge, &c. — Petition of Penelope Prim Steele. 119. Discoveries of the Microscope — A Dream Addison. 120. Vision of the Three Roads of Human Life — Dogget’s Benefit 121. Consultation on the Sickness of a Lady’s Lap-Dog — Fondness for Animals . . . 122. The Author’s Appearance at Dogget’s Be- nefit-Virtuous feelings of an Athenian Audience 123. Continuation of the A^ision of the Three Roads of Life 124. On Expectations from the Lottery . . . Steele- 125. Proposals for a Receptacle for Persons out of their Wits — 126. Characters of a Prude and Coquette— Story of the Gascon and the Widow .... — 127. On Pride, as affecting the Reason . . . 128. Letter from a Fortune-hunter— From a de- serted Female ■ • 129. Dutch satirical Pictures— Letters from Pas- quin at Rome 130. Superiority of Great Britain in the number of eminent Characters — Estcourt’s Benefit 131. Trial of the Wine-brewers Addison 132. Characters of the Members of the Club at the Trumpet Steele CONTENTS. No. 133. On Silence— Instances of its Significancy Addison. 134. Tiansmigrration of Souls — Petition of Job Chanticleer— Cruelty to Animals . . . Steele. 135. Distinction between Ancient and Modern Free-thinkers — The latter how to be treat- ed— Anecdote of a French Officer . . . 136. History of Tom Varnish — Petitioners for the Fardingal 137. Various abuses of Speech — Swearing — De- parture of the Duke of Marlborough, &c. 138. Deference to the Opinion of the World — Gyges’ Hing— Actions of Public Spirits — Whetters 139. Women more improveable than Men — On Courtship— The Author’s Discoveries by the use of his Ring 140. Letters on a charitable Provision for poor Boys— Cicero’s Defence of Archias — Use of the Term, Madam — Indecorums at Church— From an Inquisitive Lady . . 141. Education of Girls — Whetters — Noisy Neighbours— Letter from a Valentine- Petition of the Inhabitants of Gotham . 142. Political Anxiety — Recommendation of Charles the Toyman 143 Sister,Jenny appears in her own Chariot — The Author’s Letter to her Husband — Provision for Pastorals — Public Impostors — Joshua Barnes 144. Prevalence of Extravagance and Show — Change of Manners in Scotland .... 145. Complaint against the Oglers — Angel at the Royal Exchange 146. Various Cases of Complainers — Dream of Jupiter and the Destinies Addison. 147. Juno’s method to regain Jupiter’s Affection Trial of Wine Steele. 148. On the Diet of the Metropolis— Pernicious Dishes— False Delicacies Addison. 149. Ill-natured Husbands— Three Letters of Pliny to his Wife — Passage from Milton Steele. 150. Matrimonial Quarrels — Characters of an Affectionate Couple 151. Effects of a general Mourning — Passion for gay and showy Dress 152. Homer’s Description of a future State . Addison. 153. Characters in Conversation described as In- struments of Music 154. Virgil’s Allegory and Ideas of a future State 155. -Character of the Upholsterer — a great Poli- tician 156. Visit of Telemachus to the other World . 157. Account of a female Concert— Matches pro- posed between the Music of both Sexes . 158. Pedantry of Tom Folio, the book-broker . 159. Vindication of Marriage against the Wits — Passages from Cicero’s Letters . . . Steele. 160. A Visit and Letter from the Upholsterer Addison. Letter from a Coquette, and from Tom Folio Steele 161. Dream of the Region of Liberty . . . Addison. 162. Duty of a Censor — How performed by the Author— Subscriptions for the Tatler . . (163. Critical reading of Ned Softly’s Poetry . . 164. Remarks on the Author’s various Corres- pondents — Story of an old Soldier . . . Steele. 165. On the Impertinence of Criticism — Cha- racter of Sir Timothy Tittle .... Addison. 166. Rules of Visiting —Character of Tom Mode- ly — Notice of a Pastoral Masque, &c. . . Steele. /167. Funeral and Character of Mr. Betterton the ^ Actor 168. Characters of Impudence and Absurdity — Education of the Jesuits — Petition of Sarah Lovely 169. On the Evils of Drinking— Character of a Country Gentleman — Letter from F. Bick- erstaff 170. Vicissitudes of human Life — Visit to the Lottery Office — Advertisement of a Heart lost 171. Origin of Honour and Title— Behaviour of the Indian Kings — Impertinence of Mi- nunclo 172. Mischiefs arising from Passion— Story of Mr. Eustace 173. Errors in Education— Character of Horace 174. Various species of mad persons— Lady Fid- get and Will Voluble 175. On the liife of People of Condition . . . No. 176. On Heroism in Sufferings— Eucrates, the good-natured Man— Characters of Mar- tins and Aristaeus — Letter from an Idle Man and his Daughter Steele. 177. On Dedications 178. On Don Quixote— The Upholsterer at the Coffee-house 179. Letter on the Construction of a Green -house 180. Injustice of not paying Tradesmen— Of Show and Extravagance 181. On the Death of Friends— Of the Author’s Father— Sale of Wine 182 Pleasures of the Theatre— Characters of Wilks and Cibber 183. Decay of Public Spirit— Character of Regulus 184. On Marriage, and the customary Ceremo- nies — Impertinence of Wags 185. Cruelty of Parents thwarting the Inclina- tions of their Children in love— Story of Antiochus and Stratonice 186. Characteristics of Vanity, Pride, and Ambi- tion — Correspondents' Neglect of Postage 187. Pasquin of Rome, his Letters to the Author — Coffee-house Conversation ..... 188. Letter on a Green-house — From Rustic — Character of Desdemona — Of Bullock and Penkethman 189. An example of Judicious Education — Cha- racter of Sam Bickerstaff and his Family 190. Party writing— Answer to Pasquin’s Let- ter— A Law Case— Letter to the king of France 191. Mischief of making Vice commendable— Character of Polypragmon — Lee’s Alex- ander .... 192. Characters in a Stage-coach — Anecdote of two Ladies and their Husbands, Passen- gers in a Packet-boat . - Addison. 193. The Author’s Politics— Affairs of the Stage — Letter from Downes the Prompter . . Steele. 194. Passage from Spenser transposed .... 195. Letter on the Author’s Politics— Orders to Quacks — Letter to Amanda 196. On the Behaviour of Patrons to their De- pendents 197. Account of Epistolm ohscuror mn rirorum — Passion for bnng thought a Scholar . . 198. History of Caslia 199. Remarks on the same— On Marriage Settle- ments — Specimen of a Contract .... 200. Letter from a Lady in doubt between two Lovers — Plan for raising the Fortunes of Ten young Ladies 201. Faults of the Women attributable to the Men — Letters from Lovers — Benefit Plays — Advertisement from the Trumpet . . 202. On unreasonable Exp^-clations— On Heroic Actions in private Life — Lottery . . . 203. Account of the Drawing of the Lottery — Letter from the owner of a Green house 204. Improper manner of Address— Character of Tom Courtly 205. On Drunkenness Fuller. 206. On Esteem — Character of Jack Gainly, and his Sister Gatty— Of Flavia and Lucia . Steele. 207. Conduct of the Author’s three Nephews to a Female Visitor— Character of a Gentle- man — Letter from a Lottery Adventurer 208. On injudicious civil People— Character of the most agreeable Companion .... 9. Scene between Alexander the Great and his Physician proposed to a Historical Painter 210. Visit to a Censorious Lady of Quality — Letter from an old maid— Continental In- telligence 211. Uses of Sunday— On Devotion 212. On Simplicity of Ornament— Letters on an Ass in the Lion’s Skin— From a Vir- gin, &c 213. On Dissimulation and Simulation— Tom Trueman, a Hero in Domestic Life . . . 214. On the Rigid and the Supple — Account of a political Barometer 215. Account of a Flatterer— And a common Jester— Case of a Widow— Petition of the Linen Drapers .• ’ • 216. Taste of the Virtuosi — Legacy of a Virtuoso —Death of Mr. Partridge Addison. 217. On Scolds— The Author’s Notice that he means to be much wittier Steele. 1 * VI CONTENTS. No. 218. On the Names given by Gardeners to Flow- ers— A Visit to a Garden Addison. 219. Impertinence of professed Wits — Character of Tom Mercer— Letters and Petitions . Steele. 220. Account of the Church Thermometer . Addison. 221. Letter from the Virtuoso’s Widow — From a Scold — Cure for Scolding 222. Riots at Nottingham— Midnight Frolicks — Serenades improper for this Country . . Steele. 223. Evils of Jointures and Settlements— Orders concerning them 224. On Advertisements — Quackeries — Washes, &c Addison. 225. On improper familiarities Steele. 226. Life of Margery, alias John Young, com- monly called i)r. Young 227. Case of an envious man 228. Letters from High Church— On Almanack Weather — From a Writer of Advertise- ments 229. Remarks on the Author’s Enemies— Fable ■ of the Owl, Bats, and the Sun . . . Addison. 230. Improprieties of Phrase — Affectation of Po- liteness-Vulgarisms Swift. 231. The Taming of the Shrew — Present of Wine Steele 232. Letter from the Upholsterer— Rage for Poli- tics 233. History of Joseph and his Brethren . . 234. Letters on Education Greenwood. Devotion Steele 235. On Parental Partiality 236. Account of the Migration of Frogs into Ire- land 237. Effects of the touch of Ithuriel’s Spear, a Dream (probably) Addison. 238. Description of a City Shower Swift. Prose part of the Paper Steele. 239. Remarks on the Author’s Enemies — The Examiner Addison. 240. The Science of Physic— Quacks of the Time — 241. On Drinking-Improper Behaviour at Church — On By-words — Fee at St. Paul’s . . . Steele. 242. On haiilery and Satire-Horace and Juvenal — 243. Adventures of the Author when invisible Addison. 244. On Eloquence — Talents for Conversation — Pedantry Steele. 245. Advertisement of Lady Fardingale’s stolen Goods — Letter from a Black Boy . . 246. On a censorious Disposition — Letters to Defaulters — Characters of Plumbeus and Levis No. 247. Letter from Almeira, an Edinburgh young Lady — And Answer by Mrs. Jenny Distaff Steele 248. On the improvement of Beauty by Exercise — Lazy Ladies — Very busy ones . . . *2^.) Adventures of a Shilling ..... Addison. 2^. Institution of a Court of Honour . . . 251. On Virtuous Independence — Where true Happiness is to be found Steele. 252. Defence of Sober Drinking — Letter from Ralph and Bridget Yokefellow .... 253. Journal of the Court of Honour Addison and Steele. 254. Sir John Mandeville’s account of the Freez- ing and Thawing of several Speeches . . 255 Letter from a Chaplain— Thoughts on the Treatment of Chaplains Addison. 256. Proceedings of the Court of Honour . . . Addison and Steele. 257. Wax-work representation of the Religions of Great Britain 258. Letter on the use of the Phrase, North Briton Swift, Prior, Rowe. On ‘ A Person of Quality’— A Lady invested by several Lovers — From a Chaplain — Ta- li acoti us — Bachelors Steele. 259. Journal of the Court of Honour. Addison and 260. Essay on Noses — Skill of Taliacotius . . 261. Plan for the Encouragement of Wedlock — Instance of Public Spirit— Celamico's Will 202. Journal of the Court of Honour Addison and 263. On the different hours kept in Modern Times — College Hours- Early Hours . . . 2G4. On tedious Talkers and Story-tellers . . 265. Journal oftheCourt ofHonour Add t son and 266. Fantastic Passion of two old Ladies — Sam Trusty’s visit to them 267. On appointed Seasons for Devotion— Lord Bacon’s Prayer Addison. 268. Petition on Coffee-house Orators and News- readers, with the Author’s Remarks . . Steele. 269. Letters on Love and Friendship— Plagius preaching Tillotson’s Sermons .... 270. Letter on the Dress of Tradesmen— Petition of Ralph Nab, the Hatter — Of Elizabeth Slender, Spinster — Letter to Mr. Ralph --- Incense, Chaplain 271. Conclusion, Design of the work, and Ac- ' — ■' knowledgement of Assistance .... GENERAL INDEX ORIGINAL DEDICATIONS VOLUME THE FIRST. TO MR. MAYNWARING.* Sir, — The state of conversation and business in this town having been long perplexed with Pretenders in both kinds ; in order to open men’s eyes against such abuses, it appeared no unprofitable undertaking to publish a Paper, which should observe upon the planners of the pleasurable, as well as the busy part of man- kind. To make this generally read, it seemed the most proper method to form it by way of a letter of intelligence, consisting of such parts as might gratify the curiosity of persons of all conditions, and of each sex. But a work of this nature requiring time to grow into the notice of the world, it happened very luckily, that, a little before I had resolved upon this design, a gen- tleman had written predictions, and two or three other pieces in my name, whieh rendered it fa- mous through all parts of Europe ; and, by an inimitable spirit and humour, raised it to as high a pitch of reputation as it could possibly arrive at. By this good fortune, the name of Isaac Bickerstalf gained an audience of all who had any taste of wit ; and the addition of the ordi- nary occurrences of common Journals of News brought in a multitude of other readers. I could not, I confess, long keep up the opinion * Arthur Maynwaring, Esq. of the town, that these Lucubrations were writ- ten by the same hand with the first works which were published under my name ; but, before I lost the participation of that author’s fame, I had already found the advantage of his authori- ty, to which I owe the sudden acceptance which my labours met with in the world. The general purpose of tliis Paper is to ex- pose the false arts of life, to pull off the dis- guises of cunning, vanity, and affectation, and to recommend a general simplicity in our dress, our discourse, and our behaviour. No man has a better judgment for the discovery, or a nobler spirit for the contempt of all imposture, than yourself ; which qualities render you the most proper patron for the author of these Essays. In the general, the design, how^ever executed, has met with so great success, that there is hardly a name now eminent among us for power, wit, beauty, valour, or wisdom, which is not subscribed for the eneouragement of these vol- umes. This is, indeed, an honour, for which it is impossible to express a suitable gratitude ; and there is nothing could be an addition to the pleasure I take in it but the reflection, that it gives me the most conspicuous occasion I can ever have, of subscribing myself. Sir, Your most obliged, most obedient, and most humble servant, ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, VOLUME THE SECOND. TO EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGUE, ESQ*. Sir, — When I send you this volume, I am rather to make you a request than a Dedication. I must desire, that if you think fit to throw away any moments on it, you would not do it after reading those excellent pieces with which you are usually conversant. The images whieh you will meet with here, will be very faint, after the perusal of the Greeks and Romans, who are your ordinary companions. I must confess I am obliged to you for the taste of * Second son of the Hon. lady Wortley Montague, and grandson of Edward Montague, the first Earl of ' Sandwich. many of their excellences, which I had not ob- served until you pointed them to me. I am very proud that there are some things in these papers which I know you pardon ;* and it is no small pleasure to have one’s labours suffer- ed by the judgrnent of a man, who so well understands the true charms of eloquence and poesy. But I direct this address to you ; not that I think I can entertain you with my writ- ings, but to thank you for the new delight I * This seems to amount to a declaration that E. Wort- ley Montague, Esq. was himself a writer in these pa- pers. 7 8 ORIGINAL DEDICATIONS. have, from your conversation, in those of other men. May you enjoy a long continuance of the true relish of the happiness heaven has bestowed upon you ! I know not how to say a more affec- tionate thing to you, than to wish that you may be always what you are ; and that you may ever think, as I know you now do, that you have a much larger fortune than you want. I am. Sir, your most obedient, and most humble ser- vant, ISAAC BICKERSTAFF. VOLUME THE THIRD. TO THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM LORD COWPER, BARON OF WINGHAM. My Lord, — After having long celebrated the superior graces and excellences, among men, in an imaginary character, I do myself the ho- nour to show my veneration for transcendent merit under my own name, in this address to your lordship. The just application of those high accomplishments of which you are master, has been an advantage to all your fellow-sub- jects ; and it is from the common obligation you have laid upon all the world, that I, though a private man, can pretend to be affected with, or take the liberty to acknowledge, your great talents and public virtues. It gives a pleasing prospect to your friends, that is to say, to the friends of your country, that you have passed through the highest offices, at an age when others usually do but form to themselves the hopes of them. They may ex- pect to see you in the house of lords as many years as you were ascending to it. It is our common good, that your admirable eloquence can now no longer be employed, but in the ex- pression of your own sentiments and judgment. The skilful pleader is now for ever changed into the just judge ; which latter character your lordship exerts with so prevailing an impar- tiality, that you win the approbation even of those who dissent from you, and you always obtain favour, because you are never moved by it. This gives you a certain dignity peculiar to your present situation, and makes the equity, even of a lord high chancellor, appear but a degree towards the magnanimity of a peer of Great Britain. Forgive me, my lord, when I cannot conceal from you, that I shall never hereafter behold you, but I shall behold you, as lately, defending the brave and the unfortunate.* When we attend to your lordship engaged in a discourse, we cannot but reflect upon the many requisites which the vain-glorious speak- ers of antiquity have demanded in a man who is to excel in oratory ; I say, my lord, when we reflect upon the precepts by viewing the exam- ple, though there is no excellence proposed by those rhetoricians wanting, the whole art seems to be resolved into that one motive of speaking, sincerity in the intention. The graceful man- ner, the apt gesture, and the assumed concern, are impotent helps to persuasion, in comparison of the honest countenance of him who utters what he really means. From whence it is, that all the beauties which others attain with labour, are in your lordship but the natural effects of the heart that dictates. It is this noble simpli- city, which makes you surpass mankind in the faculties wherein mankind are distinguished from other creatures, reason and speech. If these gifts were communicated to all men in proportion to the truth and ardour of their hearts, I should speak of you with the same force as you express yourself on any other sub- ject. But I resist my present impulse, as agree- able as it is to me ; though, indeed, had I any pretensions to a fame of this kind, I should, above all other themes, attempt a panegyric upon my lord Cowper ; for the only sure way to a reputation for eloquence, in an age wherein that perfect orator lives, is to choose an argu- ment, upon which he himself must of neces- sity be silent. I am, my lord, your lordship’s most devoted, most obedient, and most humble servant, RICHARD STEELE. * The duke of Marlborough. VOLUME THE FOURTH. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, LORD HALIFAX. From the Hovel at Hamptonwick, April 7, 1711. My Lord, — When I first resolved upon do- ing 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 STEELE’S PREFACE TO THE TATLER. 0 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 bless- ings, 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 sera. Your pa- tronage 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 in- sinuate 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 man- kind ; and the capacities which would have ren- dered you the greatest poet of your age, have, to the advantage of Great Britain, been em- ployed 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 sueh difficulties, that the same talents, without the same quickness in the possession of them, would have been in- capable of conquering. The natural success of such abilities, has advanced you to a seat in that illustrious house, where you were re- ceived by a crowd of your relations. Great as you are in your honours, and personal quali- ties, I know you will forgive an humble neigh- bour 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. PREFACE TO THE OCTAVO EDITION, 1710. In the last Tatler I promised some explana- tion of passages and persons mentioned in this work, as well as some account of the assistances I have had in the performance. I shall do this in very few words ; for when a man has no de- sign but to speak plain truth, he may say a great deal in a very narrow compass. I have, in the dedication of the first volume, made my acknow- ledgments to Dr. Swift, whose pleasant writings, in the name of Bickerstaff, created an inclina- tion in the town towards any thing that could appear in the same disguise. I must acknow- ledge also, that, at my first entering upon this work, a certain uncommon way of thinking, and a turn in conversation peculiar to that agreeable gentleman, rendered his company very advantageous to one whose imagination was to be continually employed upon obvious and common subjects, though, at the same time, obliged to treat of them in a new and unbeaten method. His verses on the ‘ Shower in Town,’ and the ‘ Description of the Morning,’ are in- stances of the happiness of that genius, which could raise such, pleasing ideas upon occasions so barren to an ordinary invention. When I am upon the house of Bickerstaff, I must not forget that genealogy of the family sent to me by the post, and written, as I since understand, by Mr. Twisden, who died at the battle of Mons, and has a monument in West- minster abbey, suitable to the respect which is due to his wit and his valour. There are through the course of the work, very many incidents which were written by unknown correspond- ents. Of this kind is the tale in the second Tatler, and the epistle from Mr. Downes the prompter, with others which were very well re- B ceived by the public. But I have only one gen- tleman, who will be nameless, to tliank for any frequent assistance to me, which indeed it would have been barbarous in him to have denied to one with whom he has lived in an intimaey from childhood, considering the great ease with which he is able to despatch the most entertaining pieces of this nature. This good office he per- formed with such force of genius, humour, wit, and learning, that I fared like a distressed prince, who calls in a powerful neighbour to his aid ; I was undone by my auxiliary ; when I had once called him in, I could not subsist without dependence on him. The same hand writ the distinguishing cha- racters of men and women under the names of ‘Musical Instruments,’ ‘The Distress of the News-writers,’ ‘ The Inventory of the Play- house,’ and ‘ The description of the Thermo- meter,’ which I cannot but look upon as the greatest embellishments of this work. Thus far I thought necessary to say relating to the great hands which have been concerned in these volumes, with relation to the spirit and genius of the work ; and am far from pretend- ing to modesty in making this acknowledgment. What a man obtains from the good opinion and friendship of worthy men, is a much greater honour than he can possibly reap from any ac- complishments of his own. But all the credit of wit which was given me by the gentlemen above-mentioned, with whom I have now ac- counted, has not been able to atone for the ex- ceptions made against me for some raillery in behalf of that learned advocate for the episco- pacy of the church, and the liberty of the peo- ple, Mr. Hoadly. I mentioned this only to de- 10 STEELE’S PREFACE TO THE TATLER. fend myself against the imputation of being moved rather by party than opinion ; and I think it is apparent. I have, •with the utmost frank- ness, allowed merit wherever I found it, though joined in interests different from those for which I have declared myself. When my Fa- vonius is acknowledged to be Dr. Smallridge, and the amiable character of the Dean in the sixty-sixth Tatler, drawn for Dr. Atterbury, I hope I need say no more as to my impartiality. I really have acted in these cases with hon- esty, and am concerned it should be thought otherwise ; for wit, if a man had it, unless it be directed to some useful end, is but a wanton frivolous quality ; all that one should value him- self upon in this kind is, that he had some hon- ourable intention in it. As for this point, never hero in romance was carried away with a more furious ambition to conquer giants and tyrants, than I have been in extirpating gamesters and duellists. And indeed, like one of those knights too, though I was calm before, I am apt to fly out again, when the thing that first disturbed me is presented to my imagination. I shall therefore leave off when I am well, and fight with windmills no more ; only shall be so arrogant as to say of myself, that, in spite of all the force of fashion and prejudice, in the face of all the world, I alone bewailed the condition of an English gen- tleman, whose fortune and life are at this day precarious ; while his estate is liable to the de- mands of gamesters, through a false sense of justice ; and to the demands of duellists, through a false sense of honour. As to the first of these orders of men, I have not one word more to say of them ; as to the latter, I shall conclude all I have more to offer against them, with respect to their being prompted by the fear of shame, by applying to the duellist what I think Dr. South says some where of the liar, ‘ He is a coward to man, and a bravo to God.’ THE TATLER No. 1.] Tuesday, April 12, 1709. duicquid agunt homines Nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. ‘ Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme.’ P. Though the other papers, which are published for the use of the good people of England, have certainly very wholesome effeets, and are lauda- ble in their particular kinds, they do not seem to come up to the main design of such narra- ti.Qi)^; which, I humbly presume, should be principally intended for the use of jpolitical per- sons, who are so public-spirited as to negfect their own affairs to look into transactions of state. Now these gentlemen, for the most part, being persons of strong zeal and weak intellects, it is both a charitable arid necessary work to offer something whereby such worthy and well- affected members of the commonwealth may be instructed, after their reading, what to think ; which shall be the end and purpose ofjyris my paper, wherein I shall from timeTo'time report and consider all matters, of what kind soever, that shall occur to me, and publish such my ad- vices and reflections every Tuesday, ^Thursday, and Saturday in the week, foTlHe corivefiience of the post. I resolve to have something which may be of entertainment to the fair-sex, in ho- nour of whom I have invented the title of this paper. I therefore earnestly desire all persons, without distinction, to take it in for the present, gratis,, and hereafter, at the price of one penny, forbidding all hawkers to take more for it at their peril. And I desire all persons to consider, that I am at a very great charge for proper materials for this work, as well as that, before I resolved upon it, I had settled a correspon- dence in all parts of the known and knowing world. And forasmuch as this globe is not trodden upon by mere drudges of business only, but that men of spirit and genius are justly to be esteemed as considerable agents in it, we shall not, upon a dearth of news, present you with musty foreign edicts, or dull proclamations, but shall divide our relation of the passages which occur in action or discourse throughout this town, as well as elsewhere, under such dates of places as may prepare you for the matter you are to expect, in the following manner. “ All accounts of gallantry, pleasure, and entertainment, shall be under the article of White’s Chocolate-house;* poetry, under that of Will’s Coff ee-hou se ;t le arning * White’s Chocolate-house was then on the west side of St. .Tames’s-street. t “ Will’s Coffee-house was on the north side of Rus- sel-strect, Covent garden, where the wits of that time ti tle of Gr ecian jt foreign and domestic news y ouwill Tiave*lrom Saint James’s Coffee-house ; and what else I have to offer on any other sub- ject shall be dated from my own apartment. “ I once more desire my reader to consider, that as I cannot keep an ingenious man to go daily to Will’s under twopence each day, merely for his charges ; to White’s under sixpence ; nor to the Grecian, without allowing him some plain Spanish, to be as able as others at the learned table ; and that a good observer cannot speak with even Kidney § at Saint James’s without clean linen ; I say, these considerations will, I hope, make all persons willing to comply with my humble request (when my gratis stock is exhausted) of a penny a-piece ; espeeially since they are sure of some proper amusement, and that it is impossible for me to want means to entertain them ; having, besides the force of my own parts, the power of divination, and that I can, by casting a figure, tell you all that will happen before it comes to pass. “ But this last faculty I shall use very spa- ringly, and speak but of few things until they are passed, for fear of divulging matters which may offend our superiors.”!) White's Chocolate-house,, April 7. The deplorable condition of a very pretty gentleman, who walks here at the hours when men of quality first appear, is what is very much lamented. His history is, that on the ninth of September, 1705, being in his one-and-twentieth year, he was washing his teeth at a tavern win- dow in Pall-Mall, wh^en a fine equipage passed by, and in it a young lady who looked up at him ; away goes the coach, and the young gen- tleman pulled off his night cap, and instead of rubbing his gums, as he ought to do, out of the window until about four of the clock, sits him down and spoke not a word until twelve at night ; after which, he began to inquire if any body knew the lady? — The company asked what lady ? but he said no more, until they broke up at six in the morning. All the ensu- ing winter he went from church to church every Sunday, and from play-house to play-house used to assemble, and where Dr 3 'den had, when he lived, been accustomed to preside.” — Johnson's “ Lives,” &c. vol. iv. p. 15. 8vo. edit. 1781. t The Grecian was, and still is, in Devereux-court in the Strand ; probably the most ancient coffee-house in or about London. In 1652, an English Turkey-mer- chant brought home with him a Greek servant, who first opened a house for making and selling coffee. § Kidney was one of the waiters at St. James’s Coffee- house. |( The same introduction was prefixed to No. 2, and No. 3. 11 12 THE TATLER. [No. 1. every night in the week ; but could never find the original of the picture which dwelt in his bosom. In a word, his attention to any thing but his passion was utterly gone. He has lost all the money he ever played for, and been con- futed in every argument he has entered upon, since the moment he first saw her. He is of a noble family, has naturally a very good air, and is of a frank, honest temper ; but this passion has so extremely mauled him, that his features are set and uninformed, and his whole visage is deadened by a long absence of thought. He never appears in any alacrity but when raised by wine ; at which time he is sure to come hither and throw away a great deal of wit on fellows who have no sense further than just to observe, that our poor lover has most understanding when he is drunk, and is least in his senses when he is sober.* The reader is desired to take notice of the article from this place, from time to time, for I design to be very exact in the progress this unhappy gentleman makes, which may be of great instruction to all who actually are, or who ever shall be in love. /' lV X WilVs Coffee-house, April 8. On Thursday last was acted, for the benefit of Mr. Betterton, the celebrated comedy called % Love for Love.t Those excellent players, Mrs. Barry, Mrs. Bracegirdle, and Mr. Dogget, though not at present concerned in the house, acted on that occasion. There has not been known so great a concourse of persons of dis- tinction as at that time ; the stage itself was covered with gentlemen and ladies, and when the curtain was drawn, it discovered even there, a very splendid audience. This unusual en- couragement, which was given to a play for the advantage of so great an actor, gives an un- deniable instance, that the true relish for manly entertainments and rational pleasures is not wholly lost. All the parts were acted to perfec- tion : the actors were careful of their carriage, and no one was guilty of the affectation to in- sert witticisms of his own ; but a due respect was had to the audience for encouraging this accomplished player. It is not now doubted but plays will revive, and take their usual place in the opinion of persons of wit and merit, notwith- standing their late apostacy in favour of dress and sound. This place is very much altered « since Mr. Dryden frequented it ; where you used to see songs, epigrams, and satires, in the hands of every man you met, you have now only a pack of cards ; and instead of the cavils about the turn of the expression, the elegance of the style, and the like, the learned now dispute only about the truth of the game. But however the company is altered, all have shown a great re- .spect for Mr. Betterton ; and the very gaming part of this house have been so touched with a sense of the uncertainty of human affairs (which alter with themselves every moment) that in * Edward Lord Viscount Hinchinbroke, mentioned afterwards under the name of Cyntliio. He died in the lifetime of his father, Oct. 3, 1722. See No. .5, and No. 22 t By Congreve. Published in quarto, 1G9.7. this gentleman, they pitied Mark Anthony of Rome, Hamlet of Denmark, Mithridates of Pon- tus, Theodosius of Greece, and Henry the Eighth of England. It is well known, he has been in the condition of each of those illustrious person- ages for several hours together, and behaved himself in those high stations, in all the changes of the scene, with suitable dignity. For these reasons, we intend to repeat this late favour to him on a proper occasion, lest he, who can instruct us so well in personating feigned sor- rows, should be lost to us by suffering imder real ones.* The town is at present in very great expectation of seeingt a comedy now in rehearsal, which is the twenty-fiflh production of my honoured friend Mr. Thomas D’Urfey ; v/ho, besides his great abilities in the dramatic, has a particular talent in the lyric way of writ- ing, and that with a manner wholly new and unknown to the ancient Greeks and Romans, wherein he is but faintly imitated in the trans- lation of the modern Italian operas. St. James's Coffee-house, April 11. Letters from the Hague of the sixteenth, say that Major-general Cadogan was gone to Brus- sels, with orders to disperse proper instructions for assembling the whole force of the allies in Flanders, in the beginning of the next month. The late offers concerning peace were made in the style of persons who think themselves upon equal terms ; but the allies have so just a sense of their present advantages, that they will not admit of a treaty, except France offers what is more suitable to her present condition. At the same time, we make preparations as if we were alarmed by a greater force than that which we are carrying into the field. Thus this point seems now to be argued sword in hand. This was what a great general! alluded to, when being asked the names of those who were to be plenipotentiaries for the ensuing peace, he an- swered with a serious air, “ There are about a hundred thousand of us.” Mr. Kidney, who has the ear of the greatest politicians that come hither, tells me, there is a mail come in to-day with letters, dated Hague, April the nineteenth, N. S. which say, a design of bringing part of our troops into the field, at the latter end of this month, is now altered to a resolution of march- ing towards the camp about the twentieth of the next. Prince Eugene was then returned thither from Amsterdam. He sets out from Brussels on T uesday : the greater number of the general officers at the Hague, have orders to go at the same time. The squadron at Dun- kirk consists of seven vessels. There happened the other day, in the road of Scheveling, an en- gagement between a privateer of Zeeland and one of Dunkirk. The Dunkirker, carrying thirty-three pieces of cannon was taken and * Thomas Betterton, justly esteemed the Roscius of his age, was born in 1635, came upon the stage in 1650, and continued on it with great reputation more than fifty years. He died April 28, 1710. t “ The Modern Prophets, c. quarto, 1709, his twenty- seventh production, according to the list of his plays in Biog. Dram. See Tat. No. 11, and note; and No. 43. ] 'Phe duke of IMarl borough. THE TATLER. 13 No. 2.] brought into the Texel. It is said, the courier of Monsieur Rouille is returned to liim from the court of France. Monsieur Vcndosme, being re- instated in the favour of the dutchess of Burgun- dy, is to command in Flanders. Mr. Kidney added, that there w'ere letters of the seventeenth from Ghent, which give an ac- count that the enemy had formed a design to surprise two battalions of the allies which lay at Alost ; but those battalions received advice of their march, and retired to Dendermond. Lieutenant-general Wood appeared on this oc- casion at tlie head of five thousand foot, and one thousand horse ; upon which, the enern}'^ with- drew without making any farther attempt. From my own Apartment. I am sorry I am obliged to trouble the public with so much discourse upon a matter which I at the very first mentioned as a trifle, viz. the I death of Mr. Partridge,* under whose name there is an almanack come out for the year 1709; in one page of which, it is asserted by the said John Partridge, that he is still living ; and not only so, but that he was also living some lime before, and even at the instant when I writ of his death. I have in another place, and in a paper by itself, sufficiently convinced this man that he is dead, and, if he has any shame, I do not doubt but that by this time he owns it to all his acquaintance ; for though the legs and arms and whole body of that man my still appear, and perform their animal functions ; yet since, as I have elsewhere observed, his art is gone, the man is gone. I am, as I said, concerned that this little matter should make so much noise ; but since I am engaged, I take myself obliged in honour to go on in my lucubrations, and by the help of these arts, of which I am master, as well as my skill in astrological speculations, I shall, as I see occasion, proceed to confute other dead men who pretend to be in being, although they are actually deceased. I therefore give all men fair warning to mend their manners; for I shall, from time to time, print bills of mortality ; and I beg the pardon of all such who shall be named therein, if they who are good for nothing shall find themselves in the number of the de- ceased. No. 2.] Thursday, April 14:^ duicquirl agunt homines JVostri est farrago libeili. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. AVhate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Oar motley paper seizes for its tlieine. P. Will's Coffee-house, April 13. There has lain all this evening on the table, the following poem. The subject of it being matter very useful for families, I thought it de- served to bo considered, and made more public. The turn the poet gives it, is very happy ; but the foundation is from a real incident which ♦ Dr. Swift, in his “ Predictions for 1708,” foretold, that Partridge the almanack-maker, would infallibly die on the twenty-ninth of March about eleven at night, of a raging fever. The wits resolved to support this pre- diction, and uniformly insisted that Partridge actually died at that time. happened among my acquaintance. A young" gentletjian of a great estate, fell desperately in, love with a great beauty of very high quality, but as ill-natured as long flattery and an ha- bitual self-will could make. her. However, my young spark ventures upon her like a man of quality, without being acquainted with her, or having ever saluted her until it was a crime to kiss any woman else. Beauty is a thingwhich palls with possession ; and the charms of this lady soon wanted the support of good-humour and complacency of manners Upon this, niy spark flies to the bottle for relief from satiety. She disdains him for being tired with that for which all men envied him ; and he never came home, but it was — “Was there no sot that would stay longer ? would any man living but you? did I leave all the world for this usage?” to which, he — “ Madam, split me, you are very impertinent !” In a word, this match was wed- lock in its most terrible appearances. She, at last, weary of railing to no purpose, applies to a good uncle, who gives her a bottle he pre- tended he had bought of Mr. Partridge the con- jurer. “ This,” said he, “ I gave ten guineas for. The virtue of the enchanted liquor (said he that sold it) is such, that if the woman you marry proves a scold, (which it seems, my dear niece, is your misfortune, as it was your good mother’s before you,) let her hold three spoon- fuls in her mouth for a full half hour after you come home — .” But I find I am not in humour for telling a tale, and nothing in nature is so ungraceful as story-telling against the grain ; therefore take it as the author has given it you. THE MEDICINE. A Tale— for the Ladies. Miss Molly, a famed toast, was fair and young. Had wealth and charms— but then she had a tongue ! From morn to night th’ eternal larum run, Which often lost those hearts her eyes had won. Sir .Tohn was smitten, and confessed his flame. Sighed out the usual time, then wed the dame ; Possessed, he thought, of every joy of life : But his dear Molly proved a very wife. Excess of fondness did in time decline. Madam loved money, and the knight loved wine. From whence some petty discord would arise. As. *• You’re a fool !”— and, “ You are mighty wise 1” Though he and all the world allow’d her wit. Her voice was shrill, and rather loud than sweet; When she began — for hat and sword he’d call. Then after a faint kiss,— cry, “ Bye, dear Moll ! Supper and friends expect me at the Rose.” — “ And, what. Sir John, you’ll get your usual dose! , Go, stink of smoke, and guzzle nasty wine ; Sure, never virtuous love was used like mine !” Oft as the watchful bell-man inarched his round. At a fresh bottle gay Sir John he found. By four the knight would get his business done, And only then reeled off, because alone ; Full well he knew the dreadful storm to come. But, armed with Boiirdeaux he durst venture home. My lady with her tongue was still prepared. She rattled loud, and he impatient heard : “ ’Tisla fine hour ! In a sweet pickle made ! And this. Sir John, is every day the trade. Here I sit moping all the live-long night. Devoured with spleen, and stranger to delight; ’Till morn sends staggering home a drunken beast. Resolved to break my heart, as well as rest.” . “Hey ! hoop I d’ye hear my damned obstreperous spouse. What, can’t you find one bed about the house ? Will that perpetual clack lie never still? That rival to the softness of a mill ! Some couch and distant room must be my choice. Where I may sleep uncursed with wife and noise.” Long this uncomfortable life they led. With snarling meals, and each a separate bed. 14 THE TATLER. [No. 3. To an old uncle oft she would complain, Beg his advice, and scarce from tears refrain. Old Wisewood smoked the matter as it was, “Cheer up!” cried he, “ and I’ll remove the cause. “ A wonderous spring within my garden flows, Of sovereign virtue, chiefly to compose Domestic jars, and matrimonial strife. The best elixir t’ appease man and wife ; Strange are th’ effects, the qualities divine, ’Tis water called, but worth its weight in wine. If in his sullen airs Sir John should come. Three spoonfuls take, hold in your mouth— then mum. Smile, and look pleased, when he shall rage and scold, Still in your mouth the healing cordial hold ; One month this sympathetic med’cine tried. He’ll grow a lover, you a happy bride. But, dearest niece, keep this grand secret close, Or every prattling hussey ’ll beg a dose.” A water-bottle’s brought for her relief ; Not Nants could sooner ease the lady’s grief; Her busy thoughts are on the trial bent. And, female like, impatient for th’ event ! The bonny knight reels home exceeding clear, Prepared for clamour and domestic war : Entering, he cries, — “ Hey ! where’s our thunder fled ! No hurricane ! Betty ’s your lady dead ?” Madam, aside, an ample mouthful takes, Court’sies, looks kind, but not a word she speaks! Wondering, he stared, scarcely his eyes believed. But found his ears agreeably deceived. “ Why, how now, Molly, what's the crotchet now ?” She smiles, and answers only with a bow. Then clasping her about—” Why, let me die ! The.se night-cloaths, Moll, become thee mightily !” With that he sighed, her hand began to press, And Betty calls, her lady to undress. “ Nay, kiss me, Molly,— for I’m much inclined.” Her lace she cuts, to take him in the mind. Thus the fond pair to bed enamoured went. The lady pleased, and the good knight content. For many days these fond endearments past. The reconciling bottle fails at last ; ’Twas used and gone,— Then midnight storms arose. And looks and words the union discompose. Her coach is ordered and post-haste she flies To beg her uncle for some fresh supplies. Transported does the strange effects relate. Her knight’s conversion, and her happy state! “ Why, niece,” says he, — “ I pr’ythee apprehend. The water’s water— be thyself thy friend ; Such beauty would the coldest husband warm. But your provoking tongue undoes the charm : Be silent and complying. — You’ll soon find. Sir John without a med’cinc will be kind.” St. James's Coffee-house., April 13. Letters from Venice say, the disappointment of their expectation to see his Danish majesty has very much disquieted the court of Rome. Our last advices from Germany inform us, that the minister of Hanover has urged the council at Ratisbonne to exert themselves in behalf of the common cause, and taken the liberty to say, that the dignity, the virtue, the prudence of his electoral highness, his master, were called to the head of their atfairs in vain, if they thought fit to leave him naked of the proper means to make those excellencies useful for the honour and safety of the empire. They write from Berlin of the thirteenth, O. S. that the true de- sign of general Fleming’s visit to that court was to insinuate, that it will be for the mutual in- terest of the king of Prussia and king Augustus, to enter into a new alliance ; but that the min- isters of Prussia are not inclined to his senti- ments. We hear from Vienna, that his imperial majesty has expressed great satisfaction in their high mightinesses having communicated to him the whole that has passed in the affair of a peace. Though there have been practices used by the agents of France, in all the courts of Europe, to break the good understanding of the allies, they have had no other effect, but to make all the members concerned in the alliance more doubtful of their safety, from the great offers of the enemy. The emperor is roused by this alarm, and the frontiers of all the French do- minions are in danger of being insulted the ensuing campaign. Advices from all parts con- firm, that it is impossible for France to find a way to obtain so much credit as to gain any one potentate of the allies, or conceive any hope for safety from other prospects. From my own Apartment, April 13. I find it of very great use, now I am setting up for a writer of news, that I am an adept in astrological speculations ; by which means, I avoid speaking of things which may offend great persons. But, at the same time, I must not pros- titute the liberal sciences so far, as not to utter the truth in cases which do immediately con- cern the good of my native country. I must, therefore, contradict what has been so assuredly reported by the news writers of England, that France is in the most deplorable condition, and that their people die in great multitudes. I will therefore let the world know, that my corres- pondent by the way of Brussels, informs me upon his honour, that the gentleman who writes the gazette of Paris, and ought to know as well as any man, has told him, that ever since the king has been past his sixty-third year, or grand climacteric, there has not died one man of the French nation who was younger than his ma- jesty, except a very few who were taken sud- denly near the village of Hockstet in Germany ; and some more who were straitened for lodging at a place called Ramilies, and died on the road to Ghent and Bruges.* There are also other things given out by the allies, which are shifts below a conquering nation to make use of. Among others, it is said there is a general mur- muring among the p>eople of France, though at the same time, all my letters agree, that there is so good an understanding among them, that there is not one morsel carried out of any market in the kingdom but what is delivered upon credit. No. 3.] Saturday, April 16, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines Nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. ‘ Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. Will's Coffee-house, April 14. This evening the comedyt called the Country Wife, was acted in Drury-lane, for the benefit of Mrs. Bignell. The part which gives name to the play was performed by herself Through the whole action she made a very pretty figure, and exactly entered into the nature of the part. Her husband, in the drama, is represented to be one of those debauchees who run through the vices of the town, and believe, when they think fit, they can marry and settle at their * An humorous compliment to the duke of Marl- borough, who, as Mr. Steele insinuates, so reduced the Fiencli, that they had now, neither more young men to go to war, nor more ready money to carry to market, t R.v Wyclicrley. It was first acted in 1683. THE TATLER. 15 No. 3.] ease. His own knowledge of the iniquity of the age, makes him choose a wife wholly ignorant of it, and place his security in her want of skill to abuse him. The poet on many oecasions, where the propriety of the character will admit of it, insinuates, that there is no defence against vice, but the contempt of it : and has, in the natural ideas of an untainted innocent, shown the gradual steps to ruin and destruction which persons of condition run into, without the help of a good education to form their conduct. The torment of a jealous coxcomb, which arises from his own false maxims, and the aggravation of his pain, by the very words in which he sees her innocence, makes a very pleasant and in- structive satire. The character of Horner, and the design of it, is a good representation of the age in which that comedy was written ; at which time, love and wenching were the busi- ness of life, and the gallant manner of pursuing women was the best recommendation at court. To this only, it is to be imputed, that a gentle- man of Mr. Wycherly’s character and sense, condescends to represent the insults done to the honour of the bed, without just reproof ; but to have drawn a man of probity with regard to such considerations had been a monster ; and a poet had at that time discovered his want of knowing the manners of the court he lived in, by a virtuous character in his fine gentleman, as he would show his ignorance by drawing a vicious one to please the present audience. Mrs. Bignell did her part very happily, and had a certain grace in her rusticity, which gave us hopes of seeing her a very skilful player, and in some parts, supply our loss of Mrs. Verbrug- gen. I cannot be of the same opinion with my friends and fellow-labourers, the Reformers of Manners, in their severity towards plays ; but must allow, that a good play, acted before a well-bred audience, must raise very proper in- citements to good behaviour, and be the most quick and most prevailing method of giving young people a turn of sense and breeding. But as I have set up for a weekly historian, I resolve to be a faithful one ; and therefore take whis public occasion to admonish a young noble- man, who came flustering into the box last night, and let him know how much all his friends were out of countenance for him. The women sat in terror of hearing something that should shock their mooesty, and all the gentlemen in as much pain, out of compassion to the ladies, and perhaps resentment for the indignity which was offered in coming into their presence in so disrespectful a manner. Wine made him say nothing that was rude, therefore he is forgiven, upon condition he never will hazard his offend- ing more in this kind. As I just now hinted, I own myself of the “Society for Reformation of Manners.”* We have lower instruments than those of the family of Bickerstaff for *This Society began in 1690 ; an account of the pro- gress made in suppressing profaneness and debauchery by its means, was published yearly. The last account is from Dec. 1737 to Dec. 1738. The total number of per- sons prosecuted by this Society, in or near London, dur- ing these forty-four years, is calculated at about 101,683, &c.” Such as are curious, may see a fuller account of it, in Stow’s Survey of London, edit. 1755, vol. i. p. 144. punishing great crimes and exposing the aban- doned. Therefore, as I design to have notices from all public assemblies, I shall take upon me only indecorums, improprieties, and negligences, in such as should give us better examples. After this declaration, if a fine lady thinks fit to gig- gle at church, or a great beau come in drunk to a play, either shall be sure to hear of it in my ensuing paper ; for, merely as a well-bred man,. I cannot bear these enormities.. After the play, we naturally stroll to this cof- fee-house, in hopes of meeting some new poem or other entertainment among the men of wit and pleasure, where thei*e is a dearth at present.. But it is wonderful there should be so few writers, when the art is become merely me- chanic, and men may make themselves great that way by as certain and infallible rules as you may be a joiner or a mason. There hap- pens a good instance of this in what the hawker has just now offered for sale, to wit, “ Instruc- tions to Vanderbank : A Sequel to the advice to the Poets : a Poem, occasioned by the glorious success of her Majesty’s arms under the com- mand of the Duke of Marlborough, the last year in Flanders.”* Here you are to understand that the author, finding the poets would not take his advice, troubles himself no more about them ; but has met with one Vanderbank,f who works in arras, and makes very good tapestry hangings: therefore, in order to celebrate the hero of the age, he claps together all that can be said of a. man that makes hangings : Then artist, who does aature’s face express. In silk and gold, and scenes of action dress ; Dost figured arras animated leave. Spin a bright story, or a passion weave ; , By mingling threads, canst mingle shade and light,. Delineate triumphs, or describe a fight ? Well, what shall this workman do ? why, to show how great an hero the poet intends, h& provides him a very good horse : Champing his foam, and bounding on the plain. Arch his high neck, and graceful spread his mane. Now as to the intrepidity, the calm courage, the constant application of the hero, it is not necessary to take that upon yourself : you may, in the lump, bid him you employ raise him as high as he can ; and if he does it not, let him answer for disobeying orders. Let fame and victory in inferior sky Hover with balanc’d wings, and smiling fly Above his head, «&.c. A whole poem of this kind may be ready against an ensuing campaign, as well as a space left in the canvass of a piece of tapestry for the principal figure, while the under-parts are work- ing ; so that in effect, the adviser copies after the man he pretends to direet. This method should, methinks, encourage young beginners ; for the invention is so fitted to all capacities, that by the help of it a man may make a re- ceipt for a poem. A young man may observe, that the jig of the thing is, as I said, finding * By Sir Richard Blackmore. See Spect. Nos. 6. 339. Tat. No. 14. contains a very proper apology for this raillery. t This man was inimitable in his way ; no person ever represented nature more happily in works of tapestry. 16 THE TATLER. [No. 4. out all that can be said in his way whom you I employ to set forth your worthy. Waller and Denham had worn out the expedience of “ Ad- | vice to a Painter this author has transferred the work, and sent his Advice to the Poets ; that I is to say, to the Turners of Verse, as he calls ' them. Well, that thought is worn out also ; therefore he directs his genius to the loom, and I will have a new set of hangings in honour of j the last year in Flanders. I must own to you, I approve extremely this invention, and it might be improved for the benefit of manufactory : as, suppose an ingenious gentleman should write a poem of advice to a calico printer ; do you think there is a girl in England that would wear any thing but the “ Taking of Lisle,” or, “ The Bat- tle of Oudenarde ?” They would certainly be all the fashion until the heroes abroad had cut out some more patterns. I should fancy small skirmishes might do for under-petticoats, pro- vided they had a siege for the upper. If our adviser were well imitated, many industrious people might be put to work. Little Mr. Dac- tile, now in the room, who formerly writ a song and a half, is a week gone in a very pretty work, upon this hint : he is writing an epigram to a young virgin who knits very well ; (it is a thousand pities he is a Jacobite ;) but his epi- gram is by way of advice to this damsel, to knit all the actions of the pretender and the duke of Burgundy’s last campaign in the clock of a stocking. It were endless to enumerate the many hands and trades that may be employed by the^oets, of so useful a turn as this adviser. I shall think of it ; and, in this time of taxes, shall consult a great critic employed in the cus- tom-house, in order to propose what tax may be proper to be put on knives, seals, rings, hang- ings, wrought beds, gowns, and petticoats, where any of these commodities bear mottoes, or are worked upon poetical grounds. St. James's Coffee-house., April 15. Letters from Turin of the third instant, N. S. inform us, that his royal highness^ employs j all his address in alarming the enemy, and perplexing their speculations concerning his ! real designs the ensuing campaign. Contracts j arc entered into with the merchants of Milan [ for a great number of mules to transport his ^ provisions and ammunition. His royal high- ; ness has ordered the train of artillery to be | conveyed to Susa before the twentieth of the next month. In the mean time, all accounts , ao-ree, that the enemy are very backward in their preparations, and almost incapable of de- fending themselves against an invasion, by rea- son of the general murmurs of their own peo- ple ; which, they find, are no way to be quieted but by giving them hopes of a speedy peace. When these letters were despatched the mar- shal de Thesse was arrived at Genoa, where he has taken much pains to keep the correspond- ents of the merchants of France in hopes that i measures will be found out to support the credit and commerce between that state and Lyons : but the late declaration of the agents of Mon- sieur Bernard, that they cannot discharge the demands made upon them, has quite dispirited all those who are engaged in the remittances of France. From my own Apartment, April 15. It is a very natural passion in all good mem- bers of the commonwealth, to take what care they can of their families. Therefore, I hope the reader will forgive me, that I desire he would go to the play called, the Stratagem,* this evening, which is to be acted for the bene- fit of my near kinsman Mr. John Bickerstaff.t I protest to you, the gentleman has not spoken to me to desire this favour : but I have a respect for him, as well in regard to consanguinity, as that he is an intimate friend of that famous and heroic actor, Mr. George Powel ; who formerly played Alexander the Great in aU places, though, he is lately grown so reserved, as to act it only on the stage.t No. 4.] Tuesday, April 18, 1709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. S5, 86.* “ Whate'er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme.” P. ‘ It is usual with persons who mount the stage for the cure or information of the crowd about them, to make solemn professions of their being wholly disinterested in the pains they take for the public good. At the same time, those very men who make harangues in plush doublets,, and extol their own abilities and generous incli- nations, tear their lungs in vending a drug, and show no act of bounty, except it be, that they lower a demand of a crown tb six, nay, to one penny. We have a contempt for such paltry barterers, and have therefore all along informed the public, that we intend to give them our ad- vices for our own sakes, and are labouring to make our lucubrations come to some price in money, for our more convenient support in the service of the public. It is certain, that many other schemes have been proposed to me ; as a friend offered to show me a treatise he had writ, which he called, ‘ The whole Art of Life ; or, The Introduction to great Men, illustrated in a Pack of Cards.’ But, being a novice at all manner of play, I declined the offer. Another advised me, for want of money, to set up my coach, and practise physic; but, having been bred a scholar, I feared I should not succeed that way neither, therefore, resolved to go on in my present project. But jou are to understand that I shall not pretend to raise a credit to this work upon the weight of my politic news only ; but, as my Latin sentence in the title-page in- forms you, shall take any thing that offers for the subject of my discourse. Thus, new persons. * The Beaux Stratagem, by G. Farquhar. Acted at the Hay-market, 4to. 1707. It was begun and finished in the course of six weeks, while the author laboured under the illness of which he died during the run of his play. t A real player of that name. t A delicate animadversion on the irregularity of Mr. Powel, who, about this time, began to sink in his repu- tation by abandoning himself to drunkenness. * Prince Eugene. No. 4.] THE TATLER. 17 as well as new things, are to come under my consideration ; as, when a toast or wit is first pronounced such, you shall have the freshest advice of their preferment, from me, with a de- scription of the beauty’s manners, and the wit’s style ; as also, in whose places they are ad- vanced. For this town is never good-natured enough to raise one without depressing another. But it is my design to avoid saying any thing of any person which ought justly to displease ; but shall endeavour, by the variety of the mat- ter and style, to give entertainment for men of pleasure, without offence to those of business.” While's Chocolate-house, April 18. AH hearts at present pant for two ladies only, who have for some time engrossed the dominion of the town. They are, indeed, both exceeding charming, but di&r very much in their excel- lences. The beauty of Clarissa is soft, that of Chloe piercing. When you look at Clarissa, you see the most exact harmony of feature, com- plexion, and shape : you find in Chloe nothing extraordinary in any one of those particulars, but the whole woman irresistible : Clarissa looks languishing ; Chloe killing : Clarissa never fails of gaining admiration ; Chloe of moving desire. The gazers at Clarissa are at first unconcerned, as if they were observing a fine picture. They who behold Chloe, at the first glance discover transport, as if they met their dearest friend. These different perfections are suitably repre- sented by the last great painter Italy has sent us, Mr. Jervas. Clarissa is by that skilful hand placed in a manner that looks artless, and inno- cent of the torments she gives ; Chloe is drawn with a liveliness that shows she is conscious of, but not affected with, her perfections. Clarissa is a shepherdess, Chloe a country girl. I must own, the design of Chloe’s pieture shows, to me, great mastery in the painter ; for nothing could be better imagined than the dress he has given her of a straw-hat and a ribbon, to represent that sort of beauty which enters the heart with a cer- tain familiarity, and cheats it into a belief that it has received a lover as well as an object of love. The force of their different beauties is seen also in the effects it makes on their lovers. The ad- mirers of Chloe are eternally gay and well- pleased : those of Clarissa, melancholy and thoughtful. And as this passion always changes the natural man into a quite different nature from what he was before, the love of Chloe makes coxcombs ; that of Clarissa madmen. There were of each kind just now in this room. Here was one that whistles, laughs, sings, and cuts capers, for love of Chloe. Another has just now writ three lines to Clarissa, then taken a turn in the garden, then came back again, then tore his fragment, then called for some chocolate, then went away without it. Chloe has so many admirers in the house at present, that there is too much noise to proceed in my narration ; so that the progress of the loves of Clarissa and Chloe, together with the bottles that are drunk each night for the one, and the many sighs which are uttered, and songs written on the other, must be our subject on future occasions. WiiVs Coffee-house, April 18. Letters from the Hay -market inform us, that on Saturday night last, the Opera of Pyrrhus and Demetrius was performed with great applause. This intelligence is not very acceptable to us friends of the theatre ; for the stage being an entertainment of the reason and all our faculties, this way of being pleased with the suspense of them for three hours together, and being given up to the shallow satisfaction of the eyes and ears only, seems to arise rather from the degen- eracy of our understanding, than an improve- ment of our divisions. That the understanding has no part in the pleasure is evident, from what these letters very positively assert, to wit, that a great partofthe performance was done in Italian; and a great critic* fell into fits in the gallery, at seeing, not only time and place, but languages and nations confused in the most incorrigible manner. His spleen is so extremely moved on this occasion that he is going to publish a trea- tise against operas, which, he thinks, have al- ready inclined us to thoughts of peace ; and, if tolerated, must infallibly dispirit us from carry- ing on the war. He has communicated his scheme to the whole room, and declared in what manner things of this kind were first introduced. He has upon this occasion considered the nature of sound in general, and made a very elaborate digression upon the London Cries, wherein he has shown from reason and philosophy, why oysters are cried, card-matches sung, and tur- nips and all other vegetables neither cried, sung, nor said, but sold, with an accent and tone neither natural to man nor beast. This piece seems to be taken from the model of that excel- lent discourse of Mrs. Manlyt the school-mis- tress, concerning samplers. Advices from the upper end of Piccadilly say, that May-fairt is utterly abolished ; and we hear Mr. Penkethman has removed his ingenious company of strollers to Greenwich. But other letters from Deptford say, the company is only making thither, and not yet settled ; but that several heathen gods and goddesses, which are to descend in ma- chines, landed at the King’s-head Stairs last Saturday. Venus and Cupid went on foot from thence to Greenwich ; Mars got drunk in the town, and broke his landlord’s head, for which he sat in the stocks the whole evening ; but Mr. Penkethman giving security that he should do nothing this ensuing summer, he was set at liberty. The most melancholy part of all was, that Diana was taken in the act of fornica- tion with a boatman, and committed by justice Wrathful ; which has, it seems, put a stop to the diversions of the theatre of Blackheath. But there goes down another Diana, and a Patient Grizzle, next tide, from Billingsgate. * John Dennis, who criticised the tragedy of Cato, &c. f See in Dr. King’s Works, vol. ii.8vo.edit. 1776, “An Essay on the invention of Samplers, by Mrs. Arabella Manly, school-mistress at Hackney.” X See the presentment of May Fair by the Grand Jury of Westminster, an. 1708, in Stow’s Survey, &c. edit. 6. 1755; vol. ii. p. 178. It was entirely abolished in the year 1709 ; Shepherd’s-market, near Curzon-street, was built on the spot where it was held, and the surround- ing district is styled May-fair. c 18 THE TATLER. [Ko. 4. It is credibly reported, that Mr. D — y* has agreed with Mr. Penkethman to have his play acted before that audience as soon as it has had its first sixteen days run in Drury-lane. St. James's Coffee-house^ April 18. They write from Saxony, of the thirteenth instant, N. S. that the grand general of the crown of Poland, was so far from entering into a treaty with king Stanislaus, that he had writ- ten circular letters, wherein he exhorted the Palatines to join against him ; declaring that this was the most favourable conjuncture for asserting their liberty. Letters from the Hague of the twenty-third instant, N. S. say, they have advices from Vienna which import that his electoral highness of Han- over had signified to the imperial court, that he did not intend to put himself at the head of the troops of the empire, except more effectual mea- sures were taken for acting vigorously against the enemy the ensuing campaign. Upon this representation, the emperor has given orders to several regiments to march towards the Rhine ; and despatched expresses to the respective prin- ces of the empire to desire an augmentation of their forces. These letters add, that an express arrived at the Hague on the twentieth instant, with advice that the enemy having made a detachment from Tournay of fifteen hundred horse, each trooper carrying a foot soldier behind him, in order to surprise the garrison of Alost ; the allies, upon notice of their march, sent out a strong body of troops from Ghent, which engaged the enemy at Asche, and took two hundred of them prison- ers, obliging the rest to retire without making any further attempt. On the twenty-second in the morning, a fleet of merchant ships, coming from Scotland, were attacked by six French privateers, at the entrance of the Meuse. We have yet no certain advice of the event ; but let- ters from Rotterdam say, that a Dutch man- of-war of forty guns, which w’as convoy to the said fleet, was taken, as were also eigh- teen of the merchants. The Swiss troops in the service of the States have completed the augmentation of their respective companies. Those of VVirtemberg and Prussia are expect- ed on the frontiers within a few days ; and the auxiliaries from Saxony, as also a battalion of Holstein, and another of Wolfenbuttle, are ad- vancing thither with all expedition. On the twenty-first instant the deputies of the states had a conference near Woerden, with the pre- sident Rouille ; but the matter which was there- in debated is not made public. His grace the duke of Marlborough and prince Eugene con- tinue at the Hague. From my own Apartment^ April 18. I have lately been very studious for intelli- gence, and have just now, by my astrological flying post, received a packet from Felicia,t an ! [ island in America, with an account that gives me great satisfaction, and lets me understand, that the island was never in greater prosperity, or the administration in so good hands, since the death of their late glorious king. These letters import, that the chief minister has en- tered into a firjn league with the ablest and best men of the nation, to carry on the cause of liberty, to the encouragement of religion, virtue, and honour. Those persons at the helm are so useful, and in themselves, of such a weight, that their strict alliance must needs tend to the universal prosperity of the people. Camillo,* it seems, presides over the deliberations of state ; and is so highly valued by all men for his sin- gular probity, courage, affability, and love of mankind, that his being placed in that station has dissipated the fears of that people, who of all the world are the most jealous of their liberty and happiness, and the least provident for their security. Tlie next member of their society is Horatio,f who makes all the public dispatches. This minister is master of all the languages in use, to great perfection. He is held in the high- est veneration imaginable for a severe honesty, and love of his country : he lives in a court, un- sullied with any of its artifices, the refuge of the oppressed, and" terror of oppressors. Martiot has joined himself to this council; a man of most undaunted resolution, and great knowledge in maritime affairs ; famous for destroying the navy of the Franks,^ and singularly happy in one particular, that he never preferred a man who has not proved remarkably serviceable to his country. Philanderll is mentioned with par- ticular distinction ; a nobleman who has the most refined taste of the true pleasures and ele- gance of life, joined to an indefatigable industry in business ; a man eloquent in assemblies, agreeable in conversation, and dexterous in all manner of public negotiations. These letters add, that Verono,^ who is also of this council, has lately set sail to his government of Patricia, with design to confirm the affections of the peo- pie in the interests of his queen. This minister is master of great abilities, and is as industrious and restless tor the preservation of the liberties of the people, as the greatest enemy can be to subvert them. The influence of these person- ages, who are men of such distinguished parts and virtues, makes the people enjoy the utmost tranquillity in the midst of a war, and gives them undoubted hopes of a secure peace from their vigilance and integrity. ADVERTISEMENT. Upon the humble petition of running station- ers, Ac. this Paper may be had of them, for the future, at the price of one penny.** * Lord John Somers, President of the Council, t Sidney, Earl ofGodolphin, Lord High Treasurer, i Eduard Russel, Earl of Orford. 6 At La Hogue, in ]6il2. p William Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire, Lord Stew- ard of the Household. IT Thomas, Earl of Wharton, Lord Lieutenant of Ire- land. ** Tlie preceding papers had been given gratis. * T om D’Urfey. t In this allegorical paper, by Felicia is meant Britain. THE TATLER. 19 No. 5.] No. 5.] Thursday, April 21, 1709. duicquid agunt homines noslri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, April 20. “ Who names that lost thing, love, without a tear, Since so debauched by ill-bred customs here? To an exact perfection they have brought The action love, the passion is forgot.” This was long- ago a witty author’s lamenta- tion, but the evil still continues ; and if a man of any delicacy were to attend the discourses of the young fellows of this age, he would believe there were none but prostitutes to make the ob- jects of passion. So true it is what the author of the above verses said, a little before his death, of the modern pretenders to gallantry : “ they set up for wits in this age, by saying when they are sober, what they of the last, spoke only when they were drunk.” But Cupid is not only blind at present, but dead drunk ; he has lost all his faculties: else how should Celia be so long a maid with that agreeable behaviour ? Corinna with that sprightly wit ? Lesbia with that heavenly voice 7 and Sacharissa, with all those excellences in one person, frequent the park, the play, and murder the poor tits that drag her to public places, and not a man turn pale at her appearance ? But such is the fallen state of love, that if it were not for honest Cynthio, who is true to the cause, we should hardly have a pattern left of the ancient worthies that way ; and indeed, he has but very little encouragement to persevere ; but he has a devotion, rather than love, for his mistress, and says, “ Only tell her that I love. Leave the re.st to her and fate ; Some kind planet from above May, perhaps, her passion move ; Lovers on their stars must wait.”* But the stars I am so intimately acquainted with, that I can assure him he will never have her ; for, would you believe it ? though Cynthio has wit, good sense, fortune, and his very being depends upon her, the termagant for whom he sighs, is in love with a fellow who stares in the glass all the time he is with her, and lets her plainly see, she may possibly be his rival, but never his mistress. Yet Cynthio, the same un- happy man, whom I mentioned in my first nar- rative, pleases himself with a vain imagination, that with the language of his eyes, now he has found who she is, he shall conquer her, though her eyes are intent upon one who looks from her ; which is ordinary with the sex. It is certainly a mistake in the ancients, to draw the little gentleman love, as a blind boy ; for his real character is, a little thief that squints; for ask Mrs. Meddle, who is a confidant or spy upon all tlie passions in town, and she will tell you that the whole is a game of cross pur- poses. The lover is generally pursuing one who is in pursuit of another, and running from one that desires to meet him. Nay, the nature of this passion is so justly represented in a squinting little thief (who is always in a double action,) that do but observe Clarissa next time you see her, and you will find, when her eyes have made their soft tour round the company, she makes no stay on him they say she is to marry, but rests two seconds of a minute on Wildair, who neither looks nor thinks on her or any woman else. However, Cynthio had a bow from her the other day, upon which he is very much come to himself ; and I heard him send his man of an errand yesterday, without any manner of hesitation ; a quarter of an hour after which he reckoned twenty, remembered he was to sup with a friend, and went exactly to his appointment. I sent to know how he did this morning ; and I find that he hath not forgot that he spoke to me yesterday. Will's Coffee-house, April 20. This week being sacred to holy things, and no public diversions allowed, there has been taken notice of, even here, a little treatise, called, ‘ A project for the Advancement of Religion : dedicated to the countess of Berkeley the title was so uncommon, and promised so pecu- liar a way of thinking, that every man has read it, and as many as have done so, have approved it. It is written with the spirit of one who has seen the world enough to undervalue it with good-breeding. The author must certainly be a man of wisdom as well as piety, and have spent much time in the exercise of both. The real causes of the decay of the interest of reli- gion are set forth in a clear and lively manner without unseasonable passions ; and the whole air of the book, as to the language, the senti- ments, and the reasonings, shows it was writ- ten by one whose virtue sits easy about him, and to whom vice is thoroughly contemptible. It was said by one of the company, alluding to that knowledge of the world the author seems to have, “ The man writes much like a gentle- man, and goes to heaven with a very good mien.” St. James's Cofffee-house, April 20. Letters from Italy say, that the marquis de Prie, upon the receipt of an express from the court of Vienna, went immediately to the palace of cardinal Paulucci, minister of state to his holiness, and demanded, in the name of his im- perial majesty, that king Charles should forth- with be acknowledged king of Spain, by a so- lemn act of the congregation of cardinals, ap- pointed for that purpose : he declared, at the same time, that if the least hesitation were made in this most important article of the late treaty, he should not only be obliged to leave Rome himself, but also transmit his master’s orders to the imperial troops to face about, and return into the ecclesiastical dominions. When the cardinal reported this message to the pope, his holiness was struck with so sensible an afflic- tion, that he burst into tears : his sorrow was aggravated by letters which, immediately after, These verses are part of a song by Lord Cults, Steele’s early patron. See them entire in Nichols’s “ Select Col- lection, 1780,” vol. ii. p. 327. * First published by Swift, 1709. 20 THE TATLER. [No. 5. arrived from the court of Madrid, wherein his nuncio acquainted him, that, upon the news of his accommodation with the emperor, he had received a message to forbear coming to court ; and the people were so highly provoked, that they could hardly be restrained from insulting his palace. These letters add, that the king of Denmark was gone from Florence to Pisa, and from Pisa to Leghorn, where the governor paid his majesty all imaginable honours. The king designed to go from thence to Lucca, where a magnificent tournament was prepared for his diversion. An English man-of-war, which came from Port-Mahon to Leghorn in six days, brought advice, that the fleet, commanded by Admiral Whittaker, was safely arrived at Barcelona, with the troops and ammunition which he had taken in at Naples. General Boneval, governor of Comachio, had summoned the magistrates of all the towns near that place to appear before him, and take an oath of fidelity to his imperial majesty, com- manding also the gentry to pay him homage on pain of death and confiscation of goods. Advices from Switzerland inform us, that the bankers of Geneva were utterly ruined by the failure of Mr. Bernard. They add, that the deputies of the Swiss Cantons were returned from Soleure, where they were assembled at the instance of the French ambassador, but were very much dissatisfied with the reception they had from that minister. It is true, he omitted no civilities or expressions of friendship from his master, but he took no notice of their pensions and arrears : what further provoked their indignation was, that, instead of twenty- five pistoles, formerly allowed to each member, for their charge in coming to the diet, he had presented them with six only. They write from Dresden, that king Augustus was still busy in recruiting his cavalry, and that the Danish troops that lately served in Hungary had or- ders to be in Saxony by the Middle of May ; and that his Majesty of Denmark was expected at Dresden in the beginning of that month. King Augustus makes great preparations for his re- ception, and has appointed sixty coaches, each drawn by six horses, for that purpose : the in- terview of these princes affords great matter for speculation. Letters from Paris, of the twenty-second of this month say, that mar- shal Harcourt and the duke of Berwick were preparing to go into Alsace and Dauphine, but that their troops were in want of all manner of necessaries. The court of France had re- ceived advices from Madrid, that on the seventh of this month, the states of Spain, had, with much magnificence, acknowledged the prince of Asturias presumptive heir to the crown. This was performed at Buen-Retiro; the deputies took the oaths, on that occasion, from the hands of cardinal Portocarrero. These advices add, that it was signified to the pope’s nuncio, by order of council, to depart from that court, in twenty-four hours, and that a guard was accord- ingly appointed to conduct him to Bayonne. Letters from the Hague, of the twenty-sixth instant, inform us, that prince Eugene was to set out the next day for Brussels, to put all things in readiness for opening the campaign. They add, that the grand pensioner having re- ported to the duke of Marlborough what passed in the last conference with Mr. Rouille, his grace had taken a resolution immediately to return to Great Britain, to communicate to her majesty, all that has been transacted in that im- portant affair. From my own Apartment, April 20. The nature of my miscellaneous work is such, that I shall always take the liberty to tell for news, such things (let them have happened never so much before the time of writing) as have escaped public notice, or have been mis- represented to the world ; provided that I am still within rules, and trespass not as a Tatler, any farther than in an incorrectness of style, and writing in an air of common speech. Thus, if any thing that is said, even of old Anchises or iEneas, be set by me in a different light than has hitherto been hit upon, in order to inspire the love and admiration of worthy actions, you will, gentle reader, I hope, accept of it for in- telligence you had not before. But I am going upon a narrative, the matter of which, I know to be true : it is not only doing justice to the deceased merit of such persons as, had they lived, would not have had it in their power to thank me, but also an instance of the greatness of spirit in the lowest of her majesty’s subjects. Take it as follows : — At the siege of Namur, by the allies, there were in the ranks of the company commanded by captain Pincent, in colonel Frederick Hamil- ton’s regiment, one Union, a corporal, and one Valentine, a private centinel ; there happened between these two men a dispute about a mat- ter of love, which upon some aggravations, grew to an irreconcileable hatred Union, being the officer of Valentine, took all opportunities even to strike his rival, and to profess the spite and revenge which moved him to it. The cen- tinel bore it without resistance ; but frequently said, he would die to be revenged of that tyrant. They had spent whole months thus, one in- juring, the other complaining ; when, in the midst of this rage towards each other, they were commanded upon the attack of the castle, where the corporal received a shot in the thigh, and fell; the French pressing on, and he ex- pecting to be trampled to death, called out to his enemy, ‘Ah Valentine! can you leave me here ?’ Valentine immediately ran back, and in the midst of a thick fire of the French, took the corporal upon his back, and brought him through all that danger, as far as the abbey of Salsine, where a cannon ball took off his head : his body fell under his enemy whom he was car- rying off. Union immediately forgot his wound, rose up, tearing his hair, and tlien threw him- self upon the bleeding carcass, crying, ‘ Ah, Valentine ! was it for me, who have so barba- rously used thee, that thou hast died ? I will not live after thee.’ He was not, by any means, to be forced from the body, but was removed with it bleeding in his arms, and attended with tears by all their comrades who knew their en- mity. When he was brought to a tent, his wounds were dressed by force; but the next THE TATLER. 21 No. 6.] day, still calling upon Valentine, and lament- ing his cruelties to him, he died in the pangs of remorse and despair. It may be a question among men of noble sentiments, whether of these unfortunate per- sons had the greater soul ; he that was so ge- nerous as to venture his life for his enemy, or he who could not survive the man that died, in laying upon him such an obligation ? When we see spirits like these in a people, to what height may we not suppose their glory may rise ? but (as it is excellently observed by Sallust) it is not only to the general bent of a nation that great revolutions are owing, but to the extraordinary genio’s that lead them. On which occasion, he proceeds to say, that the Roman greatness was neither to be attributed to their superior policy, for in that the Cartha- ginians excelled ; nor to their valour, for in that the Gauls were preferable ; but to particular men, who were born for the good of their coun- try, and formed for great attempts. This he says, to introduce the characters of Caesar and Cato. It would be entering into too weighty a discourse for this place, if I attempted to show, that our nation has produced as great and able men for public affairs as any other. But, I be- lieve, the reader outruns me, and fixes his im- agination upon the Duke of Marlborough. It is, methinks, a pleasing reflection, to consider the dispensations of Providence in the fortune of this illustrious man, who, in the space of forty years, has passed through all the gradations of human life, until he has ascended to the charac- ter of a prince,* and become the scourge of a tyrant, who sat on one of the greatest thrones of Europe, before the man who was to have the greatest part in his downfall, had made one step into the world. But such elevations are the natural consequences of an exact prudence, a calm courage, a well-governed temper, a patient ambition, and an affable behaviour. These arts, as they were the steps to his greatness, so they are the pillars of it now it is raised. To this, her glorious son. Great Britain is indebted for the happy conduct of her arms, of whom she can boast, that she has produced a man formed by nature to lead a nation of heroes. No. 6.] Saturday^ April 23, 1709. Cluicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. Will's Coffee-house^ April 22. I AM just come from visiting Sappho, a fine lady, who writes verses, sings, dances, and can say and do whatever she pleases, without the imputation of any thing that can injure her * In the year 1704, in consequence of the memorable victory at Hochsted, the duke of Marlborough was ap- pointed a prince of the empire ; and had Mildenheim assigned for his principality, Nov. 12, 1705. M. Mes- nager says, that this compliment, for it was little more, made the duke of Marlborough more haughty. “This little principality, in the claim of the house of Bavaria, must (says he) he rendered back again at peace.” character ; for she is so well known to have no passion but self-love, or folly but affectation, that now, upon any occasion, they only cry, ‘ It is her way !’ and, ‘ That is so like her 1’ without farther reflection. As I came into the room, she cries, ‘Oh ! Mr. Bickerstaff, I am utterly undone; I have broke that pretty Italian fan I showed you when you were here last, wherein were so admir- ably drawn our first parents in Paradise, asleep in each other’s arms. But there is such an affini- ty between painting and poetry, that I have been improving the images which were raised by that picture, by reading the same representation in two of our greatest poets. Look you, here are the same passages in Milton and in Dryden. All Milton’s thoughts are wonderfully just and natural, in that inimitable description which Adam makes of himself, in the eighth book of Paradise Lost. But there is none of them finer than that contained in the following lines, where he tells us his thoughts, when he was falling asleep, a little after the creation : While thu.s T called, and strayed I knew not whither, From whence I first drew air, and first beheld This happy light ; when answer none returned. On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers. Pensive I sate me down, there gentle sleep First found me, and with soft oppression seized My drowned sense, untroubled, though I thought I then was passing to my former state Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve. But now I cannot forgive this odious thing, this Dryden, who, in his “ State of Innocence,” has given my great grandmother Eve the same apprehension of annihilation on a very different occasion ; as Adam pronounces it of himself, when he was seized with a pleasing kind of stupor and deadness. Eve fancies herself falling away, and dissolving in the hurry of a rapture. However, the verses are very good, and I do not know but what she says may be natural ; I will read them : When your kind eyes looked languishing on mine, And wreathing arms did soft embraces join ; A doubtful trembling seized me first all o’er. Then wishes, and a warmth unknown before ; What followed was all ecstasy and trance. Immortal pleasures round my swimming eyes did dance, And speechless joys, in whose sweet tumults tost, I thought my breath and my new being lost. She went on, and said a thousand good things at random, but so strangely mixed, that you would be apt to say, all her wit is mere good luck, and not the effect of reason and judgment. When I made my escape hither, I found a gen- tleman playing the critic on two other great poets, even Virgil and Homer.* He was ob- serving that Virgil is more judicious than the other in the epithets he gives his hero. Homer’s usual epithet, said he, is noS'as or and his indiscretion has been often rallied by the critics, for mentioning the nimbleness of foot in Achilles, though he describes him stand- ing, sitting, lying down, fighting, eating, drink- * Addison, on reading here this curious remark upon Virgil, which he himself had communicated to Steele, instantly discovered that his friend was the author of the Tatler, to which, he very soon after became a prin- cipal contributor. He was at this time in Ireland, secre- tary to lord Wharton, and returned to England with the lord lieutenant, the eighth of September following, 1709. 22 THE TATLER. ing’, or in any other circumstance, however for- eign or repugnant to speed and activity. Virgil’s common epithet to jEneas, is Fius or Pater. I have therefore considered, said he, what passage there is in any of his hero’s actions, where either of these appellations would have been most proper, to see if I could catch him at the same fault with Homer : and this, I think, is his meeting with Dido in the cave, where Pius iEneas would have been absurd, and Pater .®neas a burlesque : the poet, therefore, wisely dropped them both for Dux Trojanus ; which he has repeated twice in Juno’s speech, and his own narration : for he very well knew, a loose action might be consistent enough with the usual manners of a soldier, though it became neither the chastity of a pious man, nor the gravity of the father of a people. Grecian Coffee-house^ April 22. While other parts of the town are amused with the present actions, we generally spend the evening at this table in inquiries into an- tiquity, and think any thing news which gives us new knowledge. Thus we are making a very pleasant entertainment to ourselves, in put- ting the actions of Homer’s Iliad into an exact journal. This poem is introduced by Chryses, king of Chryseis, and priest of Apollo, who comes to re- demand his daughter, who had been carried off at the taking of that city, and given to Aga- memnon for his part of the booty. The refusal he received enrages Apollo, who for nine days, showered down darts upon them, which occa- sioned the pestilence. The tenth day, Achilles assembled the coun- cil, and encourages Chalcas to speak for the sur- render of Chryseis, to appease Apollo. Aga- memnon and Achilles storm at one another, notwithstanding which, Agamemnon will not release his prisoner, unless he has Brise'is in her stead. After long contestations, wherein Agamemnon gives a glorious character of Achil- les’s valour, he determines to restore Chryseis to her father, and sends two heralds to fetch away Brise'is from Achilles, who abandons him- self to sorrow and despair. His mother Thetis, comes to comfort him under his affliction, and promises to represent his sorrowful lamentation to Jupiter : but he could not attend to it ; for, the evening before, he had appointed to divert himself for two days, beyond the seas, with the harmless Ethiopians. It was the twenty-first day after Chr 3 ^se'is’s arrival at the camp, that Thetis went very early to demand an audience of Jupiter. The means he used to satisfy her were, to persuade the Greeks to attack the Trojans ; that so they might perceive the consequence of contemning Achilles, and the miseries they suffer if he does not head them. The next night he orders Aga- memnon, in a dream, to attack them ; who was deceived with the hopes of obtaining a victory, and also taking the city, without sharing the honour with Achilles. On the twenty-second, in the morning, he as- sembles the council, and having made a feint of raising the siege and retiring, he declares to [No. 6. them his dream , and, together with Nestor and Ulysses, resolves on an engagement. This was the twenty-third day, which is full of incidents, and which continues from almost the beginning of the second canto to the eighth. The armies being then drawn up in view of one another. Hector brings it about, that Me- nelaus and Paris, the two persons concerned in the quarrel, should decide it by a single com- bat, which tending to the advantage of Mene- laus, was interrupted by a cowardice infused by Minerva : then both armies engage, where the Trojans have the disadvantage ; but being afterwards animated by Apollo, they repulse the enemy, yet they are once again forced to give ground ; but their affairs were retrieved by Hector, who has a single combat with Ajax. The gods threw themselves into the battle ; Juno and Minerva took the Grecians’ part, and Apollo and Mars, the Trojans’; but Mars and Venus are both wounded by Diomedes. The truce for burying the slain ended the twenty-third day, after which the Greeks threw up a great intrenchment, to secure their navy from danger. Councils are held on both sides. On the morning of the twenty-fourth day, the battle is renewed, but in a very disadvantageous manner to the Greeks, who are beaten back to their intrenchments. Agamemnon, being in despair at this ill success, proposes to the coun- cil to quit the enterprise, and retire from Troy. But, by the advice of Nestor, he is persuaded to regain Achilles, by returning Chryseis, and sending him considerable presents. Hereupon Ulysses and Ajax are sent to that hero, who continues inflexible in his anger. Ulysses, at his return, joins himself with Diomedes, and goes in the night to gain intelligence of the enemy : they enter into their very camp, where finding the centinels asleep, they made a great slaughter. Rhesus, who was just then arrived with recruits from Thrace, for the Trojans, was killed in that action. Here ends the tenth canto. The sequel of this journal, will be inserted in the next article from this place. St. James's Coffee-house, April 22. We hear from Italy, that notwithstanding the pope has received a letter from the duke of An- jou, demanding of him to explain himself upon the affair of acknowledging king Charles, his holiness has not yet thought fit to send any answer to that prince. The court of Rome ap- pears very much mortified, that they are not to see his majesty of Denmark in that city, having perhaps given themselves vain hopes from a visit made by a Protestant prince to that see. The pope has despatched a gentleman to com- pliment his majesty, and sent the king a pre- sent of all the curiosities and antiquities of Rome, represented in seventeen volumes, very richly bound, which were taken out of the Vatican li- brary. Letters from Genoa of the fourteenth instant, sa}% that a felucca was arrived there, in five days from Marseilles, with an account, that the people of that city had made an insurrec- tion, by reason of the scarcity of provisions ; and that the intendant had ordered some com- No. 7.] THE TATLER, 23 panies of marines, and the men belonging to the galleys, to stand to their arms to protect him from violence ; but that he began to be in as much apprehension of his guards, as of those from whom they were to defend him. When that vessel came away, the soldiers murmured publicly for want of pay ; and it was generally believed, they w'ould pillage the magazines, as the garrisons of Grenoble and other towns of France had already done. A vessel which lately came into Leghorn, brought advice that the British squadron was arrived at Port Mahon, where they were taking in more troops, in order to attempt the relief of Alicant, which still made a very vigorous defence. It is said admi- ral Byng will be at the head of that expedition. The king of Denmark was gone from Leghorn towards Lucca. They write from Vienna, that in case tlie allies should enter into a treaty of peace with France, count Zinzendorf will be appointed first plenipotentiary, the count de Goes the second, and monsieur Van Konsbruch a third. Major- general Palmes, envoy extraordinary from her Britannic majesty, has been very urgent with that court, to make their utmost efforts against France the ensuing campaign, in order to oblige her to such a peace, as may establish the tran- quillity of Europe for the future. We are also informed, that the pope uses all imaginable shifts to elude the treaty concluded with the emperor, and that he demanded the immediate restitution of Comachio ; insisting also, that his imperial majesty should ask par- don, and desire absolution for what had for- merly passed, before he would solemnly ac- knowledge king Charles. But this was utterly refused. They hear at Vienna, by letters from Con- stantinople, dated the twenty-second of February last, that on the twelfth of that month, the grand seignior took occasion, at the celebration of the festivals of the Mussulmen, to set all the Christian slaves, which were in the galleys, at liberty. Advices from Switzerland import, that the preachers of the county ofTockenburg, continue to create new jealousies of the Protestants ; and some disturbances lately happened there on that account. The" Protestants and Papists in the town of Hamrnan, go to divine service one after another, in the same church, as is usual in many other parts of Switzerland ; but on Sunday, the tenth instant, the popish curate, having ended his service, attempted to hinder the Protestants from entering into the church, according to custom ; but the Protestants briskly attacked him and his party, and broke into it by force. Last night, between seven and eight, his grace the duke of Marlborough, arrived at court. From my own Apartment, April 22. The present great captains of the age, the duke of Marlborough and prince Eugene, hav- ing been the subject of the discourse of the last company I was in ; it has naturally led me into a consideration of Alexander and Ctesar, the two greatest names that ever appeared before this century. In order to enter into their characters, there needs no more but examining their behaviour in parallel circumstances. It must be allowed that they had an equal great- ness of soul ; but Csesar’s was more corrected, and allayed by a mixture of prudence and cir- cumspection. This is seen conspicuously in one particular, in their histories, wherein they seem to have shown exactly the dift'erence of their tempers. When Alexander, after a long course of victories, would still have led his sol- diers farther from home, they unanimously re- fused to follow him. We meet with the like behaviour in Caesar’s army, in the midst of his march against Ariovistus. Let us, therefore, observe the conduct of our two generals in so nice an affair : and here we find Alexander at the head of his army, upbraiding them with their cowardice, and meanness of spirit ; and, in the end, telling them plainly, he would go forward himself, though not a man followed him. This showed, indeed, an excessive bravery ; but how would the commander have come off, if the speech had not succeeded, and the sol- diers had taken him at his word ? the project seems of a piece with Mr. Bayes’s in ‘ The Re- hearsal,’ who, to gain a clap in his prologue, comes out with a terrible fellow, in a fur-cap, following him, and tells his audience, if they would not like his play, he would lie down and have his head struck oft’. If this gained a clap, all was well : but if not, there was nothing left but for the executioner to do his office. But Caesar would not leave the success of his speech to such uncertain events, he shows his men the unreasonableness of their fears in an obliging manner, and concludes, that if none else would march along with him, he would go himself, with the tenth legion, for he was assured of their fidelity and valour, though all the rest forsook him; not but that, in all probability, they were as much against the march as the rest. The result of all was very natural : the tenth legion, fired with the praises of their general, send thanks to him for the just opinion he entertains of them ; and the rest, ashamed to be outdone, assure him, that they are as ready to follow where he pleases to lead them, as any other part of the army. No. 7.] Tuesday, April 26, 1709. Q,uicqui(l agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. ‘ It is so just an observation, that mocking is catching, that I am become an unhappy in- stance of it, and am (in the same manner that I have represented Mr. Partridge)* myself a dying man, in comparison of the vigour with which I first set out in the world. Had it been otherwise, you may be sure I would not have * ‘ This man was a shoemaker in Covent-garden, in 1680, yet styled himself physician to his majesty, in 1682. But though he was one of the sworn physicians, he never attended the court, nor received any salary.’ See Gran- ger’s Biog. Hist, of England, 4to. vol. ii. p. 11. p. 322. p. 379. 24 THE JATLER. pretended to have given for news, as I did last Saturday, a diary of the siege of Troy. But man is a ereature very inconsistent with himself : the greatest heroes are sometimes fear- ful : the sprig htliest wits at some hours dull ; and the greatest politicians, on some occasions, whimsical. But I shall not pretend to palliate or excuse the matter ; for I find, by a calcula- tion of my own nativity ; that I cannot hold out with any tolerable wit longer than two minutes after twelve of the clock at night, be- tween the eighteenth and nineteenth of the next month : for which space of time you may still expect to hear from me, but no longer ; except you will transmit to me the occurences you meet with relating to your amours, or any other subject within the rules by which I have pro- posed to walk. If any gentleman or lady sends to Isaac Bickerstaflf, esq. at Mr. Morphew’s, near Stationer’s-hall, by the penny-post, the grief or joy of their soul, what they think fit of the matter shall be related in colours as much to their advantage, as those in which Gervas* has drawn the agreeable Chloe. But since, without such assistance, I frankly confess, and am sensible, that I have not a month’s wit more, I think I ought, while I am in my sound health and senses, to make my will and testament; which I do in manner and form following : — ‘ Imprimis^ I give to the stock-jobbers about the Exchange of London, as a security for the trusts daily reposed in them, all my real estate ; which I do hereby vest in the said body of worthy citizens for ever. ‘ Item, Forasmuch as it is very hard to keep land in repair without ready cash, I do, out of my personal estate, bestow the bear-skin, t which I have frequently lent to several societies about this town, to supply their necessities ; I say, I give also the said bear-skin, as an im- mediate fund to the said citizens for ever. ‘ Itein, I do hereby appoint a certain number of the said citizens to take all the custom-house or customary oaths concerning all goods im- ported by the whole city ; strictly directing, that some select members, and not the whole number of a body corporate, should be perjured. ‘ Item, I forbid all n s and persons of q ty to watch bargains near and about thq Exchange, to the diminution and wrong of the said stock-jobbers. ‘ Thus far, in as brief and intelligible a man- ner as any will can appear, until it is explained by the learned, I have disposed of my real and personal estate ; but, as I am an adept, I have by birth an equal right to give also an inde- feasible title to my endowments and qualifica- tions, which I do in the following manner. ‘ Item, I give my chastity to all virgins who have withstood their market. * Jervas. t Stock-jobbers, who contract for a future transfer of stock which they do not possess, are called sellers of bear- skins ; and universally, whoever sells what he does not possess, is said, proverbially, to sell the bear’s skin, while the bear runs in the w'oods. In the language of Exchange-alley, hears signify those who buy stock which they cannot receive, or w'ho sell stock which they have not. Those who pay money for what they purchase, or who sell stock which they have, are called hulls. [No. 7. ‘ Item, I give my courage among all who are ashamed of their distressed friends, all sneakers in assemblies, and men who show valour in common conversation. ‘ Item, I give my wit (as rich men give to the rich) among such as think they have enough already. And in case they shall not accept of the legaey, I give it to Bentivolio* to defend his works, from time to time, as he shall think fit to publish them. '•Item, I bestow my learning upon the ho- norary members of the Royal Society. ‘ Now for the disposal of this body. ‘As these eyes must one day cease to gaze on Teraminta, and this heart shall one day pant no more for her indignation : that is to say, since this body must be earth ; I shall com- mit it to the dust in a manner suitable to my character. Therefore, as there are those who dispute, whether there is any such real person as Isaac Bickerstaff or not ; I shall excuse all persons who appear what they really are, from coming to my funeral. But all those who are, in their way of life, personcB, as the Latins have it, persons assumed, and who appear what they really are not, are hereby invited to that solem- nity. ‘ The body shall be carried by six watchmen, who are never seen in the day. ‘ Item, The pall shall be held up by the six most known pretenders to honesty, wealth, and power, who are not possessed of any of them. The two first a half-lawyer and a complete justice. The two next, a chemist and a pro- jector. The third couple, a treasury-solicitor and a small courtier. ‘ To make my funeral (what that solemnity, when done to common men, really is in itself) a very farce ; and since all mourners are mere actors on these occasions, I shall desire tliose who are professedly sueh to attend mine. I humbly, therefore, beseech JMrs. Barry to act once more, and be my widow. When she swoons away at the church-porch, I appoint the merry sir John Falstaff, and the gay sir Harry Wildair, to support her. I desire Mr. Pinkethman to follow in the habit of a cardinal, and Mr. Bul- lock in that of a privy-counsellor. To make up the rest of the appearance, I desire all the ladies from the balconies to w’eep with Mrs. Barry, as they hope to be wives and wudows themselves. I invite all, who have nothing else to do, to accept of gloves and scarfs. ‘ Thus, with the great Charles V. of Spain, I resign the glories of this transitory wmrld : yet, at the same time, to show you my indif- ference, and that my desires are not too much fixed upon any thing, I owm to you, I am as willing to stay as to go : therefore leave it in the choice of my gentle readers, whether I shall hear from them, or they hear no more from me.” White's Chocolate-house, April 25. Easter day being a time when you cannot well meet with any but humble adventurers; * Dr. Richard Bentley, born at Wakefield in York- shire, Jan. 1661, died in July 1742. No. 7.] THE TATLER. 25 and there being such a thing as low gallantry, as well as low comedy, Colonel Ramble* and myself went early this morning into the fields, which were strewed with shepherds and shep- herdesses, but indeed of a different turn from the simplicity of those of Arcadia. Every hedge was conscious of more than what the re- presentations of enamoured swains admit of. While we were surveying the crowd around us, we saw at a distance a company coming to- wards Pancras Church ; but though there was not much disorder, we thought we saw the figure of a man stuck through with a sword, and at every step ready to fall, if a woman by his side had not supported him; the rest fol- lowed two and two. When we came nearer this appearance, who should it be but monsieur Guardeloop, mine and Ramble’s French tailor, attended by others, leading one of madam Depingle’s maids to the church, in order to their espousals. It was his sword tucked so high above his waist, and the circumflex which persons of his profession take in their walking, that made him appear, at a distance, wounded and falling. But the morning being rainy, methought the march to this wedding was but too lively a picture of wedlock itself. They seemed both to have a month’s mind to make the best of their way single ; yet both tugged arm in arm ; and when they were in a dirty way, he was but deeper in the mire, by endea- vouring to pull out his companion, and yet without helping her. The bridegroom’s fea- thers in his hat all drooped ; one of his shoes had lost a heel. In short, he was in his whole person and dress so extremely soused, that there did not appear one inch or single thread about him unmarriedA Pardon me that the melan- choly object still dwells upon me so far, as to reduce me to punning. However, we attended them to the chapel, where we stayed to hear the irrevocable words pronounced upon our old servant, and made the best of our way to town. I took a resolution to forbear all married per- sons, or any in danger of being such, for four and twenty hours at least ; therefore dressed, and went to visit Florimel, the vainest thing in town, where I knew would drop in colonel Picket, just come from the camp, her professed admirer. He is of that order of men who have much honour and merit, but withal a coxcomb ; the other, of that set of females who have inno- cence and wit, but the first of coquets. It is easy to believe, these must be admirers of each other. She says, the colonel rides the best of any man in England : the colonel says, she talks the best of any woman. At the same time, he un- derstands wit just as she does horsemanship. You are to know, these extraordinary persons see each other daily ; and they themselves, as well as the town, think it will be a match : but it can never happen that they can come to the point ; for, instead of addressing to each other, they spend their whole time in the reports of themselves ; he is satisfied if he can convince * Probably colonel Brett, who is said to have been one of the chief companions of Addison and Steele. t Alluding to the similarity of sound between the word unmarred and unmarried. \ D her he is a fine gentleman, and a man of conse- quence ; and she in appearing to him an accom- plished lady and a wit, without further design. Thus he tells her of his manner of posting his men at such a pass, with the numbers he com- manded on that detachment: she tells him, how she was dressed on such a day at court, and what offers were made her the week following. She seems to hear the repetition of his men’s names with admiration, and waits only to an- swer him with as false a muster of lovers. They talk to each other not to be informed, but ap- proved. Thus they are so like, that they are to be ever distant, and the parallel lines may run together for ever, but never meet. Will's Coffee-house, April 25. This evening the comedy, called ‘ Epsom Wells,’* was acted for the benefit of Mr. Bul- lock, who, though he is a person of much wit and ingenuity, has a peculiar talent for looking like a fool, and therefore excellently well quali- fied for the part of Bisket in this play. I can- not indeed sufficiently admire his way of bear- ing a beating, as he does in this drama, and that with such a natural air and propriet}’^ of folly, that one cannot help wishing the whip in one’s own hand ; so richly does he seem to de- serve his chastisement. Skilful actors think it a very peculiar happiness to play in a scene with such as top their parts. Therefore I can- not but say, when the judgment of any good author directs him to write a beating lor Mr. Bullock from Mr. William Pinkethman, or for Mr. William Pinkethman from Mr. Bullock, those excellent players seem to be in their most shining circumstances, and please me more, but with a different sort of delight, than that which I receive from those grave scenes of Brutus and Cassius, or Antony and Ventidius. The whole comedy is very just, and the low part of human life represented with much hu- mour and wit. St. James's Coffee-house, April 25. We are advised from Vienna, by letters of the twentieth instant, that the emperor hath lately added twenty new members to his coun- cil of state; but they have not yet taken their places at the board. General Thaun is returned from Baden, his health being so well re-esta- blished by the baths of that place, that he de- signs to set out next week for Turin, to his command of the imperial troops in the service of the duke of Savoy. His imperial majesty has advanced his brother, count Henry Thaun, to be a brigadier, and a counsellor of the Aulic council of war. These letters import, that king Stanislaus and the Swedish general Crassau, are directing their march to the Nieper to join the king of Sweden’s army in Ukrania ; that * By Thomas Shadwell, afterwards poet-Iaureat to king William III. It was first printed in quarto, 1676, but it was acted, it should seem, from 1673. He stripped the laurel from the brows of Dryden, who thereupon wrote the bitterest satire that ever was penned, entitled ‘ M’Flecknoe.’ He died suddenly in 1692, aged 52 ; and his friend Dr. N. Brady, preached his funeral sermon. 26 THE TATLER. FNo. 8. the states of Austria have furnished marshal Hiester with a considerable sum of money to enable him to push on the war vigorously in Hungary, where all things as yet are in perfect tranquillity ; and that general Thungen has been very importunate for a speedy reinforce- ment of the forces on the Upper Rhine, repre- senting, at the same time, what miseries the inhabitants must necessarily undergo, if the designs of France on those parts be not speedily and effectually prevented. Letters from Rome, dated the thirteenth in- stant, say, that on the preceding Sunday, his holiness was carried in an open chair from St. Peter’s to St. Mary’s, attended by the sacred college, in cavalcade; and, after mass, distri- buted several dowries for the marriage of poor and distressed virgins. The proceedings of that court are very dilatory concerning the recog- nition of king Charles, notwithstanding the pressing instances of t!ie marquis de Prie, who has declared, that if this affair be not wholly concluded by the fifteenth instant, he will re- tire from that court, and order the imperial troops to return into the ecclesiastical state. On the other hand, the duke of Anjou’s minister has, in the name of his master, demanded of his holiness to explain himself on that affair ; which, it is said, will be finally determined in a consistory to be held on Monday next ; the duke d’Uzeda designing to delay his departure until he sees the issue. These letters also say, that the court was mightily alarmed at the news which they received by an express from Ferrara, that general Boneval, who commands in Comachio, had sent circular letters to the inhabitants of St. Alberto, Longastrino, Fillo, and other adjacent parts, enjoining them to come and swear fealty to the emperor, and receive new investitures of their fiefs from his hands. Letters from other parts of Italy say, that tlie king of Denmark continues at Lucca ; that four English and Dutch men-of-war were seen off Onglia, bound for Final, in order to transport the troops designed for Barcelona ; and that her majesty’s ship the Colchester ar- rived at Leghorn the fourth instant from Port- Mahon, with advice that major-general Stan- hope designed to depart from thence the first instant with six or seven thousand men, to at- tempt the relief of the castle of Alicant. Our last advices from Berlin, bearing date the twenty-seventh instant, import that the king was gone to Linum, and tlie queen to Meck- lenburg ; but that their majesties designed to return the next week to Oranienburg, where a great chase of wild beasts was prepared for their diversion, and from thence they intend to proceed together to Potsdam ; that the prince royal was set out for Brabant, but intended to make some short stay at Hanover. These let- ters also inform us, that they are advised from Obory, that the king of Sweden, being on his march towards Holki, met general Renne with a detachment of Muscovites, who, placing some regiments in ambuscade, attacked the Swedes in their rear, and putting them to flight, killed two thousand men, the king himself having his horse shot under him. We hear from Copenhagen, that the ice being broke, the Sound is again open for the ships ; and that they hoped his majesty would return sooner than they at first expected. Letters from the Hague, dated May the fourth, N. S. say, that an express arrived there on the first, from prince Eugene to his grace the duke of Marlborough. The States are ad- vised that the auxiliaries of Saxony were ar- rived on the frontiers of the United Provinces ; as also, that the two regiments of Wolfenbutlel, and four thousand troops from Wirtemberg, who are to serve in Flanders, are in full march thither. Letters from Flanders say, that the great convoy of ammunition and provisions, which set out from Ghent for Lisle, was safely arrived at Courtray. We hear from Paris that the king has ordered the militia on the coast of Normandy and Bretagne to be in readiness to march ; and that the court was in apprehen- sion of a descent to animate the people to rise in the midst of their present hardships. They write from Spain, that the pope’s nuncio left Madrid the tenth of April, in order to go to Bayonne ; that the marquis de Bay was at Ba- dajos, to observe the motions of the Portuguese ; and that the count d’Estain, with a body of five thousand men, was on his march to attack Gironne. The duke of Anjou has deposed tlie bishop of Lerida, as being a favourer of the in- terest of king Charles, and has summoned a convocation at Madrid, composed of tlie arch- bishops, bishops, and states of that kingdom, wherein he hopes they will come to a resolution to send for no more bulls to Rome. No. 8.] Thursday, April 28, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, April 26. The play of the London Cuckolds* was acted this evening before a suitable audience, who were extremely well diverted with that heap of vice and absurdity. The indignation which Eugenio, who is a gentleman of a just taste, has upon occasion of seeing human nature fall so low in its delights, made him, I thought, ex- patiate upon the mention of this play very agreeably. Of all men living, said he, I pity players (who must be men of good understand- ing, to be capable of being such,) that they are obliged to repeat and assume proper gestures for representing things of which their reason must be ashamed, and which they must disdain their audience for approving. The amendment of these low gratifications is only to be made by people of condition, by encouraging the repre- sentation of the noble characters drawn by Shakspeare and others, from whence it is im- * A very immoral, as well as a very ill-written comedy, by Edward Kavenscroft. It used to be acted frequently, especially upon Lord Mayor’s days, in contempt, and to the disgrace of the city. THE TATLER. 27 No. 8.] possible to return without strong impressions of honour and humanity. On these occasions, distress is laid before us with all its causes and consequences, and our resentment placed ac- cording to the merit of the persons afflicted. Were dramas of tliis natui'e more acceptable to the taste of the town, men who have genius would bend their studies to excel in them. How forcible an effect tliis w’ould have on our minds, one needs no more than to observe how strongly we are touched by mere pictures. Who can see Le Brun’s picture of the battle of Porus, without entering into the character of that fierce gallant man, and being accordingly spurred to an emulation of his constancy and courage ? When he is falling with his wound, the features are at the same time very terrible and languish- ing; and there is such a stern faintness diffused through all his look, as is apt to move a kind of horror, as well as pity, in the beholder. This, I say, is an effect wrought by mere lights and shades ; consider also a representation made by words only, as in an account given by a good writer : Catiline, in Sallust, makes just such a figure as Porus by Le Brun. It is said of him, Catilina vero longe a suis inter hostium cada- vera reperius est ; paululum etiam spirans, fero- citatemque animi, quam vivus habuerat, in vultu retinens. ‘ Catiline was found killed far from his own men, among the dead bodies of the en- emy: he seemed still to breathe, and still re- tained in his face the same fierceness he had when he was living.’ You have in that one sentence a lively impression of his whole life and actions. What I would insinuate from all this is, that if the painter and the historian can do thus much in colours and language, what may not be performed by an excellent poet, when the character he draws is presented by the person, the manner, the look, and the motion, of an accomplished player ? If a thing painted or related can irresistibly enter our hearts, what may not be brought to pass by seeing generous things performed before our eyes ? Eugenio ended his discourse, by recommending the apt use of a theatre, as the most agreeable and easy method of making a polite and moral gentry ; which would end in rendering the rest of the people regular in their behaviour, and ambitious of laudable undertakings. St. James’s Coffee-house., April 27. Letters from Naples of the ninth instant, N. S. advise, that cardinal Grimani had ordered tlie regiment commanded by general Pate to march towards Final, in order to embark for Catalonia ; whither also a thousand horse are to be trans- ported from Sardinia, besides the troops which come from the Milanese. An English man-of- war has taken two prizes, one a vessel of Malta, the other of Genoa, both laden with goods of the enemy. They write from Florence of the thir- teenth, that his majesty of Denmark had re- ceived a courier from the Hague, with an ac- count of some matters relating to the treaty of a peace, upon which he declared, that he thought it necessary to hasten to his own dominions. Letters from Switzerland inform us, that the effects of the great scarcity of corn in France were felt at Geneva ; the magistrates of which city had appointed deputies to treat with the cantons of Bern and Zurich, for leave to buy up such quantities of grain, within their territories, as should be thought necessary. The protestants of Tockenburg are still in arms about the con- vent of St. John, and have declared, that they will not lay them down, until they shall have sufficient security from the Roman Catholics, of living unmolested in the exercise of their reli- gion. In the mean time, the deputies of Bern and Tockenburg have frequent conferences at Zurich with the regency of that canton, to find out methods for quieting these disorders. Letters from the Hague, of the third of May, advise, that the president Rouille, after his last conference with the deputies of the States, had retired to Bodegrave, five miles distant from Worden, and expected the return of a courier from France on the fourth, with new instruc- tions. It is said, if his answer from the French court shall not prove satisfactory, he will be desired to withdraw out of these parts. In the mean time it is also reported, that his equipage, as an ambassador on this great occasion, is ac- tually on the march towards him. They write from Flanders, that the great convoy of provi- sions, which set out from Ghent, is safely ar- rived at Lisle. Those advices add, that the enemy had assembled near Tournay a consid- erable body of troops, drawn out of the neigh- bouring garrisons. Their high mightinesses having sent orders to their ministers at Ham- burgh and Dantzic, to engage the magistrates of those cities to forbid the sale of corn to the French, and to signify to them, that the Dutch merchants will buy up as much of that com- modity as they can spare ; the Hamburghers have accordingly contracted with the Dutch, and refused any commerce with the French on that occasion. From imj own ApaHment. After the lassitude of a day, spent in the strolling manner which is usual with men of pleasure in this town, and with a head full of a million of impertinences, which had danced round it for ten hours together, I came to my lodging, and hastened to bed. My valet de chambre knows my university-trick of reading there ; and he, being a good scholar for a gen- tleman, ran over the names of Horace, Tibul- lus, Ovid, and others, to know which I would have. Bring Virgil,’ said I; ‘and if I fall asleep, take care of the candle.’ I read the sixth book over with the most exquisite delight, and had gone half through it a second time, when the pleasing ideas of Elysian fields, de- ceased worthies walking in them, true lovers enjoying their languishment without pain, com- passion for the unhappy spirits who had mis- spent their short day-light, and were exiled from the seats of bliss for ever ; I say, I was deep again in my reading, when this mixture of images had taken place of all others in my imagination before, and lulled me into a dream, from which I am just awake, to my great dis- advantage. The happy mansions of Elysium, by degrees, seemed to be wafted from me, and 28 THE TATLER. the very traces of my late waking- thoughts be- gan to fade away, when I was cast by a sudden whirlwind upon an island, encompassed with a roaring and troubled sea, which shaked its very centre, and rocked its inhabitants as in a cradle. The islanders lay on their faces, without offer- ing to look up or hope for preservation ; all her harbours were crowded with mariners, and tall vessels of war lay in danger of being driven to pieces on her shores. ‘ Bless me I’ said I, ‘ why have I lived in such a manner, that the convul- sion of nature should be so terrible to me, when I feel in myself that the better part of me is to survive it ? Oh ! may that be in happiness !’ A sudden shriek, in which the whole people on their faces joined, interrupted my soliloquy, and turned my eyes and attention to the object that had given us that sudden start, in the midst of an inconsolable and speechless affliction. Im- mediately the winds grew calm, the waves sub- sided, and the people stood up, turning their faces upon a magnificent pile in the midst of the island. There we beheld a hero of a come- ly and erect aspect, but pale and languid, sitting under a canopy of state. By the faces and dumb sorrow of those who attended, we thought him in the article of death. At a distance sat a lady whose life seemed to hang upon the same thread with his; she kept her eyes fixed upon him, and seemed to smother ten thousand thousand name- less things, which urged her tenderness to clasp him in her arms ; but her greatness of spirit overcame those sentiments, and gave her power to forbear disturbing his last moment ; which immediately approached. The hero looked up with an air of negligence, and satiety of being, rather than of pain to leave it ; and, leaning back his head, expired. When the heroine, who sat at a distance, saw his last instant come, she threw herself at his feet, and, kneeling, pressed his hand to her lips, in which posture she continued, under the agony of an unutterable sorrow, until conducted from our sight by her attendants. That commanding awe, which accompanies the grief of great minds, restrained the multitude while in her presence ; but as soon as she retired, they gave way to their distraction, and all the islanders called upon their deceased hero. To him, me- thought, they cried out, as to a guardian being ; and I gathered from their broken accents, that it was he who had the empire over the ocean and its powers, by which he had long protected the island from shipwreck and invasion. They now give a loose to their moan, and think them- selves exposed without hopes of human or divine assistance. While the people ran wild, and ex- pressed all the different forms of lamentation, methought a sable cloud overshadowed the whole land, and covered its inhabitants with darkness ; no glimpse of light appeared, except one ray from heaven upon the place in which the heroine now secluded herself from the world, with her eyes fixed on those abodes to which her consort was ascended. Methought a long period of time had passed away in mourning and in dark- ness, when a twilight began by degrees to en- lighten the hemisphere ; and, looking round me, I saw a boat rowed towards the shore, in which •at a personage adorned with warlike trophies. [No. 9. bearing on his left arm a shield, on which was engraven the image of victory, and in his right hand a branch of olive. His visage was at once so winning and so awful, that the shield and the olive seemed equally suitable to his genius. When this illustrious person* touched on the shore, he was received by the acclamations of the people, and followed to the palace of the heroine. No pleasure in the glory of her arms, or the acclamations of her applauding subjects, were ever capable to suspend her sorrow for one moment, till she saw the olive-branch in the hand of that auspicious messenger. At that sight, as heaven bestows its blessings on the wants and importunities of mortals, out ofits native bounty, and not to increase its own power or honour, in compassion to the world, the celestial mourner w'as then first seen to turn her regard to things I below ; and, taking the branch out of the war- I rior’s hand, looked at it with much satisfaction, [ and spoke of the blessings of peace, with a Voice j and accent, such as that in which guardian spirits wfflisper to dying penitents assurances of happiness. The air was hushed, the multitude attentive, and all nature in a pause while she was speaking. But as soon as the messenger of peace had made some low reply, in which, me- thought, I heard the W'ord Iberia, the heroine, assuming a more severe air, but such as spoke resolution without rage, returned him the olive, and again veiled her face. Loud cries and clash- ing of arms immediately follow’ed, which forced me from my charming vision, and drove me back to these mansions of care and sorrow. %* Mr. Bickerstaff thanks Mr. Quarterstaff for his kind and instructive letter dated the twenty -sixth instant. No. 9.] Saturday, April 30, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’ermen do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. Will's Coffee-house, April 28. This evening we were entertained wuth The Old Bachelor,|- a comedy of deserved reputa- tion. In the character which gives name to the play, there is excellently represented the reluctance of a battered debauchee to come into the trammels of order and decency ; he neither languishes nor burns, but frets for love. The gentlemen of more regular behaviour are drawn wuth much spirit and wdt, and the drama intro- duced, by the dialogue of the first scene, with uncommon, yet natural conversation. The part of Fondlewufe is a lively image of the unsea- sonable fondness of age and impotence. But, instead of such agreeable works as these, the towm has for half an age been tormented with insects called Easy BViters, whose abilities Mr. Wj^cherly one day described excellently well in one w’ord : ‘ That,’ says he, ‘ among these fel- lows is called Easy Writing, which any one * About this time the duke of Marlborough returned from Holland, with the preliminaries of a peace, t By Congreve. His first play, and first acted in 1693. THE TATLER. 29 No. 10.] may easily write.’ Such janty scribblers are so justly laughed at for their sonnets on Phillis and Chloris, and fantastical descriptions in them, that an ingenious kinsman of mine, of the family of the Staffs, Mr. Humphrey Wagstaffby name, has, to avoid their strain, run into a way perfeetly new, and deseribed things exactly as they happen he never forms fields, or nymphs, or groves, where they are not ; but makes the incidents just as they really appear. For an example of it : I stole out of his manuscript the following lines ; they are a deseription of the morning, but of the morning in town ; nay, of the morning at this end of the town, where my kinsman at present lodges : Now hardly here and there an hackney coach Appearing, showed the ruddy morn’s approach : Now Betty from her master’s bed had down, And softly stole to discompose her own. The slipshod ’prentice, from his master’s door, Had pared the street, and sprinkled round the floor ; Now Moll had whirled her mop with dext’rous airs ; Prepared to scrub the entry and the stairs. The youth with broomy stumps began to trace The kennel edge, where wheels had worn the place. The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep, Till drowned in shriller notes of chimney-sweep. Duns at his lordship’s gates began to meet ; And brick-dust Moll had screamed thro’ half a street ; The turnkey now his flock returning .sees, Duly let out a’ nights to steal for fees : The watchful bailitfs take their silent stands; And school-boys lag with satchels in their hands. All that I apprehend is, that dear Numps will be angry I have published these lines ; not that he has any reason to be ashamed of them, but for fear of those rogues, the bane to all excellent performances, the imitators. Therefore, before- hand, I bar all descriptions of the evening ; as a medley of verses signifying grey peas are now cried warm ; that wenches now begin to amble round the passages of the play-house : or of noon; as, that fine ladies and great beaux are just yav/ning out of their beds, and windows in Pall- mall, and so forth. I forewarn also all persons from encouraging any draughts after my cousin ; and foretel any man who shall go about to imi- tate him, that he will be very insipid. The family-stock is embarked in this design, and we will not admit of counterfeits. Dr. Andersont and his heirs enjoy his pills ; Sir William Read! has the cure of eyes, and monsieur Rosselli§ only can cure the gout. We pretend to none of these things ; but to examine who and who are together, to tell an)^ mistaken man he is not what he believes he is, to distinguish merit, and ex- pose false pretenees to it, is a liberty our family has by law in them, from an intermarriage with the daughter of Mr. Scoggin,|l the famous droll of the last century. This right I design to * Dr. Swift. t Anderson was a Scotch physician in the reigns of Charles I. and Charles It. I “ Henley would fain have me to go with Steele and Rowe, &c. to an invitation at Sir William Read’s. Sure- ly you have heard of him. He has been a mountebank, and is the queen’s oculist ; he makes admirable punch, and treats you in gold vessels. But I am engaged, and won’t go ; neither indeed am I fond of the jaunt.” April 11, 1711. — Swift’s Works, vol. xxii. p 20. It is said that the queen’s oculist, though he was won- derfully successful, could neither read nor write. SRosselli, sufficiently known from the Romance of his life, which was written by himself. II Scoggin was a buffoon in the reign of king James I. make use of; but will not encroach upon the above-mentioned adepts, or any other. At the same time, I shall take all the privileges I may, as an Englishman, and will lay hold of the late act of naturalization to introduce what I shall think fit from France. The use of that law may, I hope, be extended to people the polite world with new characters, as well as the kingdom itself with new subjects. Therefore an author of that nation, called La Bruyere, I shall make bold with on such occasions. The last person I read of in that writer was lord Timon. Timon, says my author, is the most generous of all men ; but is so hurried away with that strong impulse of bestowing, that he confers benefits without distinction, and is munificent without laying obligations. For all the unworthy, who receive from him, have so little sense of this noble in- firmity, that they look upon themselves rather as partners in a spoil, than partakers of a bounty. The other day, coming into Paris, I met Timon going out on horseback, n,ttended only by one servant. It struck me with a sudden damp, to see a man of so excellent a disposition, and who understood making a figure so well, so much shortened in his retinue. But, passing by his house, 1 saw his great coach break to pieces before his door, and, by a strange enchantment, immediately turned into many different vehicles. The first was a very pretty chariot, into which stepped his lordship’s secretary. The second was hung a little heavier ; into that strutted the fat steward. In an instant followed a chaise, which was entered by the butler. The rest of the body and wdieels were forthwith changed into go-carts, and run away w’ith by the nurses and brats of the rest of the family. What makes these misfortunes in the affairs of Timon the more astonishing is, that he has better under- standing than those w’ho cheat him ; so that a man knows not which more to wonder at, the indifference of the master, or the impudence of the servant. White's Chocolate-house^ April 29. It is a matter of much speculation among the beaux and oglers, what it is that can have made so sudden a change, as has been of late observed, in the whole behaviour of Pastorella, who never sat still a moment until she was eighteen, which she has now exceeded by two months. Her aunt, who has the care of her, has not been al- ways so rigid as she is at this present date ; but has so good a sense of the frailty of wmman, and falsehood of man, that she resolved on all manner of methods to keep Pastorella, if possi- ble, in safety, against herself and all her admir- ers. At the same time the good lady knew by long experience, that a gay inclination, curbed too rashly, would but run to the greater ex- cesses for that restraint ; she therefore intended to watch her, and take some opportunity of en- gaging her insensibly in her own interests, without the anguish of an admonition. You are to know, then, that miss, with all her flirt- ing and ogling, had also naturally a strong curi- osity in her, and was the greatest eaves-dropper breathing. Parisatis (for so her prudent aunt is called) observed this humour, and retires one day to her closet, into which she knew Pastorella 30 THE TATLER. [No. 10. would peep, and listen to know how she was employed, [t happened accordingly ; and the young lady saw her good governante on her knees, and, after a mental behaviour, break into these words, — ‘ As for the dear child committed to my care, let her sobriety of carriage, and se- verity of behaviour, be such as may make that noble lord who is taken with her beauty, turn his designs to such as are honourable.’ Here Parisatis heard her niece nestle closer to the key-hole : she then goes on ; ‘ Make her the joyful mother of a numerous and wealthy off- spring ; and let her carriage be such, as may make this noble youth expect the blessings of a happy marriage, from the singularity of her life, in this loose and censorious age.’ Miss, having heard enough, sneaks off for fear of discovery, and immediately at her glass alters the sitting of her head ; then pulls up her tucker, and forms herself into the exact manner of Lindamira ; in a word, becomes a sincere con- vert to every thing that is commendable in a fine young lady; and two or three such matches as her aunt feigned in her devotions, are at this day in her choice. This is the history and original cause of Pastorella’s conversion from coquetry. The prudence in the management of this young lady’s temper, and good judgment of it, is hardly to be exceeded. I scarce re- member a greater instance of forbearance of the usual peevish way with which the aged treat the young than this, except that of our famous Noy, whose good nature went so far as to make him put off his admonitions to his son, even until after his death ; and did not give him his thoughts of him, until he came to rea/i tliat me- morable passage in his will : ‘ All the rest of my estate,’ says he, ‘ I leave to my son Edward (who is executor to this my will) to be squan- dered as he shall think fit ; I leave it him for that purpose, and hope no better for him.’ A generous disdain, and reflection upon how little he deserved from so excellent a father, reformed the young man, and made Edward, from an arrant rake, become a fine gentleman. St. James's Coffee-house, April 29. Letters from Portugal of the eighteenth in- stant, dated from Estremos, say, that on the sixth the earl of Galway arrived at that place, and had the satisfaction to see the quarters well furnished with all manner of provisions, and a quantity of bread sufficient for subsisting the troops for sixty days, besides biscuit for twenty- five days. The enemy give out, that they shall bring into the field fourteen regiments of horse, and twenty-four battalions. The troops in tlic service of Portugal will make up 14,000 foot, and 4000 horse. On the day these letters were dis- patched, the earl of Galway received advice, that the marquis de Bay was preparing for some en- terprise, by gathering his troops together on the frontiers. Whereupon his excellency resolved to go that same night to Villa Viciosa, to assem- ble the troops in that neighbourhood, in order to disappoint his designs. Yesterday, in the evening, captain Foxton, aid-de-camp to major-general Cadogan, arrived here express from the duke of Marlborough ; and this day a mail is come in with letters from Brussels of the sixth of May, N. S. which advise, that the enemy had drawn together a body, consisting of 20,000 men, with a design, as was supposed, to intercept the great convoy on the march towards Lisle, which was safely arrived at Menin and Courtray, in its way to that place, the French having retired without making any attempt. We hear from the Hague, that a person of the first quality is arrived in the Low Countries from France, in order to be a plenipotentiary in an ensuing treaty of peace. Letters from France acknowledge, that mon- sieur Bernard has made no higher offers of sa- tisfaction to his creditors than of thirty-five pounds per cent. These advices add, that the marshal BoufHers, monsieur Torcy (who distinguished himself for- merly, by advising the court of France to adhere to the treaty of partition,) and monsieur d’Har- court (who negotiated with cardinal Portocar- rero for the succession of the crown of Spain in the house of Bourbon,) are all three joined in a commission for a treaty of peace. The marshal is come to Ghent : the other two are arrived at the Hague. It is confidently reported here, that the right honourable the lord Townshend is to go with his grace the duke of Marlborough into Holland. Mr. Bickerstaff has received the epistles of Mrs. Rebecca Wagstaff, Timothy Pikestaff, and Wagstaff, which he will acknowledge far- ther as occasion shall serve. No. 10.] Tuesday, May 3, 1709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 8G. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. BY MRS. JENNY DISTAFF. HALF SISTER TO MR. BICKERSTAFF. From my own Apartment, May 1. My brother Isaac, having a sudden occasion to go out of town, ordered me to take upon me I the despatch of the next advices from home, with liberty to speak in my own way : not ! doubting the allowances which would be given j to a writer of my sex. You may be sure I un- i dertook it with much satisfaction ; and I confess, I am not a little pleased with the opportunity of j running over all the papers in his closet, which 1 he has left open for my use on this occasion. I The first that I lay my hands on, is a treatise j concerning ‘ the empire of beauty,’ and the ef- I fects it has had in all nations of the world, upon ; the public and private actions of men ; with j an appendix, which he calls, ‘ The Bachelor’s scheme for governing his wife.’ The first thing he makes this gentleman propose, is, that she shall be no woman ; for she is to have an aver- ' sion to balls, to operas, to visits ; she is to think his company sufficient to fill up all the hours of j life with great satisfaction ; she is never to be- I lieve any other man wise, learned, or valiant , I or at least, but in a second degree. In the next No. 10.] THE TATLER. 31 place, he intends she shall be a cuckold ; but expects, that he himself must live in perfect se- curity from that tenor. He dwells a great while on instructions for her discreet behaviour, in case of his falsehood. I have not patience with these unreasonable expectations, therefore turn back to the treatise itself Here, indeed, my brother deduces all the revolutions among men from the passion of love ; and in his preface answers that usual observation against us, ‘ that there is no quarrel without a woman in it,’ with a gallant assertion, that ‘ there is nothing else worth quarrelling for.’ My brother is of a com- plexion truly amorous ; all his thoughts and ac- tions carry in tliem a tincture of that obliging inclination ; and this turn has opened his eyes to see, that we are not the inconsiderable crea- tures which unlucky pretenders to our favour would insinuate. He observes that no man be- gins to make any tolerable figure until he sets out with the hopes of pleasing some one of us. No sooner he takes that in hand, but he pleases every one else by the bye. It has an immediate effect upon his behaviour. There is colonel Ran- ter,* who never spoke without an oath, until he saw the lady Betty Modish ; now, never gives his man an order, but it is ‘ Pray Tom, do it.’ The drawers where he drinks, live in perfect happi- ness. He asked Will at the George the other day, how he did ? Where he used to say, ‘ Damn it, it is so ;’ he now ‘ believes there is some mis- take ; he must confess, he is of another opinion ; but, however, he will not insist.’ Every temper, except downright insipid, is to be animated and softened by the influence of beauty ; but of this untractable sort is a lifeless handsome fellow that visits us, whom I have dressed at this twelvemonth ; but he is as insen- sible of all the arts I use, as if he conversed all that time with his nurse. He outdoes our whole sex in all the faults our enemies impute to us ; he has brought laziness into an opinion, and makes his indolence his philosophy : inso- much that no longer ago than yesterday in the evening he gave me this account of himself : ‘ I am, madam, perfectly unmoved at all that passes among men, and seldom give myself the fatigue of going among them ; but when I do, I always appear the same thing to those whom I converse with. My hours of existence, or being awake, are from eleven in the morning to eleven at night; half of which I live to myself, in picking my teeth, washing my hands, paring my nails, and looking in the glass. The insignificancy of my manners to the rest of the world, t makes the laughers call me a Quidnunc, a phrase which I neither understand, nor shall ever inquire what they mean by it. The last of me each * There is probably an allusion here to the celebrated Mrs. Anne Oldfield and brigadier-general Churchill. Mrs. O. played at this time inimitably well the character of Lady Betty Modish in the ‘Careless Husband,’ which the author, Mr. Cibber, acknowledges was not only written for her, but copied from her, so that she was both the player, and the original of the character. Biog-. Brit. Art. Oldfield. t What follows is inserted as a farther specimen of the manner of the Annotator on the Tatler, and of the nature of his remarks. Sec Tatler, Nos. 5, and 7. ‘ Noth- ing is more apropos, than to talk in a dialect that is not English, of a phrase that is not sense.’ Jin notations on the Tatler, part i. p. b5. night is at St. James’s coffee-house, where I converse, yet never fall into a dispute on any occasion ; but leave the understanding I have, passive of all that goes through it, without en- tering into the business of life. And thus madam, have I arrived by laziness, to what others pretend to by philosophy, a perfect ne- glect of the wmrld.’ Sure, if our sex had the liberty of frequenting public houses and conver- sations, we should put these rivals of our faults and follies out of countenance. However, we shall soon have the pleasure of being acquainted with them one way or other ; for my brother Isaac designs, for the use of our sex, to give the exact characters of all the chief politicians, who frequent any of the coffee-houses from St. James’s to the Exchange ; but designs to begin with that cluster of wise-heads, as they are found sitting every evening from the left side of the fire, at the Smyrna, to the door. This will be of great service for us, and I have authority to promise an exact journal of their deliberations ; the pub- lication of which I am to be allowed for pin-mo- ney. In the meantime, I cast my eye upon a new book, which gave me more pleasing enter- tainment, being a sixth part of Miscellany Poems published by Jacob Tonson,* * * * § which, I find, by my brother’s notes upon it, no way inferior to the other volumes. There is, it seems, in this, a collection of the best pastorals that have hith- erto appeared in England ; but among them, none superior to that dialogue between Sylvia and Dorinda, written by one of my own sex ;f where all our little w’eaknesses are laid open in a manner more just, and with truer raillery, than ever man yet hit upon. Only tills I now discern, From the things thon’dst have me learn. That womankind’s peculiar joys From past or present beauties rise. But to reassume my first design, there can- not be a greater instance of the command of females, than in the prevailing charms of the heroine in the play, which was acted this night, called, ‘ All for Love ; or The World well Lost.’t The enamoured Anthony resigns glory and power to the force of the attractive Cleopatra, whose charms were the defence of her diadem against a people otherwise invincible. It is so natural for women to talk of themselves, that it is to be hoped, all my own sex at least will par- don me, that I could fall into no other discourse. If we have their favour, we give ourselves very little anxiety for the rest of our readers. I be- lieve I see a sentence of Latin in my brother’s day-book of wit, wiiich seems applicable on this occasion, and in contempt of the critics — ■ Tristitiam et metus Tradam protervis in mare Creticuni§ Potare ventis. Hor. i. Od. xxvi. 2. No boding fears shall break my rest, Nor anxious cares invade my breast; * Usually called ‘ Dryden’s Collection.’ t By Mrs. Elizabeth Singer, celebrated by Prior in many parts of his poems, and afterwards Mrs. Rowe. I By Dryden, first acted in the year 1678. § The humour of Mrs. Jenny Distaffs Latin quotation stands in need of some illustration. It rises out of the similarity between the words Cretccum and Criticum, which are sufficiently alike to mislead a lady unskilled in the Latin language, into this misapplication of the passage. 32 THE TATLER. Puff them, ye wanton gales, away And plunge them in the Cretan sea. R. Winne. But I am interrupted by a packet from Mr. Kidney, from St. James’s coffee-house, which I am obliged to insert in the very style and words which Mr. Kidney uses in his letter. St. James's Coffee-house., May 2. We are advised by letters from Bern, dated the first instant, N. S. that the duke of Berwick arrived at Lyons the twenty-fifth of the last month, and continued his journey the next day to visit the passes of the mountains and other posts in Dauphine and Provence. These letters also inform us, that the miseries of the people in France are heightened to that degree, that unless a peace be speedily concluded, half of that kingdom would perish for want of bread. On the twenty-fourth, the marshal de Thesse passed through Lyons, in his way to Versailles ; and two battalions, which were marcliing from Alsace to reinforce the army of the duke of Ber- wick, passed also through that place. Those troops were to be followed by six battalions more. Letters from Naples of the sixteenth of April say, that the marquis de Prie’s son was arrived there, with instructions from his father, to sig- nify to the viceroy the necessity his imperial majesty was under, of desiring an aid from that kingdom, for carrying on the extraordi- nary expenses of the war. On the fourteenth of the same month they made a review of the Spanish troops in that garrison, and afterwards of the marines ; one part of whom will embark with those designed for Barcelona, and the rest are to be sent on board the galleys appointed to convoy provisions to that place. We hear from Rome, by letters dated the twentieth of April, that the count de Mellos. envoy from the king of Portugal, had made his public entry into that city with much state and magnificence. The pope has lately held two other consistories, wherein he made a promotion of two cardinals ; but the acknowledgment of king Charles is still deferred. Letters from other parts of Italy advise us, that the doge of Venice continues dangerously ill ; that the prince de Carignan, having relapsed into a violent fever, died the twenty-third of April, in his eightieth year. Advices from Vienna of the twenty-seventh of April import, that the avchbishop of Saltz- burg is dead, who is succeeded by count Har- rach, formerly bishop of Vienna, and for these last three years coadjutor to the said archbishop ; and that prince Maximilian of Lichtenstein is likewise departed this life, at his country seat called Cromaw in Moravia. These advices add, that the emperor has named count Zinzendorf, count Goes, and monsieur Consbruck, for his plenipotentiaries in an ensuing treaty of peace ; and they hear from Hungary, that the imperial- ists have had several successful skirmishes with the malcontents. liettcrs from Paris, dated May the sixth, say that the marshal de Thesse arrived there on tiie twenty-ninth of last month, and that the die valier cle Beuil was sent thither by Don [No. 10. Pedro Ronquillo, with advice, that the confed- erate squadron appeared before Alicant on the seventeenth; and, having for some time cannon- aded the city, endeavoured to land some troops for the relief of the castle; but general Stanhope, finding the passes well guarded, and the enter- prise dangerous, demanded to capitulate for the castle ; which being granted him, the garrison, consisting of six hundred regular troops, march- ed out with their arms and baggage the day following; and being received on board, they immediately set sail for Barcelona. These let- ters add, that the march of the French and Swiss regiments is further deferred for a few days; and that the duke of Noailles was just ready to set out for Roussillon as well as the count de Bezons for Catalonia. The same advices say, bread was sold at Paris for sixpence a pound ; and that there was not half enough, even at that rate, to supply the necessities of the people, which reduced them to the utmost despair ; that three hundred men had taken up arms, and having plundered the market of the suburb of St. Germain, pressed down by their multitude the king’s guards who opposed them. Two of those mutineers w^ere afterwards seized and condemned to death ; but four others went to the magistrate who pro- nounced that sentence, and told him, he must expect to answer with his own life for those of their comrades. All order and sense of govern- ment being thus lost among the enraged people, to keep up a show of authority, the captain of the guards, who saw all their insolence, pre- tended, that he had represented to the king their deplorable condition, and had obtained their pardon. It is further reported, tliat the dauphin and dutchess of Burgundy, as they went to the opera, were surrounded by crowds of people, who upbraided them with their neglect of the general calamity, in going to diversions, when the whole people were ready to perish for want of bread. Edicts are daily published to suppress these riots : and papers with menaces against the government, as publicly thrown about. Among others, these words were drop- ped in a court of Justice. ‘ France wants a Ravilliac or Jesuit to deliver her.’ Besides this universal distress, there is a contagious sickness, which, it is feared, will end in a pestilence. Letters from Bourdeaux bring accounts no less lamentable ; the peasants are driven by hunger from their abodes into that city, and make lamentations in the streets without redress. We are advised by letters from the Hague, dated the tenth instant, N. S. that on the sixth the marquis de Torcy arrived there from Paris ; but the passport, by which he came, having been sent blank by monsieur Rouille, he was there two days before his quality was known. That minister offered to communicate to monsieur Heinsius the proposals which he had to make ; but the pensionary refused to see them, and said, he would signify it to the states, who de- puted some of their own body to acquaint him, that they would enter into no negotiation until the arrival of his grace the duke of Marlbo- rough, and the other ministers of the alliance. Prince Eugene was expected there the twelfth instant from Brussels. It is said, that besides THE TATLER. 33 No. 11.] monsieur de Torcy, and monsieur Pajot, direc- tor-general of the posts, there are two or three persons at the Hague whose names are not known ; but it is supposed, that the duke d’Alba, ambassador from the duke of Anjou, was one of them. The states have sent letters to all the cities of the provinces, desiring them to send their deputies to receive the propositions of peace made by the court of France. *** In the absence of Mr. Bickerstaff, Mrs. Distaff has received Mr. Nathaniel Broomstick’s letter. N. B. Under the signature of Nath. Broom- stick, the subsequent paper, or hints for it, might have been communicated to Steele by Swift, by Anthony Henley, esq. or by Mr. Jabez Hughes. See Tatler, No. 11. No. 11.] Thursday^ May 5, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESOUIRE. Will's Coffee-house^ May 3. A KINSMAN has sent me a letter, wherein he informs me, he had lately resolved to write an heroic poem, but by business has been inter- rupted, and has only made one similitude, which he should be afftieted to have wholly lost ; and begs of me to apply it to something, being very desirous to see it well placed in the world. I am so willing to help the distressed, that I have taken it in ; but, though his greater genius might very well distinguish his verses from mine, I have marked where his begin. His lines are a description of the sun in eclipse, which I know nothing more like than a brave man in sorrow, who bears it as he should, with- out imploring the pity of his friends, or being dejected with the contempt of his enemies ; as in the case of Cato. When all the globe to Capsar’s fortune bowed, Cato alone his empire disallowed ; With inborn strength, alone opposed mankind, With heaven in view, to all below it blind : Regardless of his friends’ applause, or moan, Alone triumphant, since he falls alone. ‘ Thus when the Ruler of the genial day Behind some dark’ning planet forms his way, Desponding mortals, with officious care. The concave drum and magic brass prepare ; Implore him to sustain the important fight. And save depending worlds from endless night : Fondly they hope their labour may avail To ease his conflict, and assist his toil. Whilst he, in beams of native splendour bright, 1 (Though dark his orb appear to human sight) v Shines to the gods with more diffusive light; ) To distant stars with equal glory burns. Inflames their lamps, and feeds their golden urns. Sure to retain his known superior tract. And proves the more illustrious by defect.’ This is a very lively image ; but I must take the liberty to say, my kinsmam drives the sun a little like Phaeton he has all the warmth * Ovid, Metam. ii. 1.- E of Phoebus, but will not stay for his direction of it. Avail and toil^ defect and tract, will never do for rhymes. But, however, he has the true spirit in him; for which reason I was willing to entertain any thing he pleased to send me. The subject which he writes upon, natu- rally raises great reflections in the soul, and puts us in mind of the mixed condition which we mortals are to support ; which, as it varies to good or bad, adorns or defaces our actions to the beholders ; all which glory and shame must end in, what we so much repine at, death. But doctrines on this occasion, any other than that of living well, are the most insignificant and most empty of all the labours of men. None but a tragedian can die by rule, and wait till he discovers a plot, or says a fine thing upon his exit. In real life, this is a chimera ; and by noble spirits it will be done decently, without the ostentation of it. We see men of all con- ditions and characters go through it with equal resolution ; and if we consider the speeches of the mighty philosophers, heroes, lawgivers, and great captains, they can produce no more in a discerning spirit, than rules to make a man a fop on his death-bed. Commend me to that natural greatness of soul, expressed by an inno- cent, and consequently resolute country-fellow, who said, in the pains of the colic, ‘ If I once get this breath out of my body, you shall hang me before you put it in again.’ Honest Ned I and so he died.f But it is to be supposed, that from this place you may expect an account of such a thing as a new play is not to be omitted. That acted this night is the newest that ever was writ. The author is my ingenious friend Mr. Thomas Durfey. This drama is called, ‘The Modern Prophets,’ and is a most unanswerable satire against the late spirit of enthusiasm. The writer had by long experience observed that, in company, very grave discourses had been followed by bawdry ; and therefore has turned the humour that way with great success, and taken from his audience all manner of super- stition, by the agitations of pretty Mrs. Bignell, whom he has, with great subtilty, made a lay- sister, as well as a prophetess ; by which means she carries on the affairs of both worlds with great success. My friend designs to go on with another work against winter, which he intends to call, ‘ The Modern poets,’ a people no less mistaken in their opinions of being in- spired, than the other. In order to this, he has by him seven songs, besides many ambi- guities, which cannot be mistaken for any thing but what he means them. Mr. Durfey generally writes state-plays, and is wonderfully useful to the world in such representations. This method is the same that was used by the old Athenians, to laugh out of countenance, or promote, opinions among the people. My friend has therefore, against this play is acted for his own benefit, made two dances, which may be also of an universal benefit. In the first, ho has represented absolute power in the person t This J^ed was a farmer of Anthony Henley, Esq. who mentions this saying of his in a letter to Swift. — Stcift's Works, vol. xviii. p. 15. 34 THE TATLER. [No. 11. of a tall man with a hat and feather, who gives his first minister, that stands just before him, a huge kick ; the minister gives the kick to the next before ; and so to the end of the stage. In this moral and practical jest, you are made to understand, that there is, in an absolute government, no gratification but giving the kick you receive from one above you to one below you. This is performed to a grave and melancholy air ; but on a sudden tlie tune moves quicker, and the whole company fall into a circle, and take hands ; and then, at a certain sharp note, they move round, and kick as kick can. This latter performance he makes to be the representation of a free state ; where, if you all mind your steps, you may go round and round very jollily, with a motion pleasant to your- selves and those you dance with ; nay, if you put yourselves out, at the worst, you only kick and are kicked, like friends and equals. From my own Apartment, May 4. Of all the vanities under the sun, I confess that of being proud of one’s birth is the great- est. At the same time, since in this unreason- able age, by the force of prevailing custom, things in which men have no hand are imputed to them ; and that I am used by some people, as if Isaac BickerstalF, though I write myself Esquire, was nobody ; to set the world right in that particular, I shall give you my genea- logy, as a kinsman of ours has sent it me from the herald’s ofiice. It is certain, and observed by the wisest writers, that there are women who arc not nicely chaste, and men not severely honest, in all families ; therefore let those who may be apt to raise aspersions upon ours, please to give us as impartial an account of their own, and we shall be satisfied. The business of heralds is a matter of so 'great nicety, that, to avoid mistakes, I shall give you my cousin’s letter verbatim, without altering a syllable. Dear Cousin, — “ Since you have been pleased to make yourself so famous of late, by your in- genious writings, and some time ago by your learned predictions; since Partridge, of immortal memory, is dead and gone, who, poetical as he was, could not understand his own poetry ; and philomatical as he was, could not read his own destiny ; since the pope, the king of France, and great part of his court, are either literally or metaphorically defunct; since, I say, these things (not foretold by any one but yourself) have come to pass after so surprising a manner ; it is with no small concern I see tlie original of the Staf- fian race so little known in the world as it is at this time ; for which reason, as you have em- ployed your studies in astronomy, and the occult sciences, so I, my mother being a Welch woman, dedicated mine to genealogy, particularly that of our own family, which, for its antiquity and number, may challenge any in Great Britain. The Staffs are originally of Staffordshire, which took its name from them : the first that I find of the Staffs was one Jacobstaff, a famous and renowned astronomer, who, by Dorothy his wife had issue seven sons : viz. Bickerstaff, Long- staff, Wagstaff, Quarterstaff, Whitestaff, Fal- staff, and Tipstaff. He also had a younger brother, who was twice married, and had five sons : viz. Distaff, Pikestaff, Mopstaff, Broom- staff, and Raggedstaff. As for the branch from whence you spring, I shall say very little of it, only that it is the chief of the Staffs, and called Bickerstaff, quasi Biggerstaff ; as much as to say, the Great Staff, or Staff of Staffs ; and that it has applied itself to astronomy with great suc- cess, after the example of our aforesaid fore- father. The descendants from Longstaff, the second son, were a rakish disorderly sort of people, and rambled from one place to another, until, in the time of Harry the Second, they settled in Kent, and were called Long-tails, from the long tails which were sent them as a punishment for the murder of Thomas-a-Becket, as the legends say. They have always been sought after by the ladies ; but whether it be to show their aversion to popery, or their love to miracles, I cannot say. The Wagstaffs are a merry, thoughtless sort of people, who have al- ways been opinionated of their own wit ; they have turned themselves mostly to poetry. This is the most numerous brancli of our family, and the poorest. The Quarterstafts are most of them prize-fighters or deer-stealers ; there have been so many of them hanged lately, that there are very few of that branch of our family left. The Whitestaffs* are all courtiers, and have had very considerable places. There have been some of them of that strength and dexterity, that five hundredt of the ablest men in the kingdom have often tugged in vain to pull a staff out of their hands. The Falstaffs are strangely given to whoring and drinking ; there are abundance of them in and about London. One thing is very remarkable of this branch, and that is, there are just as many women as men in it. There was a wicked stick of wood of this name in Harry the Fourth’s time, one sir Jolm Falstaff. As for Tipstaff, the youngest son, he was an honest fellow ; but his sons, and his sons’ sons, have all of them been the veriest rogues living ; it is this unlucky branch that has stocked the nation with that swarm of lawyers, attorneys, serjeants, and bailiffs, with which the nation is over-run. Tipstaff, being a seventh son, used to cure the king’s-evil ; but his rascally descendants are so Far from having that healing quality, that, by a touch upon the shoulder, they give a man such an ill habit of body, that he can never come abroad afterwards. This is all I know of the line of .Jacobstaff ; liis younger brother Isaac- staff, as I told you before, had five sons, and was married twice : his first wife was a Staff (for they did not stand upon false heraldry in those days) by whom he had one son, who, in process of time, being a schoolmaster and well read in the Greek, called himself Distaff, or Twicestaff. He was not very rich, so he put his children out to trades ; and the Distaffs have ever since j been employed in the woollen and linen manu- j factures, except myself, who am a genealogist, j Pikestaff, the eldest son by the second venter, I was a man of business, a downright plodding *An allusion to the staff carried by the first lord of the treasury, afterwards humourously compared by Steele to “ an emmet distinguished from his fellows by a white straw.” t The House of Commons. No. 12.] THE TATLER. 35 fellow, and withal so plain, that he became a proverb. Most of this family are at present in tlie army. Ragg-edstaff was an unlucky boy, and used to tear his cloathes in getting birds’ nests, and was always playing with a tame bear his fatlier kept. Mopstaff fell in love with one of his father’s maids, and used to help her to clean the ' house. Broomstaff was a chimney-sweeper. The Mopstaffs and Broomstaffs are naturally as civil people as ever went out of doors ; but alas ! if they once get into ill hands, they knock down all before them. Pilgramstaff ran away from his friends, and went strolling about the coun- try ; and Pipcstaff was a wine-cooper. These two were the unlawful issue of Longstaff. N. B. The Canes, the Clubs, the Cudgels, the Wands, the Devil upon two Sticks, and one Bread, that goes by the name of Staff of Life, are none of our relations. I am, dear cousin, your humble servant, ‘ D. DISTAFF.’ From the Herald’s Office, May 1, 1709. St. James’s Coffee-house^ May 4. As political news is not the principal subject on which we treat, we are so happy as to have no occasion for that art of cookery which our brother newsmongers so much excel in ; as ap- pears by their excellent and inimitable manner of dressing up a second time for your taste the same dish which they gave you the day before, in case there come over no new pickles from Holland. Therefore, when we have nothing to say to you from courts and camps, we hope still to give you somewhat new and curious from ourselves ; the women of our house, upon occa- sion, being capable of carrying on the business, according to the laudable custom of the v.'ives in Holland ; but, withaat farther preface, take what we have not mentioned in our former re- lations. Letters from Hanover of the thirtieth of the last month say, that the prince royal of Prussia arrived there on the fifteenth, and left that court on the second of this month, in pursuit of his journey to Flanders, where he makes the ensuing campaign. Those advices add, that the young prince Nassau, hereditary governor of Friesland, celebrated, on the twenty-sixth of the last month, his marriage with the beauteous princess of Hesse-Cassel, with a pomp and mag- nificence suitable to their age and quality. Letters from Paris say, his most Christian majesty retired to Marley on the first instant, N. S. and our last advices from Spain inform us, that the prince of x\sturias had made his public entry into Madrid in great splendour. The duke of Anjou has given Don Joseph Har- tado de Amaraga the government of Terra firma de Veragua, and the presidency of Pa- nama in America. They add, that the forces commanded by the marquis de Bay have been reinforced by six battalions of Spanish Walloon guards. Letters from Lisbon advise, that the army of the king of Portugal was at Elvas on the twenty-second of the last month, and would decamp on the twenty-fourth, in order to march upon the enemy who lay at Badajos. Yesterday, at four in the morning, his grace the duke of Marlborough set out for Margate, and embarked for Holland at eight this morning. Yesterday also sir George Thorold was de- clared alderman of Cordwainers’ Ward, in the room of his brother sir Charles Thorold, de- ceased. ADVERTISEMENT. Any ladies who have any particular stories of their acquaintance, which they are willing, privately, to make public, may send them by the penny-post to Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. in- closed to Mr. John Morphew, near Stationers’ Hall. No. 12.] Saturday, May 7, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. Blay 5. When a man has engaged to keep a stage coach, he is obliged, whether he has passengers or not, to set out ; thus it fares with us weekly historians ; but indeed, for my particular, I liope, I shall soon have little more to do in this work, than to publish what is sent me from such as have leisure and capacity for giving delight, and being pleased in an elegant manner. The pre- sent grandeur of the British nation might make us expect, that we should rise in our public di- versions, and manner of enjoying life, in pro- portion to our advancement in glory and power. Instead of that, survey this town, and you will find rakes and debauchees are your men of plea- sure : thoughtless atheists ahd illiterate drunk- ards call themselves free-thinkers ; and game- sters, banterers, biters, swearers, and twenty new-born insects more, are, in tlieir several species, the modern men of vrit. Hence it is, that a man, who has been out of town but one half year, has lost the language, and must have some friend to stand by him, and keep him in countenance for talking common sense. To-day I saw a short interlude at Wliite’s of this na- ture, which I took notes of, and put together as well as I could in a public place. The persons of the drama are Pip, the last gentleman that has been made so at cards ; Trimmer, a person half undone at them, and who is now between a cheat and a gentleman ; Acorn, an honest En- glishman of good plain sense and meaning ; and Mr. Friendly, a reasonable man of the town. White’s Chocolate-house, May 5. Enter Pip, Trimmer, and Acorn. Ac. What is the matter, gentlemen? what! take no notice of an old friend ? Pip. Pox on it ! do not talk to me, I am voweled by the count and cursedly out of humour. Ac. Voweled I pry’thee. Trimmer, what does he mean by that ? Trim. Have a care, Hairy, speak softly ; do 3G THE TATLER. [No. 12. not show your ignorance : — if you do, they will bite you wherever they meet you, they are such cursed curs — the present wits. Ac. Bite me ! what do you mean ? Pip. Why ! do not you know what biting is ? nay, you are in the right on it. However, one would learn it only to defend one’s self against men of wit, as one would know the tricks of play, to be secure against the cheats. But do not you hear. Acorn, that report, that some poten- tates of the alliance have taken care of them- selves exclusively of us ? Ac. How ! heaven forbid ! after all our glori- ous victories ; all the expense of blood and trea- sure ! Pip. Bite. Ac. Bite I how ? Trun. Nay, he has bit you fairly enough ; that is certain. Ac. Pox ! I do not feel it — How ? where ? [Exeunt Pip and Trimmer laughing. Ac. Ho ! Mr. Friendly, your most humble servant ; you heard what passed between those fine gentlemen and me. Pip complained to me, that he had been voweled ; and they tell me I am bit. Friend. You are to understand, sir, that sim- plicity of behaviour, which is the perfection of good breeding and good sense, is utterly lost in the world ; and in the room of it there are started a thousand little inventions, which men, barren of better things, take up in the place of it. Thus, for every character in conversation that used to please, there is an impostor put upon you. Him whom we allowed, formerly, for a certain pleasant subtilty, and natural way of giving you an unexpected hit, called a droll., is now mimicked by a biter, who is a dull fellow, that tells you a lie with a grave face, and laughs at you for knowing him no better than to believe him. Instead of that sort of compan- ion who could rally you, and keep his counte- nance, until he made you fall into some little inconsistency of behaviour, at which you your- self could laugh with him, you have the sneerer, who will keep you company from morning to night, to gather your follies of the day (which perhaps you commit out of confidence in him) and expose you in the evening to all the scorn- ers in towm. For your man of sense and free spirit, whose set of thoughts were built upon learning, reason, and experience, you have now an impudent creature made up of vice only, who supports his ignorance by his courage, and want of learning by contempt of it. Ac. Dear sir, hold : what you have told me already of this change in conversation is too miserable to be heard with any delight ; but, methinks, as these ne\i^ creatures appear in the world, it might give an excellent field to writers for the stage, to divert us with the repre- sentation of them there. Friend. No, no ; as you say, there might be some hopes of redress of these grievances, if there were proper care taken of the theatre ; but the history of that is yet more lamentable than that of the decay of conversation I gave you. Ac. Pray, sir, a little: I have not been in town these six years, until within this fort- night. Friend. It is now some time since several revolutions in the gay world had made the em- pire of the stage subject to very fatal convul- sions, which were too dangerous to be cured by the skill of little king Oberon,* * * § who then sat in the throne of it. The laziness of this prince threw him upon the choice of a person who was fit to spend his life in contentions, an able and profound attorney, to whom he mortgaged his whole empire. This Divitot is the most skilful of all politicians; he has a perfect art in being unintelligible in discourse, and uncomeatable in business. But he, having no understanding in this polite way, brought in upon us, to get in his mone}', ladder dancers, jugglers, and moun- tebanks, to strut in the place of Shakspeare’s heroes, and Jonson’s humorists. When the seat of wit was thus mortgaged without equity of redemption, an architect! arose, who has built the muse a new palace, but secured her no retinue ; so that, instead of action there, we have been put off by song and dance. This latter help of sound has also begun to fail for want of voices ; therefore the palace has since been put into the hands of a surgeon, who cuts any foreign fellow into a eunuch,§ and passes him upon us for a singer of Italy. Ac. I will go out of town to-morrow. Friend. Things are come to this pass ; and yet the world will not understand, that the theatre has much the same effect on the man- ners of the age, as the bank on the credit of the nation. VVit and spirit, humour and good sense, can never be revived, but under the go- vernment of those who are judges of such talents ; who know, that whatever is put up in their stead, is but a short and trifling expedient, to support the appearance of them for a season. It is possible, a peace will give leisure to put these matters under new regulations, but, at present, all the assistance we can see towards our recovery is as far from giving us help, as a poultice is from performing what can be done only by the grand elixir. Will's Coffee-house, May 6. According to our late design in the applauded verses on the morning,|l which you lately had from hence, we proceed to improve that just intention, and present you with other labours, made proper to the place in which they were written. The following poem comes from Co- penhagen, and is as fine a winter -piece as we have ever had from any of the schools of the most learned painters. Such images as these give us a new pleasure in our sight, and fix * ‘ Mr. Owen, or Mac Owen Swiney, was born in Ire- land, and formerly a manager of Drury-lane theatre, and afterwards of the Queens's theatre in the Haymarket. After leaving that office, he resided in Italy several years, and at his return, procured a place in the custom- house, and was keeper of the king's mews. He died Oct. 2, 1754, and left his fortune to Mrs. Woffington. He was the author of several dramatic pieces.’ t Christopher Rich, i Sir John Vanbrugh. § John James Hegdegger, esq. styled here a surgeon, in allusion to the employment assigned to him : he had at that time the direction of the operas, as he had after- wards of the masquerades. l(B y Swift. JNo. 13.] THE TATLER. 37 upon our minds traces of reflection, which ac- company us whenever the like objects occur. In short, excellent poetry and description dwell upon us so agreeably, that all the readers of them are made to think, if not write, like men of wit. But it would be injury to detain you longer from this excellent performance, wliich is addressed to the earl of Dorset by Mr. Philips, the author of several choice poems in Mr. Ton- son’s new Miscellany. Copenhagen, March 9, 1709. From frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, From streams that northern winds forbid to flow, What present shall the muse to Dorset bring. Or how, so near the pole, attempt to sing? The hoary winter here conceals from sight All pleasing objects that to verse invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods. The flowery plains, and silver-streaming floods. By snow disguised, in bright confusion lie. And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye. No gentle-breathing breeze prepares the spring, No birds within the desert region sing: The ships unmoved the boisterous winds defy, While rattling chariots o’er the ocean fly. The vast leviathan wants room to play. And spout his waters in the face of day. The starving wolves along the main sea prowl, And to the tnoon in icy valleys howl. For many a shining league the level main Here spreads itself into a glassy plain : There solid billows of enormous size, . Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise. And yet but lately have I seen, e’en here. The winter in a lovely dress appear. Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow. Or winds began through hazy skies to blow. At evening a keen eastern breeze arose; And the descending rain unsullied froze. Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew. The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view The face of nature in a rich disguise, And brightened every object to my eyes : For every shrub, and every blade of grass. And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass; In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorn’s show. While through the ice the crimson berries glow. The thick-sprung reeds the watery marshes yield Seem polished lances in a hostile held. The stag, in limpid currents, with surprise. Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise. The spreading oak, the beech, and towering pine. Glazed over, in the freezing aether shine. The frighted birds the rattling branches shun. That wave and glitter in the distant sun. When, if a sudden gust of wind arise. The brittle forest into atoms flies ; The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, And in a spangled shower the prospect ends ; Or, if a southern gale the region warm. And by degrees unbind the wintery charm. The traveller a miry country sees. And journeys sad beneath the drooping trees. Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads Through fragrant bowers, and through delicious meads ; While here enchanted gardens to him rise. And airy fabrics there attract his eyes. His wandering feet the magic paths pursue; And while he thinks the fair illusion true. The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air. And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear : A tedious road the weary wretch returns. And as he goes, the transient vision mourns. From my own Apartment, May 6. There has a mail this day arrived from Hol- land ; but the matter of the advices importing rather what gives us great expectations, than any positive assurances, I shall, for this time decline giving you what I know; and apply the following verses of Mr. Dryden, in the second part of ‘Almanzor,’ to the present cir- cumstances of things, without discovering what my knowledge in astronomy suggests to me : — Wlien empire in its childhood first appears, A watchful fate o’ersees its tender years: Till grown more strong it thrusts and stretches out. And elbows all the kingdoms round about. The place thus made for its first breathing free. It moves again for ease and luxury : Till, swelling by degrees, it has possest The greater space, and now crowds up the rest. When from behind there starts some petty state, And pushes on its now un wieldly fate : Then down the precipice of time it goes, And sinks in minutes, which in ages rose. No. 13.] Tuesday May 10, 1709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’ermen do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. From my own Apartment, May 8. Much hurry and business has to-day per- plexed me into a mood too thoughtful for going into company ; for which reason, instead of the tavern, I went to Lincoln’s Inn walks ; and, having taken a round or two, I sat down, ac- cording to the allowed familiarity of these places, on a bench ; at the other end of which sat a venerable gentleman, who, speaking with a very afl'able air, — ‘ Mr. Bickerstatf,’ said he, ‘ I take it for a very great piece of good fortune that you have found me out.’ ‘ Sir,’ said I, ‘ I had never, that I know of, the honour of seeing you before.’ ‘ That,’ replied he, ‘ is what I have often lamented ; but, I assure you, I have for many years done you good offices, without being observed by you ; or else, when you had any little glimpse of my being concerned in an affair, you have ffed from me, and shunned me like an enemy ; but, however, the part I am to act in the world is such, that I am to go on in doing good, though I meet with never so many repulses, even from those I oblige.’ This, thought I, shows a great good-nature, but little judgment in the person upon whom he confers his favours. He immediately took notice to me, that he observed by my countenance I thought him indiscreet in his beneficence, and proceeded to tell me his quality in the following manner : ‘ I know thee, Isaac, to be so well versed in the occult sciences, that I need not much preface, or make long preparations to gain your faith that there are airy beings who are employed in the care and attendance of men, as nurses are to infants, until they come to an age in which they can act of themselves. These beings are usually called amongst men, guar- dian-angels ; and, Mr. Bickerstaff, I am to ac- quaint you, that I am to be yours for some time to come ; it being our orders to vary our sta- tions, and sometimes to have one patient under our protection, and sometimes another, with a power of assuming what shape we please, to ensnare our wards into their own good. I have of late been upon such hard duty, and 38 THE TATLER. [No. 13. know you have so much work for me, that I think fit to appear to you face to face, to desire you will give me as little occasion for vigilance as you can.’ ‘ Sir,’ said I, ‘ it will be a great instruction to me in my behaviour, if you please to give me some account of your late employ, ments, and what hardships or satisfactions you have had in them, that I may govern myself accordingly.’ He answered, ‘ To give you an example of the drudgery we go through, I will entertain you only with my three last stations ; I was on the first of April last put to mortify a great beauty, with whom I was a week ; from her I went to a common swearer, and have been last with a gamester. When I first came to my lady, I found my great work was to guard well her eyes and ears ; but her flatterers were so numerous, and the house, after the modern way, so full of looking-glasses, that I seldom had her safe but in her sleep. Whenever we went abroad, we were surrounded by an army of enemies : when a well-made man appeared, he was sure to have a side glance of observation ; if a disagreeable fellow, he had a full face, out of mere inclination to conquests. But at the close of the evening, on the sixth of the last month, my ward was sitting on a couch, read- ing Ovid’s Epistles ; and as she came to this line of Helen to Paris, ‘ She half consents who silently denies entered Philander,t who is the most skilful of all men in an address to women. He is arrived at the perfection of that art which gains them, which is, ‘to' talk like a very miserable man, but look like a happy one.’ I saw Dictinna blush at his entrance, which gave me the alarm; but he immediately said something so agreea- bly on her being at study, and the novelty of finding a lady employed in so grave a manner, that he on a sudden became very familiarly a man of no consequence ; and in an instant laid all her suspicions of his skill asleep, as he had almost done mine, until I observed him very dangerously turn his discourse upon the ele- gance of her dress, and her judgment in the choice of that very pretty mourning. Having had women before under my care, I trembled at the apprehension of a man of sense who could, talk upon trifles, and resolved to stick to my post with all the circufnspection imaginable. In short, I prepossessed her against all he could say to the advantage of her dress and person ; but he turned again the discourse, where I found I had no power over her, on the abusing her friends and acquaintance. He allowed, indeed, that Flora had a little beauty, and a great deal of wit ; but then she was so ungainly in her be- haviour, and such a laughing hoyden ! — Pasto- rella had, with him, the allowance of being blameless ; but what was that towards being praise-worthy ? To be only innocent, is not to be virtuous ! He afterwards spoke so much against Mrs. Dipple’s forehead, Mrs. Prim’s mouth, Mrs. Dentrifice’s teeth, and Mrs. Fid- * This line occurs in a joint translation of ‘ Helen’s Epistle to Paris,’ by the Earl of Miilffrave and Dryden, in the edition of' Ovid’s Epistles,’ 1709. t Supposed to be lord Halifax. get’s cheeks, that she grew downright in love with him ; for, it is always to be understood, that a lady takes all you detract from the rest of her sex to be a gift to her. In a w’ord, things went so far, that I was dismissed, and she will remember that evening, nine months from the sixth of April, by a very remarkable token. The next, as I said, I went to, was a common swear- er : never was a creature so puzzled as myself, when I came first to view his brain : half of it was worn out, and filled up with mere expletives, that had nothing to do with any other parts of the texture ; therefore, when he called for his clothes in a morning, he would cry, ‘ John !’ — John does not answer. ‘ What a plague ! no- body there ? What the devil, and rot me, John, for a lazy dog as you are !’ I knew no way to cure him, but by writing down all he said one morning as he was dressing, and laying it be- fore him on the toilet when he came to pick his teeth. The last recital I gave him of what he said for half an hour before was, ‘ What, a pox rot me ! where is the wash-ball ? call the chair- men : damn them, I warrant they are at the alehouse already ! zounds, and confound them !’ When he came to the glass, he takes up my note — ‘ Ha ! this fellow is worse than I : — what, does he swear with pen and ink !’ But, reading on, he found them to be his own words. The stratagem had so good an effect upon him, that he grew immediately a new man, and is learning to speak without an oath, which makes him extremely short in his phrases ; for, as I observed before, a common swearer has a brain without any idea on the swearing side ; there- fore my ward has yet mighty little to say, and is forced to substitute some other vehicle of nonsense, to supply the delect of his usual ex- pletives. When I left him, he made use of ‘ Odsbodikins ! Oh me ! and never stir alive !’ and so forth ; which gave me hopes of his re- covery. So I went to the next I told 3mu of, the gamester. When we at first take our place about a man, the receptacles of the pericranium are immediately searched. In his I found no one ordinary trace of thinking ; but strong pas- sion, violent desires, and a continued series of different changes, had torn it to pieces. There appeared no middle condition ; the triumph of a prince, or the misery of a beggar, were his alternate states. I was with him no longer than one day, which was yesterday. In the morning at twelve, we were worth four thousand pounds ; at three, we were arrived at six thousand ; half an hour after, we were reduced to one thousand; at four of the clock, we were down to two hun- dred ; at five, to fifty ; at six, to five ; at seven, to one guinea ; the next bet, to nothing. This morning he borrowed half-a-crown of the maid who cleans his shoes ; and is now gaming in Lincoln’s Inn Fields among the boys for farth- ings and oranges, until he has made up three pieces, and then he returns to White’s into the best company in town.’ Thus ended our first discourse ; and, it is hoped, you will forgive me that I have pick^ so little out of my companion at our first inter- view, In the next, it is possible, he may tell me more pleasing incidents; for though he is a fa- miliar, he is not an evil spirit. No. 14.] THE TATLER. 39 St. James's Coffee-house, May 9. We hear from the Hag’ue, of the fourteenth instant, N. S. that monsieur de Torcy hath had frequent conferences with the grand pensioner, and the other ministers who were heretofore commissioned to treat with monsieur Rouille. The preliminaries of a peace are almost settled, and the proceedings wait only for the arrival of the duke of Marlborough ; after whose ap- probation of the articles proposed, it is not doubted but the methods of the treaty will be publicly known. In the mean time, the States have declared an abhorrence of taking any step in this great affair, but in concert with the court of Great Britain, and other princes of the alliance. The posture of affairs in France does necessarily oblige that nation to be very much in earnest in their offers ; and monsieur de Torcy hath professed to the grand pensioner, that he will avoid all occasions of giving him the least jealousy of his using any address in private conversation for accomplishing the ends of his embassy. It is said, that as soon as the preliminaries are adjusted, that minister is to return to the French court. The states of Hol- land have resolved to make it an instruction to all their men-of-war and privateers, to bring into their ports whatever neutral ships they shall meet with, laden with corn, and bound for France ; and, to avoid all cause of complaint ij from the potentates to whom these ships shall belong, their full demand for their freiglit shall be paid them there. The French Protestants , residing in that country have applied themselves ' to their respective magistrates, desiring that there may be an article in the treaty of peace, I which may give liberty of conscience to the I "! Protestants in France. Monsieur Bosnage, min- ! ister of the Walloon church at Rotterdam, has j been at the Hague, and hath had some confer- 1 ences with the deputies of the States on that subject. It is reported there, that all the French refugees in those dominions are to be natural- E ized, that they may enjoy the same good effects i of the treaty with the Hollanders themselves, in ' respect of France. Letters from Paris say, the people conceive great hopes of a sudden peace, from monsieur ' Torcey’s being employed in the negotiation ; he being a minister of too great weight in that court, j to be sent on any employment in which his mas- I ter would not act in a manner wherein he might ^ justly promise himself success. The French I advices add, that there is an insurrection in i Poictou, three thousand men liaving taken up arms, and beaten the troops which were ap- pointed to disperse them ; three of the muti- neers, being taken, were immediately executed ; and as many of the king’s party were used after . the same manner. ! Our late act of naturalization hath had so great an effect in foreign parts, that some prin- j cqs have prohibited the French refugees in their (dominions to sell or transfer their estates to any mher of their subjects; and, at the same time, have granted them greater immunities than I they hitherto enjoyed. It has been also thought necessary to restrain their own subjects from leaving their country on pain of death. No. 14.] Thursday, May 12, 1709. Quicqiiid ayiint homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. From my own Apartment, May 10. Had it not been that my familiar had ap- peared to me, as I told you in my last, in per- son, I had certainly been unable to have found even words without meaning, to keep up my intelligence with the town ; but he has checked me severely for my despondence, and ordered me to go on in my design of observing upon things, and forbearing persons ; for, said he, the age you live in is such, that a good picture of any vice or virtue will infallibly be misrep- resented ; and though none will take the kind descriptions you make so much to themselves, as to wish well to the author, yet all will resent the ill characters you produce, out of fear of their own turn in the licence you must be obliged to take, if you point at particular per- sons. I took his admonition kindly, and imme- diately promised him to beg pardon of the au- thor of the ‘ Advice to the Poets,’ for my raillery upon his work ; though I aimed at no more in that examination, but to convince him, and all men of genius, of the folly of laying themselves out on such plans as are below their characters. I hope too it was done without ill breeding, and nothing spoken below wliat a civilian (as it is allowed I am,) may utter to a physician.* After this preface, all the world may be safe from my writings; for, if I can find nothing to com- mend, I am silent, and will forbear the subject ; for, though I am a reformer, I scorn to be an inquisitor. It would become all men, as well as me, to lay before them the noble character of Verus the magistrate,! who always sat in triumph over, and contempt of, vice : he never searched after it, or spared it when it came before him : at the same time he could see through the hy- pocrisy and disguise of those, who have no pre- tence to virtue themselves, but by their severity to the vicious. The same Verus was, in times past, chief justice (as we call it amongst us,) in Fclicia.t He was a man of profound knowledge of the laws of his country, and as just an ob- server of them in his own person. lie consid- ered justice as a cardinal virtue, not as a trade for maintenance. Wherever he was judge, he never forgot that he was also counsel. The criminal before him was always sure he stood before his country, and, in a sort, a parent of it. The prisoner knew, that though his spirit was broken with guilt, and incapable of language to defend itself, all would be gathered from him which could conduce to his safety ; and that his judge would wrest no law to destroy him, nor conceal any that could save him. In this time there was a nest of pretenders to justice, who * Sir Richard Blackmore. tSir John Holt, lord chief justice in the reign of king William III. and for some years after that king's death. I Britain. 40 THE TATLER. [No. 14. happened to be employed to put things in a method for being examined before him at his usual sessions : these animals were to Verus, as monkeys are to men, so like, that you can hardly disown them ; but so base, that you are ashamed of their fraternity. It grew a phrase, ‘ Who would do justice on the justices ?’ That certainly would Verus. I have seen an old trial where he sat judge on two of them ; one was called Trick-track, the other Tear-shift : one was a learned judge of sharpers ; the other the quickest of all men at finding out a wench. Trick-track never spared a pick-pocket, but was a companion to cheats : Tear-shift would make compliments to wenches of quality, but certainly commit poor ones. If a poor rogue wanted a lodging. Trick-track sent him to gaol for a thief; if a poor whore went only with one thin petticoat. Tear-shift would im- prison her for being loose in her dress. These patriots infested the days of Verus, while they alternately committed and released each other’s prisoners. But Verus regarded them as crimi- nals, and always looked upon men as they stood in the eye of justice, without respecting whether they sat on the bench, or stood at the bar. Will's Coffee-house^ May 11. Yesterday we were entertained with the tragedy of the Earl of Essex* ; in which there is not one good line, and yet a play which was never seen without drawing tears from some part of the audience ; a remarkable instance that the soul is not to be moved by words, but things ; for the incidents in this drama are laid together so happily, that the spectator makes the play for himself, by the force which the circumstance has upon his imagination. Thus, in spite of the most dry discourses, and expres- sions almost ridiculous with respect to pro- priety, it is impossible for one unprejudiced to see it, untouched with pity. I must confess, this effect is not wrought on such as examine why they are pleased; but it never fails to appear on those who are not too learned in nature, to be moved by her first suggestions. It is certain, the person and behaviour of Mr. Wilks has no small share in conducing to the popularity of the play ; and when a handsome fellow is going to a more coarse exit than be- heading, his shape and countenance make every tender one reprieve him with all her heart, with- out waiting until she hears his dying words. This evening. The Alchymist was played.t This comedy is an example of Ben Jonson’s extensive genius, and penetration into the pas- sions and follies of mankind. The scene in the fourth act, where all the cheated people oppose the man that would open their eyes, has something in it so inimitably excellent, that it is certainly as great a master-piece as has ever appeared by any hand. The author’s great ad- dress in showing covetousness, the motive of the * By John Banks, 4to. 1685 ; the prologue and the epi- logue by Dryden. t ‘ The Alchymist’ was first acted in 1610, and pub- lished in 4to. the same year actions of the puritan, the epicure, the game- ster, and the trader ; and that all their endea- vours, how differently soever they seem to tend, centre only in that one point of gain, shows he had, to a great perfection, that discernment of spirit which constitutes a genius for comedy. White’s Chocolate-house, May 11. It is not to be imagined, how far the vio- lence of our desires will carry us towards our own deceit in the pursuit of what we wish for. A gentleman here this evening was giving me an account of a dumb fortune-teller* who out- does Mr. Partridge, myself, or the Unborn doc- tor,! for predictions ; all his visitants come to him full of expectations, and pay his own rate for the interpretations they put upon his shrugs and nods. There is a fine rich city-widow stole thither the other day (though it is not six weeks since her husband’s departure from her com- pany to rest,) and with her trusty maid de- manded of him, whether she should marry again, by holding up two fingers like horns on her forehead. The wizard held up both his hands forked. The relict desired to know, whether he meant, by his holding up both hands, to represent that she had one husband before, and that she should have another ? or, that he intimated she should have two more ? The cunning man looked a little sour, upon which Betty jogged her mistress, who gave the other guinea ; and he made her understand, she should positively have two more ; but shaked his head, and hinted that they should not live long with her. The widow sighed, and gave him the other half-guinea. After this prepos- session, all that she had next to do was to make sallies to our end of the town, and find out who it is her fate to have. There are two who fre- quent this place, whom she takes to be men of vogue, and of whom her imagination has given her the choice. They are both the appearances of fine gentlemen, to such as do not know when they see persons of that turn ; and, indeed they are industrious enough to come at that charac- ter, to deserve the reputation of being such. But this town will not allow us to be the things we seem to aim at, and is too discerning to be fobbed off with pretences. One of these pretty fellows fails by his laborious exactness ; the other, by his as much studied negligence. Frank Care- less, as soon as his valet has helped on and ad- justed his clothes, goes to his glass, sets his wig awry, tumbles his cravat; and, in short, un- dresses himself to go into company. Will Nice is so little satisfied with his dress, that all the time he is at a visit, he is still mending it, and is for that reason the more insufferable ; for he who studies carelessness has, at least, his work the sooner done of the two. The widow is dis- tracted whom to take for her first man ; for Nice is every way so careful, that she fears his length of days ; and Frank is so loose, that she has ap- * Duncan Campbell, said to be deaf and dumb, who practised at this time on the credulity of the vulgar, and pretended to predict fortunes by the second sight, &c. t The real name of the quack-doctor and man-midwife, who affected to be distinguished as ‘ unborn,’ was Kir- lens. No. 15.] THE TATLER. 41 prehensions for her own health with him. I am puzzled how to give a just idea of them ; but in a word, Careless is a coxcomb, and Nice a fop ; both, you will say, very hopeful candidates for a gay young woman just set at liberty. But there is a whisper, her maid will give her to Tom Ter- ror the gamester. This fellow has undone so many women, that he will certainly succeed if he is introduced ; for nothing so much prevails with the vain part of that sex, as the glory of deceiving them who have deceived others. Desunt multa. St. James's Coffee-house., May 11. Letters from Berlin, bearing date May the eleventh, N. S. inform us, that the birth-day of her Prussian majesty has been celebrated there with all possible magnificence ; and the king made her, on that occasion, a present of jewels to the value of thirty-thousand crowns. The marquis de Quesne, who has distinguished him- self by his great zeal for the Protestant interest, was, at the time of the despatch of these letters, at tliat court, soliciting the king to take care, that an article in behalf of the refugees, admit- ting their return to France, should be inserted in the treaty of peace. They write from Han- over, of the fourteenth, that his electoral high- ness had received an express from count Merci, representing how necessary it was to the com- mon cause, that he would please to hasten to the Rhine ; for that nothing but his presence could quicken the measures towards bringing the imperial army into the field. There are very many speculations upon the intended in- terview of the king of Denmark and king Au- gustus. The latter has made such preparations for the reception of the other, that it is said, his Danish majesty will be entertained in Saxony with much more elegance than he met with in Italy itself. Letters from the Hague, of the eighteenth instant, N. S. say, that his grace the duke of Marlborough landed the night before at the Brill, after having been kept out at sea, by adverse winds, two days longer than is usual in that passage. His excellency the lord Townshend, her majesty’s ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary to the States-general, was driven into the Veer in Zealand on Thursday last, from whence he eame to the Hague within a few hours after the arrival of his grace. The duke, soon after his coming to the Hague, had a visit from the pensioner of Holland. All things relative to the peace were in suspense until this inter- view ; nor is it yet known what resolutions will be taken on that subject ; for the troops of the allies have fresh orders despatehed to them, to move from their respective quarters, and march with all expedition to the frontiers, where the enemy are making their utmost ef- forts for the defenee of their country. These advices further inform us, that the marquis de Torcy had received an answer from the court of France, to his letters which he had sent thither by an express on the Friday before. ‘Mr. Bickerstaff has received letters from Mr. Colstaff, Mr. Whipstatf, and Mrs. Rebecca Wag staff ; all which relate chiefly to their being left out in the genealogy of the family lately published but my cousin _who writ that draught, being a clerk in the Herald’s office, and being at present under the displeasure of the chapter ; it is feared, if that matter should be touched upon at this time, the young gen- tleman would lose his place for treason against the king of arms. ‘ Castabella’s complaint is come to hand.’ No. 15.] Saturday, May 14, 1709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. From my own Apartment, May 12. I HAVE taken a resolution hereafter, on any want of intelligence, to carry my familiar abroad with me, who has promised to give me very proper and just notices of persons and things, to make up the history of the passing day. He is wonderfully skilful in the know- ledge of men and manners, which has made me more than ordinary curious to know how he came to that perfection, and I communicated to him that doubt. ‘ Mr. Pacolet,’ said I, ‘ I am mightily surprised to see you so good a judge of our nature and circumstances, since you are a mere spirit, and have no knowledge of the bodily part of us.’ He answered, smiling, ‘ You are mistaken ; I have been one of you, and lived a month amongst you, which gives me an exact sense of your condition. You are to know, that all, who enter into human life, have a certain date or stamen given to their being, which they only who die of age may be said to have arrived at ; but it is ordered some- times by fate, that such as die infants are, after death, to attend mankind to the end of that stamen of being in themselves, which was broke off by sickness or any other disaster. These are proper guardians to men, as being sensible of the infirmity of their state. You are philoso- pher enough to know, that the difference of men’s understandings proceeds only from the various dispositions of their organs ; so that he who dies at a month old, is in the next life as knowing, though more innocent, as they who live to fifty ; and after death, they have as per- fect a memory and judgment of all that passed in their lifetime, as I have of all the revolutions in that uneasy turbulent condition of yours ; and you would say I had enough of it in a month, were I to tell you all my misfortunes.’ ‘ A life of a month cannot have, one would think, much variety. But pray,’ said I, ‘ let us have your story.’ Then he proceeds in the following manner : ‘ It was one of the most wealthy families in Great Britain into which I was born, and it was a very great happiness to me that it so * See a humourous genealogical account of the Staf- fian family, No. 11. 42 THE TATLER. [No. 15. happened, otherwise I had still, in all proba- bility, been living ; but I shall recount to you all the occurrences of my short and miserable existence, just as, by examining into the traces made in my brain, they appeared to me at that time. The first thing that ever struck my senses was a noise over my head of one shriek- ing ; after which, methought, I took a full jump, and found myself in the hands of a sorceress, who seemed as if she had been long waking, and employed in some incantation : I was thoroughly frightened, and cried out ; but she immediately seemed to go on in some magi- cal operation, and anointed me from head to foot. What they meant, I could not imagine ; for there gathered a great crowd about me, crying, “An heir! an heir!” upon which I grew a little still, and believed this was a cere- mony to be used only to great persons, and such as made them, wliat they called heirs. I lay very quiet ; but the witch, for no manner of reason or provocation in the world, takes me, and binds my head as hard as possibly she could ; then ties up both my legs, and makes me swallow down a horrid mixture. I thought it a harsh entrance into life, to begin with taking physic ; but I was forced to it, or else must have taken down a great instrument in which she gave it me. When I was thus dressed, I was carried to a bod side where a fine young lady (my mother I wot) had like to have hugged me to death. From her, they faced me about, and there was a thing with quite another look from the rest of the company, to whom they talked about my nose. He seemed wonderfully pleased to see me ; but I knew since, my nose belonged to another family. That into which I was born is one of the most numerous amongst you ; therefore crowds of relations came every day to congratulate my arrival ; amongst others, my cousin Betty, the greatest romp in nature : she whisks me such a height over her head, that I cried out for fear of falling. She pinched me, and called me squealing chit., and threw me into a girl’s arms that was taken in to tend me. The girl was very proud of the womanly employment of a nurse, and took upon her to strip and dress me anew, because I made a noise, to see what ailed me : she did so, and stuck a pin in every joint about me. I still cried : upon which, she lays me on my face in her lap ; and, to quiet me, fell a-nailing in all the pins by clai)ping me on the back, and screaming a lullaby. But my pain made me exalt my voice above hers, w’hich brought up the nurse, the witch I first saw, and my grand- mother. The girl is turned down stairs, and I stripped again, as well to find what ailed me, as to satisfy my granam’s further curiosity. This good old woman’s visit was the cause of all my troubles. You are to understand, that I was hitherto bred by hand, and any body that stood next gave me pap, if I did but open my lips ; insomuch, that I was growing so cunning, as to pretend myself asleep when I was not, to pre- vent my being crammed. But my grandmother began a loud lecture upon the idleness of the wives of this age, who, for fear of their shapes, forbear suckling their own otfspring : and ten nurses were immediately sent for ; one was whispered to have a wanton eye, and would soon spoil her milk ; another was in a consump- tion ; the third had an ill voice, and would frighten me instead of lulling me to sleep. Such exceptions v/ere made against all but one country milch-wench, to whom I was com- mitted, and put to the breast. This careless jade was eternally romping with the footman, and downright starved me ; insomuch that I daily pined away, and should never have been relieved had it not been that, on the thirtieth day of my life, a Fellow of the Royal Society, who had writ upon Cold Baths, came to visit me, and solemnly protested, I was utterly lost for w^ant of that method :* upon which he soused me head and ears into a pail of water, where I had the good fortune to be drowned ; and so es- caped being lashed into a linguist until sixteen, running after wenches until twenty-five, and being married to an ill-natured wife until sixty : which had certainly been my fate, had not the enchantment between body and soul been broke by this philosopher. Thus, until the age I should have otherwise lived, I am obliged to watch the steps of men ; and, if you please, shall accompany you in your present walk, and get you intelligence from the aerial lacquey, who is in waiting, what are the thoughts and purposes of any whom you inquire for.’ I accepted his kind offer, and immediately took him with me in a hack to White’s. White's Chocolate-house., May 13. We got in hither, and my companion threw a powder round us, that made me as invisible as himself ; so that we could see and hear all others, ourselves unseen and unheard. The first thing w^e took notice of w^as a no- bleman of a goodly and frank aspect, with his generous birth and temper visible in it, playing at cards with a creature of a black and horrid countenance, w’herein were plainly delineated the arts of his mind, cozenage, and falsehood. They were marking their game with counters, on which we could see inscriptions, impercep- tible to any but us. My lord had scored with pieces of ivory, on which where writ ‘ Good Fame, Glory, Riches, Honour, and Posterity. The spectre over-against him had on his coun- ters the inscriptions of ‘ Dishonour, Impudence, Poverty, Ignorance, and want of Shame. ‘ Bless me !’ said I ; ‘ sure my Lord does not see what he plays for?’ ‘As well as I do,’ says Pacolet. ‘ He despises that fellow he plays with, and scorns himself for making him his companion.’ At the very instant he was speaking, I saw the fellow who played with my lord, hide two cards in the roll of his stocking : Pacolet immediately stole them from thence ; upon which the nobleman soon after won the game. The little triumph he appeared in, when he got such a trifling stock of ready money, though he had ventured so great sums with indiffer- ence, increased my admiration. But Pacolet *The Fellow of the Iv03-al Society here alluded to, was probably Sir John Flot er, Knight, M. D. who pub- lished. ‘ An Inquiry into the right use and abuses of the hot, cold, and temperate Baths in England, &c.'’ No. 16.] THE TATLER. 43 beg-an to talk to me. Mr. Isaac, tfiis to you looks wonderful, but not at all to us hig-her beings : that nobleman has as many good quali- ties as any man of his order, and seems to have no faults but what, as I may say, are excrescen- ces from virtues. He is generous to a prodi- gality, more affable than is consistent with his quality, and courageous to a rashness. Yet, after all this, the source of his whole conduct is (though he would hate himself if he knew it) mere avarice. The ready cash laid before the gamester’s counters makes him venture, as you see, and lay distinction against infamy, abun- dance against want ; in a word, all that is de- sirable against all that is to be avoided. How- ever, said I, be sure you disappoint the sharpers to night, and steal from them all the cards they hide. Pacolet obeyed me, and my lord went home with their whole bank in his pocket.’ Will's Coffee-house^ May 13. To-night was acted a second time a comedy called The Busy Body ; this play is written by a lady.* * In old times, we used to sit upon a play here after it was acted ; but now the enter- tainment is turned another way ; not but there are considerable men in all ages, who, for some eminent quality or invention, deserve the esteem and thanks of the public. Such a benefactor is a gentleman of this house ; who is observed by the surgeons with much envy, and is ranked among, and received by modern wits, as a great prompter of gallantry and pleasure. But, I fear, pleasure is less understood in this age, wdiieh so much pretends to it, than in any since the creation. It was admirably said of him who first took notiee, that (res est severa voluptas) ‘ there is a certain severity in pleasure.’ With- out that, all decency is banished ; and if reason is not to be present at our greatest satisfactions, of all the race of creatures, the human is the most miserable. It was not so of old ; when Virgil describes a wit, he always means a virtuous man ; and all his sentiments of men of genius, are such as show persons distinguished from the common level of mankind ; such as placed happiness in the contempt of low fears and mean gratifications ; fears wdiich we are subject to with the vulgar ; and pleasures which we have in common with beasts. With these illustrious personages, the wisest man was the greatest wit ; and none was thought worthy of that character, unless he answered this, excel- lent description of the poet. U'li metus omnes et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari. Firg.^ Georg, ii. 492. Happy the man, His mind possessing in a quiet state, Fearless of fortune, and resigned to fate. Dryden. St. James's Coffee-house, May 13. We had this morning advice that some En- glish merchant-ships, convoyed by the Bristol, * By Mrs. Susannah Centlivre, 1709, 4to. t Virgil seems to speak here as an Epicurean, and might probably allude to some lines in Lucretius, lib. iii. of fifty-four guns, were met with by a part of Monsieur du Gui Trouin’s squadron, who en- gaged the convoy. That ship defended itself until the English merchants got clear of the enemy ; but, being disabled, was herself taken. Within a few hours after, my lord Dursley* came up with part of his squadron, and, engaging the French, retook the Bristol (which, being very much shattered, sunk ;) and took the Glorieux, a ship of forty-four guns, as also a privateer of fourteen. Before this action, his lordship had taken two French merchant-men, and had, at the despatch of these advices, brought the whole safe into Plymouth. No. 16.] Tuesday, May 17, 1 709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, May 15. Sir Thomas,+ of this house, has showed me some letters from the Bath, which give accounts of what passes among the good company of that place ; and allow^ed me to transcribe one of them, that seems to be writ by some of sir Thomas’s particular acquaintance, and is as follows : May 9, 1709. ‘ Dear Knight, — I desire you would give my humble service to all our friends, which I speak of to you (out of method) in the very beginning of my epistle, lest the present disorders, by which this seat of gallantry and pleasure is torn to pieees, should make me forget it. You keep so good company, that you know Bath is stocked with such as come hither to be relieved from luxuriant health, or imaginary sickness ; and consequently is always as well stowed with gallants, as invalids, w'ho live together in a very good understanding. But the season is so early, that our fine company is not yet arrived ; and the warm bath, which in heathen times was dedicated to Venus, is now used only by snch as really want it for health’s sake. There are, however, a good many strangers, among whom are two ambitious ladies, who being both in the autumn of their life, take the opportunity of placing themselves at the head of such as we are, before the Chloe’s, Clarisso’s, and Pasto- rella’s come down. One of these two is exces- sively in pain, that the ugly being called Time, will make wrinkles in spite of the lead forehead cloth and therefore hides, with the gaiety of her air, the volubility of her tongue, and quick- ness of her motion, the injuries which it has done her. The other lady is but two years be- 37 and 995. It is only by Christianity that men can be trained to that elevation of soul, which the doctrine of Epicurus, on their ho- nour to fight at all themselves. Since that time the Modishes and the Smarts, throughout all Europe, have extolled the French king’s edict. Sir Mark. Our very pretty fellows, w'hom I take to be the successors of the very topping fellows, think a quarrel so little fashionable, that they will not be exposed to it by any other man’s vanity, or want of sense. Mr. Sage. But, colonel, I have observed in your aecounts of duels, that there was a great exactness in avoiding all advantage that might possibly be between the combatants. Col. Plume. That is true, sir ; for the wca- pons were always equal. Mr. Sage. Yes, sir ; but suppose an active adroit strong man had insulted an awkward or a feeble, or an unpractised swordsman ? Col. Plume. Then, sir, they fought with pistols. Mr. Sage. But, sir, there might bo a certain advantage that way ; for a good marksman will be sure to hit his man at twenty yards distance ; and a man whose hand shakes (which is com- mon to men that debauch in pleasures, or have not used pistols out of their holsters) will not venture to fire, unless he touches the person he shoots at. Now, sir, I am of opinion, that one can get no honour in killing a man, if one has it all rwg, as the gamesters say, when they have a trick to make the game secure, though they seem to play upon the square. Sir Mark. In truth, Mr. Sage, I think such a fact must be murder in a man’s own private conscience, whatever it may appear to the world. Col. Plume. I have known some men so nice that they would not fight but upon a cloak with pistols. Mr. Sage. I believe a custom well established would outdo the grand monarch’s edict. Sir Mark. And bullies would then leave off their long swords. But I do not find that a very pretty fellow can stay to change his sword when he is insulted by a bully with a long die go ; though his own at the same time be no longer than a pen-knife ; which will certainly be the case if such little swords are in mode. Pray, colonel, how was it between the hectors of your time, and the very topping fellows ? Col. Plume. Sir, long swords happened to be generally worn in those times. Mr. Sage. In answer to what you were say- ing, sir Mark, give me leave to inform you, that your knights-errant (who were the very pretty fellows of those ancient times) thought they could not honourably yield, though they had fought their own trusty weapons to the stumps ; but would venture as boldly with the page’s leaden sword, as if it had been of en- chanted metal. Whence I conceive, there must be a spice of romantic gallantry in the compo- sition of that very pretty fellow. Sir Mark. I am of opinion, Mr. Sage, that fashion governs a very pretty fellow ; nature or common sense, your ordinary persons, and sometimes men of fine parts. Mr. Sage. But what is the reason that men of the most excellent sense and morals, in other points, associate their understandings with the very pretty fellows in that chimera of a duel ? Sir Mark. There is no disputing against so great a majority. Mr. Sage. But there is one scruple, colonel Plume, and I have done. Do not you believe there may be some advantage even upon a cloak with pistols, which a man of nice honour would scruple to take ? Col. Plume. Faith, I cannot tell, sir ; but since one may reasonably suppose that, in such a case, there can be but one so far in the wrong as to occasion matters to come to that extremity, I think the chance of being killed should fall but on one ; whereas, by their close and desperate manner of fighting, it may very probably happen to both. 94 THE TATLER. Sir Mark. Why, gentlemen, if they are men of such nice honour, and must fight, there will be no fear of foul play, if they threw up cross or pile who should be shot. No. 40.] Tuesday, July 12, 1709. duicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. WiWs Coffee-house, July 11. Letters from the city of London give an ac- count of a very great consternation that place is in at present, by reason of a late inquiry made at Guildhall whether a noble person lias parts enough to deserve the enjoyment of the great estate of which he is possessed The city is apprehensive, that this precedent may go farther than was at first imagined. The person against whom this inquisition is set up by his relations, is a peer of a neighbouring kingdom, and has in his youth made some few bulls, by which it is insinuated, that he has forfeited his goods and chattels. This is the more astonishing, in that there are many per- sons in the said city who are still more guilty than his lordship, and who, though they are idiots, do not only possess, but have also them- selves acquired great estates, contrary to the known laws of this realm, which vests their pos- sessions in the crown. There is a gentleman in the coffee-house at this time exhibiting a bill in chancery against his father’s younger brother, who, by some strange magic, has arrived at the value of half a plumb, as the citizens call a hundred thou- sand pounds ; and in all the time of growing up to that wealth, was never known in any of his ordinary words or actions to discover any proof of reason. Upon this foundation my friend has set forth, that he is illegally master of his coffers, and has writ two epigrams to signify his own pretensions and sufficiency for spending that estate. He has inserted in his plea some things which I fear will give offence ; for he pretends to argue, that though a man has a little of the knave mixed with the fool, he is nevertheless liable to the loss of goods ; and makes the abuse of reason as just an avoid- ance of an estate as tlie total absence of it. This is what can never pass ; but witty men are so full of themselves, that there is no per- suading them ; and my friend will not be con- vinced, but that upon quoting Solomon, who al- ways used the word fool as a term of the same signification with unjust, and makes all devia- tion from goodness and virtue to come under the notion of folly ; I say, he doubts not, but by the force of this authority, let his idiot uncle ap- pear never so great a knave, he shall prove him a fool at the same time. This affair led the company here into an ex- amination of these points ; and none coming [No. 40. here but wits, v;hat was asserted by a young lawyer, that a lunatic is in the care of the chan- cery, but a fool in that of the crown, was re- ceived with general indignation. ‘ Why that V says old Renault. ‘ Why that ? Why must a fool be a courtier more than a madman ? This is the iniquity of this dull age. I remember the time when it went on the mad-side ; all your top-wits were scourers, rakes, roarers, and de- molishers of windows. I knew a mad lord, who was drunk five years together, and was the envy of that age, who is faintly imitated by the dull pretenders to vice and madness in this. Had he lived to this day, there had not been a fool in fashion in the whole kingdom.’ When Renault had done speaking, a very worthy man assumed the discourse : ‘ This is,’ said he, ‘ Mr. Bicker- staff, a proper argument for you to treat of in your article from this place ; and if you would send your Pacolet into all our brains, you would find, that a little fibre or valve, scarce discern- able, makes the distinction between a politician and an idiot. We should, therefore, throw a vail upon those unhappy instances of human nature, who seem to breathe without the direc- tion of reason and understanding, as we should avert our eyes with abhorrence from such as live in perpetual abuse and contradiction to these noble faculties. Shall this unfortunate man be divested of his estate, because he is tractable and indolent, runs in no man’s debt, invades no man’s bed, nor spends the estate he owes his children and his character ; when one who shows no sense above him, but in such practices, shall be esteemed in his senses, and possibly may pretend to the guardianship of him who is no ways his inferior, but in being less wicked ? We see old age brings us indifl ferently into the same impotence of soul, where- in nature has placed this lord.’ There is something very fantastical in the distribution of civil power and capacity among men. The law certainly gives these persons into the ward and care of the crown, because that is best able to protect them from injuries, and the impositions of craft and knavery ; that the life of an idiot may not ruin the entail of a noble house, and his weakness may not frus- trate the industry or capacity of the founder of his family. But when one of bright parts, as we say, with his eyes open, and all men’s eyes upon him destroys those purposes, there is no remedy. Folly and ignorance are punished ! folly and guilt are tolerated ! Mr. Locke has somewhere made a distinction between a mad- man and a fool : a fool is he that from right principles makes a wrong conclusion ; but a madman is one who draws a just inference from false principles. Thus the fool who cut off the fellow’s head that lay asleep, and hid it, and then waited to see what he would say when he awaked, and missed his head-piece, was in the right in the first thought, that a man would be surprised to find such an alteration in tilings since he fell asleep ; but he was a little mistaken to imagine he could awake at all after his head was cut off. A madman fancies himself a prince ; but, upon his mistake, he acts suitably to that character ; and though he is out in sup- * Richard, the fifth viscount Wenman. THE TATLER. 95 No. 41.] posing he has principalities, while he drinks gruel, and lies in straw, yet you shall see him keep the port of a distressed monarch in all his words and actions. These two persons are equally taken into custody : but what must be done to half this good company, who every liour ; of their life are knowingly and wittingly both i fools and madmen, and yet have capacities both of forming principles and drawing conclusions, with the full use of reason ? I i From my own Apart7nent, July 11. This evening some ladies came to visit my sister Jenny ; and the discourse, after very many frivolous and public matters, turned upon llie main point among the women, the passion of 1 love. Sappho, who always leads, on this occa- sion began to show her reading, and told us, that sir John Suckling and Milton had, upon a parallel occasion, said the tenderest things she ever read. ‘ The circumstance,’ said she, ‘ is such as gives us a notion of that protecting part, which is the duty of men in their honour- able designs upon, or possession of women. In ; Suckling’s tragedy of Brennoralt he makes the lover steal into his mistress’s bed-chamber, and draw the curtains ; then, when his heart is full of I her charms, as she lies sleeping, instead of be- ing carried away by the violence of his desires into thoughts of a warmer nature, sleep, which ! is the image of death, gives this generous lover reflections of a different kind, which regard rather her safety than his own passion. For, beholding her as she lies sleeping, he utters these words : : ‘ So misers look upon their gold, Which, while they joy to see, they fear to lose : The pleasure of the sight scarce equalling The jealousy of being dispossessed by others. Her face is like the milky way i’ th’ sky, A meeting of gentle lights without name !’ ‘ Heaven! shall this fresh ornament of the Avorld, These precious love-lines, pass with other common things Amongst the wastes of time ? what pity ’twerel’ ‘ When Milton makes Adam Ibaning on his arm, beholding Eve, and lying in the contem- plation of her beauty, he describes the utmost tenderness and guardian affection in one word: ‘Adam, with looks of cordial love, Hung over her enamoured.’ ‘ This is that sort of passion which truly de- , serves the name of love, and has something more 'I generous than friendship itself; for it has a ' constant care of the object beloved, abstracted I from its own interests in the possession of it.’ I Sappho was proceeding on the subject, when my sister produced a letter sent to her in the time of my absence, in celebration of the mar- riage state, which is the condition wherein only this sort of passion reigns in full authority. The epistle is as follows : ‘Dear Madam, — Your brother being absent, I dare take the liberty of writing to you my thoughts of that state, which our whole sex either is, or desires to be in. You will easily guess I mean matrimony, which I hear so much decried, that it was with no small labour I maintained my ground against two opponents ; but as your brother observed of Socrates, I drew them into my conclusion, from their own concessions ; thus : ‘ In marriago are two happy things allowed, A wife in wedding-sheets, and in a shroud. How can a marriage state then be accursed, Since the last day ’s as happy as the first ? ‘ If you think they were too easily confuted, you may conclude them not of the first sense, by their talking against marriage. — Yours, ‘ MARIANA.’ I observed Sappho began to redden at this epistle ; and turning to a lady, who was playing with a dog she was so fond of as to carry him abroad with her; ‘Nay,’ says she, ‘I cannot blame the men if they have mean ideas of our souls and affections, and wonder so many are brought to take us for companions for life, when they see our endearments so triflingly placed : for, to my knowledge, Mr. Truman would give half his estate for half the affection you have shown to that Shock : nor do I be- lieve you would be ashamed to confess, that I saw you cry, when he had the colic last week with lapping sour milk. What more could you do for your lover himself ?’ ‘What morel’ re- plied the lady, ‘ Tliere is not a man in England for whom I could lament half so much.’ Then she stiffed the animal with kisses, and called him beau, life, dear, monsieur, pretty fellow, and what not, in the hurry of her impertinence. Sappho rose up ; as she always does at any thing she observes done which discovers in her own sex a levity of mind that renders them incon- siderable in the opinion of ours. No. 41.] Thursday, July 14, 1709. Celebrare domestica facta To celebrate domestic deeds. White's Chocolate-house, July 12. There is no one thing more to be lamented in our nation, than their general affectation of every thing that is foreign : nay, we carry it so far, that we are more anxious for our own countrymen when they have crossed the seas, than when we see them in the same dangerous condition before our eyes at home : else how is it possible, that on the twenty-ninth of the last month there should have been a battle fought in our very streets of London, and nobody at this end of the town have heard of it? I pro- test, I, who make it my business to inquire after adventures, should never have known this, had not the following account been sent me in- closed in a letter. This, it seems, is the way of giving out orders in the Artillery-company ; and they prepare for a day of action with so little concern, as only to call it, ‘ An exercise of arms.’ ‘An Exercise at Arms of the Artillery-com- pany, to be performed on Wednesday, June the twenty-ninth, 1709, under the com- mand of Sir Joseph Woolfe, Knight and Alderman, General ; Charles Hopson, Es- 96 THE TATLER. [No. 41. quire, present Sheriff, Lieutenant-general ; Captain Richard Synge, Major ; Major John Shorey, Captain of Grenadiers ; Cap- tain William Gray hurst. Captain John Butler, Captain Robert Carellis, Captains. ‘ The body marched from the Artillery- ground, through Moorgate, Coleman-street, Lothbury, Broad-street, Finch-lane, Cornhill, Cheapsiide, St. Martin’s, St. Anne’s-lane, halt the pikes under the wall in Noble-street, draw up the firelocks facing the Goldsmiths’-hall, make ready and face to the left, and fire, and so ditto three times. Beat to arms, and march round the hall, as up Lad-lane, Gutter-lane, Honey- lane, and so wheel to the right, and make your salute to my lord, and so down St. Anne’s-lane, up Aldersgate-street, Barbican, and draw up in Red-cross-street, the right of St. Paul’s-alley in the rear. March off lieutenant-general with half the body up Beech-lane : he sends a sub- division up King’s-head-court, and takes post in it, and marches two divisions round into Red-lion-market, to defend that pass, and suc- cour the division in King’s-head-court ; but keeps in White-cross-street, facing Beech-lane, the rest of the body ready drawn up. Then the general marches up Beech-lane, is attacked, but forces the division in the court into the market, and enters with three divisions while he presses the lieutenant-general’s main body ; and at the same time the three divisions force those of the revolters out of the market, and so all the lieutenant-general’s body retreats into Chiswell-street, and lodges two divisions in Grub-street ; and as the general marches on, they fall on his flank, but soon made to give way : but having a retreating place in Red-lion- court but could not hold it, being put to flight through Paul’s-alley, and pursued by the gene- ral’s grenadiers, while he marches up and at- tacks their main body, but are opposed again by a party of men as lay in Black-raven-court ; but they are forced also to retire soon in the utmost confusion, and at the same time those brave divisions in Paul’s-alley ply their rear with grenadoes, that with precipitation they take to the route along Bunhill-row : so the general marches into the Artillery-ground, and being drawn up, finds the revolting party to have found entrance, and makes a show as if for a battle, and both armies soon engage in form, and fire by platoons.’ Much might be said for the improvement of this system ; which, for its style and inven- tion, may instruct generals and their historians, both in fighting a battle, and describing it when it is over. These elegant expressions, ‘ditto — and so — but soon — but having — but could not — but are — but they — finds the party to have found,’ &c. do certainly give great life and spirit to the relation. Indeed I am extremely concerned for the lieutenant-general, who, by his overthrow and defeat, is made a deplorable instance of the for- tune of war, and vicissitudes of human affairs. He, alas ! has lost, in Beech-lane and Chiswell- street, all the glory he lately gained in and about Holborn and St. Giles’s. The art of sub- dividing first, and dividing afterwards, is new and surprising; and, according to this method, the troops are disposed in King’s-head-court and Red-lion-market: nor is the conduct of these leaders less eonspicuous in their choice of the ground or field of battle. Happy was it, that the greatest part of the achievements of this day, was to be performed near Grub-street, that there might not be wanting a sufficient number of faithful historians, who, being eye-witnesses of these wonders, should impartially transmit them to posterity ! But then it can never be enough regretted, that we are left in the dark as to the name and title of that extraordinary hero, who commanded the divisions in Paul’s alley ; es- pecially because those divisions are justly styled brave, and accordingly were to push the enemy along Bunhill-row, and thereby occasion a general battle. But Pallas appeared in the form of a shower of rain, and prevented the slaugliter and desolation, which were threatened by these extraordinary preparations. Hi motus animoriim, atque haec certamina tanta Pluverisexigui jactu compressa quiescunt. Virg. Georg, iv. 86. Yet all those dreadful deeds, this doubtful fray, A cast of scattered dust will soon allay. Dryden. WilVs Coffee-house, July 13. Some part of the company keep up the old way of conversation in this place, which usually turned upon the examination of nature, and an inquiry into the manners of men. There is one in the room so ver}^ judicious, that he manages impertinents with the utmost dexterity. It was diverting this evening to hear a discourse be- tween 'him and one of these gentlemen. He told me, before that person joined us, that he was a questioner, who, according to his descrip- tion, is one who asks questions, not wnth a de- sign to receive information, but an affectation to show his uneasiness for want of it. He went on in asserting, that there are crowds of that modest ambition, as to aim no farther than to demonstrate that they are in doubt. By this time Will Whynot was sat dowm by us. ‘So, gentlemen, says he, ‘ in how many days, think you, will we be masters of Tournay ? Is the account of the action of the Vivarois to be de- pended upon ? Could you have imagined En- gland had so much money in it as you see it has produced ? Pray, sirs, what do you think ? Will the duke of Savoy make an irruption into France? But,’ says he, ‘time will clear all these mysteries.’ His answer to himself gave me the altitude of his head, and to all his ques- tions, I thus answered very satisfactorily. ‘ Sir, have you heard that this Slaughter- ford* never owned the fact for wdiich he died ! Have the newspapers mentioned that matter ? But, pray, can you tell me what method will be taken to provide for these Palatines ? But this, as you say, time will clear.’ ‘ Ay, ay,’ says^ he, and whispers me, ‘ they will never let us into these things beforehand.’ I whispered him again, ‘We shall know it as soon as there is a proclamation.’ — He tells me in the other ear, ‘ You are in the right of it.’ Then he whisper- ed my friend to know what my name was ; and * A man hanged for the murder of his sweetheart. i No. 42.] THE TATLER. 97 made an obliging bow, and went to examine another table. 7'his led my friend and me to weigh this wandering manner in many otlier incidents, and he took out of his pocket several little notes or tickets to solicit for votes to em- ployments : as, ‘ Mr. John Toplash having served all offices, and being reduced to great poverty, desires your vote for singing-clerk of this pa- rish.’ Another has had ten children, all whom his wife has suckled herself; therefore humbly desires to be a schoolmaster. There is nothing so frequent as this way of application for offices. It is not that you are fit for the place, but because tlie place would be convenient for you, that you claim a merit to it. But commend me to the great Kirlieus who has lately set up for midwifery, and to help child- birth, for no other reason, but that he is himself the ‘ Unborn Doctor.’ The way is, to hit upon something that puts the vulgar upon the stare, or touches their compassion, which is often the weakest part about us. I know a good lady, who has taken her daughters from their old dancing-master to place them with another, for no other reason but because the new man has broke his leg, which is so ill set, that he can never dance more. From my own Apartment, July 13. As it is a frequent mortification to me to re- ceive letters, wherein people tell me, without a name, they know I meant them in such and such a passage; so that very accusation is an argument, that there are such beings in human life, as fall under our description, and that our discourse is not altogether fantastical and groundless. But in this case I am treated as I saw a boy was the other day, who gave out pocky bills: every plain fellow took it that pass- ed by, and went on his way without further no- tice : and at last came one with his nose a little abridged, who knocks the lad down, with a ‘ Why, you son of a w” e, do you think I am p — d ?’ But Shakspeare has made the best apo- logy for this way of talking against the public errors : he makes Jacques, in the play called ‘As you like it,’ express himself thus : ‘ Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say, the city woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, AVhen such a one as she, such is her neighbour? Or, what is he of basest function. That says his bravery is not on my cost? Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech. There then! How then? Then let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him : If it do him right, Then he hath wrong’d himself: if he be free. Why then, my taxing, like a wild goose, flies Unclaim’d of any man.’ No. 42.] Saturday, July 16, 1709. Celebrare domestica facta. To celebrate domestic deeds. JV*. From my own Apartment, July 1.5. Looking over some old papers, I found a little treatise, written by my great-grandfather, con- N cerning bribery, and thought his manner of treating that subject not unworthy my remark. He there has a digression concerning a possi- bility, that in some circumstances a man may receive an injury, and yet be conscious to him- self that he deserves it. There are abundance of fine things said on the subject ; but the whole wrapped up in so much jingle and pun, which was the wit of those times, that it is scarce in- telligible; but I thought the design was well enough in the following sketch of an old gen- tleman’s poetry : lor in this case, where two are rivals for the same thing, and propose to obtain it by presents, he that attempts the judge’s ho- nesty, by making him offers of reward, ought not to complain when he loses his cause by a better bidder. The good old doggrel runs thus : ‘ A poor man once a judge besought, To judffe aright his cause. And with a pot of oil salutes This judger of the laws. “ My friend,” quoth he, “ thy cause is good:” He glad away did trudge : Anon his wealthy foe did come Before this partial judge. A hog well fed, this churl presents, And craves a strain of law ; — The hog received, — the poor man’s right Was judged not worth a straw. Therewith he cry’d, ” O! partial judge, Thy doom has me undone ; When oil I gave, my cause was good, But now to ruin run.” ” Poor man,” quoth he, “ I thee forgot, And see thy cause of foil ; A hog came since into my house. And broke thy pot of oil.” ’ WilVs Coffee-house, July 15. The discourse happened this evening to fall upon characters drawn in plays ; and a gentle- man remarked, that there was no method in the world of knowing the taste of an age, or period of time, so good, as by the observations of the persons represented in their comedies. There were several instances produced, as Ben Jen- son’s bringing in a fellow smoking, as a piece of foppery; ‘but,’ said the gentleman who en- tertained us on this subject, ‘ this matter is no where so observable as in the difference of the characters of women on the stage in the last age and in this. It is not to be supposed that it was a poverty of genius in Shakspeare, that his women made so small a figure in his dialogues ; but it certainly is, that he drew women as they then were in life ; for that sex had not in those days that freedom in conversation; and their characters were only, that they were mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives. There were not then among the ladies, shining wits, politicians, virtuosJB, free-thinkers, and disputants ; nay, there was then hardly such a creature even as a coquette : but vanity had quite another turn, and the most conspicuous woman at that time of day was only the best housewife. Were it possible to bring into life an assembly of ma- trons of that age, and introduce the learned lady Woodby into their company, they would not be- lieve the same nation could produce a creature so unlike any thing they ever saw in it. 98 THE TATLER. [No. 42. ‘ But these ancients would be as much asto- nished to see, in the same age, so illustrious a pattern to all who love things praise-worthy as the divine Aspasia.* Methinks I now see her walking in her garden like our first parent, with unaftected charms, before beauty had specta- tors, and bearing celestial conscious virtue in her aspect. Her countenance is the lively pic- ture of her mind, which is the seat of honour, truth, compassion, knowledge, and innocence. ‘ There dwells the scorn of vice, and pity too.’ ‘ In the midst of the most ample fortune, and veneration of all that behold and know her, without the least affectation, she consults retire- ment, the contemplation of her own being, and that supreme Power, which bestowed it. With- out the learning of schools, or knowledge of a long course of arguments, she goes on in a steady course of uninterrupted piety and virtue, , and adds to the severity and privacy of the last age, all the freedom and ease of this. The lan- guage and mien of a court she is possessed of in the highest degree ; but the simplicity and humble thoughts of a cottage are her more wel- come entertainments. Aspasia is a female phi- losopher, who does not only live up to the re- signation of the most retired lives of the ancient sages, but also to the schemes and plans which they thought beautiful, though inimitable. This lady is the most exact economist, without ap- pearing busy; the most strictly virtuous, with- out tasting the praise of it ; and shuns applause with as much industry as others do reproach. This character is so particular, that it will very easily be fixed on her only, by all that know her; but I dare say, she will be the last that finds it out. ‘But, alas ! if we have one or two such la- dies, how many dozens are there like the restless Poluglossa, who is a?cquainted with all the world but herself ; who has the appearance of all, and possession of no one virtue : she has, indeed, in her practice, the absence of vice, but her dis- course is the continual history of it ; and it is apparent, when she speaks of the criminal gra- tification of others, that her innocence is only a restraint, with a certain mixture of envy. She is so perfectly opposite to the character of Aspa:- sia, that as vice is terrible to her only as it is the object of reproach, so virtue is agreeable only as it is attended with applause.’ St. James's Coffee-house, July 15. It is now twelve of the clock at noon, and no mail come in ; therefore, I am not without hopes that the town will allow me the liberty which my brother news-writers take, in giving them what may be for their information in another kind, and indulge me in doing an act of friend- ship, by publishing the following account of goods and moveables. ’''The character of Aspasia was written by Mr. Con- greve; and the person meant, was lady Elizabeth Flast- ings. See the authority for this, with an edifying ac- count of this extraordinary lady, and her benefactions, in a book in folio, intituled ‘Memorials and Characters, &c.’ London, 1741, printed for John Welford, p. 780. This is to give notice, that a magnificent pa- lace, with great variety of gardens, statues, and water-works, may be bought cheap in Drury, lane, where there are likewise several castles to be disposed of, very delightfully situated; as also groves, woods, forests, fountains, and country seats, with very pleasant prospects on all sides of them ; being the moveables of Chris- topher Rich,* esquire, who is breaking up house- keeping, and has many curious pieces of furni- ture to dispose of, which may be seen between the hours of six and ten in the evening. THE INVEXTORY. Spirits of right Nantz brandy, for lamben flames and apparitions. Three bottles and a half of lightning. One shower of snow in the whitest French paper. Two showers of a browner sort. A sea consisting of a dozen large waves ; the tenthf bigger than ordinary, and a little damaged. A dozen and a half of clouds, trimmed with black, and well-conditioned. A rainbow, a little faded. A set of clouds after the French mode, streak- ed with lightning, and furbelowed. A new moon, something decayed. A pint of the finest Spanish wash, being all that is left of two hogsheads sent over last winter. A coach very finely gilt and little used, with a pair of dragons, to be sold cheap. A setting sun, a penny-worth. An imperial mantle, made for Cyrus the great, and worn by Julius Ca?sar, Bajazet, king Harry the Eighth, and signor Valentin i. A basket-hilted sword, very convenient to carry milk in. Roxana’s night-gown. Othello’s handkerchief. The imperial robes of Xerxes, never worn but once. A wild boar killed by Mrs. Tofts and Diocle- sian. A serpent to sting Cleopatra. A mustard-bowl to make thunder with. Another of a bigger sort, by Mr. D s’sl directions, little used. Six elbow chairs, very expert in country- dances, with six flower-pots for their partners. The whiskers of a Turkish bassa. The complexion of a murderer in a band-box; consisting of a large piece of burnt cork, and a coal-black peruke. A suit of clothes for a ghost, viz. a bloody shirt, a doublet curiously pinked, and a coat with three great eyelet-holes upon the breast. A bale of red Spanish wool. Modern plots, commonly known by the name of trap-doors, ladders of ropes, vizard-masques, and tables wdth broad carpets over them. *Drury-lane playhouse was about this time shut up by an order from the lord Chamberlain. See an account of this affair in C. Cibber's ‘Apology for his Life,’ vol. i. p. 296. I The Latin poets pretend that the tenth wave is the largest and most dangerous. t Mr. John Dennis, the celebrated critic, had just then invented his new mode of making thunder. No. 43.] THE TATLER. 99 Three oak-cudgels, with one of crab-tree ; all bought for the use of Mr. Pinkethman. Materials for dancing ; as masques, castanets, and a ladder of ten rounds. Aurengzebe’s scymitar, made by Will Brown in Piccadilly. A plume of feathers, never used but by Oedi- pus and the earl of Essex. There are also swords, halberds, slieep-hooks, cardinals’ hats, turbans, drums, gallipots, a gib- bet, a cradle, a rack, a cart-wheel, an altar, a helmet, a back-piece, a breast-plate, a bell, a tub, and a jointed-baby. These are the hard shifls we intelligencers are forced to ; therefore our readers ought to ex- cuse us, if a westerly wind, blowing for a fort- night together, generally fills every paper with an order of battle ; when we show our martial skill in every line, and according to the space we have to fill, we range our men in squadrons and battalions, or draw out company by compa- ny, and troop by troop ; ever observing that no muster is to be made but when the wind is in a cross-point, which often happens at the end of a campaign, when half the men are deserted or killed. The Courant is sometimes ten deep, his ranks close : the Postboy is generally in files, for greater exactness ; and the Postman comes down upon you rather after the Turkish way, sword in hand, pell-mell, without form or disci- pline; but sure to bring men enough into the field ; and wherever they are raised, never to lose a battle for want of numbers. No. 43.] Tuesday, July 19, 1709. ■ Bene nummatum decorat suadela, Venusque. Hor. The goddess of persuasion forms his train, And Venus decks the well-bemoneyed swain. Frayicis. White's Chocolate-house, July 18. I WRITE from hence at present to complain, that wit and merit are so little encouraged by people of rank and quality, that the wits of the age are obliged to run within Temple-bar for patronage. There is a deplorable instance of this kind in the case of Mr. D’Urfey, who has dedicated his inimitable comedy, called ‘ The Modern Prophets,’ to a worthy knight, to whom, it seems, he had before communicated his plan, which was, ‘ To ridicule the ridiculers of our established doctrine.’ I have elsewhere cele- brated the contrivance of this excellent drama ; but was not, until I read the dedication, wholly let into the religious design of it. I am afraid it has suffered discontinuance at this gay end of the town, for no other reason but the piety of the purpose. There is, however, in this epistle, the true life of panegyrical performance ; and f do not doubt but if the patron would part with it, I can help him to others with good preten- sions to it, viz ; of ‘ uncommon understanding,’ who will give him as much as he gave for it. I know perfectly well a noble person, whom these words (which are the body of the panegyric) would fit to a hair. ‘Your* easiness of humour, or rather your harmonious disposition, is so admirably mixed with your composure, that the rugged cares and disturbance that public affairs bring with it, which does so vexatiously affect the heads of other great men of business, &c. does scarce ever ruffle your unclouded brow so much as with a frown. And what above all is praise-worthy, you are so far from thinking yourself better than others, that a flourishing and opulent for- tune, which, by a certain natural corruption in its quality, seldom fails to infect other posses- sors with pride, seems in this case as if only providentially disposed to enlarge your humil- ity. ‘ But I find, sir, I am now got into a very large field, where, though I could with great ease raise a number of plants in relation to your merit of this plauditory nature ; yet for fear of an author’s general vice, and that the plain jus- tice I have done you should, by my proceeding, and others’ mistaken judgment, be imagined flattery, a thing the bluntness of my nature does not care to be concerned with, and wdiich I also know you abominate.’ It is wonderful to see how many judges of these fine tilings spring up every day by the rise of stocks and other elegant methods of abridging tlie way to learning and criticism. But I do hereby forbid all dedications to any persons within the city of London ; except sir Francis,t sir Stephen, and the Bank, wull take epigrams and epistles as value received for their notes; and the East-India company accept of heroic poems for their sealed bonds. Upon wfliich bottom our publishers have full power to treat with the city in behalf of us authors, to enable traders to become patrons and fellows of the Royal Society,! as well as to receive certain degrees of skill in the Latin and Greek tongues, according to the quantity of the commodities which they take off our hands. Grecian Coffee-house, July 18. The learned have so long laboured under the imputation of dryness and dullness in their ac- counts of the phenomena, that an ingenious gentleman of our society has resolved to write a system of philosophy in a more lively method, both as to the matter and language, than has been hitherto attempted. He read to us the plan upon which he intends to proceed. I thought his account, by way of fable, of the w'orlds about us, had so much vivacity in it, that I could not forbea.r transcribing his hypothesis, to give the reader a taste of my friend’s treatise, which is now in the press. ‘ The inferior deities, having designed on a day to play a game at foot-ball, kneaded to- * An extract from D’Urfey’s dedication, t Sir Francis and sir Stephen were evidently bankers of the times; and, of those, the two most eminent were sir Francis Child and sir Steplnm Evance. The latter was ruined, it is thought, in the South-sea year. f 3Ir. Whiston, alluded to in the following part of this paper, was at this time proposed as a member of the Royal Society, and rejected. The pretended account of his hypothesis that follows is mere pleasantry, and not a quotation from his book, or any true account of his ‘Theory.’ 100 THE TATLER. [No. 43. gether a numberless collection of dancing atoms into the form of seven rolling globes : and, that nature might be kept from a dull inactivity, each separate particle is endued with a principle of motion, or a power of attraction, whereby all the several parcels of matter draw each other proportionably to their magnitudes and distances, into such a remarkable variety of different forms, as to produce all the wmnderful appearances we now observe in empire, philosophy, and religion. But to proceed : ‘ At the beginning of the game, each of the globes, being struck forward with a vast violence, ran out of sight, and wandered in a straight line through the infinite spaces. The nimble deities pursue, breathless almost, and spent in tlie eager chace; each of them caught hold of one, and stamped it with his name; as Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, and so of the rest. To prevent this in- convenience for the future, tlie seven are con- demned to a precipitation, which in our inferior style we call gravity. Thus the tangential and centripetal forces, by their counter-strug- gle, make the celestial bodies describe an exact elipsis. ‘ There will be added to this an appendix, in defence of the first day of the term according to the Oxford almanack, by a learned knight^ of this realm, with an apology for the said knight’s manner of dress ; proving tliat liis ha- bit, according to tliis hypotliesis, is the true mo- dern and fashionable ; and tiiat buckles are not to be worn, by tliis system, until the tenth of March in the year 1714, which, according to the computation of some of our greatest divines, is to be the first year of the millenniian ; in which blessed age all habits will be reduced to, a pri- mitive simplicity; and whoever shall be found to have persevered in a constancy of dress, in spite of all the allurements of profane and hea- then habits, shall be rewarded with a never- fading doublet of a thousand years. All points in the system, which are doubted, shall be at- tested by the knight’s extemporary oath, for the satisfaction of his readers.’ Will's Coffee-hoiise, July 18. We were upon the heroic strain this evening,'- and the question was, ‘ What is the true sub- lime?’ Many very good discourses happened thereupon; after which a gentleman at the table, who is, it seems, writing on that subject, assumed the argument; and though he ran through many instances of sublimity from the ancient writers, said, ‘ he had hardly known an occasion wherein the true greatness of soul, which animates a general in action, is so well represented, with regard to the person of whom it was spoken, and the time in which it was writ, as in a few lines in a modern poem. There is, continued he, nothing so forced and constrained, as what we frequently meet with in tragedies ; to make a man under the weight of great sorrow, or full of meditation upon what * Sir William Wliitlocke, knt. member for Oxon, bencher of the Middle Temple, and queen’s serjeant. He is also alluded to under the name of ‘Dear Shoe- Etrinj^s,’ which it would seem that he wore instead of buckles, Taller, No. 33. he is soon to execute, cast about for a simile to what he himself is, or the thing which he is going to act : but there is nothing more proper and natural for a poet, whose business it is to describe, and who is spectator of one in that circum.stance, when his mind is working upon a great image, and that the ideas hurry upon his imagination — I say, there is nothing so natural, as for a poet to relieve and clear him- self from the burden of thought at that time, by uttering his conception in simile and metaphor. The highest act of the mind of man is to pos- sess itself with tranquillity in imminent danger, and to have its thoughts so free, as to act at that time without perplexity. The ancient authors have compared this sedate courage to a rock that remains immoveable a.midst the rage of winds and waves ; but that is too stupid and in- animate a similitude, and could do no credit to the hero. At other times they are all of them wonderfully obliged to a Lybian lion which may give indeed very agreeable terrors to a descrip- tion, but is no compliment to the person to whom it is applied: eagles, tigers, and wolves, are made use of on the same occasion, and very often with much beauty ; but this is still an honour done to the brute rather than the hero. Mars, Pallas, Bacchus, and Hercules, have eaqh of them furnished very good similes in their time, and made, doubtless, a greater impression on the mind of a heathen, than they have on that of a modern reader. But the sublime im- age that I am talking of, and which I really think as great as ever entered into the thought of man, is in the poem called ‘The Campaign ;’* w’here the simile of a ministering angel sets forth the most sedate and the most active cou- rage, engaged in an uproar of nature, a confu- sion of elements, and a scene of divine vengeance. Add to all, that these lines compliment the ge- neral and his queen at the same time, and have all the natural horrors heightened by the image that was still fresh in the mind of every reader :t “ ’Twas then creat Marlbro's miebty soul was proved. That, in the shock of chargin'; hosts unmoved, Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, E.xamined all the dreadful scenes of war ; In peaceful thoufflu the field of death surveyed, To faintin'; squadrons sent the timely aid. Inspired repulsed battalions to engage. And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. So when an ansel, by divine command. With rising temfiests shakes a euilty land. Such as of late o’er pale Britannia past, Calm and .serene he drives the furious blast; An.1. pleased th' Almighty's orders to perform. Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.” J ‘ The whole poem is so exquisitely noble and poetic, that I think it an honour to our nation and language.’ The gentleman concluded his critique on this work, by saying that ‘ he esteemed it wholly new% and a wonderful attempt to keep up the ordinary ideas of a marcli of an army, just as they happened, in so warm and great a style, and 5^et be at once familiar and heroic. Such a performance is a chronicle as well as a poem, * By Addison, published in 1T04. t The author alludes here to the terrible tempests which happened in November, 1703, and made sad ha- voc in England, and in several other places of Europe. J Psalm cslviii. 8. THE TATLER. 101 No. 44.] and will preserve the memory of our hero, vdien j all the edifices and statues erected to his honour are blended with common dust.’ No. 44.] Thursday, July 11 Qd- Nullis amor est medicabilis herbis. Ovid. No herb, alas ! can cure the pangs of love. White's Chocolate-house, July 19. This day passing through Covent-garden, 1 was stopped in the piazza by Pacolet, to observe what he called the triumph of love and youth. I turhed to the object he pointed at, and there 1 saw a gay gilt chariot, drawn by fresh prancing horses ; the coachman with a new cockade, and the lacqueys with insolence and plenty in their countenances. 1 asked immediately, ‘ What young heir or lover owned that glittering equi- page V But my companion interrupted : ‘ Do you see there the mourning ^Esculapius ?’* ‘The mourning?’ said I. ‘Yes, Isaac,’ said Pacolet, ‘ he is in deep .mourning, and is the languisiiing, hopeless lover of the divine Hebe,t the emblem of youth and beauty. The excel- lent and learned sage you behold in that furni- ture is the strongest instance imaginable, that love is the most powerful of all things. ‘ You are not so ignorant as to be a stranger to the character of Aesculapius, as the patron and most successful of all who profess the art of medicine. But as most of his operations are owing to a natural sagacity or impulse, he has very little troubled himself with the doctrine of drugs, but has always given nature more room to help herself, than any of her learned assist- ants ; and, consequently, has done greater won- ders than is in the power of art to perform : for which reason he is half deified by the people ; and has ever been justly courted by all the world, as if he were a seventh son. ‘ It happened, that the charming Hebe was reduced, by a long and violent fever, to the piost extreme danger of death ; and when all skill failed, they sent for iEsculapius. The re- nowned artist was touched with the deepest compassion to see the faded charms and faint bloom of Hebe ; and had a generous concern in beholding a struggle, not between life, but ra- ther between youth and death. All his skill and his passion tended to tlie recovery of Hebe, beautiful even in sickness ; but, alas ! the un- happy physician knew not that in all his care he was only sharpening darts for his own de- struction. In a word, his fortune was the same with that of the statuary, who fell in love with the image of his own making ; and the unfor- tunate jEsculapius is become the patient of her whom he lately recovered. Long before this disaster, jEsculapius was far gone in the unne- cessary and superfluous amusements of old age, in increasing unwieldy stores, and providing, in the midst of an incapacity of enjoyment of *This paper was written in ridicule of a love-affair which befei Dr. Radcliffe, who was at that time about sixty; he died November 1, 1714. aged sixty-four, t The lady’s real name was Miss Tempest. what he had, for a supply of more wants than he had calls for in youth itself. But these low considerations are now no more, and love has taken place of avarice, or rather is become an avarice of another kind, which still urges him to pursue what he does not want. But, behold the metamorphosis ; the anxious mean cares of a usurer are turned into the languishments and complaints of a lover. “ Behold,” says the aged A]lsculapius, “ I submit ; I own, great love, thy empire; pity, Hebe, the fop which you have made. What have I to w'ith gilding but on pills? Yet, O fair! for thee I sit amidst a crowd of painted deities on my chariot, button- ed in gold, clasped in gold, without having any value for that beloved metal, but as it adorns the person, and laces the hat of thy dying lover. I ask not to live, O Hebe ! give me but gentle death : Euixva but eight days. | No. 45.] Saturday, July 23, 1709. I Credo pudicitiam Saturno rege moratam W In terris Juv. Sat. vi. i. In Saturn’s reign, at nature’s early birth. There was that thing called chastity, on earth. Dryden. White's Chocolate-house, July 22. The other day I took a walk a mile or two out of town, and strolling wherever chance led me, I was insensibly carried into a by-road, along which was a very agreeable quickset of an extraordinary height, which surrounded a very delicious seat and garden. From one angle of the hedge, I heard a voice cry, ‘ Sir, sir !’ — This raised my curiosity, and I heard the same voice say, but in a gentle tone, ‘ Come forward, come forward !’ I did so, and one through the hedge called me by my name, and bid me go on to the left, and I should be admitted to visit an old acquaintance in distress. The laws of kniglit-errantry made me obey the summons i i THE TATLER. 103 No. 45.] without hesitation ; and I was let in at the back gate of a lovely house by a maid-servant, who carried me from room to room until I came into a gallery ; at the end of which, I saw a fine lady dressed in the most sumptuous habit, as if she were going to a ball, but with the most abject and disconsolate sorrow in her face that I ever beheld. As I came near, she burst into tears, and cried, ‘ Sir, do not you know the unhappy Teraminta V I soon recollected her whole per- son : ‘ But,’ said I, ‘ madam, the simplicity of dress, in which I have ever seen you at your good father’s house, and the cheerfulness of countenance with which you always appeared, are so unlike the fashion and temper you are now in, that I did not easily recover the me- mory of you. Your habit was then decent and modest, your looks serene and beautiful : whence then this unaccountable change ? Nothing can speak so deep a sorrow as your present aspect ; yet your dress is made for jollity and revelling !’ — ‘It is,’ said she, ‘an unspeakable pleasure to meet with one I know, and to bewail myself to any that is not an utter stranger to humanity. ‘ When your friend my father died, he left me to a wide world with no defence against the in- sults of fortune ; but rather, a thousand snares to entrap me in the dangers to which youth and innocence are exposed, in an age wherein ho- nour and virtue are become mere words, and used only as they serve to betray those who un- derstand them in their native sense, and obey them as the guides and motives of their being. The wickedest of all men livitjg, the abandoned Decius, who has no knowledge of any good art or purpose of human life, but as it tends to the satisfaction of his appetites, had opportunities of frequently seeing and entertaining me at a house where mixed company boarded, and where he placed himself for the base intention which he has since brought to pass. Decius saw enough in me to raise his brutal desires, and my circumstances gave him hopes of ac- complishing them. But all the glittering ex- pectations he could lay before me, joined by my private terrors of poverty itself, could not for some months prevail upon me; yet, however I hated his intention, I still had a secret satisfac- tion in his courtship, and always exposed my- self to his solicitations. See here the bane of our sex ! Let the flattery be never so apparent, the flatterer never so ill thought of, his praises are still agreeable, and we contribute to our own deceit. I was, therefore, ever fond of all opportunities and pretences of being in his company. In a word, I was at last ruined by him, and brought to this place, where I have been ever since immured; and from the fatal day after my fall from innocence, my worshipper became my master and my tyrant. Thus, you see me habited in the most gorge- ous manner, not in honour of me as a woman he loves, but as this attire charms his own eye, and urges him to repeat the gratification he takes in me, as the servant of his brutish lusts and appetites. I know not where to fly for re- dress ; but am here pining away life in the solitude and severity of a nun, but the con- science and guilt of a harlot. I live in this lewd practice with a religious awe of my minis- ter of darkness, upbraided with the support I receive from him, for the inestimable possession of youth, of innocence, of honour, and of con- science. I see, sir, my discourse grows pain- ful to you ; all I beg of you is, to paint it in so strong colours, as to let Decius see I am discovered to be in his possession, that I may be turned out of this detestable scene of regular iniquity, and either think no more, or sin no more. If your writings have the good effect of gaining my enlargement, I promise you I will atone for this unhappy step, by pre- ferring an innocent laborious poverty, to all the guilty affluence the world can offer me.’ WiWs Coffee-house, July 21. To show that I do not bear an irreconcileable hatred to my mortal enemy, Mr. Bowel, at Bath, I do his function* the honour to publish to the world, that plays represented by pup- pets are permitted in our universities, and that sort of drama is not wholly thought unworthy the critique of learned heads ; but, as I have been conversant rather with the greater ode, as I think the critics call it, I must be so hum- ble as to make a request to Mr. Bowel, and de- sire him to apply his thoughts to answering the difficulties with which my kinsman, the author of the following letter, seems to be embarrassed. ‘ To MY HONOURED KINSMAN, ISAAC BiCKERSTAFF, Esquire. From Mother Gourclon’s at Hedington,t near Oxon, June 16. ‘ Dear Cousin, — Had the family of the Bea- dlestaffs, whereof I, though unworthy, am one, known of your being lately at Oxon, we had in our own name, and in the university’s, as it is our office, made you a compliment : but your short stay here robbed us of an opportunity of paying our due respects, and you of receiving an ingenious entertainment, with which we at present divert ourselves and strangers. A pup- pet-show at this time supplies the want of an act. And since the nymphs of this city are disappointed of a luscious music-speech, and the country ladies of hearing their sons or brothers speak verses ; yet the vocal machines, like them, by the help of a prompter, say things as much to the benefit of the audience, and almost as properly their own. The licence of a Terrce- Filius is refined to the well-bred satire of Bunche- nello. Now, cousin Bickerstaff, though Bunch has neither a French nightcap, nor long pockets, yet you must own him to be a Bretty Fellow, a very Bretty Fellow ; nay, since he seldom leaves the company without calling son of a whore, demand- ing satisfaction, and duelling, he must be owned a Smart Fellow, too. Yet, by some indecencies towards the ladies, he seems to be of a third character, distinct from any you have yet touched upon. A young gentleman who sat next me (for I had the curiosity of seeing this enter tain- *An allusion to Offspring Blackall’s being a bishop. The university of Oxford declared publicly in favour of his lordship, and his doctrine of passive obedience. t A village near Oxford; where Dr. King takes the scene of his droll tragi comedy, called ‘ Joan of Heding ton.’ 104 THE TATLER. [No. 45. merit) in a tufted gown, red stockings, and long wig (which I pronounce to be tantamount to red heels, and a dangling cane) was enraged when Punchenello disturbed a soft love-scene with his ribaldry. You would oblige us mightily by laying down some rules for adjusting the ex- travagant behaviour of this Almanzor of the play, and by writing a treatise on this sort of dramatic poetry, so much favoured, and so little under- stood, by the learned world. ‘From its being conveyed in a cart, after the Thespian manner, all the parts being recited by one person, as the custom was before Hils- chylus, and from the behaviour of Punch, as if he had won the goat, you may possibly deduce its antiquity, and settle the chronology, as well as some of our modern critics. In its natural transitions from mournful to merry ; as from the hanging of a lover to dancing upon the rope ; from the stalking of a ghost to a lady’s presenting you with a jig, you may discover such a decorum, as is not to be found elsewhere than in our tragi-comedies. But I forgot my- self ; it is not for me to dictate : I thought fit, dear cousin, to give you these hints, to show you that the Eeadlestaffs do not walk before men ofletters to no purpose ; and that though we do but hold up the train of arts and sciences, yet, like other pages, we are now and then let into our ladies’ secrets. I am your affectionate kinsman, ‘BENJAMIN BEADLESTAFF.’ Fram my own Apartment, July 22. I am got hither safe, but never spent time with so little satisfaction as this evening ; for you must know, I was five hours with three merry, and two honest, fellows. The former, sang catches; and the latter even died with laughing at the noise they made. ‘Well,’ says j Tom Bellfrey, ‘ you scholars, Mr. Bickerstaff, j are the worst company in the world.’ — ‘ Ay,’ says his opposite, ‘you are dull to-night; pr’y- thee be merry.’ With that I huzzaed, and took a jump cross the table, then came clever upon my legs, and fell a-laughing. ‘ Let Mr. Bickerstaff alone,’ says one of the honest fel- lows ; ‘ when he is in a good humour, he is as good company as any man in England.’ He had no sooner spoke, but I snatched his hat off his head, and clapped it upon my own, and burst out a-laughing again ; upon which we all fell a-laughing for half an hour. One of the honest fellows got behind rne in the interim, and hit me a sound slap on the back ; upon which he got the laugh out of my hands ; and it was such a twang on my shoulders, that I confess he was much merrier than I. I was half angry ; but resolved to keep up the good hu- mour of the company ; and after hallooing as loud as I could possibly, I drank off a bumper of claret, that made me stare again. ‘Nay,’ says one of the honest fellows, ‘ Mr. Isaac is in the right; there is no conversation in this ; what signifies jumping, or hitting one another on the back? let us drink about.’ We did so from seven of the clock until eleven ; and now I am come hither, and, after the manner of the wise Pythagoras, begin to reflect upon tlie passages of the day. I remember nothing but that I am ». bruised to death ; and as it is my way to write | down all the good things I have heard in the t last conversation, to furnish my paper, I can from this only tell you my sufferings and my bangs. I named Pythagoras just now; and I protest to you, as he believed men after death entered into other species, I am now and then tempted m to think other animals enter into men, and could ^ name several on two legs, that never discover any sentiments above what is common with the species of a lower kind ; as we see in these bodily wits with whom I was to-night, whose parts consist in strength and activity ; but their bois- terous mirth gives me great impatience for the J return of such happiness as I enjoyed in a con- | versation last week. Among others in that % company we had Florio, who never interrupted i any man living when he was speaking ; or ever » ceased to speak, but others lamented that he had i done. His discourse ever rises from the fulness * of the matter before him, and not from osten- : tation or triumph of his understanding; for though he seldom delivers what he need fear being repeated, he speaks without having that i end in view ; and his forbearance of calumny or bitterness is owing rather to his good-nature j than his discretion ; for which reason he is esteemed a gentleman perfectly qualified for conversation, in whom a general good-will to mankind takes off the necessity of caution and : circumspection. We had at the same time that evening, the best sort of companion that can be ; a good-na- / tured old man. This person, in the company i of young men, meets with veneration for his i benevolence ; and is not only valued for the good ■ qualities of which lie is niaster, but reaps an | acceptance from the pardon ho gives to other i men’s faults : and the ingenious sort of men with >| whom he converses, have so just a regard for 1 him, that he rather is an example, than a check, ■ to their behaviour. For this reason, as Senecio I never pretends to be a man of pleasure before ■ youth, so young men never set up for wisdom B before Senecio ; so that you never meet, where ■ he is, those monsters of conversation, who are I grave or gay above their years. He never con- .If verses but with followers of nature and good ' sense, where all that is uttered is only the effect i of a communicable temper, and not of emulation A to excel their companions ; all desire of supe- ■ riority being a contradiction to that spirit which ■ makes a just conversation, the very essence of # which is mutual good-will. Hence it is, that I I take it for a rule, that the natural, and not the i * acquired man, is the companion. Learning, wit, gallantry, and good breeding, are all but subordinate qualities in society, and are of no value, but as they are subservient to benevolence, j. and tend to a certain manner of being or appear- A ing equal to the rest of the company ; for con- ^ versation is composed of an assembly of men, as they are men, and not as they are distinguished by fortune : therefore he who brings his quality > with him into conversation, should always pay the reckoning ; for he came to receive homage, < and not to meet his friends. But the din about ( my ears from the clamour of the people I was ^ \ No. 46.] THE TATLER. 105 with this evening, has carried me beyond my intended purpose, whieh was to explain upon the order of merry fellows ; but I think I may pronounee of them, as I heard good Seneeio, with a spiee of the wit of the last age, say, viz. ‘ That a merry fellow is the saddest fellow in the world.’ No. 46.] Tuesday, July 26, 1 709. Non bene conveniunt, nec in una scde morantur, Majestas et amor. Ovid. Met. ii. 88. Love but ill agrees with kingly pride. White's Chocolate-house, July 25. We see every day volumes written against that tyrant of human life called Love ; and yet there is no help found against his cruelties, or barrier against the inroads he is pleased to make into the mind of man. After this preface, you will expect I am going to give particular in- stances of what I have asserted. Tliat expecta- tion cannot be raised too high for the novelty of the history and manner of life of the emperor Aurengezebe,* wlio has resided for some years in the cities of London and Westminster, with the air and mien indeed of his imperial quality, but the equipage and appointment only of a private gentleman. This potentate, for a long series of time, appeared from the hour of twelve until that of two at a coffee-house near the Ex- change, and had a seat (though without a canopy) sacred to himself, where he gave diurnal audi- ences eoncerning commerce, politics, tare and tret, usury and abatement, with all things neces- sary for helping the distressed, who are willing to give one limb for the better maintenance of the rest ; or sueh joyous youths, whose philoso- phy is confined to the present hour, and were desirous to call in the revenue of the next half- year to double the enjoyment of this. Long did this growing monarch employ himself after this manner : and, as alliances are necessary to all great kingdoms, he took particularly the inter- ests of Lewis the XIVth into his care and pro- tection. When all mankind were attacking that unhappy monarch, and those who had nei- ther valour nor wit to oppose against him would be still showing their impotent malice, by lay- ing wagers in opposition to his interests, Au- rengezebe ever took the part of his contemporary, and laid immense treasures on his side, in de- fence of his important magazine of Toulon. Aurengezebe also had all this while a constant intelligence with India ; and his letters were answered in jewels, which he soon made bril- liant, and caused to be affixed to his imperial castor, wliich he always wears cocked in front, to show his defiance ; with a heap of imperial snuff in the middle of his ample visage, to show his sagacity. The zealots for this little spot called Great Britain, fell universally into this emperor’s policies, and paid homage to his su- perior genius, in forfeiting their coffers to his , treasury. This name has been applied to a very celebrated East-Indian governor of that time. See more of Au- rengezebe in Tattler, No. 50. O But wealth and wisdom are possessions too solemn not to give weariness to active minds, without the relief (in vacant hours) of wit and love, which are the proper amusements of the powerful and the w'ise. This emperor, therc- Ibre, with great regularity, every day at five in the afternoon, leaves his money-changers, his publicans, and little hoarders of wealth, to their low pursuits, and ascends his chariot, to drive to Will’s ; where the taste is refined, and a relish given to men’s possessions, by a polite skill in gratifying their passions and appetites. There it is that the emperor has learned to live and to love, and not, like a miser, to gaze only on his ingots or his treasures ; but, with a nobler satis- faction, to live the admiration of others, for his splendour and happiness in being master of them. But a prince is no more to be his own caterer in his love, than in his food ; therefore Aurenge- zebe has ever in waiting two purveyors for his dishes, and his wrenches for his retired hours, by whom the scene of his diversion is prepared in the following manner : There is near Covent-garden a street known by the name of Drury, which, before the days of Christianity, was purchased by the queen of Paphos, and is the only part of Great Britain w'here the tenure of vassalage is still in being. All that long course of building is under par- ticular districts or ladj^ships, after the manner of lordships in other parts, over which matrons of known abilities preside, and have, for the support of their age and infirmities, certain taxes paid out of the rewards of the amorous labours of the young. This seraglio of Great Britain is disposed into convenient alleys and apartments, and every house, from the cellar to tlic garret, inhabited by nymphs of different or- ders, that persons of every rank may be accom- modated with an immediate consort, to allay their flames, and partake of their cares. Here it is that, when Aurengezebe thinks fit to give a loose to dalliance, the purveyors prepare the entertainment ; and what makes it more august is, that every person concerned in the interlude has his set part, and the prince sends, before- hand, w'ord what he designs to say, and directs also the very answer wdiich shall be made to him. It has been before hinted, that this emperor has a continual commerce with India ; and it is to be noted, that the largest stone that rich earth has produced, is in our Aurengezebe’s pos- session. But all things are now disposed for his recep- tion. At his entrance into the seraglio, a ser- vant delivers him his beaver of state and love, on which is fixed this inestimable jewel as his diadem. When he is seated, the purveyors, Pandarus and Nuncio, marching on each side of the matron of the house, introduce her into his presence. In the midst of the room, they bow'^ all together to the diadem. When the ma- tron — ‘ Whoever thou art, as thy awful aspect speaks thee a man of power, be propitious to this man- sion of love, and let not the severity of thy wis- dom disdain, that by the representation of naked innocence, or pastoral figures, we revive in thee the memory at least of that power of Venus, to which all the wise and the brave are some part 106 THE TATLER. [No. 46. of their lives devoted.’ Aurengezebe consents by a nod, and they go out backward.’ After this, an unhappy nymph, who is to be supposed just escaped from the hands of a ra- visher, with her tresses dishevelled, runs into the room with a dagger in her hand, and falls before the emperor. ‘ Pity, oh ! pity, whoever thou art, an unhappy virgin, whom one of thy train has robbed of her innocence; her innocence, which was all her portion Or rather, let me die like the me- morable Lucretia.’ — Upon which she stabs her- self. The body is immediately examined after the manner of our coroners. Lucretia recovers by a cup of right Nantz ; and the matron, who is her next relation, stops all process at law. This unhappy affair is no sooner over, but a naked mad woman breaks into the room, calls for her duke, her lord, her emperor. As soon as she spies Aurengezebe, the object of all her fury and love, she calls for petticoats, is ready to sink with shame, and is dressed in all haste in new attire at his charge. This unexpected accident of the mad woman, makes Aurengezebe curious to know, whether others who are in their senses can guess at his quality. For which rea- son, the whole convent is examined one by one. The matron marches in with a tawdry country girl ‘ Pray, Winifred,’ says she,’ who do you think that fine man with those jewels and pearls is?’ ‘I believe,’ says Winifred, ‘it is our landlord It must be the esquire himself.’ The emperor laughs at her simplicity ‘ Go, fool,’ says the matron : then turning to the em- peror ‘ Your greatness will pardon her igno- rance!’ After her, several others of difterent characters are instructed to mistake who he is, in the same manner : then the whole sisterhood are called together, and the emperor rises, and cocking his hat, declares, he is the great mogul, and they his concubines. A general murmur goes through the whole assembly ; and Aurenge- zebe, certifying that he keeps them for state rather than use, tells them, they are permitted to receive all men into their apartments ; then proceeds through the crowd, among whom he throws medals shaped like half-crowns, and re- turns to his chariot. This being all that passed the last day in which Aurengezebe visited the women’s apart- ments, I consulted Pacolet concerning the foun- dation of such strange amusements in old age : to which he answered, ‘You may remember, when I gave you an account of my good fortune in being drowned on the tliirtieth day of my human life, I told you of the disasters I should otherwise have met with before I arrived at the end of my stamen, which was sixty years. I may now add an observation to you, that all who exceed that period, except the latter part of it is spent in the exercise of virtue and con- templation of futurity, must necessarily fall into an indecent old age ; because, with regard to all the enjoyments of the years of vigour and man- hood, childhood returns upon them : and as in- fants ride on sticks, build houses in dirt, and make ships in gutters, by a faint idea of things they are to act hereafter ; so old men play the lovers, potentates, and emperors, for the decay- ing image of the more perfect performances of their stronger years : therefore, be sure to insert jEsculapius and Aurengezebe in your next bill of mortality of the metaphorically defunct.’ WilVs Coffee-house, July 24. As soon as I came hither this evening, no less than ten people produced the following poem, which they all reported was sent to each of them by the penny -post from an unknown hand. All the battle-writers in the room were in debate, who could be the author of a piece so martially written ; and every body applauded the address and skill of the author, in calling it a postscript: it being the nature of a postscript to contain something very material which was forgotten, or not clearly expressed in the letter itself. Thus the verses being occasioned by a march without beat of drum, and that circum- stance being nowise taken notice of in any of the stanzas, the author calls it a postscript; not that it is a postscript, but figuratively because it wants a postscript. Common writers, when what they mean is not expressed in the book itself, supply it by a preface ; but a postscript seems to me the more just way of apology ; be- cause, otherwise, a man makes an excuse before the offence is committed. All the heroic poets were guessed at for its author; but though we could not find out his name, yet one repeated a couplet in Hudibras, which spoke his qualifica- tions ; ‘ r tir midst of all this warlike rabble, Crowdero march’d, expert and able.’ The poem is admirably suited to the occasion : for to write without discovering your meaning, bears a just resemblance to marching without beat of drum. ‘ ON THE MARCH TO TOURNAY WITHOUT BEAT OF DRUM. ‘ The Brussels Postscript. ‘ Could I with plainest words e.xpress That great man's wonderful address, His penetration, and histow’ring'thought ; It would the gazing w’orld surprise, To see one man at all times wise. To view the wonders he with ease has wrought. Refining schemes approach his mind, Like breezes of a southern wind. To temperate a sultry glorious day; Whose fannings, with a useful pride, Its mighty heat do softly guide. And, having clear’d the air," glide silently away. Thus his immensity of thought Is deeply form’d, and gently wrought. His temper always softening life’s disease; That Fortune, when she does intend To rudely frown, she turns his friend. Admires his judgment, and applauds his ease. His great address in this design Does now, and will for ever shine. And wants a Waller but to do him right ; The whole amusement was so strong. Like fate he dooiti'd them to be wrong. And Tournay’s took by a peculiar slight. Thus, Madam, all mankind behold Your vast ascendant, not by gold. But by your wisdom and your pious life ; Your aim no more, than to destroy That which does Europe’s ease annoy. And supersede a reign of shame and strife.’ No. 47.] THE TATLER. 107 St. James's Coffee-house, July 24. My brethren of the quill, the ingenious socie- ty of news-writers, having with great spirit and elegance already informed the world, that the town of Tournay capitulated on the twenty- eighth instant, there is nothing left for me to say, but to congratulate the good company here, that we have reason to hope for an opportunity of thanking Mr. Withers* next winter in this place, for the service he has done his country. No man deserves better of his friends than that gentleman, whose distinguished character it is, that he gives his orders with the familiarity, and enjoys his fortune with the generosity, of a fel- low-soldier. His grace the duke of Argyle had also an eminent part in the reduction of this im- portant place. That illustrious youth discovers the peculiar turn of spirit and greatness of soul, which only make men of high birth and quality useful to their country ; and considers nobility as an imaginary distinction, unless accompanied with the practice of those generous virtues by which it ought to be obtained. But that our military glory is arrived at its present height, and that men of all ranks so passionately afl'ect their share in it, is certainly owing to the merit and conduct of our glorious general: for, as the great secretin chemistry, though not in nature, has occasioned many useful discoveries; and the fantastic notion of being wholly disinterested in friendship has made men do a thousand gene- rous actions above themselves ; so, though the present grandeur and fame of the duke of Marl- borough is a station of glory to which no one hopes to arrive, yet all carry their actions to a higher pitch, by having that great example laid before them. No. 47.] Thursday, July 28, 1709. Q.iiicquid a^unt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White'' s Chocolate-house, July 18. My friend sir Thomas has communicated to me his letters from Epsom of the twenty-fifth instant, which give, in general, a very good ac- count of the present posture of affairs in that place; but that the tranquillity and correspond- ence of the company begins to be interrupted by the arrival of sir Taffety Trippet,t a fortune- hunter, whose follies are too gross to give diver- sion; and whose vanity is too stupid to let him be sensible that he is a public offence. If people will indulge a splenetic humour, it is impossible to be at ease, when such creatures as are the scandal of our species set up for gallantry and adventures. It will be much more easy, there- fore, to laugh sir Taffety into reason, than con- vert him from his foppery by any serious con- * Henry Withers was at that time a major-general in the British army. He died in 1729. t Henry Cromwell, Esq. who died in 1728, was the original of the character here delineated under the name of sir Taffety Trippet. tempt. I knew a gentlemen that made it a maxim to open his doors, and ever run into the way of bullies, to avoid their insolence. The rule will hold as well with coxcombs: they are never mortified, but when they see you receive and despise them ; otherwise they rest assured, that it is your ignorance makes them out of your good graces; or, that it is only want of ad- mittance prevents their being amiable where they are shunned and avoided. But sir Taffety is a fop of so sanguine a complexion, that I fear it will be very hard for the fair-one he at present pursues to get rid of the chase, without being so tired, as, for her own ease, to fall into the mouth of the mongrel she runs from. But the history of sir Taffety is as pleasant as his cha- racter. It happened that, when he first set up for a fortune-hunter, he chose Tunbridge for the scene of action, w'here were at that time two sisters upon the same design. The knight believed of course the elder must be the better prize; and consequently makes all his sail that way. Peo- ple that want sense do always in an egregious manner want modesty, which made our hero triumph in making his amour as public as was possible. The adored lady was no less vain of his public addresses. An attorney with one cause is not half so restless as a woman with one lover. Wherever they met, they talked to each other aloud, chose each other partner at balls, saluted at the most conspicuous parts of the service of the church, and practised, in ho- nour of each other, all the remarkable particu- larities which are usual for persons who admire one another, and are contemptible to the rest of the world. These two lovers seemed as much made for each other as Adam and Eve, and all pronounced it a match of nature’s own mak- ing; but the night before the nuptials, so uni- vcrsally approved, the younger sister, envious of the good fortune even of her sister, who had been present at most of their interviews, and had an equal taste for the charms of a fop, as there are a set of women made for that order of men ; the younger, I say, unable to see so rich a prize pass by her, discovered to sir Taffety, that a coquet air, much tongue, and three suits, was all the portion of his mistress. His love vanished that moment, himself and equipage the next morning. It is uncertain wdiere the lover has been ever since engaged ; but certain it is, he has not appeared in his character as a follower of love and fortune until he arrived at Epsom, wdiere there is at present a young lady of youth, beauty, and fortune, who has alarmed all the vain and the impertinent to infest that quarter. At the head of this assembly, sir Taffety shines in the brightest manner, with all the accomplish- ments which usually ensnare the heart of a wo- man; with this particular merit, which often is of great service, that he is laughed at for her sake. The friends of the fair one are in much pain for the sufferings she goes through from the perseverance of this hero ; but they may be much more so from the danger of his succeed- ing, toward which they give a helping hand, if they dissuade her with bitterness ; for there is a fantastical generosity in the sex to approve creatures of the least merit imaginable, when 108 THE TATLER. [No. 47. they see the imperfections of their admirers are become marks of derision for their sakes, and there is nothing so frequent, as that he, who was contemptible to a woman in her own judg- ment, has won her by being too violently oppos- ed by others. Grecian Coffee-house, July 27. In the several capacities I bear of astrologer, civilian, and physician, T have with great ap- plication studied the public emolument ; to this end serve all my lucubrations, speculations, and whatever other labours I undertake, whether nocturnal or diurnal. On this motive am I in- duced to publish a never-failing medicine for the spleen : my experience in this distemper came from a very remarkable cure on my ever worthy friend Tom Spindle, who through ex- cessive gayety, had exhausted that natural stock of wit and spirit he had long been blessed with ; he was sunk and flattened to the lowest degree imaginable, sitting whole hours over the ‘ Book of Martyrs’ and ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress ;’ his other contemplations never rising higher than the colour of his urine, or the regularity of his pulse. In this condition I found him, accom- panied by the learned Dr. Drachm, and a good old nurse. Drachm had prescribed magazines of herbs, and mines of steel. I soon discovered the malady, and descanted on the nature of it, until I convinced both the patient and his nurse, that the spleen is not to be cured by medicine but by poetry. Apollo, the author of physic, shone with diffusive rays, the best of poets as well as of physicians ; and it is in this double capacity that I have made my way ; and have found sweet, easy, ff owing numbers are oft superior to our noblest medicines. When the spirits are low, and nature sunk, the muse, with sprightly and harmonious notes, give an un- expected turn with a grain of poetry ; which I prepare without the use of mercury. I have done wonders in this kind ; for the spleen is like the Tarantula, the effects of whose malignant poison are to be prevented by no other remedy but the charms of music : for you are to under- stand, that as some noxious animals carry anti- dotes for their own poisons, so there is some- thing equally unaccountable in poetry ; for though it is sometimes a disease, it is to be cured only by itself. Now, I knowing Tom Spindle’s constitution, and that he is not only a pretty gentleman, but also a pretty poet, found the true cause of his distemper was a violent grief, that moved his affections too strongly ; for during the late treaty of peace, he had writ a most excellent poem on that subject ; and when he wanted but two lines in the last stanza for finishing the whole piece, there comes news that the French tyrant would not sign. Spindle in a few days took his bed, and had lain there still, had not I been sent for. I immediately told him, there was great probability the French would now sue to us for peace. I saw immedi- ately a new life in his eyes, and I knew that nothing could help him forward so well, as hearing verses which he would believe worse than his own. I read him, therefore, the Brussels Postscript: after Avhich I recited some heroic lines of my own, which operated so strongly on the tympanum of his ear, that I doubt not but I have kept out all other sounds for a fortnight; and have reason to hope, we shall see him abroad the day before his poem. This, you see, is a particular secret I have found out, viz. that you are not to choose your physician for his knowledge in your distemper, but for having it himself. Therefore, I am at hand for all maladies arising from poetical vapours, beyond which I never pretend. For being called the other day to one in love, I took indeed their three guineas, and gave them my advice, which was to send for iEsculapius. Ails, culapius, as soon as he saw the patient, cries out, ‘ It is love ! it is love ! Oh ! the unequal pulse ! these are the symptoms a lover feels ; such sighs, such pangs, attend the uneasy mind; nor can our art, or all our boasted skill, avail. — Yet, O fair ! for thee’ — Thus the sage ran on, and owned the passion which he pitied, as well as that he felt a greater pain than ever he cured : after which he concluded, ‘ All I can advise, is marriage : charms and beauty will give new life and vigour, and turn the course of nature to its better prospect.’ This is the new way; and thus ^Esculapius has left his beloved pow- ders, and writes a recipe for a wife at sixty. In short, my friend followed the prescription, and married youth and beauty in its perfect bloom. ‘ Supine in Silvia’s snowy arms he lies, And all the busy cares of life defies : Each happy hour is filled with fresh delight, While peace the day, and pleasure crowms the night.’ From my own Apartment, July 27. Tragical passion was the subject of the dis- course where I last visited this evening; and a gentleman who knows that I am at present writing a very deep tragedy, directed his dis- course in a particular manner to me. ‘ It is the common fault,’ said he, ‘ of you gentlemen who write in the buskin style, that you give us rather the sentiments of such who behold tragical events, than of such who bear a part in them themselves. I wmuld advise all who pretend this way, to read Shakspeare with care ; and they will soon be deterred from putting forth what is usually called tragedy. The way of common w’riters in this kind is rather the description than the expression of sorrow. There is no medium in these attem.pts, and you must go to the very bottom of the heart, or it is all mere language ; and the writer of such lines is no more a poet, than a man is a physician for knowing the names of distempers, without the causes of them. Men of sense are professed enemies to all such empty labours ; for he who pretends to be sorrowful, and is not, is a wretch yet more contemptible than he who pretends to be merry, and is not. Such a tragedian is only maudlin drunk.’ The gentle- man went on with much warmth ; but all he could say had little effect upon me : but when I came hither, I so far observed his counsel, that I looked into Shakspeare. The tragedy I dipped into was ‘ Henry the Fourth.’ In the scene where Morton is preparing to tell Northumber- No. 48.] THE TATLER. 109 land of his son’s death, the old man does not give him time to speak, but says, ‘ The w'hiteness of thy cheeks Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand ; Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless. So dull, so dead in look, so vvoe-begone, Drew Priam’s curtain at the dead of night. And would have told him half his Troy was burnt; But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue. And I my Piercy’s death, ere thou report’st it.’ The image in this place is wonderfully noble and great ; yet this man in all this is but rising towards his great affliction, and is still enough himself, as you see, to make a simile. But when he is certain of his son’s death, he is lost to all patience, and gives up all the regards of this life ; and since the last of evils is fallen up- on him, he calls for it upon all the world. ‘ Now let not nature’s hand Keep the wild flood confined ; let order die, And let the world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a ling’ring act ; But let one spirit of the first-born Cain Reign in all bosoms, that each heart being set On bloody courses, the wide scene may end. And darkness be the burier of the dead.’ Reading but this one scene has convinced me, that he, who describes the concern of great men, must have a soul as noble, and as sus- ceptible of high thoughts, as they whom he represents : I shall therefore lay by my drama for some time, and turn my thoughts to cares and griefs somewhat belovv that of heroes, but no less moving. A misfortune, proper for me to take notice of, has, too, lately happened : the disconsolate Maria has three days kept her chamber for the loss of the beauteous Fidelia, her lap-dog. Lesbia herself did not shed more tears for her sparrow. What makes her the more concerned is, that we know not whether Fidelia was killed or stolen : but she was seen in the parlour-window when the train-bands went by, and never since. Whoever gives | notice of her, dead or alive, shall be rewarded j with a kiss of her lady. No. 48.] Saturday^ July 30, 1709. Virtutem verba putant, ut Lucum ligna Hor. Ep. vi. 31. They look on virtue as an empty name. From my own Apartment, July 29. This day I obliged Pacolet to entertain me with matters which regarded persons of his own character and occupation. We chose to take our walk on Tower-hill ; and as we were coming from thence, in order to stroll as far as Garraway’s,* I observed two men who had but just landed coming from the water-side. I thought there was something uncommon in their mien and aspect; but though they seemed by their visage to be related, yet there was a warmth in their manner, as if they differed * Garraway kept a coffee-house at that time opposite to the Royal Exchange, probably in the place where there is now a coffee-house well known by the same name. very much in their sentiments of the subject on which they were talking. One of them seemed to have a natural confidence mixed with an ingenious freedom, in his gesture ; his dress very plain, but very graceful and becoming : the other, in the midst of an overbearing car- riage, betrayed, by frequently looking round him, a suspicion that he was not enough re- garded by those he met, or that he feared they would make some attack upon him. This per- son was much taller than his companion, and added to that height the advantage of a feather in his hat, and heels to his shoes so monstrously high, that he had three or four times fallen down, had he not been supported by his friend. They made a full stop as they came within a few yards of the place where we stood. The plain gentleman bowed to Pacolet ; the other looked upon him with some displeasure : upon which I asked him who they both were ? when he thus informed me of their persons and cir- cumstances : ‘You may remember, Isaac, that I have of- ten told you there are beings of a superior rank to mankind ; who frequently visit the habitations of men, in order to call them from some wrong pursuits in which they are actually engaged, or divert them from methods which will lead them into errors for the future. He that will carefully reflect upon the occurrences of his life, will find he has been sometimes ex- tricated out of difficulties, and received favours where he could never have expected such bene- fits ; as well as met with cross events from some unseen hand, which has disappointed his best laid designs. Sueh aecidents arrive from the interventions of aerial beings, as they are benevolent or hurtful to the nature of man ; and attend his steps in the tracks of ambition, of business, and of pleasure. Before I ever appeared to you in the manner I do now, I have frequently followed you in your evening- walks ; and have often, by throwing some acci- dent in your way, as the passing by of a funeral, or the appearance of some other solemn object, given your imagination a new turn, and changed a night you have destined to mirth and jollity, into an exercise of study and contemplation. I was the old soldier who met you last summer in Chelsea-fields, and pretended that I had broken my wooden-leg, and could not get home ; but I snapped it short off*, on purpose that you might fall into the reflections you did on that subject, and take me into your hack. If you remember, you made yourself very merry on that fracture, and asked me whether I thought I should next winter feel cold in the toes of that leg ? as is usually observed, that those who lose limbs are sensible of pains in the extreme parts, even after those limbs are cut off. However, my keeping you then in the story of the battle of the Boyne prevented an assignation, which would have led you into more disasters than I then related. ‘To be short: those two persons whom you see yonder are such as I am ; they are not real men, but are mere shades and figures, one is named Alethes, the other Verisimilis. Their office is to be the guardians and representatives of conscience and honour. They are now going 110 THE TATLER. to visit the several parts of the town, to see how their interests in the world decay or flourish, and to purge themselves from the many false imputations they daily meet with in the com- merce and conversation of men. You observed Verisimilis frowned when he first saw me. What he is provoked at is, that I told him one day, though he strutted and dressed with so much ostentation, if he kept himself within his own bounds, he was but a lackey, and wore only that gentleman’s livery whom he is now with. This frets him to the heart; for you must know, he has pretended a long time to set up for himself, and gets among a crowd of the more unthinking part of mankind, who take him for a person of the first quality ; though his introduction into the world was wholly owing to his present companion.’ This encounter was very agreeable to me, and I was resolved to dog them, and desired Pacolet to accompany me. I soon perceived what he told me in the gesture of the persons ; for, when they looked at each other in discourse, the well-dressed man suddenly cast down his eyes, and discovered that the other had a painful superiority over him. After some further dis- course, they took leave. The plain gentleman went down towards Thames-street, in order to be present, at least, at the oaths taken at the custom-house ; and the other made directly for the heart of the city. It is incredible how great a change there immediately appeared in the man of honour, when he got rid of his uneasy companion: he adjusted the cock of his hat a-new, settled his sword-knot, and haS an ap- pearance that attracted a sudden inclination for him and his interests in all who beheld him. ‘ For my part,’ said I to Pacolet, ‘ I cannot but think you are mistaken in calling this person of the lower quality ; for he looks much more like a gentleman than the other. Do not vou observe all eyes are upon him, as he advances ? how each sex gazes at his stature, aspect, ad- dress, and motion ? Pacolet only smiled and shaked his head ; as leaving me to be convinced b}'^ my own further observation. We kept on our way after him until we came to Exchange- alley, where the plain gentleman again came up to the other; and they stood together after the manner of eminent merchants, as if ready to receive application ; but I could observe no man talk to either of them. The one was laughed at as a fop ; and I heard many whispers against the other, as a whimsical sort of a fel- low, and a great enemy to trade. They crossed Cornhill together, and came into the full Ex- change, where some bowed, and gave themselves airs in being known to so fine a man as Verisi- milis, who, they said, had great interest in all prince’s courts ; and the other was taken notice of by several, as one they had seen somewhere long before. One more particularly said, he had formerly been a man of consideration in the world ; but was so unlucky, that they who dealt with him, by some strange infatuation or other, had a way of cutting off their own bills, and were prodigiously slow in improving their stock. But as much as I was curious to observe the reception these gentlemen met with upon the Exchange, I could not help being interrupt- [No. 48. ed by one that came up towards us, to whom every body made their compliments. He was of the common height, and in his dress there seemed to be great care to appear no way par- ticular, except in a certain exact and feat man- ner of behaviour and circumspection. He was wonderfully careful that his shoes and clothes should be without the least speck upon them ; and seemed to think, that on such an accident depended his very life and fortune. There was hardly a man on the Exchange who had not a note upon him ; and each seemed very well satisfied that their money lay in his hands, without de- manding payment. I asked Pacolet, what great merchant that was, who was so universally ad- dressed to, yet made too familiar an appear- ance to command that extraordinary deference? Pacolet answered, ‘ This person is the demon or genius of credit; his name is Umbra. If you observe, he follows Alethes and Verisimilis at a distance ; and indeed has no foundation for the figure he makes in the world, but that he is thought to keep their cash ; though, at the same time, none who trust him would trust the others for a groat.’ As the company rolled about, the three spectres were jumbled into one place: when they were so, and all thought there was an alliance between them, they immediately drew upon them the business of the whole Ex- change. But their affairs soon increased to such an unwieldy bulk, that Alethes took his leave, and said, ‘ he would not engage further than he had an immediate fund to answer.’ Verisimilis pretended, ‘ that though he had re- venues large enough to go on his own bottom, yet it was below one of his family to condescend to trade in his own name ;’ therefore he also re- tired. I was extremely troubled to see the glorious mart of London left with no other guardian but him of credit. But Pacolet told me, that traders had nothing to do with the honour or conscience of their correspondents, provided they supported a general behaviour in the world, which could not hurt their credit or their purses: for, said he, ‘you may, in this one tract of building of London and Westminster, see the imaginary motives on which the great- est affairs move, as well as in rambling over the face of the earth. For though Alethes is the real governor, as well as legislator of mankind, he has very little business but to make up quar- rels ; and is only a general referee, to whom every man pretends to appeal, but is satisfied with his determinations no further than they promote his own interest. Hence it is, that the soldier and the courtier model their actions ac- cording to Verisimilis’s manner, and the mer- chant according to that of Umbra. Among these men, honour and credit are not valuable possessions in themselves, or pursued out of a principle of justice; but merely as they are serviceable to ambition and to commerce. But the world will never be in any manner of order or tranquillity, until men are firmly convinced that conscience, honour, and credit, are all in one interest ; and that, without the concurrence of the former, the latter are but impositions upon ourselves and others. The force these delusive words have, is not seen in the transac- tions of the busy world only, but they have also No. 49.] THE TATLER. Ill their tyranny over the fair sex. Were you to ask the unhappy Lais, what pangs of reflection preferring the consideration of her honour to laer conscience has given her ? she could tell you, that it has forced her to drink up half a gallon, this winter, of Tom Dassapas’s potions : that she still pines away for fear of being a mother ; and knows not but the moment she is such, she shall be a murderess : but if conscience had as strong a force upon the mind as honour, the first step to her unhappy condition had never been made ; she had still been innocent as she is beautiful. Were men so enlightened and studious of tlieir own good, as to act by the dictates of their reason and reflection, and not the opinion of others, conscience would be the steady ruler of human life ; and the words truth, law, reason, equity, and religion, would be but synonymous terms for that only guide which makes us pass our days in our own favour and approbation.’ No. 49.] Tuesday, August 2, 1709. duicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago li belli. Jiiv. Sat. i. 85, 80. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. While's Chocolate-house, August 1. Thk imposition of honest names and words upon improper subjects, has made so regular a I confusion among us, that we are apt to sit down with our errors, well enough satisfied with the methods we are fallen into, without attempting to deliver ourselves from the tyranny under which we are reduced by such innovations. Of all the laudable motives of human life, none have suffered so much in this kind, as love ; un- der which revered name a brutal desire called lust, is frequently concealed and admitted ; though they differ as much as a matron from a I prostitute, or a companion from a buffoon. Phi- lander the other day was bewailing this misfor- tune with much indignation, and upbraided me [ for having some time since quoted those excel- lent lines of the satirist: ‘To an exact perfection they have brought The action love; the passion is forgot.’ " ‘ How could you,’ said he, ‘ leave such a hint so coldly ? How could Aspasia and Sempronia . enter into your imagination at the same time, j and you never declare to us the different recep- tions you gave them ?’ I The figures which the ancient mythologists and poets put upon Love and Lust in their writ- ings are very instructive. Love is a beauteous blind child, adorned with a quiver and a bow, which he plays with, and shoots around him, without design or direction ; to intimate to us that the person beloved has no intention to give us the anxieties we meet with, but that the beauties of a worthy object are like the charms of a lovely infant ; they cannot but attract your concern and fondness, though the child so re- garded^ is as insensible of the value you put upon ^t, as it is that it deserves your benevolence. On the other side, the sages figured Lust in the form of a satyr ; of shape, part human, part bes- tial ; to signify that the followers of it prostitute the reason of a man to pursue the appetites of a beast. This satyr is made to haunt the paths and coverts of the wood-nymiths and shep- herdesses, to lurk on the banks of rivulets, and watch the purling streams, as the resorts of re- tired virgins ; to show, that lawless desire tends chieffy to prey upon innocence, and has some- thing so unnatural in if, tliat it liates its own make, and shuns the object it loved, as soon as it has made it like itselt’. Love, therefore, is a child that complains and bewails its inability to help itself, and weeps for assistance, without an immediate reflection or knowledge of the food it wants : Lust, a w’atchful thief, which seizes its prey, and lays snares for its own relief; and its principal object being innocent, it never robs but it murders at the same time. From this idea of a Cupid and a Satyr, we may settle our notions of these different desires, and accordingly rank their followers. Aspasia must, therefore, be allowed to be the first of the beauteous order of Love, whose unaffected free- dom., and conscious innocence, give her the at- tendance of the graces in all her actions. That awful distance which we bear toward her in all our thoughts of her, and that cheerful familiarity with which we approach her, are certain in- stances of her being the truest object of love of any of her sex. In this accomplished lady, love is the constant effect, because it is never the de- sign. Yet, though her mien carries much more invitation than command, to behold her is an immediate check to loose behaviour ; and to love her is a liberal education ; for, it being the na- ture of all love to create an imitation of the be- loved person in the lover, a regard for Aspasia naturally produces decency of manners, and good conduct of life in her admirers. If, there- fore, the giggling Leucippe could but see her train of fops assembled, and Aspasia move by them, she would be mortified at the veneration with w’hich she is beheld, oven by Leucippe’s own unthinking equipage, whose passions have long taken leave of their understandings. /As charity is esteemed a conjunction of the good qualities necessary to a virtuous man, so love is the happy composition of all the accom- plishments that make a fine gentleman. The motive of a man’s life is seen in all his actions ; and such as have the beauteous boy for their in- spirer, have a simplicity of behaviour, and a certain evenness of desire, which burns like the lamp of life in their bosoms ; while they who are instigated by the satyr, are ever tortured by jealousies of the object of their wishes ; often desire what they scorn, and as often consciously and knowingly embrace where they are mutu- ally indifferent. Florio, the generous husband, and Limber- ham, the kind keeper, are noted examples of the different effects which these desires produce in the mind. Amanda, who is the wife of Florio, lives in the continual enjoyment of new instances of her husband’s friendship, and sees it the end of all his ambition to make her life one series of pleasure and satisfaction ; and Amanda’s relish of the goods of life is all that makes them pleas- 112 THE TATLER. ing to Florio : tliey behave themselves to each other, when present, with a certain apparent benevolence, which transports above rapture ; and they think of each other in absence with a confidence unknown to the highest friendship : their satisfactions are doubled, their sorrows lessened, by participation. On the other hand, Corinna,* who is the mis- tress of Limberham, lives in constant torment : her equipage is an old woman, who was what Corinna is now ; and an antiquated footman, who was pimp to Lirnberham’s father ; and a chambermaid, who is Limberham’s wench by fits, out of a principle of politics to make her jealous and watchful of Corinna. Under this guard, and in this conversation, Corinna lives in state; the furniture of her habitation, and her own gorgeous dress, make her the envy of all the strolling ladies in the town ; but Corinna knows she herself is but part of Limberham’s household^tuff, and is as capable of being dis- posed of elsewhere, as any other moveable. But while her keeper is persuaded by his spies, that no enemy has been within his doors since his last visit, no Persian prince was ever so magnifi- cently bountiful : a kind look or falling tear is worth a piece of brocade, a sigh is a jewel, and a smile is a cupboard of plate. All this is shared between Corinna and her guard in his absence. With this great economy and industry does the unhappy Limberham, purchase the constant tor- tures of jealousy, the favour of spending his estate, and the opportunity of enriching one by whom he knows he is hated and despised. These are the ordinary and common evils which attend keepers ; and Corinna is a wench but of common size of wickedness, were you to know what passes under the roof where the fair Messalina reigns with her humble adorer. Messalina is the professed mistress of man- kind ; she has left the bed of her husband, and her beauteous offspring, to give a loose to want of shame and fulness of desire. Wretched Nocturnes, her feeble keeper ! How the poor creature fribbles in his gait, and shuttles from place to place, to despatch his necessary affairs in painful daylight, that he may return to the constant twilight preserved in that scene of wantonness, Messalina’s bed-chamber ! Hcm^ does he, while he is absent from thence, con- sider in his imagination the breadth of his por- ter’s shoulders, the spruce night-cap of his valet, the ready attendance of bis butler ! any of all whom he knows she admits, and professes to approve of. This, alas ! is the gallantry, this the freedom of our fine gentlemen ; for this they preserve their liberty, and keep clear of that bugbear, marriage. But he does not understand either vice or virtue, who will not allow, that life without the rules of morality is a wayward un- easy being, with snatches only of pleasure ; but under the regulation of virtue, a reasonable and uniform habit of enjoyment. I have seen, in a play of old Haywood’s, a speech at the end of an act, which touched this point with much spirit. He makes a married man in the play, upon some endearing occasion, look at his spouse with an The persons here alluded to under the names of Co- rinna and Limberham, were Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas, junior, and Henry Cromwell, esquire. [No. 50. air of fondness, and fall into the following re- flection on his condition : Oh marriage ! happiest, easiest, safest state ; Let debauchees amt drunkards scorn thy rites. Who, in their nauseous draughts and lust, profane Both thee and heaven, by whom thou wert ordained How can the savage call it loss of freedom. Thus to converse with, thus to gaze at A faithful, beauteous friend ? Blush not, niy fair-one, that thy love applauds thee, Nor be it painful to my wedded wife That my full heart o’erflows in praise of thee. Thou art by law, by interest, passion, mine: Passion and reason join in love of thee. Thus, through a world of calumny and fraud. We pass both unreproach’d both undeceiv’d ; While in eacli other’s interest and happiness. We without art all faculties employ. And all our settees without guilt enjoy. No. 50.] Thursday, August 4, 1700. Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 65,86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. While's Chocolate-house, August 2. * THE HISTORY OF ORLANDO THE FAIR. Whatever malicious men may say of our lucubrations, we have no design but to produce unknown merit, or place in a proper light the actions of our contemporaries who labour to distinguish themselves, whether it be by vice or virtue. For we shall never give accounts to the world of any thing, but what the lives and en- deavours of the persons, of whom we treat, make the basis of their fame and reputation. For this reason, it is to be hoped that our appearance is reputed a public benefit ; and though certain persons may turn what we mean for panegyric into scandal, let it be answered once for all, that if our praises are really designed as raillery, such malevolent persons owe their safety from it, only to their being too inconsiderable for his- tory. It is not every man who deals in ratsbane, or is unseasonably amorous, that can adorn story like iEsculapius ; nor every stock-jobber of the India company can assume the port, and per- sonate the figure of Aurengezebe. My noble an- cestor, Mr. Shakspeare, who was of the race of the Staffs, was not more fond of the memorable sir John FalstaflT, than I am of those worthies ; but the Latins have an admirable admonition expressed in three words, to wit, Ne quid nimis, which forbids my indulging myself on those de- lightful subjects, and calls me to do justice to others, who make no less figures in our genera- tion ; of such, the first and most renowned is * that eminent hero and lover, Orlando,^ the hand- some, whose disappointments in love, in gallan- try, and in war, have banished him from public view, and made him voluntarily enter into a confinement to which the ungrateful age would otherwise have forced him. Ten lustraf and * Robert Fielding, esq. commonly known then by the name of beau Fielding, a handsome and very comely gentleman, much distinguished in the ‘ Annals of Gal- lantry’ at that time. t Ten lustra amount to half a century. A lustrum was undoubtedly a period of five years complete, and an olympiad of four. No. 50.] THE TATLER. 113 more are wholly past since Orlando first appear- ed in the metropolis of this island ; his descent noble, his wit humorous, his person charming. But to none of these recommendatory advantages was his title so undoubted, as that of his beauty. His complexion was fair, but his countenanee manly; his stature of the tallest, his shape the most exact: and though in all his limbs he had a proportion as delieate as we see in the works of the most skilful statuaries, his body had a strength and firmness little inferior to the mar- ble of which such images are formed. This made Orlando the universal flame of all the fair sex ; innocent virgins sighed for him, as Adonis ; experieneed widows, as Hercules. Thus did this figure walk alone the pattern and ornament of our species, but of course the envy of all who had the same passions without his superior merit and pretences to the favour of that enchanting creature, woman. However, the generous Or- lando believed himself formed for the world, and not to be engrossed by any particular affection. He sighed not for Delia, for Chloris, for Chloe, for Betty, nor my lady, nor for the ready cham- ber-maid, nor distant baroness : woman was his mistress, and the whole sex his seraglio. His form was always irresistible : and if we consider, that not one of five hundred can bear the least favour from a lady without being exalted above himself ; if also we must allow, that a smile from a side-box has made Jack Spruce half mad ; we cannot think it wonderful that Orlando’s repeat- ed conquests touched his brain : so it certainly did, and Orlando became an enthusiast in love ; and in all his address contracted something out of the ordinary course of breeding and civility. However, powerful as he was, he would still add to the advantages of his person, that of a profes- sion which the ladies always favour, and imme- diately commenced soldier.* Thus equipped for love and honour, our hero seeks distant climes and adventures, and leaves the despairing nymphs of Great Britain, to the courtships of beaux and witlings till his return. His exploits in foreign nations and courts have not been regularly enough communicated unto us, to re- port them with that veracity which we profess in our narrations : but after many feats of arms (which those who were witnesses to them have suppressed out of envy, but which we have had faithfully related from his own mouth in our public streets) Orlando returns home full, but not loaded with years. Beaux born in his ab- sence made it their business to decry his furni- ture, his dress, his manner; but all such rivalry he suppressed (as the philosopher did the sceptic, who argued there was no such thing as motion) by only moving. The beauteous Villaria,t who only was formed for his paramour, became the object of his affection. His first speech to her was as follows : ‘ Madam, — It is not only that nature has made us two the most aceornplished of each sex, and pointed to us to obey her dictates in becoming * Fielding embarked in the fortunes of king James II. who gave him the nomination of colonel, and for whom he raised a regiment in his native county of Warwick. t Barbara, daughter and heiress to William Villiers, lord viscount Grandison of the kingdom of Ireland. P one; but that there is also an ambition in follow- ing the mighty persons you have favoured. Where kings and heroes, as great as Alexander, or sueh as could personate Alexander,* have bowed, permit your general to lay his laurels.’ According to Milton ; The fair with conscious majesty approv’d His pleaded reason. Fortune having now supplied Orlando with necessaries for his high taste of gallantry and pleasure, his equipage and economy had some- thing in them more sumptuous and gallant than could be received in our degenerate age ; there- fore his figure, though highly graceful, appeared so exotic, that it assembled all the Britons under the age of sixteen, who saw his grandeur, to fol- low his chariot with shouts and acclamations ; which he regarded with the contempt which great minds affect in the midst of applauses. I remember, I had the honour to see him one day stop, and call the youths about him to whom he spake as follows : ‘ Good bastards — Go to school, and do not lose your time in following my wdieels : I am loth to hurt you, beeause I know not but you are all my own offspring : hark ye, you sirrah with the white hair, I am sure you are mine : there is half-a-crown. Tell your mother, this, with the half-crown I gave her when I got you, comes to five shillings. Thou hast cost me all that, and yet thou art good for nothing. Why, you young dogs, did you never see a man before ?’ ‘ Never such a one as you, noble general,’ replied a truant from Westminster. ‘Sirrah, I believe thee : there is a crown for thee. Drive on, coachman.’ This vehicle, though saered to love, was not adorned with doves : such a hieroglyphic denoted too languishing a passion. Orlando, therefore, gave the eagle, f as being of a constitution which inclined him rather to seize his prey with talons, than pine for it with murmurs. I'rom my oion Apartment, August 2. I have received the following letter from Mr. Powel of Bath, who, I think, runs from the point between us ; which I leave the whole world to judge. To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire. Bath, July 28. ‘ Sir, — Having a great deal of more advantage- ous business at present on my hands, I thought to have deferred answering your Tatler of- the twenty-first instant until the company was gone and season over ; but, having resolved not to re- gard any impertinences of your paper, except what relate partieularly to me, I am the more easily induced to answer you, as I shall find time to do it. First, partly lest you should think yourself neglected, which I have reason to be- lieve you would take heinously ill. Secondly, partly because it will increase my fame, and consequently my audience, when all the quality * An allusion to Goodman the player, who was one of the promiscuous train above-mentioned. t The Fieldings give the Spread Eagle, as counts of the German Empire. 114 THE TATLER. shall see with how much wit and raillery I show you — I do not care a farthing- for you. Thirdly, partly because being without books, if I do not show much learning, it will not be imputed to my having none. ‘ I have travelled Italy, France, and Spain, and fully comprehended whatever any German artist in the world can do ; yet cannot I ima- gine why you should endeavour to disturb the repose and plenty which, though unworthy, I enjoy at this place. It cannot b^e, that you take offence at my prologues and epilogues, which you are plea^d to miscall foolish and abusive. No, no, until you give a better, I shall not for- bear thinking that the true reason of your pick- ing a quarrel with me was, because it is more agreeable to your principles, as well as more to the honour of your assured victory, to attack a governor. Mr. Isaac, Mr. Isaac, I can see into a mill-stone as far as another, as the saying is ; you are for sowing the seeds of sedition and dis- obedience among my puppets, and your zeal for the good old cause would make you persuade Punch to pull the string from his chops, and not move his jaw when I have a mind he should harangue. Now, I appeal to all men, if this be not contrary to that unaccountable and uncon- trollable dominion, which by the laws of nature I exercise over them ; for all sorts of wood and wire were made for the use and benefit of man : I have, therefore, an unquestionable right to frame, fashion, and put them together as I please ; and having made them what they are, my puppets are my property, and therefore my slaves ; nor is there in nature any thing more just, than the homage which is paid by a less to a more excellent being ; so that by the right, therefore, of a superior genius, I am their su- preme moderator, although you would insinuate, agreeably to your levelling principles, that I am myself but a great puppet, and can therefore have but a co-ordinate jurisdiction vttith them. I suppose, I have now sufficiently made it appear, that I have a paternal right to keep a puppet- show, and this right I will maintain in my pro- logues on all occasions. ‘ And, therefore, if you write a defence of yourself against this my self-defence, I admon- ish you to keep within bounds ; for every day will not be so propitious to you as the twenty- ninth of April ; and perhaps my resentment may get the better of my generosity, and I may no longer scorn to fight one who is not my equal, with unequal weapons : there are such things as scandalums magnatums ; therefore, take heed hereafter how you write such things as I can- not easily answer, for that will put me in a passion. ‘ I order you to handle only these two pro- positiqns, to which our dispute may be reduced : the first, whether I have not an absolute power, whenever I please, to light a pipe with one of Punch’s legs, or warm my fingers with his whole carcass ? the second, whether the devil would not be in Punch, should he by word or deed oppose my sovereign will and pleasure? and then, perhaps, I may, if I can find leisure for it, give you the trouble of a second letter. ‘ But if you intend to tell me of the original of puppet-shows : and the several changes and [No. 51. revolutions that have happened in them since Thespis, and I do not care who, that is Noli me tangerel I have solemnly engaged to say no- thing of what I cannot approve. Or, if j’ou talk of certain contracts with the mayor and bur- gesses, or fees to the constables, for the privilege of acting, I will not write one single word about any such matters; but shall leave you to be mumbled by the learned and very ingenious au- thor of a late book, who knows very well what is to be said and done in such cases. He is now shuffling the cards, and dealing to Timothy ; but if he wins the game, I will send him to play at back-gammon with you ; and then he will satisfy you that duce-ace makes five. ‘ And so, submitting myself to be tried by my country, and allowing any jury of twelve good men and true, to be that country ; not excepting any, unless Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff, to be of the pannel, for you are neither good nor true. I bid you heartily farewell ; and am, Sir, Your loving friend, ‘POWEL.’ ADVERTISEMENT. Proper cuts for the historical part of this pa- per, are now almost finished, by an engraver lately arrived from Paris, and will be sold at all the toy-shops in London and Westminster. No. 51.] Saturday^ August 6, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house^ August 5. CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF ORLANDO THE FAIR.* Fortune being now propitious to the gay Or- lando, he dressed, he spoke, he moved as a man might be supposed to do in a nation of pygmies, and had an equal value for our approbation or dislike. It is usual for those who profess a con- tempt for the world, to fly from it and live in ob- scurity ; but Orlando, with a greater magna- nimity, contemned it, and appeared in it to tell them so. If, therefore, his exalted mien met with an unwelcome reception, he was sure al- ways to double the cause which gave the distaste. You see our beauties affect a negligence in the ornament of their hair, and adjusting their head- dresses, as conscious that they adorn whatever they wear. Orlando had not only this humour in common with other beauties, but also had a neglect whether things became him or not, in a world he contemned. For this reason, a noble particularity appeared in all his economy, fur- niture, and equipage. And to convince the pre- sent little race, how unequal all their measures were to Antediluvian, as he called himself, in respect of the insects which now appear for men, he sometimes rode in an open tumbril, of less size than ordinary, to show the largeness of his * See No. 50. p. 112. No. 51.] THE TATLER. 115 limbs, and the grandeur of his personage, to the greater advantage. At other seasons, all his appointments had a magnificence, as if it were formed by the genius of Triinalchio of old ; which showed itself in doing ordinary things with an air of pomp and grandeur. Orlando therefore called for tea by beat of drum ; his valet got ready to shave him by a trumpet to horse ; and water was brought for his teeth, when the sound was changed to boots and sad- dle. In all these glorious excesses from the com- mon practice, did the happy Orlando live and reign in an uninterrupted tranquillity, until an unlucky accident brought to his remembrance, that one evening he was married before he courted the nuptials of Villaria. Several fatal memorandums were produced to revive the memory of this accident ; and the unhappy lover was for ever banished her presence, to whom he owed the support of his just renown and gallantry. But distress does not debase noble minds ; it only changes the scene, and gives them new glory by that alteration. Or- lando therefore now raves in a garret, and calls to his neighbour-skies to pity his dolours, and to find redress for an unhappy lover. All high spirits, in any great agitation of mind, are in- clined to relieve themselves by poetry : the re- nowned porter of Oliver* had not more volumes around his cell in his college of Bedlam, than Orlando in his present aparttnent. And though inserting poetry in the midst of prose be thought a licence among correct writers not to be in- dulged, it is hoped the necessity of doing it, to give a just idea of the hero of whom we treat, will plead for the liberty we shall hereafter take, to print Orlando’s soliloquies in verse and prose, after the manner of great wits, and such as those to whom they are nearly allied. Will's Cojfee-house, August 5. A good company of us were this day to see, or rather to hear, an artful person do several feats of activity with his throat and windpipe. The first thing wherewith he presented us, was a ring of bells, which he imitated in a most mi- raculous manner ; after that, he gave us all the different notes of a pack of hounds, to our great delight and astonishment. The company ex- pressed their applause with much noise ; and never was heard such a harmony of men and dogs : but a certain plump, merry fellow, from an angle of the room, fell a crowing like a cock so ingeniously, that he won our hearts from the other operator in an instant. As soon as I saw him, I recollected I had seen him on the stage, and immediately knew it to be Tom Mirrour,f the comical actor. He immediately addressed himself to me, and told me, ‘ he was surprised to see a virtuoso take satisfaction in any repre- sentations below that of human life and asked me, ‘ whether I thought this acting bells and * Cromwell’s porter is said to have been the original from which Cains Gabriel, father of Colley Cibber, co- pied one of the lunatic figures on Bedlam gate. t Mr. Richard Estcourt, commonly called Dick Est- court, celebrated for his mimic powers, in which he was inimitable. dogs was to be considered under the notion of wit, humour, or satire? Were it not better,’ continued he, ‘ to have some particular picture of man laid before your eyes, that might incite your laughter ?’ He had no sooner spoke the word, but he immediately quitted his natural shape, and talked to me in a very different air and tone from what he had used before : upon which, all that sat near us laughed ; but I saw no distortion in his countenance, or any thing that appeared to me disagreeable. I asked Pa- colet, ‘ what meant that sudden whisper about us ?’ for I could not take tlie jest.'He answered, ‘ The gentleman you were talking to assumed your air and countenance so exactly, that all fell a-laughing to see how little you knew your- self, and how much you were enamoured with your own image. But that person,’ continued my monitor, ‘ if men would make the right use of him, might be as instrumental to their re- forming errors in gesture, language, and speech, as a dancing-master, linguist, or orator. You see he laid yourself before you with so much address, that you saw nothing particular in his behaviour : he has so happy a knack of repre- senting errors and imperfections, that you can bear your faults in him as well as in yourself : lie is the first mimic that ever gave the beau- ties, as well as the deformities, of the man he acted. What Mr. Dryden said of a very great man, may be well applied to him ; ‘ He seems to be Not one, but all mankind’s epitome.’ You are to know, that this pantomime may be said to be a species of himself : he has no commerce with the rest of mankind, but as they are tlie objects of imitation; like the Indian fowl, called the Mock-bird, who has no note of his own, but hits every sound in the wood as soon as he hears it ; so that Mirrour is at once a copy and an original. Poor Mirrour’s fate, as well as talent, is like that of the bird we just now spoke of ; the nightingale, the linnet, the lark, are delighted with his company ; but the buzzard, the crow, and the owl, are observed to be his mortal enemies. Whenever Sophro- nius meets Mirrour, he receives him with civili- ty and respect, and well knows a good copy of liimself can be no injury to him ; but Bathillus shuns the street where he expects to meet him ; for he that knows his every step and look is constrained and affected, must be afraid to be rivalled in his action, and of having it discover- ed to be unnatural by its being practised by another as well as himself. Fro?n my own Apartment^ August 5. Letters from Coventry and other places have been sent to me, in answer to what I have said in relation to my antagonist Mr. Powel ; and advise me with warm language to keep to sub- jects more proper for me than such high points. But the writers of these epistles mistake the use and service I proposed to the learned world by such observations : for you are to understand, that the title of this paper gives me a right in taking to myself, and inserting in it, all such parts of any book or letter which are foreign to 116 THE TATLER. the purpose intended, or professed by the writer : so that, suppose two great divines should argue, and treat each other with warmth and levity unbecoming their subject or character, all that they say unfit for that place is very proper to be inserted here. Therefore, from time to time, in all writings which shall hereafter be published, you shall have from me extracts of all that shall appear not to the purpose ; and for the benefit of the gentle reader, I will show what to turn over unread, and what to peruse. For this end I have a mathematical sieve preparing, in which I will sift every page and paragraph ; and all that falls through I shall make bold with for my own use. The same thing will be as beneficial in speech ; for all superfluous expressions in talk fall to me also : as when a pleader at the bar designs to be extremel)'^ impertinent and trou- blesome, and cries, ‘ Under favour of the court with submission, my lord 1 humbly offer’ and, ‘ I think I have well considered this matter ; for I would be very far from tri- fling with your lordship’s time, or trespassing upon your patience — however, thus I will ven- ture to say ’ and so forth. Or else, when a sufficient self-conceited coxcomb is bringing out something in his own praise, and begins, ‘ With- out vanity, I must take this upon me to assert.’ There is also a trick which the fair sex have, that will greatly contribute to swell my volumes : as, when a woman is going to abuse her best friend, ‘ Pray,’ says she, ‘ have you heard what is said of Mrs. Such-a-one ? I am heartily sorry to hear any thing of that kind of one 1 have so great a value for ; but they make no scruple of telling it ; and it was not spoken of to me as a secret, for now all the town rings of it.’ All such flowers in rhetoric, and little refuges for malice, are to be noted, and naturally belong only to Tatlers. By this method, you will im- mediately find folios contract themselves into octavos, and the labour of a fortnight got over in half a day. St. James's Coffee-house, August 5. Last night arrived a mail from Lisbon, which gives a very pleasing account of the posture of . affairs in that part of the world, the enemy hav- ing been necessitated wholly to abandon the blockade of Olivenza. These advices say, that sir John Jennings is arrived at Lisbon. When that gentleman left Barcelona, his catholic ma- jesty was taking all possible methods for carry- ing on an offensive war. It is observed with great satisfaction in the court of Spain, that there is a very good intelligence between the general officers : count Staremberg and Mr. Stanhope acting in all things with such una- nimity, that the public affairs receive great ad- vantages from their personal friendship and esteem to each other, and mutual assistance in promoting the service of the common cause. This is to give notice, that if any able-bodied Palatine will enter into the bonds of matrimony with Betty Pepin, the said Palatine shall be set- tled in a freehold of forty shillings per annum in the county of iMiddlesex. [No. 52. No. 52.] Tuesday, August 9, 1709. Gluicquid agunt homines noslh est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whatever men do, or say, or think, or dream. Oar motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, August 7. DELAMIRA RESIGNS HER FAN. Long had the crowd of the gay and young stood in suspense, as to their fate, in their pas- sion to the beauteous Delamira; but all their hopes are lately vanished, by the declaration that she has made of her choice, to take the happy Archibald for her companion for life. Upon her making this known, the expense of sweet powder and jessamine are considerably abated ; and the mercers and milliners complain of her want of public spirit, in not concealing longer a secret which was so much the benefit of trade. But so it has happened ; and no one w^as in confidence with her in carrying on this treaty, but the matchless Virgulta, whose despair of ever entering the matrimonial state made her, some nights before Delamira’s resolution was published to the world, address herself to her in the following manner : ‘ Delamira ! you are now going into that state of life wherein the use of your charms is wholly to be applied to the pleasing only one man. That swimming air of your body, that janty bearing of your head over one shoulder, and that inexpressible beauty in your manner of playing your fan, must be lowered into a more confined behaviour ; to show that you would rather shun than receive addresses for the future. There- fore, dear Delamira, give me those excellencies you leave off, and acquaint me with your man- ner of charming : for I take the liberty of our friendship to say, that when I consider my own statue, motion, complexion, wit, or breeding, I cannot think myself any way your inferior ; yet do I go through crowds without wounding a man, and all my acquaintance marry round me, while 1 live a virgin unasked, and I think un- regarded.’ Delamira heard her with great attention, and with that dexterity which is natural to her, told her, that ‘ all she had above the rest of her sex and contemporary beauties was wholly owing to a fan, (that was left her by her mother, and had been long in the family) which, whoever had in possession, and used wfith skill, should command the hearts of all her beholders ; and since,’ said she smiling, ‘ I have no more to do with extending my conquests or triumphs, I will make you a present of this inestimable rarity.’ Virgulta made her expressions of the highest gratitude for so uncommon a confidence in her, and desired she would ‘ show her what was peculiar in the management of that utensil, v,diich rendered it of such general force while she was mistress of it.’ Delamira replied, ‘ You see, madam, Cupid is the principal figure painted on it ; and the skill in playing this fan is in your several motions of it, to let him ap- pear as little possible; for honourable lovers fly all endeavours to ensnare them ; and your Cupid must hide his bow and arrov/, or he will never THE TATLER. 117 No. 52.] be sure of his game. You may observe,’ con- i’! tinued she, ‘ that in all public assemblies, the 1 sexes seem to separate themselves, and draw t up to attack each other with eye-shot : that is I the time when the fan, which is all the armour t of a woman, is of most use in our defence ; for our minds are construed by the waving of that little instrument, and our thoughts appear in composure or agitation, according to the motion of it. You may observe, when Will I Peregrine comes into the side-box, miss Gatty I flutters her fan as a fly does its wings round a candle ; while her elder sister, who is as much in love with him as she is, is as grave as a vestal at his entrance ; and the consequence is accordingly. He watches half the play for a glance from her sister, while Gatty is overlooked and neglected. I wish you heartily as much success in the management of it as I have had ; If you think fit to go on where I left off, I will give you a short account of the execution I have made with it. I ‘ Cymon, who is the dullest of mortals, and ' though a wonderful great scholar, does not only pause, but seems to take a nap with his eyes I open between every other sentence in his dis- course : him have I made a leader in assemblies ; and one blow on the shoulder as I passed by him, has raised him to a downright impertinent ( in all conversations. The airy Will Sampler is become as lethargic by this my wand, as Cymon is sprightly. Take it, good girl, and use it without mercy ; for the reign of beauty never lasted full three years, but it ended in marriage or condemnation to virginity. As you fear, therefore, the one, and hope for the other, I ex- : pect an hourly journal of your triumphs ; for I have it by certain tradition, that it was given to I the first who wore it, by an enchantress, with this remarkable power, that it bestows a husband in half-a-year on her who does not overlook her ' proper minute ; but assigns to a long despair the woman who is well offered, and neglects that proposal. May occasion attend your charms, ! and your charms slip no occasion ! Give me, I j say, an account of the progress of your forces at our next meeting ; and you shall hear what I think of my new condition. I should meet my future spouse this moment. Farewell. Live in I just terror of the dreadful words, She was.'' I i From my own Apartment, August 8. j I HAD the honour this evening to visit some i ladies, where the subject of the conversation was I I Modesty ; which they commended as a quality quite as becoming in men as in women. I took I the liberty to say, ‘ it might be as beautiful in I our behaviour as in theirs, yet it could not be said, it was as successful in life ; for as it was the only recommendation in them, so it was the greatest obstacle to us, both in love and business.’ A gentleman present was of my mind, and said, that ‘ we must describe the difference between the modesty of women and that of men, or we should be confounded in our reasonings upon it ; for this virtue is to be regarded with respect to our different ways of life. The woman’s pro- vince is, to be careful in her economy, and chaste in her affections ; the man’s, to be active in the improvement of his fortune, and ready to under take whatever is consistent with his reputation for that end.’ Modesty, therefore, in a woman, has a certain agreeable fear in all she enters up- on ; and, in men, it is composed of a right judg- ment of what is proper for them to attempt. From hence it is, that a discreet man is always a modest one. It is to be noted that modesty in a man is never to be allowed as a good quality, but a weakness, if it suppresses his virtue, and hides it from the world, when he has at the same time a mind to exert himself. A French author says, very justly, that modesty is to the other virtues in a man, what shade in a picture is to the parts of the thing represented. It makes all the other beauties conspicuous, which would otherwise be but a wild heap of colours. This shade in our actions must, therefore, be very justly applied ; for, if there be too much, it hides our good qualities, instead of showing them to advantage. Nestor* in Athens was an unhappy instance of this truth ; for he was not orfly in his profes- sion the greatest man of that age, but had given more proofs of it than any other man ever did ; yet, for want of that natural freedom and au- dacity which is necessary in commerce with men, his personal modesty overthrew all his public actions. Nestor was in those days a skil- ful architect, and in a manner the inventor of the use of mechanic powers ; which he brought to so great perfection, that he knew to an atom what foundation would bear such a superstruc- ture ; and they record of him, that he was so prodigiously exact, that, for the experiment’s sake, he built an edifice of great beauty, and seeming strength ; but contrived so as to bear only its own weight, and not to admit the ad- dition of the least particle. This building was beheld with much admiration by all the virtuosi of that time ; but fell down with no other pres- sure, but the settling of a W ren upon the top of it. Yet Nestor’s modesty was such, that his art and skill were soon disregarded, for want of that manner with which men of the world sup- port and assert the merit of their own perform- ances. Soon after this instance of his art, Athens was, by the treachery of its enemies, burned to the ground. This gave Nestor the greatest oc- casion that ever builder had to render his name immortal, and his person venerable : for all the new city rose according to his disposition, and all the monuments of the glories and distresses of that people were erected by that sole artist : nay, all their temples as well as houses, were the effects of his study and labour ; insomuch, that it was said by an old sage, ‘ Sure Nestor will now be famous, for the habitations of gods, as well as men, are built by his contrivance.’ But this bashful quality still put a damp upon his great knowledge, which has as fatal an effect upon men’s reputations as poverty ; for as it was said, ‘ the poor man saved the city, and the poor man’s labour was forgot ;’ so here we find, ‘ the * Sir Christopher Wren, the real person here alluded to, very properly under the name of Nestor, both in re- spect of his great wisdom and his great age, was born at East Knoyle in Wiltshire, Oct. 5, 1632, and died at Hamp- ton Court, Feb. 25, 1723, in his ninety-first year. 118 THE TATLER. modest man built the city, and the modest man’s skill was unknown.’ Thus we see, every man is the maker of his own fortune ; and what is very odd to consider, he must in some measure be the trumpeter of his own fame ; not that men are to be tolerated who directly praise themselves ; but they are to be endued with a sort of defensive eloquence, by which ]they shall be always capable of ex- pressing the rules and arts whereby they govern themselves. Varillus was the man, of all I have read of, the happiest in the true possession of this quality of modesty. My author says of him, modesty in Varillus is really a virtue, for it is a voluntary quality, and the effect of good sense. He is naturally bold and enterprising ; but so justly discreet, that he never acts or speaks any thing, but those who behold him know he has forbore much more tl^an he has performed or uttered, out of deference to the persons before whom he is. This make.s Varillus truly amiable, and all his attempts successful ; for, as bad as the world is thought to be by those who are perhaps un- skilled in it, want of success in our actions is generally owing want of judgment in what we ought to attempt, or a rustic modesty, which will not give us leave to undertake what we ought. But how unfortunate this diffident temper is to those who are possessed with it, may be best seen in the success of such as are wholly unacquainted with it. Wo have one peculiar elegance in our Ian- guage above all others, which is conspicuous in the term ‘ Fellow.’ This word, added to any of our adjectives, extremely varies, or quite alters, the sense of that with which it is joined. Thus, though ‘ a modest man’ is the most un- fortunate of all men, yet ‘ a modest fellow’ is as superlatively happy. ‘A modest fellow’ is a ready creature, who, with great humility, and as great forwardness, visits his patrons at all hours, and meets them in ail places, and has so moderate an opinion of himself, that he makes his court at large. If you v;ill not give him a great employment, he will be glad of a little one. He has so great a deference for his bene- factor’s judgment, that as he thinks himself fit for any thing he can get, so he is above nothing which is offered. He is like the young bachelor of arts, who came to town recommended to a chaplain’s place ; but none being vacant, mo- destly accepted that of a postilion. We have very many conspicuous persons of this undertaking yet modest turn ; I have a grandson who is very happy in this quality : I sent him in the time of the last peace into France. As soon as he landed at Calais, he sent me an exact account of the nature of the people, and the policies of the king of France. I got him since chosen a member of a corpo- ration ; the modest creature, as soon as he came into the common-council, told a senior burgess, he was perfectly out of the orders of their house. In other circumstances, he is so thoroughly * modest a fellow,’ that he seems to pretend only to things he understands. He is a citizen only .at court, and in the city a courtier. In a word, to speak the characteristical difference between modest man’ and ‘a modest fellow;’ the [No. 53. modest man is in doubt in all his actions : a modest fellow never has a doubt from his cradle to his grave. No. 53.] Thursday, August 11, 1709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate'er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, August 10. THE CIVIL HUSBAND. The fate and character of the inconstant Osmyn is a just excuse for the little notice taken by his widow of his daparture out of this life, which was equally troublesome to Elmira, his faithful spouse and to himself. That life passed between them after this manner, is the reason the town has just now received a lady with all that gayety, after having been a relict but three months, which other w'omen hardly assume under fifteen, after such a disaster. Elmira is the daughter of a rich and worthy citizen, who gave her to Osmyn w’ith a portion which might have obtained her an alliance with our noblest houses, and fixed her in the eye of the world, wffiere her story had not been now to be related : for her good qualities had made her the object of universal esteem among the polite part of mankind, from whom she has been banished and immured until the death of her jailor. It is now full fifteen years since that beauteous lady was given into the hands of the happy Osmyn, who, in the sense of all the world, received at that time a present more valuable than the possession of both the Indies. She was then in her early bloom, with an un- derstanding and discretion very little inferior to the most experienced matrons. She W’as not beholden to the charms of her sex, that her company was preferable to any Osmyn could meet with abroad ; for, were all she said con- sidered without regard to her being a woman, it might stand the examination of the severest judges. She had all the beauty of her own sex, with all the conversation-accomplishments of ours. But Osmyn very soon grew surfeited with the charms of her person by possession, and of her mind by w’ant of taste ; for he w as one of that loose sort of men, who have but one reason for setting any value upon the fair sex ; who consider even brides but as new wmmen, and consequently neglect them when they cease to be such. All the merit of Elmira could not prevent her becoming a mere wife within few months after her nuptials ; and Osmyn had so little relish for her conversation, that he com- plained of the advantages of it. ‘ My spouse,’ said he to one of his companions, ‘ is so very discreet, so good, so virtuous, and I know not what, that I think her person is rather the ob- ject of esteem than of love ; and there is such a thing as a merit which causes rather distance than passion.’ But there being no medium in the state of matrimony, their life began to take the usual gradations to become the most irksome of all beings. They grew in the first place very THE TATLER. 119 No. 53.] complaisant; and having at heart a certain ! knowledge that they were indifferent to each other, apologies were made for every little cir- cumstance which they thought betrayed their mutual coldness. This lasted but few months, when they showed a difference of opinion in every trifle ; and, as a sign of certain decay of affection, the word ‘ perhaps,’ was introduced in all their discourse. ‘ I have a mind to go to the park,’ says she ; ‘ but perhaps, my dear, you will want the coach on some other occasion.’ He ‘ would very willingly carry her to the play ; but perhaps she had rather go to lady Centaur’s and play at Ombre.’ They were both persons i of good discerning, and soon found that they mortally hated each other by their manner of hiding it. Certain it is, that there are some genios which are not capable of pure affection, and a man is born with talents for it as much as for poetry or any other science. Osmyn began too late to find the imperfection of his own heart, and used all the methods in the world to correct it, and argue himself into return of desire and passion for his wife, by the contemplation of her excellent qualities, his great obligations to her, and the high value he saw all the world except himself did put upon her. But such is man’s unhappy condition, that though the weakness of the heart has a I prevailing power over the strength of the head, yet the strength of the head has but small force against the weakness of the heart. Osmyn, . therefore, struggled in vain to revive departed I desire ; and for that reason resolved to retire to I one of his estates in the country, and pass away his hours of wedlock in the noble diversions of the field ; and in the fury of a disappointed lover, made an oath to leave neither stag, fox, or hare living, during the days of his wife. Besides i that country-sports would be an amusement, he hoped also that his spouse would be half killed ' by the very sense of seeing this town no more, and would think her life ended as soon as she ^ left it. He communicated his design to Elmira, , who received it, as now she did all things, like I a person too unhappy to be relieved or afflicted ' ‘ by the circumstance of place. This unexpected 1 resignation made Osmyn resolve to be as oblig- I ing to her as possible ; and if he could not prevail ^ ' upon himself to be kind, he took a resolution at least to act sincerely, and communicate frankly s ' to her the weakness of his temper, to excuse the 4 indifference of his behaviour. He disposed his 1 [ household in the way to Rutland, so as he and 4 his lady travelled only in the coach for the con- f i venience of discourse. They had not gone many o' 1^ miles out of town, when Osmyn spoke to this 4 purpose: 00 ! ‘My dear, I believe I look quite as silly now H I am going to tell you I do not love you, as when I first told you I did. We are now going rjl into the country together, with only one hope lol; for making this life agreeable, survivorship : M desire is not in our power ; mine is all gone for U, you. What shall we do to carry it with de- cency to the world, and hate one another with ill discretion ?’ The lady answered, without the least obser- vation on the extravagance of his speech : ‘ My dear, you have lived most of your days in a court, and I have not been wholly unac- quainted with that sort of life. In courts, you see good-will is spoken with great warmth, ill-will covered with great civility. Men ar long in civilities to those they hate, and short in expressions of kindness to those they love, Therefore, my dear, let us be well-bred still and it is no matter, as to all who see us, whether we love or hate : and to let you see how much you are beholden to me for my conduct, I have both hated and despised you, my dear, this half-year ; and yet neither in language or be- haviour has it been visible but that I loved you tenderly. Therefore, as I know you go out of town to divert life in pursuit of beasts, and con- versation with men just above them ; so, my life, from this moment, I shall read all the learned cooks who have ever writ; study broths, plasters, and conserves, until, from a fine lady, I become a notable woman. We must take our minds a note or two lower, or we shall be tortured by jealousy or anger. Thus, I am re- solved to kill all keen passions, by employing my mind on little subjects, and lessening the easiness of my spirit; while you, my dear, with much ale, exercise, and ill company, are so good as to endeavour to be as contemptible as it is necessary for my quiet I should think you.’ At Rutland they arrived, and lived with great but secret impatience for many successive years, until Osmyn thought of a happy expedi- ent to give their affairs a new turn. One day he took Elmira aside, and spoke as follows : ‘My dear, you see here the air is so temper- ate and serene; the rivulets, the groves, and soil, so extremely kind to nature, that we are stronger and firmer in our health since we left the town ; so that there is no hope of a release in this place ; but, if you will be so kind as to go with me to my estate in the hundreds of Essex, it is possible some kind damp may one day or other relieve us. If you will condescend to ac- cept of this offer, I will add that whole estate to your jointure in this country.’ Elmira, who was all goodness, accepted the offer, removed accordingly, and has left her spouse in that place to rest with his fathers. This is the real figure in which Elmira ought to be beheld in this town ; and not thought guilty of an indecorum, in not professing the sense, or bearing the habit of sorrow, for one who robbed her of all the endearments of life, and gave her only common civility, instead of complacency of manners, dignity of passion, and that constant assemblage of soft desires and af- fections which all feel who love, but none can express. Will's Coffee-house, August 10. Mr. Truman, who is a mighty admirer of dramatic poetry, and knows I am about a tra- gedy, never meets me, but he is giving admo- nitions and hints for my conduct. ‘ Mr. Bicker- staff,’ said he, ‘ I was reading last night your second act you were so kind to lend me : but I find you depend mightily upon the retinue of your hero to make him magnificent. You make guards, and ushers, and courtiers, and commons, and nobles, march before ; and then 120 THE TATLER. [No. 54. enters your prince, and says, they cannot de- fend him from his love. Why, pr’ythee, Isaac, who ever thought they could ? Place me your loving monarch in a solitude ; let him have no sense at all of his grandeur, but let it be eaten up with his passion. He must value himself as the greatest of lovers, not as the first of princes : and then let him say a more tender thing than ever man said before — for h\s feather and eagle's beak are nothing at all. The man is to be expressed by his sentiments and affec- tions, and not by his fortune or equipage. You are also to take care, that at his first entrance be says something, which may give us an idea of what we are to expect in a person of his way of thinking. Shakspeare is your pattern. In the tragedy of Caesar he introduces his hero in his night-gown. He had at that time all the power of Rome : deposed consuls, subordinate generals, and captive princes might have pre- ceded him ; but his genius was above such me- chanic methods of showing greatness. There- fore, he rather presents that great soul debating upon the subject of life and death with his inti- mate friends, without endeavouring to prepossess his audience with empty show and pomp. When those who attend him talk of the many omens which had appeared that day, he answers : “ Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet liave heard, It seems to me most strange tliat men should fear ; Seeing that death, a necessary end. Will come, when it will come. ‘ When the hero has spoken this sentiment, tliere is nothing that is great which cannot be expected from one, whose first position is the contempt of death to so high a degree, as to make his exit a thing wholly indifferent, and not a part of his care, but that of heaven and fate.’ St. James's Coffee-house, August 10. Letters from Brussels of the fifteenth instant, N. S. say, that major-general Ravignan returned on the eighth, with the French king’s answer to the intended capitulation for the citadel of Tournay, which is, that he does not think fit to sign that capitulation, except the allies will grant a cessation of arms in general, during the time in which all acts of hostility were to have ceased between the citadel and the besiegers. Soon after the receipt of this news, the cannon on each side began to play. There are two attacks against the citadel, commanded by general Lottuin and general Schuylemberg, which are both carried on with great success ; and it is not doubted but the citadel will be in the hands of the allies before the last day of this month. Letters from Ipres say, that on the ninth instant part nf the garrison of that place had. mutinied in two bodies, each consisting of two hundred ; who being dispersed the same day, a body of dght hundred appeared in the market-place at nine the night following, and seized all manner of provisions, but were with much difficulty quieted. The governor has not punished any of the offenders, the dissatisfaction being universal in that place ; and it is thought the officers foment those disorders, that the ministry may be convinced of the necessity of paying those troops, and supplying them with provisions. These advices add, that on the fourteenth the marquis d’Este passed express through Brussels from the duke of Savoy, with advice that the army of his royal highness ha,d forced the re- trenchments of the enemy in Savoy, and de- feated that body of men which guarded those passes under the command of the marquis de Thouy. No. 54.] Saturday, August 13, 1709. Cluicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, August 12. OF THE GOVERNMENT OF AFFECTION. When labour was pronounced to be the por- tion of man, that doom reached the affections of his mind, as well as his person, the matter on which he was to feed, and all the animal and vegetable world about him. There is, there- fore, an assiduous care and cultivation to be be- stowed upon our passions and affections ; for they, as they are the excrescences of our souls like our hair and beards, looks horrid or becom- ing, as we cut or let them grow. All this grave preface is meant to assign a reason in nature for the unaccountable behaviour of Duumvir, the husband and keeper. Ten thousand follies had this unhappy man escaped, had he made a com- pact with himself to be upon his guard, and not permitted his vagrant eye to let in so many dif- ferent inclinations upon him, as all his days he has been perplexed with. But, indeed, at pre- sent, he has brought himself to be confined only to one prevailing mistress ; between whom and his wife. Duumvir passes his hours in all the vicissitudes which attend passion and affection, without the intervention of reason. Laura his wife, and Phillis his mistress, are all with whom he has had, for some months, the least amorous commerce. Duumvir has passed the noon of life ; but cannot withdraw from those entertain- ments which are pardonable only before that stage of oar being, and which, after that season, are rather punishments than satisfactions ; for palled appetite is humorous, and must be grati- fied with sauces rather than food. For which end Duumvir is provided with a haughty, impe- rious, expensive, and fantastic mistress, to whom he retires from the conversation of an affable, humble, discreet, and affectionate wife. Laura receives him after absence, with an easy and unaffected complacency ; but that he calls insi- pid : Phillis rates him for his absence, and bids him return from whence he came ; this he calls spirit and fire ; Laura’s gentleness is thought mean ; Phillis’s insolence, sprightly. Were you to see him at his own home, and his mistress’s lodg- ings ; to Phillis he appears an obsequious lover, to Laura an imperious master. Nay, so unjust is the taste of Duumvir, that he owns Laura has no ill quality, but that she is his wife ; Phillis no good one, but that she is his mistress. And THE TATLER. 121 No. 54.] he has himself often said, were he married to any one else, he would rather keep Laura than any woman living ; yet allows, at the same time, that Pliillis, were she a woman of honour, would have been the most insipid animal breath- ing. The other day Laura, who has a voice like an angel, began to sing to him. ‘ Fie, madam,’ he cried, ‘ we must be past all these gayeties.’ Phillis has a note as rude and as loud as that of a milk-maid : when she begins to warble, * Well,’ says he, ‘ there is such a pleasing sim- plicity in all that wench does.’ In a word, the affectionate part of his heart being corrupted, and his true taste that way wholly lost, he has contracted a prejudice to all the behaviour of Laura, and a general partiality in favour of Phillis. It is not in the power of the wife to do a pleasing thing, nor in the mistress to commit one that is disagreeable. There is something too melaricholy in the reflection on this circum- stance, to be the subject of raillery. lie said a sour thing to Laura at dinner the other day ; upon which she burst into tears. ‘ What the devil, madam,’ says he, ‘ cannot I speak in my own house ?’ He answered Phillis a little ab- ruptly at supper the same evening, upon which she threw his periwig into the fire. ‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ thou art a brave termagant jade : do you know, hussy, that fair wig cost forty gui- neas ?’ Oh Laura ! is it for this that the faithful Cromius sighed for you in vain ? How is thy condition altered, since crowds of youth hung on thy eye, and watched its glances ? It i? not many months since Laura was the wonder and pride of her own sex, as well as the desire and passion of ours. At plays and at balls, the just turn of her behaviour, the decency of her virgin charms, chastised, yet added to diversion. At public devotions, her winning modesty, her re- signed carriage, made virtue and religion appear with new ornaments, and in the natural apparel of simplicity and beauty. In ordinary conver- sations, a sweet conformity of manners, and a humility which heightened all the complacencies of good-breeding and education, gave her more slaves than all the pride of her sex ever made women wish for. Laura’s hours are now spent in the sad reflection on her choice, and that de- ceitful vanity, almost inseparable from the sex, of believing she could reclaim one that had so often ensnared others ; as it now is, it is not even in the power of Duumvir himself to do her jus- tice : for though beauty and merit are things real, and independent on taste and opinion, yet agreeableness is arbitrary, and the mistress has much the advantage of the wife. But whenever fate is so kind to her and her spouse as to end her days, with all this passion for Phillis and in- difference for Laura, he has a second wife in view, who may avenge the injuries done to her predecessor. Aglaura is the destined lady, who has lived in assemblies, has ambition and play for her entertainment, and thinks of a man, not as the object of love, but the tool of her interest or pride. If ever Aglaura comes to the empire of this ineonstant, she will endear the memory of her predecessor. But, in the mean time, it is melancholy to consider that the virtue of a wife is like the merit of a poet, never justly valued until after death. From my own Apartment, August 11. As wo have professed that all the actions of men arc our subject, the most solemn arc not to bo omitted, if there happens to creep into their behaviour any thing improi)er for such occasions. Therefore, the offence mentioned in the following epistles, though it may seem to be committed in a place sacred from observation, is such, that it is our duty to remark uj)on it; ibr though he who does it is himself only guilty of an inde- corum, he occasions a criminal levity in all others who are present at it. St. Paul's Church-Yard, August 11. ‘ Mr. Bickerstaff, — It being mine as well as the opinion of many others that your papers are extremely well fitted to reform any irregular or indecent practice, I present the following as one which requires your correction. Myself, and a great many good people who frequent the divine service at St, Paul’.s, have been a long lime scandalized by the imprudent conduct of Stentor* in that cathedral. 'Phis gentleman, you must know, is always very exact and zeal- ous in his devotion, which I believe nobody blames ; but then he is accustomed to roar and bellow so terribly loud in the responses, that he frightens even us of the congregation who are daily used to him ; and one of our petty canons, a punning Cambridge scholar, calls his way of worship a Bull-offering. His harsh untuneable pipe is no more fit than a raven’s to join with the music of a choir ; yet, nobody having been enough his friend, I suppose, to inform him of it, he never fails, when present, to drown the harmony of every hymn and anthem, by an in- undation of sound beyond that of the bridge at the ebb of the tide, or the neighbouring lions in the anguish of their hunger. This is a griev- ance, which, to my certain knowledge, several worthy people desire to see redressed ; and if, by inserting this epistle in your paper, or by re- presenting the matter your own way, you can convince Stentor, that discord in a choir is the same sin that schism is in the church in general, you would lay a great obligation upon us; and make some atonement for certain of your para- graphs which have not been highly approved by us. — I am, sir, your most humble servant, ‘ JEOFFRY CHANTICLEER.’ It is wonderful that there should be such a general lamentation, and the grievances so fre- quent, and yet the offender never knew any thing of it. I have received the following letter from my kinsman at the Heralds-office, near the same place. ‘Dear Cousin, — This office, which has had its share in the impartial justice of your cen- sures, demands at present your vindication of their rights and privileges. There are certain hours when our young heralds are exercised in the faculties of making proclamation, and other vociferations, which of right belong to us only to utter : but, at the same hours, Stentor, in St. Paul’s Church, in spite of the coaches, carts, London cries, and all other sounds between us. Q Dr. tVilliam StanDy, dean of St. Paul’s. 122 THE TATLER. [No. 55. exalts his throat to so high a key, that the most noisy of our order is utterly unheard. If you please to observe upon this, you will ever oblige, &c.’ There have been communicated to me some other ill consequenees from the same cause ; as, the overturning of coaches by sudden starts of the horses as they passed that way, women pregnant frightened, and heirs to families lost ; which arc public disasters, though arising from a good intention : but it is hoped, after this admonition, that Stentor will avoid an act of so great supererogation, as singing without a voice. But I am diverted from prosecuting Stentor’s reformation, by an account, that the two faithful lovers, Lisander and Coriana, are dead ; for, no longer ago than the first day of the last month, they swore eternal fidelity to each other, and to love until death. Ever since that time Lisander has been twice a day at the chocolate-house, visits in every circle, is missing four hours in four-and-twenty, and will give no account of , himself. These are undoubted proofs of the de- parture of a lover ; and consequently Coriana is also dead as a mistress. I have written to Stentor, to give this couple three calls at the church-door, wliich they must hear if they are living within the bills of mortality; and if they do not answer at that time, they are fronr that moment added to the number of my defunct. No. 55.] Tuesday^ August 16, 1709. Paulo majora canamus. Virg. Eel. iv. 1. Begin a loftier strain. White's Chocolate-house,, August 15. While others are busied in relations which concern the interest of princes, the peace of nations, and revolutions of empire ;* I think, though these are very great subjects, my theme of discourse is sometimes to be of matters of a yet higher consideration. The slow steps of providence and nature, and strange events which are brought about in an instant, are what, as they come within our view and observation, shall be given to the public. Such things are not accompanied with show and noise, and there- fore seldom draw the eyes of the unattentive part of mankind ; but are very proper at once to exercise our humanity, please our imagina- tions, and improve our judgments. It may not therefore, be unuseful to relate many circum- stances, which were observable upon a late cure done upon a young gentleman who was born blind, and on the twenty-ninth of June last re- ceived his sight, at the age of twenty years, by the operation of an oculist. This happened no farther off than Newington, and the work was prepared for in the following manner. The operator, Mr. Grant, having observed the eyes of his patient, and convinced his * The name of the young man, who is the principal subject of this paper, w'as William Jones of Newington Butts, who, it is said, was born blind, and brought to hifl sight at the ag» sf twenty. friends and re'ations, among others the reverend Mr. Caswell, minister of the place, that it was highly probable that he should remove the ob- stacle which prevented the use of his sight ; all his acquaintance, who had any regard for the young man, or curiosity to be present when one of full age and understanding received a new sense, assembled themselves on this occa- sion. Mr. Caswell, being a gentleman parti- cularly curious, desired the whole company, in case the blindness should be cured, to keep si- lence ; and let the patient make his own obser- vations, without the direction of any thing he had received by his other senses, or the advan- tage of discovering his friends by their voices. Among several others, the mother, brethren, sisters, and a young gentlewoman, for whom he had a passion, were present. The work was performed with great skill and dexterity. When tlie patient first received the dawn of light, there appeared such an ecstasy in his action, that he seemed ready to swoon away in the surprise of joy and wonder. The surgeon stood before him with his instruments in his hands. The young man observed him from head to foot ; after which he surveyed himself as carefully, and seemed to compare him to himself ; and, observing both their hands, seemed to think they were exactly alike, except the instruments, which he took for parts of his hands. When he had continued in tliis amazement some titne, his mother could not longer bear the agitations of so many passions, as thronged upon her; but fell upon his neck, crying out, ‘ My son ! my son 1’ The youtii knew her voice, and could speak no more than ‘ Oh rne ! are you my mo- ther V and fainted. The whole room, you will easily conceive, wore very affectionately em- ployed in recovering him ; but, above all, the young gentlewoman who loved him, and whom he loved, shrieked in the loudest manner. That voice seemed to have a sudden eftect upon him as he recovered, and he showed a double curi- osity in observing her as she spoke and called to him, until at last he broke out, ‘ What has been done to me ? Whither am I carried ? Is all this about me the thing I have heard so often of? Is this the light? Is this seeing? Were you always thus happy, when you said you were glad to see each other ? Where is Tom, who used to lead me ? But I could now, me- thinks, go any where without him.’ He oftered to move, but seemed afraid of every thing around him. When they saw his difficulty, they told him, until he became better acquainted with his new being, he must let the servant still lead him. The boy was called for, and presented to him. Mr. Caswell asked him, ‘ what sort of thing he took Tom to be before he had seen him V He answered, ‘ he believed there was not so much of him as of himself; but he fancied him the same sort of creature.’ The noise of this sudden change made all the neighbourhood throng to the place where he was. As he saw the crowd thickening he desired Mr. Caswell to tell him how many there were in all to be seen. The gentleman, smiling, answered him, that ‘ it would be very proper for him to return to his late condition, and suffer his eyes to be covered, until they had received strength : for he might No. 55.] THE TATLER. 123 'ir remember well enoug’h, that by degrees he had from little and little come to tlie strength he had at present in his ability of walking and moving ; and that it was the same thing with his eyes, which,’ he said, ‘ would lose the power of continuing to him that wonderful transport he was now in, except lie would be contented to lay aside the use of them, until they were strong enough to bear the light without so much feeling as he knew he underwent at present.’ With much reluctance he was prevailed upon to have his eyes bound ; in which condition they kept him in a dark room, until it was proper to let the organ receive its objects without further precaution. During the time of this darkness, he bewailed himself in the most distressed man- ner ; and accused all his friends, complaining that ‘ some incantation had been wrought upon him, and some strange magic used to deceive him into an opinion that he had enjoyed what they called sight.’ He added, ‘ that the im- pressions then let in upon his soul would cer- tainly distract him, if lie were not so at that present. At another time, he would strive to name the persons he had seen among the crowd after he was couched, and would pretend to speak, in perplexed terms of his own making, of what he in that sliort time observed. But, on the sixth instant, it was thought fit to un- bind his head, and the young woman whom he loved was instructed to open his eyes accord- ingly : as well to endear herself to him by such a circumstance, as to moderate his ecstasies by the persuasion of a voice which had so much power over him as hers ever had. When this beloved young woman began to take off the binding of his eyes, she talked to him as fol- lows. ‘ Mr. William, I am now taking the binding off, though, when I consider what I am doing, I tremble with the apprehension, that though I have from my very childhood loved you, dark as you were, and thougli you had conceived so strong a love for me, you will find there is such a thing as beauty, wdiich may ensnare you into a thousand passions of whicli you are now in- nocent, and take you from me for ever. But, before I put myself to the hazard, tell me in what manner that love, you always professed to me, entered into your heart; for its usual admission is at tlie eyes.’ The young man answered, ‘Dear Lidia, it I am to lose by sight the soft pantings which I have always felt when I heard your voice ; if I am no more to distinguish the step of her I love when she approaches me, but to change that sweet and frequent pleasure for such an amazement as I knew the little time I lately savv; or if I am to have any thing besides, which may take from me the sense I have of what appeared most pleasing to me at that time, which apparition it seems was you ; pull out these eyes, before they lead me to be ungrate- ful to you, or undo myself. I wished for them but to see you; pull them out, if they are to make me forget you.’ Lidia was extremely satisfied with these as- l| surances ; and pleased herself with playing with his perplexities. In all his talk to her, he showed but very faint ideas of any thing which had not been received at the ears ; and closed his protestation to her, by saying, that if hj? were to see Valentia and Barcelona, whom he supposed the most esteemed of all women, by the quarrel there was about them, he would never like any but Lidia. St. James's Coffee-house, August 15. We have repeated advices of the entire de- feat of the Swedish army near Pultowa, on the twenty -seventh of June, O. S. ; and letters from Berlin give the following account of the remains of tile Swedish army since the battle : Prince Menzikoff, being ordered to pursue the victory, came up with the Swedish army, which was left to the command of general Lewenhaupt, on the thirteenth of June, O. S. on the banks of the Boristhenes ; whereupon he sent general Lew- enhaupt a summons to submit himself to his present fortune : Lewenhaupt immediately de- spatched tliree general officers to that prince, to treat about a capitulation ; but the Swedes, though they consisted of fifteen thousand men, were in so great want of provision and ammu- nition, tliat they were obliged to surrender themselves at discretion. His czarish majesty despatched an express to general Goltz, with an account of these particulars, and also with instructions to send out detachments of his cavalry, to prevent the king of Sweden’s join- ing his army in Poland. That prince made his escape witii a small party by swimming over the Boristhenes ; and it was tliought he de- signed to retire into Poland by the way of Voiliinia. Advices from Bern of the eleventh instant say, that the general diet of the Hel- vetic body lield at Baden, concluded on the sixth ; but the deputies of the six cantons, who are deputed to determine the affair of Tocken- burg, continue their application to that business, notwithstanding some new difficulties started by the abbot of St. Gall. Letters Ifom Geneva of the ninth, say, that the duke of Savoy’s cavalry had joined count Thaun, as had also two imperial regiments of hussars ; and that his royal highness’s army was disposed in the fol- lowing manner : the troops under the command of count Thaun are extended from Constans to St. Peter D’Albigni. Small parties are left in several posts from thence to Little St. Bernard, to preserve the communication with Piedmont by the valley of Aosta. Some forces are also pooted at Taloir, and in the castle of Doin, on each side of the lake of Anneci. General Rhe- binder is encamped in the valley of Oulx with ten thousand foot, and some detachments of horse ; his troops are extended from Exilles to Mount Genevre, so that he may easily penetrate into Dauphine on the least motion of the enemy ; but the duke of Berwick takes all necessary precautions to prevent such an enterprise. That general’s head quarters are at Francin ; and he hath disposed his army in several parties, to preserve a communication with the Maurienne and Briancon. He hath no provisions for his army but from Savoy ; Provence and Dau- phind being unable to supply him with neces- saries. He left two regiments of dragoons at Annen, who suffered very much in the late 124 THE TATLER. [No. 56. action at Tessons, where they lost fifteen hun- dred who were killed on the spot, four standards, and three hundred prisoners, among whom were forty officers. The last letters from the duke of Marlborough’s camp at Orchies of the nine- teenth instant, advise, that monsieur Ravignon being returned from the Freneh court with an account that the king of France had refused to ratify the capitulation for the surrender of the citadel of Tournay, the approaches have been carried on witli great vigour and success : our miners have discovered several of the enemy’s mines, who have sprung divers others, which did little execution ; but for the better security of the troops, both assaults are carried on by the cautious way of sapping. On the eighteenth, the confederate army made a general forage without any loss. Marshal Villars continues in his former camp, and applies himself with great diligence in casting up new lines behind the old on the Scarp. The duke of Marlborough and prince Eugene designed to begin a general review of the army on the twentieth. No. 56.] Thursday^ August 18, 1709. Quicquid ajunt homines nosfri est farrago libclli. Juv. Sat. i. 65,66. Whatever good is done, whatever ill By human kind, shall this collection fill.* White's Chocolate-house, August 17. There is a young foreigner committed to my care, who puzzles me extremely in the questions he asks about the persons of figure we meet in public places. He has but very little of our language, and therefore I am mightily at a loss to express to him things for which they have no word in that tongue to which he was born. It has been often my answer, upon his asking who such a fine gentlemen is ? That he is what we call a sharper ; and he wants my explication. I thought it would be very unjust to tell him, he is the same the French call Coquin; the Latins, Nebulo; or the Greeks, for, as custom is the most powerful of all laws, and that the order of men we call sharpers are re- ceived amongst us, not only with permission, but favour, I thought it unjust to use them like persons upon no establishment ; besides that it would be an unpardonable dishonour to our country to let him leave us with an opinion, that our nobility and gentry keep company with common thieves and cheats : I told him, ‘ they were a sort of tame hussars, that were allowed in our cities, like the wild ones in our camp ; who had all the privileges belonging to us, but at the same time, were not tied to our discipline or laws.’ Aletheus, who is a gentleman of too much virtue for the age he lives in, would not let this matter be thus palliated ; but told my pupil, ‘ that he was to understand that distinc- * This is the first of some patriotic and excellent pa' pers, in which Steele laudably employed his wit, in ex- posing the gamesters, sharpers, and swindlers, of his time, with a view to guard his unwary countrymen from their snares ; and, ‘ to banish fraud and cozenage from the presence and conversation of gentlemen.’ t Th# word ‘ rascal,' printed in Greek characters. tion, quality, merit, and industry, were laid aside among us by the incursions of these civil hussars; who had got so much counte- nance, that the breeding and fashion of the age turned their way to the ruin of order and economy in all places where they are admitted.’ But Sophronius, who never falls into heat upon any subject, but applies proper language, tem- per, and skill, with which the thing in debate is to be treated, told the youth, ‘ that gentleman had spoken nothing but what was literally true , but fell upon it with too much earnestness to give a true idea of that sort of people he was de- claiming against, or to remedy the evil which he bewailed : lor the acceptance of these men being an ill which had crept into the conversation-part of our lives, and not into our constitution itself, it must be corrected where it began; and, con- sequently, is to be amended only by bringing raillery and derision upon the persons who are guilty, or those who converse with them. For the sharpers,’ continued he, ‘ at present, are not as formerly, under the acceptation of pick pockets : but are by custom erected into a real and venerable body of men, and have subdued us to so very particular a deference to them, that though they were known to be men with out honour or conscience, no demand is called a debt of honour so indisputably as theirs. You may lose your honour to them, but they lay none against you : as the priesthood in Roman Catholic countries can purchase what they please for the church ; hut they can alienate nothing from it. It is from this toleration, that sharpers are to be found among all sorts of assemblies and companies ; and every talent among men is made use of by some one or other of the society, for the good of their common cause : so that an unexperienced young gentleman is as often en- snared by his understanding as his folly ; for who could be unmoved, to hear the eloquent Dromio explain the constitution, talk in the key of Cato, with the severity of one of the ancient sages, and debate the greatest question of state in a common chocolate or coffee-house ? who could, I say, hear this generous declamator, without being fired at his noble zeal, and be- coming his professed follower, if he might be admitted ? Monoculus’s gravity would be no less inviting to a beginner in conversation ; and the snare of his eloquence would equally catch one who had never seen an old gentleman so very wise, and yet so little severe. Many other instances of extraordinary men among the bro- therhood might be produced ; but every man, who knows the town, can supply himself with such examples without their being named. Will Vafer, who is skilful at finding out the ridiculous side of a thing, and placing it in a new and pro- per light, though he very seldom talks, thought fit to enter into this subject. He has lately lost certain loose sums, which half the income of his estate will bring in within seven years : be- sides which, he proposes to marry, to set all right. He was, therefore, indolent enough to speak of this matter with great impartiality. ‘ When I look around me,’ said this easy gentle- man, ‘ and consider in a just balance us bub- bles, elder brothers whose support our dull fa- thers contrived to depend upon certain acres. THE TATLER. 125 No. 56.] with the rooks, whose ancestors left tliern tiie wide world ; I cannot but admire tlieir fraternity, and contemn my own. Is not Jack Heyday much to be preferred to the knight he has bub- bled ? Jack has his equipage, his wenches, and his followers : the knight, so far from a retinue, that he is almost one of Jack’s. However, he is gay, you see, still ; a florid outside — His habit speaks the man — And since he must un- button, he would not be reduced outwardly, but is stripped to his upper coat. But though I have great temptation to it, I will not at this time give the history of the losing side; but speak the effects of my thoughts, since the loss of my money, upon the gaining people. This ill fortune makes most men contemplative and given to reading ; at least it has happened so to me; and the rise and fall of the family of Sharp- ers in all ages has been my contemplation.’ I find, all times have had of this people : Ho- mer, in his excellent heroic poem, calls them Myrmidons, who were a body that kept among themselves, and had nothing to lose ; therefore never spared either Greek or Trojan, when they fell in their way, upon a party. But there is a memorable verse, Vv'hich gives us an account of what broke that whole body, and made both Greeks and Trojans masters of the secret of their warfare and plunder. There is nothing so pedantic as many quotations ; therefore, I shall inform you only, that in this battalion there were two officers called Thersites and Pandarus : they were both less renowned for their beauty than their wit ; but each had this particular happiness, that they were plunged over head and ears in the same water which made Achilles invulnerable ; and had ever after, certain gifts which the rest of the world were never to enjoy. Among others, they were never to know they were the most dreadful to the sight of all mortals, never to be diffident of their own abilities, never to blush, or ever to be wounded but by each other. Though some historians say, gaming began among the Lydians to divert hunger, I could cite many authorities to prove it had its rise at the siege of Troy ; and that Ulysses won the sevenfold shield at hazard. But be that as it may, the ruin of the corps of Myrmidons proceeded from a breach between Thersites and Pandarus. The first of these was leader of a squadron, wherein the latter was but a private man ; but having all the good qualities necesary for a partisan, he was the favourite of his officer. But the whole history of the several changes in the order of Sharpers, from those Myrmidons to our modern men of address and plunder, will require that we consult some an- cient manuscripts. As we make these inquiries, we shall diurnally communicate them to the public, that the Knights of the Industry may be better understood by the good people of England. These sort of men, in some ages, were syco- phants and flatterers only, and were endued with arts of life to capacitate them for the con- versation of the rich and great ; but now the bubble courts the impostor, and pretends at the utmost to be but his equal. To clear up the reasons and causes in such revolutions, and the different conduct between fools and cheats, shall be one of our labours for the good of this king- dom. How, therefore, pimps, footmen, fiddlers, and lackeys, are elevated into companions in this present age, shall be accounted for from the influence of the planet Mercury on this island ; the ascendency of which Sharper over Sol, who is a patron of the muses and all honest profes- sions, had been noted by the learned Job Gad- bury,* to be the cause, that ‘ cunning and trick are more esteemed than art and science.’ It must be allowed also, to the memory of Mr. Partridge, late of Cecil-street in the Strand, that in his answer to an horary question, at what hour of the night to set a fox-trap in June 1705 ? he has largly discussed, under the character of Reynard, the manner of surprising all Sharpers as well as him. But of these great points, after more mature deliberation. St. James's Coffee-house^ August 17. ‘ To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire. ‘ Sir, — We have nothing at present new, but that we understand by some Owlers,t old people die in France. Letters from Paris of the tenth instant, N. S. say, that monsieur d’ Andre, marquis d’Oraison, died at eighty-five : mon- sieur Brumars, at one hundred and two years, died for love of his wife, who was ninety-two at her death, after seventy years cohabitation. Nicholas de Boutheiller, parish-preacher at Sasseville, being a bachelor, held out to one hundred and sixteen. Dame Claude de Massy, relict of monsieur Peter de Monceaux, grand audiencer of France, died on the seventeenth, aged one hundred and seven. Letters of the seventeenth say, monsieur Chrestien de La- moignon died on the seventh instant, a per- son of great piety and virtue ; but having died young, his age is concealed for reasons of state. On the fifteenth, his most Christian majesty, attended by the dauphin, the duke of Burgundy, the duke and dutchess of Berry, assisted at the procession which he yearly performs in memory of a vow made by Lewis the Thirteenth, in 1638. For which act of piety, his majesty reeeived absolution of his confessor, for the breach of all inconvenient vows made by himself. 1 am, sir, your most humble servant. ‘HUMPHREY KIDNEY.’ From my own Apartment, August 17. I am to aeknowledge several letters which I have lately received ; among others, one sub- scribed Philanthropos, another Emilia, both which shall be honoured. I have a third from an officer in the army, wherein he desires I would do justice to the many gallant actions which have been done by men of private cha- racters, or officers of lower stations, during this long war; that their families may have the plea- sure of seeing we lived in an age, wherein men of all orders had their proper share in fame and glory. There is nothing I should undertake * Gadbury was an almanack-maker and astrologer, t Owler signifies one who carries contraband goods ; the word is perhaps derived from the necessity of car- rying on an illicit trade by night. 126 THE TATLER. with greater pleasure than matters of this kind; if, therefore, they who are acquainted with such facts would please to communicate them by let- ters, directed to me at Mr. Morphew’s, no pains should be spared to put them in a proper and distinguishing' ligiit. This is to admonish Stentor, that it was not admiration of his voice, but -my publication of it, which has lately increased the number of his hearers. "^o. 57.] Saturday, August 6, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whatever good is done, whatever ill By human kind, shall this collection fill. Will's Coffee-house, August 19. I WAS this evening representing a complaint sent me out of the country from Emilia. She says, her neighbours there have so little sense of what a refined lady of the town is, tliat she, who was a celebrated wit in London, is in that dull part of the world in so little esteem, that they call her in their base style a Tongue-Pad. Old True Penny bid me advise her to keep her wit until she comes to town again, and admonish her, that both wit and breeding are local; for a fine court-lady is as aw’kward among country housewives, as one of them would appear in a drawing-room. It is therefore the most useful knowledge one can attain at, to understand among what sort of men we make the best figure ; for if there be a place where the beau- teous and accomplished Emilia is unacceptable, it is certainly a vain endeavour to attempt pleas- ing in all conversations. Here is Will Ubi, who is so thirsty after the reputation of a companion, that his company is for any body that will ac- cept of it ; and for want of knowing whom to choose for himself, is never chosen by others. There is a certain chastity of behaviour which makes a man desirable; and which if he trans- gresses, his wit will have the same fate with Delia’s beauty, which no one regards, because all know it is within^ their power. The best course Emilia can take is, to have less humility; for if she could have as good an opinion of her- self for having every quality, as some of her neighbours have of themselves with one, she would inspire even them with a sense of her merit, and make that carriage, which is now the subject of their derision, the sole object of their imitation. Until she has arrived at this value of herself, she must be contented with the fate of that uncommon creature, a woman too humble. White's Chocolate-house, August 19. Since my last, I have received a letter from Tom Trump, to desire that I would do the fra- ternity of gamesters the justice to own, that there are notorious Sharpers, wlio are not of their class. Among others, he presented me with the picture of Harry Coppersmith, in little, who, he says, is at this day worth half a plumb,* * A Plumb is a term in the city for jCIOO.OOO, [No. 57. by means much more indirect than by false dice. I must confess there appeared some reason in what he asserted; and he met me since, and ac- costed me in the follotving manner: ‘ It is won- derful to me, Mr. Bicker staff, that you can pre- tend to be a man of penetration, and fall upon us Knights of the Industry as the wickedest .of mortals, when there are so many who live in the constant practice of baser methods, unobserved. You cannot, though you know the story of my- self and the North Briton, but allow I am an honester man than Will Coppersmith, for all his great credit among the Lombards. I get my money by men’s follies, and he gets his by their distresses. The declining merchant communi- cates liis griefs to him, and he augments them by extortion. If, therefore, regard is to be had to the merit of the persons we injure, who is the more blameable, he that oppresses an unhappy man, or he that cheats a foolish one ? All man- kind are indifferently liable to adverse strokes of fortune ; and he who adds to them, when he might relieve them, is certainly a worse subject, than he who unburdens a man w'hose prosperity is unw’ieldy to him. Besides all which, he that borrows of Coppersmith does it out of necessity ; he that plays with me does it out of choice.’ I allowed Trump there are men as bad as him- self, which is the Jieightofhis pretensions; and must confess, that Coppersmith is the most wucked and impudent of all Sharpers ; a crea- ture that cheats with credit, and is a robber in the habit of a friend. The contemplation of this worthy person made me reflect on the wonder- full successes I have observed men of the mean- est capacities meet with in the world, and recol- lect an observation I once heard a sage man make ; which was, ‘ That he had observed, that in some professions, the lower the understand- ing, the greater the capacity.’ I remember, he instanced that of a banker, and said, that ‘ the fewer appetites, passions, and ideas a man had, he was the better for his business.’ There is little sir Tristram, without connex- ion in his speech, or so much as common sense, has arrived by his own natural parts at one of the greatest estates amongst us. But honest sir Tristram know’s himself to be but a repository for cash: he is just such a utensil as his iron chest, and may rather be said to hold money, than possess it. There is nothing so pleasant as to be in the conversation of these w’ealthy proficients. I had lately the honour to drink half-a-pint wuth sir Tristram, Harry Copper- smith, and Giles Twoshoes. These wags gave one another credit in discourse, according to their purses ; they jest by the pound, and make answers as they honour bills. Without vanity, I thought myself the prettiest fellow of the com- pany ; but I had no manner of powder over one muscle in their faces, though they smirked at every word spoken by each other. Sir Tristram called for a pipe of tobacco ; and telling us ‘ to- bacco was a pot-herb,’ bid the drawer bring him the other half-pint. Twmshoes laughed at the knight’s wit without moderation ; I took the liberty to say ‘ it was but a pun.’ ‘ A pun I’ said Coppersmith ; ‘ you would be a better man by ten thousand pounds if you could pun like sir I 'Ih'istram.’ Witli that they all burst out to- THE TATLER. 127 No. 58.] gether. The queer curs maintained this style of dialogue until we had drunk our quart a-piece, by half-pints. All I could bring away with me is, that Tvvoshoes is not worth twenty thousand pounds : for his mirth, though he was as in- sipid as either of the others, had no more ef- fect upon the company than if he had been a bankrupt. From my own Apartment, August 19. I have heard it has been advised by a diocesan to his inferior clergy, that instead of broaching opinions of their own, and uttering doctrines which may lead themselves and hearers into error, they would read some of the most cele- brated sermons, printed by others for the in- struction of their congregations. In imitation of such preachers at second-hand, I shall tran- scribe from Bruyere one of the most elegant pieces of raillery and satire which I have ever read. He describes the French as if speaking of a people not yet discovered, in the air and style of a traveller. ‘ I have heard talk of a country, where the old men are gallant, polite, and civil : the young men, on the contrary, stubborn, wild, without either manners or civility. They are free from passion for women, at the age when in other countries they begin to feel it; and prefer beasts, victuals, and ridiculous amours before them. Amongst these people, he is sober who is never drunk with any thing but wine ; the too fre- quent use of it having rendered it flat and in- sipid to them. They endeavoured by brandy, and other strong liquors, to quicken their taste, already extinguished, and want nothing to com- plete their debauches, but to drink aquafortis. The women of that country hasten the decay of their beauty, by their artifices to preserve it : they paint their cheeks, eye-brows, and shoul- ders, which they lay open, together with their breasts, arms, and ears, as if they were afraid to hide those places which they think will please, and never think they show enough of them. The physiognomies of the people of that coun- try are not at all neat, but confused and embar- rassed witli a bundle of strange hair, which they prefer before their natural : with this they weave something to cover their heads, which de- scends down half way their bodies, hides their features, and hinders you from knowing men by their faces. This nation has, besides this, their God and their king. The grandees go every day at a certain hour, to a temple they call a church : at the upper end of that temple there stands an altar consecrated to their God, where the priest celebrates some mysteries which they call lioly, sacred, and tremendous. The great men make a vast circle at the foot of the altar, standing with their backs to the priest and the holy mysteries, and their faces erected towards their king, who is seen on his knees upon a throne, and to whom they seem to direct the desires of their hearts, and all their devotion. However, in this custom, there is to be remarked a sort of subordination ; for the people appear adoring their prince, and their prince adoring God. The inhabitants of this region call it . It is from forty-eight degrees of latitude, and more than eleven hundred leagues by sea, from the Iroquois and Ilurons.’ Letters from Hampstead say, there is a cox- comb arrived there, of a kind whieh is utterly new. The fellow has courage, which he takes himself to be obliged to give proofs of every hour he lives. He is ever fighting with the men, and contradicting the women. A lady, who sent to me, superseribed him with this de- scription out of Suckling : ‘ I am a man of war and mi^lit, And know thus mucli that I can fight Whether I am i’th’ wrong or right, Devoutly. No woman under lieaven I fear, New oaths I can exactly swear : And forty healths my brain will bear, Most-stoutly. No. 58.] Tuesday, August 23, 1709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme, P. White's Chocolate-house, August 22. Poor Cynthio, who does me the honour to talk to me now and then very freely ofhis most secret thoughts, and tells me his most private frailties, owned to me, that though he is in his very prime of life, love had killed all his desires, and he was now as much to be trusted with a fine lady as if he were eighty. ‘ That one pas- sion for Clarissa has taken up,’ said he, ‘my whole soul ; and all my idle flames are extin- guished, as you may observe ordinary fires are often put out by the sunshine.’ This was a declaration not to be made but upon the highest opinion of a man’s sincerity ; yet as mueh a subject of raillery as such a speech would be, it is certain, that chastity is a nobler quality, and as much to be valued in men as in women. The mighty Scipio, ‘ who,’ as Blufte says in the comedy, ‘ was a pretty fellow in his time,’ was of this mind, and is celebrated for it by an author of good sense. When he lived, wit, and humour, and raillery, and public success, were at as high a pitch at Rome, as at present in England ; yet, I believe, there was no man in those days thought that general at all ridiculous in his behaviour in the following account of him. Scipio, at four-and-twenty years of age, had obtained a great victory ; and a multitude of prisoners, of each sex and all conditions, fell into his possession : among others, an agreeable virgin in her early bloom and beauty. He had too sensible a spirit to see the most lovely of all objects without being moved with passion : be- sides which, there was no obligation of honour or virtue to restrain his desires towards one who was his by the fortune of war. But a noble in- dignation, and a sudden sorrow which appeared in her countenance, when the conqueror cast his eyes upon her, raised his curiosity to know her story. He was informed, that she was a lady of the highest condition in that country, and contracted to Indibilis, a man of merit and 128 THE TATLER. [No. 58. quality. The generous Roman soon placed him- self in the condition of that unhappy man, who was to lose so charming a bride ; and, though a youth, a bachelor, a lover, and a conqueror, immediately resolved to resign all the invita- tions of his passion, and the rights of his power, to restore her to her destined husband. With this purpose he commanded her parents and relations, as well as her husband, to attend him at an appointed time. When they met, and were waiting for the general, my author frames to himself the different concern of an unhappy father, a despairing lover, and a tender mother, in the several persons who were so related to the captive. But, for fear of injuring the deli- cate circumstances with an old translation, I shall proceed to tell you, that Scipio appears to them, and leads in his prisoner into their pre- sence. The Romans, as noble as they were, seemed to allow themselves a little too much triumph over the conquered ; therefore, as Scipio approached, they all threw themselves on their knees, except the lover of the lady : but Scipio observing in him a manly sullenness, was the more inclined to favour him, and spoke to him in these words : ‘ It is not the manner of the Romans to use all the power they justly may : we fight not to ravage countries, or break through the ties of humanity. I am acquainted with your worth, and your interest in this lady : fortune has made me your master ; but I desire to be your friend. This is your wife ; take her, and may the gods bless you with her ! But far be it from Scipio to purchase a loose and momentary pleasure at the rate of making an honest man unhappy.’ Indibilis’s heart was too full to make him any answer ; but he threw himself at the feet of the general, and wept aloud. The captive lady fell into the same posture, and they both remained so, until the father burst into the fol- lowing words : ‘ O divine Scipio ! the gods have given you more than human virtue. O glorious leader! O wondrous youth! does not that obliged virgin give you, while she prays to the gods for your prosperity, and thinks you sent down from them, raptures, above all the trans- ports which you could have reaped from the possession of her injured person ?’ The tem- perate Scipio answered him without much emo- tion, and saying, ‘ Father, be a friend to Rome,’ retired. An immense sum was offered as her ransom ; but he sent it to her husband, and, smiling, said, ‘ This is a trifle after what I have given him already ; but let Indibilis know, that chastity at my age is a much more difficult virtue to practise than generosity.’ I observed Cynthio was very much taken with my narrative ; but told me, ‘ this was a virtue that would bear but a very^ inconsiderable figure in our days.’ However I took the liberty to say, that ‘ we ought not to lose our ideas of things, though we had debauched our true relish in our practice ; for, after we have done laughing, solid virtue will keep its place in men’s opinions ; and though custom made it not so scandalous as it ought to be, to ensnare innocent women, and triumph in the falsehood ; such actions, as we have here related, must be accounted true gallantry, and rise the higher in our esteem, the farther they are removed from our imitation. I WilVs Coffee-house, August 22. A man would be apt to think, in this laugh- j ing town, that it were impossible a thing so j exploded as speaking hard words should be I practised by any one that had ever seen good j company ; but, as if there were a standard in our minds as well as our bodies, you see very many just where they were twenty years ago, and more they cannot, will not arrive at. Were it not thus, the noble iMartius would not be the only man in England whom nobody can un- derstand, though he talks more than any man else. Will Dactyle the epigrammatist. Jack Comma the grammarian, Nick Crosse-grain who writes anagrams, and myself, made a pretty company at a corner of this room ; and entered very peaceably upon a subject fit enough for us, which was, the examination of the force of the particle For, when Martins joined us. He, be- ing well known to us all, asked ‘ w’hat we were upon ? for he had a mind to consummate the happiness of the day, w’hich had been spent among the stars of the first magnitude among the men of letters ; and, therefore, to put a period to it as he had commenced it, he should be glad to be allowed to participate of the plea- sure of our society.’ I told him the subject. ‘ Faith, gentlemen,’ said Martius, ‘ your subject is humble ; and if you will give me leave to elevate the conversation, I should humbly offer, that you would enlarge your inquiries to the word For-as-much; for though I take it,’ said he, ‘to be but one word, yet the particle Much implying quantity, the particle As similitude, it will be greater, and more like ourselves, to treat of For-as-much.’ Jack Comma is always serious, and answered : ‘ Martius, I must take the liberty to say, that you have fallen into all this error and profuse manner of speech by a certain hurry in your imagination, for want of being more exact in the knowledge of the parts of speech ; and it is so with all men who have not well studied the particle For. You have spoken For wuthout making inference, which is the great use of that particle. There is no man- ner of force in your observation of quantify and similitude in the syllables As and xMuch. But it is ever the fault of men of great wit to be in- correct ; which evil they run into by an indis- creet use of the wmrd For. Consider all the books of eontroversy which have been written, and I will engage you wull observe, that all the debate lies in this point. Whether they brought in For in a just manner ; or forced it in for their own use, rather than as understanding the use of the word itself? There is nothing like familiar instances : you have heard the story of the Irishman who reading. Money for live hair, took a lodging, and expected to be paid for living at that house. If this man had known. For was in that place of a quite differ- ent signification from the particle To, he could not have fallen into the mistake of taking Live for w’hat the Latins call Vivere, or rather Habitare.'* No. 59.] THE TATLER. 129 Martius seemed at a loss ; and, admiring his profound learning, wished he had been bred a scholar, for he did not take the scope of his dis- course. This wise debate, of which we had much more, made me reflect upon the difference of their capacities, and wonder that there could be, as it were, a diversity in men’s genius for nonsense ; that one should bluster, while another crept, in absurdities. Martius moves like a blind man, lifting liis legs higher than the or- dinary way of stepping ; and Comma, like one who is only short-sighted, picking his way when ne should be marching on. Want of learning makes Martius a brisk entertaining fool, and gives him a full scope ; but that which Comma has and calls learning, makes him diffident, and curbs his natural misunderstanding, to the great loss of the men of raillery. This conver- sation confirmed me in the opinion, that learn- ing usually does but improve in us what nature endowed us with. He that wants good sense is unhappy in having learning, for he has thereby only more ways of exposing himself; and he that has sense knows that learning is not know- ledge, but ratlier the art of using it. St. James's Coffee-house., August 22. We have undoubted intelligence of the defeat of the king of Sweden ; and that prince, who for some years had hovered like an approaching tempest, and was looked up at by all the nations of Europe, which seemed to expect their fate according to the course he should take, is now, in all probability, an unhappy exile, without the common necessaries of life. His czarish ma- jesty treats his prisoners with great gallantry and distinction. Count Rhensfeildt has had particular marks of his majesty’s esteem, for his merit and service to his master ; but count Piper, whom his majesty believes author of the most violent counsels into which his prince en- tered, is disarmed, and entertained accordingly. That decisive battle was ended at nine in the morning; and all the Swedish generals dined with the czar that very day, and received assu- rances, that they should find Muscovy was not unacquainted with the laws of honour and hu- manity. No. 59.] Thursday., August ^5., Quicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house., August 24. .®sop has gained to himself an immortal re- nown for figuring the manners, desires, passions, and interests of men, by fables of beasts and birds. I shall in my future accounts of our modern heroes and wits, vulgarly called Sharp- ers, imitate the method of that delightful moral- ist ; and think I cannot represent those worthies more naturally than under the shadow of a pack of dogs ; for this set of men are like them, made up of Finders, Lurchers, and Setters. Some R search for prey, others pursue, others take it ; and if it be worth it, they all come in at the death, and worry the carcass. It would require a most exact knowledge of the field and ^the harbours where the deer lie, to recount all the revolutions in the chase. But I am diverted from the train of my dis- course of the fraternity about this town, by let- ters from Hampstead, which give me an account, there is a late institution there, under the name of a Rafiling-shop ; which is, it seems, secretly supported by a person who is a deep practi- tioner in the law, and out of tenderness of con- science has, under the name of his maid Sisly, set up this easier way of conveyancing and alienating estates from one family to another. He is so far from having an intelligence with the rest of the fraternity, that all the humbler cheats, who appear there, are outfaced by the partners in the bank, and driven off by the re- flection of superior brass. This notice is given to all the silly faces that pass that way, that they may not be decoyed in by the soft allure- ment of a fine lady, who is the sign to the pageantry. At the same time, signior Hawk- sly, who is the patron of the household, is desir- ed to leave off this interloping trade, or admit, as he ought to do, the Knights of the Industry to their share in the spoil. But this little mat- ter is only by way of digression. Therefore, to return to our worthies. The present race of terriers and hounds would starve, were it not for the enchanted Actseon, who has kept the whole pack for many successions of hunting seasons. Actaeon has long tracts of rich soil ; but had the misfortune in his youth to fall under the power of sorcery, and has been ever since, some part of the year, a deer, and in some parts a man. While he is a man, such is the force of magic, he no sooner grows to such a bulk and fatness, but he is again turned into a deer, and hunted until he is lean ; upon which he returns to his human shape. Many arts have been tried, and many resolutions taken by Actsson himself, to follow such methods as would break the enchantment ; but all have hitherto proved ineffectual. I have therefore, by midnight watchings, and much care, found out, that there is no way to save him from the jaws of his hounds, but to destroy the pack, which, by astrological prescience, I find I am destined to perform. For which end, I have sent out my familiar, to bring me a list of all the places where they are harboured, that I may know where to sound my horn, and bring them together, and take an account of their haunts and their marks, against another opportunity. Will's Coffee-house., August 24. The author of the ensuing letter, by his name, and the quotations he makes from the ancients, seems a sort of spy from the old world, whom we moderns ought to be careful of of- fending; therefore, I must be free, and own it a fair hit where he takes me, rather than dis- oblige him. ‘ Sir. — Having a peculiar humour of desiring to be somewhat the better or wiser for what I 130 THE TATLER. [No. 59. read, I am always uneasy when, in any pro- found writer, for I read no others, I happen to meet with what I cannot understand. When this falls out, it is a great grievance to me that I am not able to consult the author himself about his meaning, for commentators are a sect that has little share in my esteem : your elabo- rate writings have, among many others, this advantage ; that their author is still alive, and ready, as his extensive charity makes us expect, to explain whatever may be found in them too sublime for vulgar understandings. This, sir, makes me presume to ask you, how the Hamp- stead hero’s character could be perfectly new when the last letters came away, and yet sir John Suckling so well acquainted with it sixty years ago ? I hope, sir, you will not take this amiss : I can assure you, I have a profound respect for you, which makes me write this with the same disposition with which Longinus bids us read Homer and Plato. When in read- ing, says he, any of those celebrated authors, we meet with a passage to which we canriot well reconcile our reasons, we ought firmly to believe, that were those great wits present to answer for themselves, we should, to our won- der, be convinced, that we only are guilty of the mistakes that we before attributed to them. If you think fit to remove the scruple that now torments me, it will be an encouragement to me to settle a frequent correspondence wuth you ; several things falling in my way, which would not, perhaps, be altogether foreign to your purpose, and whereon your thoughts would be very acceptable to your most humble servant, ‘ OB ADI AH GREENHAT.’ I own this is clean, and Mr. Greenhat has convinced me that I have writ nonsense, yet am I not at all offended at him. Scimus, et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissiin. Hor. Ars Poet, ver, xi. I own th’ indulgence — Such I give and take. Francis. This is the true art of raillery, w hen a man turns another into ridicule, and shows at the same time he is in good humour, and not urged on by malice against the person he rallies. Obadiah Greenhat has hit this very well : for, to make an apology to Isaac Bickerstaff, an un- known student and horary historian, as w’ell as astrologer, and with a grave face to say, he speaks of him by the same rules with which he would treat Horner or Plato, is to place him in company where he cannot expect to make a figure ; and make him flatter himself, that it is only being named with them which renders him most ridiculous. I have not knowm, and I am now past my grand climacteric, being sixty-four years of age, according to my way of life ; or, rather, if you will allow punning in an old gentleman, ac- cording to my way of pastime ; I say, as old as I am, I have not been acquainted with many of the Greenhats. There is indeed one Zedekiah Greenhat, who is lucky also in his wav. He has a very agreeable manner ; for wdien he has a mind thoroughly to correct a man, he never lakes from him any thing, but he allows him something for it; or els© he blames him for things wherein he is not defective, as well as for I matters wherein he is. This makes a weak ^ man believe he is in jest in the whole. The | other day he told Beau Prim, who is thought j impotent, ‘that his mistress had declared she ( would not have him, because he was a sloven, j and had committed a rape.’ The beau bit at | the banter, and said very gravely, ‘bethought • to be clean was as much as was necessary ; and that as to the rape, he wondered by what witch- craft that should come to her ears ; but it had indeed cost him a hundred pounds to hush the affair.’ The Greenhats are a family w’ith small voices and short arms, therefore they have power with none but their friends : they never call after those who run away from them, or pretend to ( take hold of you if you resist. But it has been j remarkable, that all who have shunned their | company, or not listened to them, have fallen | into the hands of such as have knocked out } their brains, or broken their bones. I have looked over our pedigree upon the receipt of this epistle, and find the Greenhats are a-kin to the ’Staffs. They descend from Maudlin, the left-handed wife of Nehemiah Bickerstalf, in the reign of Harry the second. And it is re- markable, that they are all left-handed, and have always been very expert at single rapier. A man must be very much used to their play to know how to defend himself; for their posture is so different from that of the right-handed, that you run upon their swords if you push for- ward : and they are in with you, if you offer to fall back without keeping your guard. There have been, also, letters lately sent to me, which relate to other people: among the rest, some whom I have heretofore declared to be so, are deceased. I must not, therefore, break through rules so far as to speak ill of the dead. This maxim extends to alt but the late Partridge, who still denies fais death. I am in. formed, indeed, by several, that he walks ; but I shall with all convenient speed lay him. St. James's Coffee-house, August 24. We hear from Tournay, that on the night be- tween the twenty-second and twenty-third, they went on with their works in the enemy’s mines, and levelled the earth which was taken out of them. The next day, at eight in the morning, when the French observed we w’ere relieving our trenches, they sprung a larger mine than any they had fired during the siege, which killed only four private centinels. The ensuing night, we had three men and two officers killed, as also, seven men wounded. Between the 5 twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth, we repaired some works which the enemy had ruined. On the next day, some of the enemy’s magazines blew up ; and it is thought they were destroyed on purpose by some of their men, who are im- ' patient of the hardships of the present service. There happened nothing remarkable for two or three days following. A deserter who came out of the citadel on the twenty-seventh, says the garrison is brought to the utmost necessity ; that their bread and water are both very bad : and that they were reduced to eat horse-flesh. No. 60.] THE TATLER. 131 The manner of fighting in this siege has dis- covered a gallantry in our men unknown to former ages ; their meeting with adverse par- ties under ground, where every step is taken with apprehensions of being blown up with mines below them, or crushed by the fall of the earth above them, and all this acted in dark- ness, has something in it more terrible than ever is met with in any other part of a soldier’s duty. However, this is performed with great cheerfulness. In other parts of the war we have also good prospects ; count Thaun has taken Annecy, and the count de Merci march- ed into Franche Compte, while his electoral highness is much superior in number to mon- sieur d’Harcourt ; so that both on the side of Savoy and Germany, we have reason to expect, very suddenly, some great event. No. 69.] Saturday, August 27, 1709. Quicquid agunt homines nostii est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. S5, 8S. Wliate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, August 26. To proceed regularly in the history of my Worthies, I ought to give an account of wliat has passed from day to day in this place ; but a young fellow of my acquaintance has so lately been rescued out of the hands of the Knights of the Industry, that I ratlier choose to relate the manner of his escape from them, and the un- common way v>^hich was used to reclaim him, than to go on in my intended diary. You are to know then, that Tom Wildair is a student of tlie Inner Temple, and has spent- his time, since he left the ujiiversity for that place, in the comnion diversions of men of fashion ; that is to say, in wdioring, drinking, and gaming. The two former vices he had from lii.s father ; but was led into the last by the conver- sation of a partizan of tiie Pdyrmidons who had chambers near him. His allowance from liis father was a very plentiful one for a man of sense, but as scanty for a modern fine gentle- man. His frequent losses had reduced him to so necessitous a condition, that his lodgings were always haunted by impatient creditors ; and all his thoughts employed in contriving low me- thods to support himself in a way of life from which he knew not how to retreat, and in whicii he wanted means to proceed. There is never wanting some goodnatured person to send a man an account of what he has no mind to hear ; therefore many epistles were conveyed to the fa- ther of this extravagant, to inform him of the company, the pleasures, the distresses, and en- tertainments, in which his son passed his time. The old fellow received these advices with all the pain of a parent, but frequently consulted his pillow, to know how to behave himself on such important occasions as the welfare of his son, and the safety of his fortune. After many agi- tations of mind, he reflected, that necessity was the usual snare which made rren fall into mean- ness, and that a liberal fortune generally made a liberal and honest mind ; he resolved, there- fore, to save him from his ruin, by giving him opportunities of tasting what it is to be at ease, and inclosed-to him the following order upon sir Tristram Cash. ‘ Sir, — Pray pay to Mr. Thomas Wildair, or order, the sum of one thousand pounds, and place it to the account of yours, ‘Humphry Wildair.’ Tom was so astonished with the receipt of this order, that though he knew it to be his fa- ther’s hand, and that he had always large sums at sir Tristram’s ; yet a thousand pounds was a trust of which his conduct had always made him appear so little capable, that he kept his note by him, until he writ to his father the following letter : ‘ Honoured Father, — I have received an order under your hand for a thousand pounds, in words at length ; a,nd I think I could swear it is your own hand. I have looked it over twenty thou- sand times. There is in plain letters, T,h,o,u,- s,a,n,d; and after it, the letters F,o,u,n,d,s. I iiave it still by me, and shall, I believe, continue reading it until I hear from you.’ The old gentleman took no manner of notice of the receipt of his letter ; but sent him another order for three thousand pounds more. His amazement on this second letter was unspeak- able. He immediately double-locked his door, and sat down carefully to reading and compar- ing both his orders. After he liad read them until he was half mad, he walked six or seven turns in his chamber, then opens his door, then locks it again ; and to examine thoroughly this matter, he locks his door again, puts his table and chairs against it ; then goes into his closet, and locking himself in, read his notes over again about nineteen times, which did but increase his astonishment. Soon after, he began to re- collect many stories he had formerly heard of persons, who had been possessed with imagina- tions and appearances which had no foundation in nature, but had been taken with sudden mad- ness in the midst of a seeming clear and untaint- ed reason. This made him very gravely con- clude he was out of his wits; and, with a design to compose himself, he immediately betakes him to his night-cap, with a resolution to sleep himself into his former poverty and senses. To bed therefore he goes at noon-day ; but soon rose again, and resolved to visit sir Tristram upon this occasion. He did so, and dined with the knight, expecting he would mention some advice from his father about paying him money ; but no such thing being said, ‘ Look you, sir Tristram,’ said he, ‘ you are to know, that an affair has happened, which — ’ ‘ Look you,’ says Tristram, ‘ I know Mr. Wildair, you are going to desire me to advance ; but the late call of the bank, where I have not yet made my last pay- ment, has obliged me — ’ Tom interrupted him, by showing him the bill of a thousand pounds. When he had looked at it for a convenient time, and as often surveyed Tom’s looks and counte- nance ; ‘ Look you, Mr. Wildair, a thousand 132 THE TATLER. [No. 60. pounds — ’ Before he could proceed, he shows him the order for three thousand more. Sir Tristram examined the orders at the light, and finding at the writing the name, there was a cer- tain stroke in one letter, which the father and he had agreed should be to such directions as he desired might be more immediately honour- ed, he forthwith pays the money. The posses- sion of four thousand pounds gave my young gentleman a new train of thoughts : he began to reflect upon his birth, the great expectations he was born to, and the unsuitable ways he had long pursued. Instead of that unthinking crea- ture he was before, he is now provident, gene- rous, and discreet. The father and son have an exact and regular correspondence, with mutual and unreserved confidence in each other. The son looks upon his father as the best tenant he could have in the country, and the father finds the son the most safe banker he could have in the city. Will's Coffee-house^ August 26. There is not any thing in nature so extrava- gant, but that you will find one man or other that shall practise or maintain it ; otherwise Harry Spondee could not have made so long an harangue as he did here this evening, concern- ing the force and efficacy of well-applied non- sense. Among ladies, he positively averred, it was the most prevailing part of eloquence ; and had so little complaisance as to say, ‘ a woman is never taken by her reason, but always by her passion.’ He proceeded to assert, ‘ tlie way to move that, was only to astonish her. I know,’ continued he, ‘ a very late instance of this ; for being by accident in the room next to Strephon, I could not help over-hearing him, as he made love to a certain great lady’s woman. The true me- thod in your application to one of this second rank of understanding, is not to elevate and surprise, but rather to elevate and amaze. Stre- phon is a perfect master in this kind of persua- sion : his way is, to run over with a soft air a multitude of words, without meaning or con- nexion ; but such as do each of them apart give a pleasing idea, though they liave nothing to do with each other as he assembles them. After the common phrases of salutation, and making his entry into the room, I perceived he had taken the fair nymph’s hand, and kissing it said, “Witness to my happiness, ye groves ! be still, ye rivulets ! Oli ! woods, caves, fountains, dales, mountains, lulls, and streams I oh ! fairest ! could you love me ?” To which I overlieard her an- swer, with a very pretty lisp, “ Oh ! Strephon, you are a dangerous creature : why do you talk these tender things to ine? but you men of wit — ” “ Is it then possible,” said the enamoured Stre- phon, “ that she regards my sorrows ! Oh ! pity, thou balmy cure to a heart over-loaded ! If rap- ture, solicitation, soft desire, and pleasing anx- iety — But still I live in the most afflicting of all circumstances, doubt — Cannot my charmer name the place and moment ? “ There all those joys insatiably to prove, With wliich rich beauty feeds the glutton love.” “ Forgive me, madam ; it is not that my heart is weary of its rliains, but — ” This incoherent stuff was answered by a tender sigh, “ Why do you put your wit to a weak woman ?” Strephon saw he had made some progress in her heart, and pursued it, by saying that “ He would cer- tainly wait upon her at such an hour near Ro- samond’s pond ; and then — the sylvan deities, and rural powers of the place, sacred and invio- lable to love ; love, the mover of all noble hearts, should hear his vows repeated by the streams and echoes.” The assignation was accordingly made. This style he calls the unintelligible method of speaking his mind ; and I will engage, had this gallant spoken plain English, she had never understood him half so readily : for we may take it for granted, that he will be esteem- ed as a very cold lover, who discovers to his mistress that he is in his senses. From my own Apartment, August 26. The following letter came to my hand, with a request to have the subject recommended to our readers, particularly the Smart Fellows ; who are desired to repair to major Touch-hole, who can help them to firelocks that are only fit for exercise. Just ready for the press. ‘Mars Triumpliant; or London’s Glory: — Being the whole art of encampment, with the method of embattling armies, marcliing them off, posting the officers, forming hollow squares, and the various ways of paying the salute with the half-pike ; as it was performed by the trained- bands of London this year, one thousand seven hundred and nine, in that nursery of Bellona, the Artillery Ground. Wherein you have a new method how to form a strong line of foot, with large intervals between each platoon, very use- ful to prevent the breaking in of horse. A civil way of performing the military ceremony ; wherein the major alights from his horse, and, at the head of his company, salutes the lieute- nant-colonel ; and the lieutenant-colonel, to re- turn the compliment, courteously dismounts, and after the same manner salutes his major : exactly as it was performed, with abundance of applause, on the fifth of July last. Likewise an account of a new invention, made use of in the red regiment, to quell mutineering captains ; with several other things alike useful for the public. To which is added, an appendix by major Touch-hole ; proving the method of disci- pline now used in our armies to be very de- fective ; with an essay towards an amendment. Dedicated to the lieutenant-colonel of the first regiment.’ Mr. Bickerstaff has now in the press, ‘ A de- fence of Awkward Fellows against the class of the Smarts : with a dissertation upon the gravi- ty which becomes weighty persons. Illustrated by way of fable, and a discourse on the nature of the elephant, the cow, the dray-horse, and the dromedary, which have motions equally steady and grave. To this is added a treatise written by an elephant, according to Pliny, against re- ceiving foreigners into the forest Adapted to some present circumstances. Together with al- lusions to such beasts as declare against the poor Palatines.’ THE TATLER. 133 No. 61.] No. 61.] Tuesday, August 30, 1709. duicquid agiint homines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. VVhate’er men do, or say, or think, or dream. Our motley paper seizes for its theme. P. White's Chocolate-house, August 29. Among many phrases which have crept into conversation, especially of such company as frequent this place, there is not one which mis- leads me more, than that of a ‘Fellow of a great deal of fire.’ This metaphorical term. Fire, has i done much good in keeping coxcombs in awe ! of one another ; but, at the same time, it has made them troublesome to every body else. You see in the very air of a ‘ Fellow of Fire,’ some- thing so expressive of what he would be at, that if it were not for self-preservation, a man would laugh out. I had last night the fate to drink a bottle with two of these Firemen, who are indeed dis- persed like the myrmidons in all quarters, and to be met with among those of the most differ- ent education. One of my companions was a scholar with Fire ; and the other a soldier of the same complexion. My learned man would fall into disputes, and argue without any manner of provocation or contradiction : the other was de- cisive without words, and would give a shrug or an oath to express his opinion. My learned man was a mere scholar, and my man of war as mere a soldier. The particularity of the first was ridiculous, that of the second, terrible. They were relations by blood, which in some measure moderated their extravagances toward each other : I gave myself up merely as a per- son of no note in the company ; but as if brought to be convinced that I was an inconsiderable thing, any otherwise than that they would show each other to me, and make me spectator of the triumph they alternately enjoyed. The scholar has been very conversant with books, and the other with men only ; which makes them both superficial : for the taste of books is necessary to our behaviour in the best company, and the knowledge of men is required for a true relish of books : but they have both Fire, which makes one pass for a man of sense the other for a fine gentleman. I found I could easily enough pass my time with the scholar : for, if I seemed not to do justice to his parts and sentiments, he pitied me, and let me alone. But the warrior could not let it rest there ; I must know all that happened within his shallow observations of the nature of the war : to all which he added an air of laziness, and contempt of those of his com- I panions who were eminent for delighting in the ' exercise and knowledge of their duty. Thus it is that all the young fellows of much animal life, and little understanding, who repair to our armies, usurp upon the conversation of reasona- ble men, under the notion of having Fire. The word has not been of greater use to shallow lovers, to supply them with chat to their mistresses, than it has been to pretended men of pleasure, to support them in being pert , and dull, and saying of every fool of their order, ‘ Such a one has Fire.’ There is colonel Trun- cheon, who marches with divisions ready on all occasions ; a hero who never doubted in his life, but is ever positively fixed in the wrong, not out of obstinate opinion, but invincible stu- pidity. It is very unhappy for this latitude of London, that it is possible for such as can learn only fashion, habit, and a set of common phrases of salutation, to pass with no other accomplish- ments, in this nation of freedom, for men of conversation and sense. All these ought to pretend to is, not to offend ; but they carry it so far, as to be negligent whether they offend or not ; ‘ for they have Fire.’ But their force differs from true spirit, as mueh as a vicious from a mettlesome horse. A man of Fire is a general enemy to all the waiters where you drink ; is the only man affronted at the com- pany’s being neglected ; and makes the drawers abroad, his valet de chambre and footman at home, know he is not to be provoked without danger. This is not the Fire that animates the noble Marinus, a youth of good nature, affability, and moderation. He commands his ship as an in- telligence moves its orb : he is the vital life, and his officers the limbs of the machine. His vivacity is seen in doing all the offices of life with readiness of spirit, and propriety in the manner of doing them. To be ever active in laudable pursuits, is the distinguishing charac- ter of a man of merit ; while the common beha- viour of every gay coxeomb of Fire is, to be confidently in the wrong, and dare to persist in it. Will's Coffee-house, August 29. It is a common objection against writings of a satirical mixture, that they hurt men in their reputations, and consequently in their fortunes and possessions : but a gentleman who frequents this room declared he was of opinion it ought to be so, provided such performances had their proper restrictions. The greatest evils in hu- man society are such as no law can come at ; as in the case of ingratitude, where the manner of obliging very often leaves the benefactor without means of demanding justice, though that very circumstance should be the more binding to the person who has received the benefit. On such an occasion, shall it be possi- ble for the malefactor to escape ? and is it not lawful to set marks upon persons who live with- in the law, and do base things ? shall not we use the proteetion of those laws to punish them, which they have to defend themselves ? We shall therefore take it for a very moral action to find a good application for offenders, and to turn them into ridieule under feigned names. I am advertised by a letter of August 25, that the name of Coppersmith has very mueh wanted an explanation in the city, and by that means is unjustly given, by those who are con- scious they deserve it themselves, to an honest and worthy eitizen belonging to the Copper- office ; but that word is framed out of a moral consideration of wealth among men, whereby he that has gotten any part of it by injustice and extortion, is to be thought, in the eye of virtuous 134 THE TATLER. men, so much the poorer for such gain. Thus, all the gold which is torn from our neighbours, by making advantage of their wants, is Copper; and I authorise the Lombards to distinguish themselves accordingly. All the honest, who make a reasonable profit both for the advantage of themselves and those they deal with, are Goldsmiths ; but those who tear unjustly all they can. Coppersmiths. At the same time, I desire him who is most guilty, to sit down satisfied with riches and contempt, and be known by the title of ‘ The Coppersmith as being the chief of that respected, contemptible fraternity. This is the case of all others mentioned in our lucubrations ; particularly of Stentcr, who goes on in his vociferations at St. Paul’s with so much obstinacy, that he has received admoni- tion from St. Peter’s for it, from a person of eminent wit and piety ; but who is by old age reduced to the infirmity of sleeping at a service to which he had been fifty years attentive ; and whose death, whenever it hapens, may, with that of the saints, well be called ‘ Falling asleep :’ for the innocence of his life makes him expect it as indifferently as he does his ordinary rest. This gives him a cheerfulness of spirit to rally on his own weakness, and hath made liim write to Stentor to hearken to my admonitions. ‘ Bro- ther Stentor,’ said he, ‘for the repose of the church, hearken to Bickerstaff; and consider, that, while you are so devout at Saint Paul’s, we cannot sleep for you at St. Peter’s.’ From my own Apartment, August 29. There has been lately sent me a much harder question than was ever yet put to me, since I professed astrology ; to wit, how far, and to what age women ought to make their beauty their chief concern ? The regard and care of their faces and persons are as variously to be considered, as their complexions themselves differ; but if one may transgress against the careful practice of the fair sex so much as to give an opinion against it, I humbly presume, that less care, better applied, would increase their empire, and make it last as long as life. Whereas now, from their own example, we take our esteem of their merit from it ; for it is very just that she who values herself only on her beauty, should be regarded by others on no other consideration. There is certainly a liberal and a pedantic education among women, as well as men ; and the merit lasts accordingly. She, therefore, that is bred with freedom, and in good company, considers men according to their respective characters and distinctions ; while she that is locked up from such observations, will consider her father’s butler, not as a butler, but as a man. In like manner, when men converse with wo- men, the well-bred and intelligent are looked upon with an observation suitable to their dif- ferent talents and accomplishments, without re- spect to their sex ; while a mere woman can be observed under no consideration but that of a wo- man ; and there can be but one reason for plac- ing any value upon her, or losing time in her company. Wherefore, I am of opinion, that the rule for pleasing long is, to obtain such qualifi- [No. 61. cations as would make them so were they not women. Let the beauteous Cleomira then show us her real face, and know that every stage of life has its peculiar charms, and that there is no neces- sity for fifty to be fifteen. That childish colour- ing of her cheeks is now as ungraceful, as that shape would have been when her face wore its real countenance. She has sense, and ought to know that if she will not follow nature, nature will follow her. Time, then, has made that person which had, when I visited her grandfa- ther, an agreeable bloom, sprightly air, and soft utterance, now no less graceful in a lovely as- pect, an awful manner, and maternal wisdom. But her heart was so set upon her first charac- ter, that she neglects and repines at her present ; not that she is against a more stayed conduct in others, for she recommends gravity, circum- spection, and severity of countenance to her daughter. Thus, against all chronology, the girl is the sage, the mother the fine lady. But these great evils proceed from an unac- countable wild method in the education of the better half of the world, the women. W'e have no such thing as a standard for good breeding. I was the other day at my lady Wealthy’s, and asked one of her daughters how she did ? She answered, ‘ She never conversed with men.’ The same day I visited at lady Plantwell’s,and asked her daughter the same question. She an- swers, ‘ What is that to you, you old thief?’ and gives me a slap on the shoulders. I defy any man in England except he knows the family before he enters, to be able to judge whether he shall be agreeable or not when he comes into It. You find either some odd old woman who is permitted to rule as long as she lives, in hopes of her death, and to interrupt all things ; or some impertinent young woman who will talk sillily upon the strength of looking beautifully. I will not answer for it, but it may be, that I (like all other old fellows) have a fond- ness for the fashions and manners which pre- vailed when I was young and in fashion myself. But certain it is, that the taste of grace and beauty is very much lowered. The fine women they show me now-a-days are at best but pretty girls to me, who have seen Sacharissa, when all the world repeated the poems she inspired ; and Villaria,* when a youthful king was her subject. The Things you follow, and make songs on now, should be sent to knit or sit down to bob- bins or bonelace : they are indeed neat, and so are their sempstresses ; they are pretty, and so are their hand-maids. But that graceful motion, that awful mien, and that winning attraction, which grew upon them from the thoughts and < conversations they met with in my time, are now no more seen. They tell me I am old : I am glad I am so ; for I do not like your present young ladies. Those among us who set up for any thing of decorum, do so mistake the matter, that they of- fend on the other side. Five young ladies, who are of no small fame for their great severity of manners, and exemplary behaviour, would lately go no where with their lovers but to an organ- * The dutchess of Cleveland. THE TATLER. 135 No. 62.- loft in a church ; where they had a cold treat, and some few opera songs, to their great re- freshment and edification. Whether these pru- dent persons had not been as much so if this had been done at a tavern, is not very hard to determine. It is such silly starts and incohe- rences as these, which undervalue the beauteous sex, and puzzle us in our choice of sweetness of temper and simplicity of manners, which are the only lasting charms of woman. But I must leave this important subject, at present, for some matters which press for publication ; as you will observe in the following letter : ‘ London, Artillery Ground, August 26. ‘ Dear Sir, — It is natural for distant relations to claim kindred with a rising family ; though at this time zeal to my country, not interest, calls me out. The city forces being shortly to take the field, all good protestants would be pleased that their arms and valour should shine with equal lustre. A council of war was lately held, the honourable colonel Mortar being presi- dent. After many debates, it was unanimously resolved. That major Blunder, a most expert offieer, should be detached for Birmingham, to buy arms, and to prove his firelocks on the spot, as well to prevent expense, as disappointment in the day of battle. The major, being a person of consummate experience, was invested with a discretionary power. He knew from ancient story, that securing the rear, and making a glo- rious retreat, was the most celebrated piece of conduct. Accordingly such measures were taken to prevent surprise in the rear of his arms, that even Pallas herself, in the shape of rust, could not invade them. They were drawn into close order, firmly embodied, and arrived se- curely without touch-holes. Great and national actions deserve popular applause ; and as praise is no expense to the public, therefore dearest kinsman, I communicate this to you, as well to oblige this nursery of heroes, as to do justice to my native country. I am your most affection- ate kinsman, OFFSPRING TWIG.’ ‘ A war-horse, belonging to one of the colonels of the artillery, to be let or sold. He may be seen adorned with ribbands, and set forth to the best advantage, the next training day.’ No. 62.] Thursday, September 1, 1709. Q,uicquid agunt homines nostri est farrago liballi. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whatever good is done, whatever ill — By human kind, shall this collection fill. White's Chocolate-house, August 31. This place being frequented by persons of condition, I am desired to recommend a dog- kennel to any who shall want a pack. It lies not far from Suffolk-street, and is kept by two who were formerly dragoons in the French ser- vice ; but left plundering for the more orderly life of keeping dogs : besides that, according to their expectation, they find it more profitable, as well as more conducing to the safety of their skin, to follow this trade, than the beat of drum. Their residence is very convenient for the dogs to whelp in, and bring up a right breed to follow the scent. The most eminent of the kennel are blood-hounds, which lead the van, and are as follow ; A LIST OF THE DOGS. Jowler, of a right Irish breed, called Captain. Rockwood, of French race, with long hair, by the courtesy of England, called also Captain. Pompey, a tall hound, kennelled in a convent in France, and knows a rich soil. These two last hunt in couple, and are follow- ed by Ringwood, a French black whelp of the same breed, a fine open-mouthed dog ; and an old sick hound, always in kennel, but of the true blood, with a good nose, French breed. There is also an Italian grey-hound, with good legs, and knows perfectly the ground from Ghent to Paris. Ten setting-dogs, right English. Four mongrels of the same nation. And twenty whelps, fit for any game. These curs are so extremely hungry, that they are too keen at the sport, and worry their game before the keepers can come in. The other day a wild boar from the north rushed into the ken- nel, and at first, indeed, defended himself against the whole pack ; but they proved at last too many for him, and tore twenty-five pounds of flesh from off his back, with which they filled their bellies, and made so great a noise in the neighbourhood, that the keepers are obliged to hasten the sale. That quarter of the town where they are kennelled is generally inhabited by strangers, whose blood the hounds have often sucked in such a manner, that many a German count, and other virtuosi, who came from the continent, have lost the intention of their travels, and been unable to proceed on their journey. If these hounds are not very soon disposed of to some good purchaser, as also those at the kennels near St. James’s, it is humbly proposed, that they may be altogether transported to Ame- rica, where the dogs are few, and the wild beasts many: or that, during their stay in these parts, some eminent justice of the peace may have it in particular direction to visit their harbours; and that the sheriff of Middlesex may allow him the assistance of the common hangman to cut off their ears, or part of them, for distinction-sake, that wm may know the blood-hounds from the mongrels and setters. Until these things are regulated, you may inquire at a house belonging to Paris, at the upper end of Suffolk-street, or a house belonging to Ghent, opposite to the lower end of Pall Mall, and know further. It were to be wished that these curs were dis- posed of; for it is a very great nuisance to have them tolerated in cities. That of London takes care, that the ‘Common Hunt,’ assisted by the Serjeants and bailiffs, expel them whenever they are found within the walls ; though it is said, some private families keep them, to the destruc- tion of their neighbours ; but it is desired, that all who know of any of these curs, or have been bit by them, would send me their marks, and the houses where they are harboured ; and I do 136 THE TATLER. [No. 62. not doubt but I shall alarm the people so well, as to have them used like mad dogs wdierever they appear. In the mean time, I advise all sueh as entertain this kind of vermin, that if they give me timely notice that their dogs are dis- missed, I shall let them go unregarded ; other- wise am obliged to admonish my fellow-subjects in this behalf, and instruct them how to avoid being worried, when they are going about their lawful professions and callings. There was lately a young gentleman bit to the bone ; who has now indeed recovered his health, but is as lean as a skeleton. It grieved my heart to see a gentleman’s son run among the hounds ; but he is, they tell me, as fleet and as dangerous as the best of the pack. Will's Coffee-house^ August 31. This evening was spent at our table in dis- course of propriety of words and thoughts, which is Mr. Dryden’s definition of wit ; but a very odd fellow, who would intrude upon us, and has a briskness of imagination more like madness than regular thoughts, said, that ‘Harry Jacks was the first who told him of the taking of the citadel of Tournay ; and,’ says he, ‘ Harry de- serves a statue more than the boy who ran to the senate with a thorn in his foot, to tell of a victory.’ We were astonished at the assertion; and Spondee asked him ‘ What affinity is there between that boy and Harry, that you say their merit has so near a resemblance as you just now told us?’ ‘Why,’ says he, ‘Harry, you know, is in the French interest ; and it was more pain to him to tell the story of Tournay, than to the boy to run upon a thorn to relate the victory which he was glad of.’ The gentleman, who was in the chair upon the subject of propriety of words and thoughts, would by no means al- low, that there was wit in this comparison ; and urged, that ‘to have any thing gracefully said, it must be natural ; but that whatsoever was in- troduced in common discourse with so much premeditation, was insufferable.’ That critic went on : ‘ Had Mr. Jacks,’ said he, ‘told him the citadel was taken, and another had answer- ed, “ he deserves a statue as well as the Roman boy, for he told it with as much pain,” it might have passed for a sprightly expression ; but there is a wit for discourse, and a wit for writing. The easiness and familiarity of the first is not to savour in the least of study ; but the exactness of the other is to admit of something like the freedom of discourse, especially in treatises of humanity, and what regards the belles lettres. I do not in this allow, that Bickerstaff’s Tatlers, or discourses of wit by retail, and for the penny, should come within the description of writing.’ I bowed at his compliment, and — But he would not let me proceed. You see in no place of conversation the per- fection of speech so much as in an accomplished woman. Whether it be, that there is a partiality irresistible when we judge of that sex, or wliat- ever it is, you may observe a wonderful freedom in their utterance, and an easy flow of words, without being distracted (as we often are who read much) in the choice of dictions and phrases. My lady Courtly is an instance of this. She was talking the other day of dress, and did it with ^ so excellent an air and gesture, that you would have sworn she had learned her action from our t Demosthenes. Besides which, her words were m so particularly well adapted to the matter she : talked of, that though dress was a new thing to - us men, she avoided the terms of art in it, and ' described an unaflTected garb and manner in so proper terms, that she came up to that of Ho- - J race’s '■simplex munditiisf which whoever can i.| translate in two words, has as much eloquence ij as lady Courtly. I took the liberty to tell her, that ‘ all she had said with so much good grace, was spoken in two words in Horace, but would U not undertake to translate them ;’ upon which || she smiled, and told me, ‘ she believed me a very great scholar ;’ and I took my leave. From my own Apartment, August 31. ’ I have been just now reading the introduc- tion to the history of Catiline by Sallust, an au- thor who is very mucli in my favour ; but when I reflect upon his professing himself wholly disinterested, and, at the same time, see , how industriously he has avoided saying any | thing to the praise of Cicero, to whose vigilance ^ the commonwealth owed its safety, it very much lessens my esteem for that writer ; and is one argument, among others, for laughing at all i who pretend to be out of the interests of the world, and profess purely to act for the service of mankind, without the least regard to them- selves. I do not deny but that the rewards are - different ; some aim at riches, others at honour, by their public services. However, they are all pursuing some end to themselves, though in- deed those ends differ as much as right and wrong. The most grateful w’ay then, I should think, w’ould be to acknowledge, that you aim at serving yourselves ; but, at the same time make it appear, it is for the service of others that you have these opportunities. Of all the disinterested professors I have ever : heard of, I take the boatswain of Dampier’s ship to be the most impudent, but the most excus- able. You are to know that, in the wild searches that navigator was making, they happened to be out at sea, far distant from any shore, in want of all the necessaries of life : insomuch that they began to look, not without hunger, on each other. The boatswain was a fat, healthy, fresh fellow, and attracted the eyes of the whole crew. In such an extreme necessity, all forms of superiority were laid aside : the captain and ^ lieutenant were safe only by being carrion, and ' the unhappy boatswain in danger only by be- ing worth eating. To be short, the company < were unanimous, and the boatsw'ain must be ( cut up. He saw their intention, and desired he might speak a few words before they pro- ceeded; which being permitted, he delivered himself as follows : ‘ Gentlemen sailors, — Far be it that I should speak it for any private interest of my own; but I take it that I should not die w ith a good conscience, if I did not confess to you, that I am not sound. I say, gentlemen, justice and the testimony of a good conscience, as well as THE TATLER. 137 No. 63.j love of my country, to which I hope you will all return, oblige me to own, that black Kate at Deptford has made me very unsafe to eat ; and, I speak it with shame, I am afraid, gentlemen, I should poison you.’ This speech had a good effect in the boat- swain’s favour ; but the surgeon of the ship protested he had cured him very well, and offer- ed to eat the first steak of him himself. The boatswain replied, like an orator, with a true notion of the people, and in hopes to gain time, that ‘ he was heartily glad if he could be for their service;’ and thanked the surgeon for his information. ‘ However,’ said he, ‘ I must inform you for your own good, that I have, ever since my cure, been very thirsty and drop- sical ; therefore, I presume, it would be much better to tap me, and drink me off, than eat me at once, and have no man in the ship fit to be drunk.’ As he was going on with his harangue, a fresh gale arose, and gave the crew hopes of a better repast at the nearest shore, to which they arrived next morning. Most of the self-denials we meet with are of this sort ; therefore I think he acts fairest who owns, he hopes at least to have brother’s fare, without professing that he gives himself up with pleasure to be devoured for the preservation of his fellows. St. James’s Coffee-house^ August 31. Letters from the Hague of the sixth of Sep- tember, N. S. say, that the governor of the cita- del of Tournay having offered their highnesses the duke of Marlborough and the prince of Savoy to surrender that place on the thirty-first of the last month, on terms which were not allowed them by those princes, hostilities were thereupon renewed ; but that on the third the place was surrendered, with a seeming con- dition granted to the besieged, above that of be- ing prisoners of war : for they were forthwith to be conducted to Conde, but were to be ex- changed for prisoners of the allies, and parti- cularly those of Warneton were mentioned in the demand. Both armies having stretclied towards Mons with the utmost diligence, that of the allies, though they passed the much more difficult road, arrived first before that town, which they have now actually invested ; and the quarter-master-general was, at the time of despatching these letters, marking the ground for the encampment of the covering army. To the hooJcsellers, or others whom this advertisement may concern. Mr. Omicron,* the unborn poet, gives notice, that he writes all treatises, as well in verse as prose, being a ninth son, and translates out of all languages, without learning or study. If any bookseller will treat for his pastoral on the siege and surrender of the citadel of Tournay, he must send in his proposals before the news of a capitulation for any other town. The undertaker for either play-house may have an opera written by him ; or, if it shall suit their design, a satire upon operas ; both ready for next winter. No. 63.] Saturday y September 3, 1709. White's Chocolate-house, September 2. OF THE ENJOYMENT OF LIFE WITH REGARD TO OTHERS. I HAVE ever thought it the greatest diminu- tion to the Roman glory imaginable, that in their institution of public triumphs, they led their enemies in chains when they were prison- ers. It is to be allowed that doing all honour to the superiority of heroes above the rest of mankind, must needs conduce to the glory and advantage of a nation ; but what shocks the imagination to reflect upon is, that a polite peo- ple should think it reasonable, that an unhappy man, who was no way inferior to the victor but by the chance of war, should be led like a slave at the wheels of iiis chariot. Indeed, these other circumstances of a triumph, that it was not allowed in a civil war, lest one part should be in tears, while the other was making accla- mations ; that it should not be granted, except such a number were slain in battle : that the general should be disgraced who made a false muster of his dead ; these, I say, had great and politic ends in their being established, and tend- ed to the apparent benefit of the common- wealth. But this behaviour to the conquered had no foundation in nature or policy, only to gratify the insolence of a haughty people, who triumphed over barbarous nations, by acting what was fit only for those very barbarians to practice. It seems wonderful, that they who were so refined as to take care, that to com- plete the honour done to the victorious officer, no power siiould be known above him in the em- pire on the day of his triumph, but that the consuls themselves should be but guests at his table that evening, could not take it into thought to make the man of chief note among his prisoners one of tlie company. This would have improved the gladness of the occasion ; and the victor had made a much greater figure, in that no other man appeared unhappy on his day, than because no other man appeared great. But we will wave at present such important incidents, and turn our thoughts rather to the familiar part of human life, and we shall find, that the great business we contend for is in a less degree what those Romans did on more solemn occasions, to triumph over our fellow- creatures ; and there is hardly a man to be found, wffio would not rather be in pain to ap- pear happy, than be really happy and thought miserable. This men attempt by sumptuous equipages, splendid houses, numerous servants, and all the cares and pursuits of an ambitious or fashionable life. Bromeo and Tabio are particularly ill-wishers to each other, and rivals in happiness. There is no way in nature so good to procure the * Mr. Oldmixon was here ridiculed under the title of Mr. Omicron. S 138 THE TATLER. [No. 63. esteem of the one, as to give him little notices of certain secret points, wherein the other is un- easy. Gnatho has the skill of doing this, and never applauds the improvements Bromeo has been many years making, and ever will be making; but he adds, ‘Now this very thing was my thought when Tabio was pulling up his un- derwood, yet he never w ould hear of it ; but now your gardens are in this posture, he is ready to hang himself. Well, to be sincere, that situation of his can never make an agree- able seat ; he may make his house and appur- tenances what he pleases, but he cannot remove them to the same ground where Bromeo’s stands ; and of all things under the sun, a man that is happy at second-hand is the most mon- strous.’ ‘It is a very strange madness,’ an- swers Bromeo, ‘ if a man on these occasions can think of any end but pleasing himself As for my part, if things are convenient, I hate all ostentation. There is no end of the folly of adapting our affairs to the imagination of others.’ Upon which, the next thing he does is to enlarge whatever he hears his rival has at- tempted to imitate him in ; but their misfor- tune is, that they are in their time of life, in their estates, and in their understandings, equal ; so that the emulation may continue to the last day of their lives. As it stands now, Tabio has heard, that Bromeo has lately purchased two hundred a year in the annuities since he last settled the account of their happiness, in which he thought himself to have the balance. This may seem a very fantastical way of thinking in these men ; but there is nothing so common, as a man’s endeavouring rather to go farther than some other person towards an easy fortune, than to form any certain standard that would make himself happy. WilVs Coffee-house^ September 2. Mr. Dactyle has been this evening very pro- fuse of his eloquence upon the talent of turn- ing things into ridicule ; and seemed to say very justly, that ‘ there was generally in it something too disingenuous for the society of liberal men, except it were governed by the cir- cumstances of persons, time, and place. This talent,’ continued he, ‘ is to be used as a man does his sword, not to be drawn but in his own defence, or to bring pretenders and impostors in society to a true light. But we have seen this faculty so mistaken, that the burlesque of Virgil himself has passed, among men of little taste, for wit ;’ and the noblest thoughts that can en- ter into the heart of man levelled with ribaldry and baseness : though by the rules of justice, no man ought to be ridiculed for any imperfec- tion, who does not set up for eminent sufficiency in that way wherein he is defective. Thus cowards, who would hide themselves by an af- fected terror in their mien and dress; and pe- dants, who would show the depth of their know- ledge by a supercilious gravity, are equally the objects of laughter. Not that they are in them- selves ridiculous, for their want of courage, or weakness of understanding; but that they seem insensible of their own place in life, and unhap- pily rank themselves with those whose abilities. compared to their defects, make them contemp- tible. At the same time, it must be remarked, that, risibility being the effect of reason, a man ought to be expelled from sober company who laughs without it.’ ‘ Ha ! ha !’ says \V ill Truby, who sat by, ‘ will any man pretend to give me laws when I should laugh, or tell me what I should laugh at?’ ‘Look ye,’ answered Hum- phry Slyboots, ‘you are mightily mistaken; you may, if you please, make what noise you w ill, and nobody can hinder an English gentleman from putting his face into wdiat posture he thinks fit ; but take my word for it, that motion which you now^ )nake with your mouth open, and the agitation of your stomach, wdiich you relieve by holding your sides, is not laughter : laughter is a more weighty thing than you imagine ; and I wall tell you a secret — you never did laugh in your life : and truly I am afraid you never will, except you take great care to be cured of those convulsive fits.’ Truby left us, and when he had got two yards from us, ‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ you are strange lellows !’ and was im- mediately taken wuth another fit. The Trubies are a well-natured family, wdiosc particular make is such, that they have the same pleasure out of good-wdll, wdiich other people have in that scorn which is the cause of laughter : therefore their bursting into the figures of men, wdien laughing, proceeds only from a general benevolence they are born with ; as the Slyboots smile only on the greatest oc- casion of mirth ; wdfich difference is caused rather from a difterent structure of their organs, than that one is less moved than the other. 1 know Sourly frets inwardly, when Will Truby laughs at him ; but wffien I meet him, and he bursts out, I know it is out of his abundant joy to see me, w’hich he expresses by that vocifera- tion which is in others laughter. But I shall defer considering this subject at large, until I come to my treatise of oscitation, laughter, and ridicule. From my own Apartment, September 2. The following letter being a panegyric upon me for a quality which every man may attain, an acknowledgment of his faults ; I thought it for the good of my fellow- writers to publish it. ‘ Sir, — It must be allow’ed, that esquire Bick- erstaff is of all authors the most ingenuous. There are few, very few, that wall own them- selves in a mistake, though all the wmrld see them to be in downright nonsense. You wall be pleased, sir, to pardon this expression, for the same reason for wffiich you once desired us to excuse you, w’hen you seemed any thing dull. Most writers, like the generality of Paul* Lor- raine’s saints, seem to place a peculiar vanity in dying hard. But you, sir, to show a good example to your brethren, have not only con- fessed, but of your owm accord mended the in- dictment. Nay, you have been so good-natured as to discover beauties in it, wdiich, I will as- sure you, he that drew it never dreamed of. ♦ Mr. Paul Lorraine was at this time the ordinary of New'gate. No. G4.] THE TATLER. 139 And, to make your civility the more accom- plished, you have honoured him with tiic title of your kinsman, which, thoug-h derived by the left-liand, he is not a little proud of. My brother, for such Obadiah is, beino' at present very busy about nothing-, has ordered me to return you his sincere thanks for all these favours; and, as a small token of his gratitude, to communicate to you the following piece of intelligence, which lie thinks, belongs more properly to you than to any others of our modern historians. ‘ Madonella, who, as it was thought, had long since taken her flight towards the ethereal mansions, still walks, it seems, in tlie regions of mortality, where she has found, by deep re- flections on the revolution mentioned in yours of June the twenty-third, that where early in- structions have been wanting to imprint true ideas of things on the tender souls of those of her sex, they are never after able to arrive at such a pitch of perfection, as to be above the laws of matter and motion ; laws which are considera- bly enforced by the principles usually imbibed in nurseries and boarding schools. To remedy this evil, she has laid the scheme of a college for young damsels ; where (instead of scissars, nee- dles, and samplers) pens, compasses, .quadrants, books, manuscripts, Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, are to take up their whole time. Only on holi- days the students will, for moderate exercise, be allowed to divert themselves with the use of some of the lightest and most valuble weapons ; and proper care will be taken to*give them at least a superficial tincture of the ancient and modern Amazonian tactics. Of these military performances, the direction is undertaken by Epicene,* the writer of ‘ Memoirs from the Mediterranean,’ who, by the help of some artifi- cial poison conveyed by smells, has within these few vi^eeks brought many persons of both sexes to an untimely fate ; and, what is more surpris- ing, has, contrary to her profession, with the same odours, revived others who had long since been drowned in the whirlpools of Lethe. Ano- ther of the professors is to be a certain lady, who is now publishing two of the choicest Saxon novels,t which are said to have been in as great repute with the ladies of queen Emma’s court, as the ‘ Memoirs from the New Atalantis’ are with those of ours. I shall make it my business to inquire into the progress of this learned in- stitution, and give you the first notice of their ‘ Philosophical Transactions, and Searches after Nature.’ Yours, «fec. ‘ TOBIAH GREENHAT.’ St. James's Coffee-house^ September 2. This day we have received advices by the way of Ostend, which give an account of an engage-' ment between the French and the allies, on the eleventh instant, N. S. Marshal Bouffiers ar- rived in the enemy’s camp on the fifth, and ac- quainted marshal Villars, that he did not come in any character, but to receive his commands * Epicene means Mrs. D. Mauley, t Mrs. Elizabeth Elstob, the lady here mentioned, is a striking instance, that no accomplishments, natural or acquired, could protect their possessor, of whatever merit or sex, from the insults of this libertine wit. for the king’s service, and communicate to him his orders upon the present posture of affairs. On the ninth, both armies advanced towards each other, and cannonaded all the ensuing day, until tiic close of the evening, and stood on tltcir arms all that night. On the day of battle the cannonading was renewed about seven : the duke of Argylc had orders to attack the wood Sarton the rig lit, which he executed so success- fully, that he pierced tlirough it, and won a con- siderable post. The prince of Orange liad the same good fortune in a wood on tlie left : after which the whole body of the confederates, joined by the forces from the siege, marched up and engaged tlie enemy, who were drawn up at some distance from these woods. The dispute was very warm for some time ; but towards noon, the French began to give ground from one wing to the other ; which advantage being observed by our generals, the whole army was urged on with fresh vigour, and in a few hours the day ended with the entire defeat of the enemy. No. 64.] Tuesday^ September 6, 1709. QmEcaret ora cruore nostro? Hor. 1 Od. ii. 3G. What coast, encircled by the briny flood. Boasts not the glorious tribute of our blood. Frorn my own Apartment, September 5. When I lately spoke of triumphs, and the be- haviour of the Romans on those occasions, I knew, by my skill in astrology, that there was a great event approaching to our advantage ; but, not having yet taken upon me to tell fortunes, I thought fit to defer the mention of the battle near Mens until it happened ; which moderation was no small pain to me ; but I should wrong my art, if I concealed that some of my aerial intelligencers had signified to me the news of it even from Paris, before the arrival of lieuten- ant-colonel Graham in England.* All nations, as well as persons, have their good and evil genius attending them ; but the kingdom of PVance has three, the last of which is neither for it nor against it in reality ; but has for some months past acted an ambiguous part, and at- tempted to save its ward from the incursion of its powerful enemies, by little subterfuges and tricks, which a nation is more than undone when it is reduced to practise. Thus, instead of giving exact accounts and representations of things, they tell what is indeed true, but at the same time a falsehood, when all the circumstan- ces come to be related. Pacolet was at the court of France on Friday night last, when this geni- us of that, kingdom came thither in the shape of a post-boy, and cried out, that Mons was re- lieved, and the duke of Marlborough marched. Pacolet was much astonished at this account, and immediately changed his form, and flew to the neighbourhood of Mons, from whence he found the allies had really marched ; and began to * Lieut. Col. Graham came express with an account of the battle of Malplaquet, in a letter from the duke of Marlborough to Mr. Secretary Boyle. 140 THE TATLER. [No. 64. inquire into the reasons of this sudden change, and half feared he had heard a truth of the pos- ture of the French affairs, even in their own country. But, upon diligent inquiry among the aerials who attended those regions, and con- sultation with the neighbouring peasants, he was able to bring me the following account of the motions of the armies since they retired from about tliat place, and the action which followed thereupon. On Saturday the seventh of September, N. S. the confederate army was alarmed in their camp at Havre, by intelligence, that the enemy were marching to attack the prince of Hesse. Upon this advice, the duke of Marlborough com- manded that the troops should immediately move ; which was accordingly performed, and thej? were all joined on Saturday the eighth at noon. On that day, in the morning, it appeared that, instead of being attacked, the advanced guard of the detachment, commanded by the prince of Hesse, had dispersed and taken prison- ers a party of the enemy’s' horse, which was sent out to observe the march of the confeder- ates. The French moved from Quiverain on Sunday in the morning, and inclined to the right from thence all that day. The ninth, the Monday following, they continued their march, until an Tuesday, the tenth, they pos- sessed thcmselve.s of the woods of Dour and Blaugies. As soon as they came into that ground, they threw up intrenchments with all expedition. The allies arrived within few hours after the enemy was posted ; but the duke of Marlborough thought fit to wait for the arrival of the reinforcement which he expected from the siege of Tournay. Upon notice that these troops were so far advanced as to be depended on for an action the next day, it was accord- ingly resolved to engage the enemy. It will be necessary for understanding the greatness of the action, and the several motions made in the time of the engagement, that you have in your mind, an idea of the place. The two armies, on the eleventh instant, were both drawn up before the woods of Dour, Blaugies, Sart, and Jansart ; the army of the prince of Sa- voy on the right before that of Blaugies ; the forces of Great Britain in the centre on his left ; those of the high allies, with the wood Sart, as well as a large interval of plain ground, and Jan- sart on the left of the whole. The enemy were intrenched in the paths of the woods, and drawn up behind two intrenchments over-against them, opposite to the armies of the duke of Marlborough and prince Eugene. There were also two lines intrenched in the plains over-against the army of the States. This was the posture of the French and confederate forces when the signal was given,, and the whole line moved on to the charge. The Dutch army, commanded by the prince of Hesse, attacked with the most undaunted bra- very; and, after a very obstinate resistance, forced the first intrenchment of the enemy in the plain between Sart and Jansart ; but were re- pulsed in their attack on the second, with great slaughter on both sides. The duke of Marlbo- rough, while this was transacting on the left, had with very much difficulty marched through Sart, and beaten the enemy from the several intrench- ments they had thrown up in it. As soon as the duke had marched into the plain, he observed the main body of the enemy drawn up and in- trenched in the front of his army. This situa- tion of the enemy, in the ordinary course of war, is usually thought an advantage hardly to be surmounted ; and might appear impraetieable to any but that army which had just overcome greater difficulties. The duke commanded the I troops to form, but to forbear charging until fur- f ther order. In the mean time he visited the left f of our line, where the troops of the States had | been engaged. The slaughter on this side had been very great, and the Dutch, incapable of ' making further progress, except they were sud- denly reinforced. The right of our line was attacked soon after their coming upon the plain ; but they drove back the enemy with such bra- very, tliat the victory began to incline to the al- lies by the precipitate retreat of the French to their works, from whence they were immediately beaten. The duke, upon observing this advan- tage on the right, commanded the earl of Orkney to march with a sufficient number of battalions, to force the enemy from their mtrcnchments on the plain between the woods of Sart and Jan- sart ; which being performed, the horse of the allies marched into the plains, covered by their own foot, and forming themselves in good order ; the cavalry of the enemy attempted no more but to cover the foot in their retreat. The allies made so good.use of the beginningof the victory, that all their troops moved on with fresh resolu- tion, until they saw the enemy fly before them towards Conde and Maubeuge ; after whom, proper detachments were sent, who made a ter- rible slaughter in the pursuit. In this action, it is said, prince Eugene was wounded, as also the duke of Aremb^erg, and lieutenant-general Webb. The count of Oxen- stern, colonel Lalo, and sir Thomas Pendergrass were killed. This wonderful success, obtained under all the difficulties that could be opposed in the way of an army, must be acknowledged as owing to the genius, courage, and conduct of the duke of Marlborough, a consummate hero ; wdio has lived not only beyond the time in which Csesar said he was arrived at a satiety of life and glory ; but also been so long the subject of panegyric, that it is as hard to say any thing new in his praise, as to add to the merit which requires such eulogiums. Willis Coffee-house^ September 5. The following letter being very explanatory ( of the true design of our lucubrations, and at the same time an excellent model for performing it, it is absolutely necessary, for the better under- standing our wmrks, to publish it. ‘ To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire. ‘ Sir, — Though I have not the honour to be of the family of the Staffs, nor related to any branch of it, yet I applaud your wholesome pro. ject of making wit useful. ‘ This is what has been, or should have been, intended by the best comedies. But nobody, I No. 65.] THE TATLER. 141 think, before you, thouglit of a way to bring the stage, as it were, into tlie cott’cc-house, and there attack those gentlemen who thougiit themselves out of the reach of raillery, by prudently avoid- ing its chief walks and districts. I smile when I see a solid citizen of threescore read the article from Will’s coffee-house, and seem to be just beginning to learn his alphabet of wit in specta- cles ; and to hear the attentive table sometimes stop him with pertinent queries, which he is puzzled to answer, and then join in commend- ing it the sincerest way, by freely owning he does not understand it. ‘ In pursuing this design, you will always have a large scene b^efore you, and can never be at a loss for characters to entertain a town so plenti- fully stocked with them. The follies of the finest minds, which a philosophic surgeon knows how to dissect, will best employ your skill ; and of this sort, I take the liberty to send you the fol- lowing sketch. ‘ Cleontes is a man of good family, good learn- ing, entertaining conversation, and acute wit. He talks well, is master of style, and writes not contemptibly in verse. Yet all this serves but to make him politely ridiculous ; and he is above the rank of common characters, only to have the privilege of being laughed at by the best. His family makes him proud and scornful ; his learn- ing, assuming and absurd ; and his wit, arrogant and satirical. He mixes some of the best quali- ties of the head with the worst of the heart. Every body is entertained by him, while nobody esteems him. — I am, sir, Your most affectionate monitor, JOSIAH COUPLET.’ Lost, from the Cocoa-tree, in Pall-Mall, two Irish dogs, belonging to the pack of London; one a tall white wolf-dog ; the other a black nim- ble greyhound, not very sound, and supposed to be gone to the Bath, by instinct, for cure. The man of the inn from whence they ran, being now there, is desired, if he meets either of them, to tie them up. Several others are lost about Tunbridge and Epsom; which whoever will maintain may keep. No. 65.] Thursday, September 8, 1709. duicquid agunt liomines nostri est farrago libelli. Juv. Sat. i. 85, 86. Whatever good is done, whatever ill By human kind, shall this collection fill. Will's Coffee-house, September 7. I CAME hither this evening, and expected no- thing else but mutual congratulations in the company, on the late victory; but found our room, which one would have hoped to have seen full of good humour and alacrity upon so glorious an occasion, full of sour animals, inquiring into the action, in doubt of what had happened, and fearful of the success of their countrymen. It is natural to believe easily what we wish hearti- ly ; and a certain rule, that they are not frierlds to a glad occasion who speak all they can against the truth of it ; who end their argument against our happiness, that they wish it otherwise. When I came into the room, a gentleman was declaiming : ‘ If,’ says he, ‘ W'^e have so great and comjdete a victory, why have w'e not the names of the prisoners? Why is not an exact relation of the conduct of our generals laid before the world ? Why do we not know where and whom to applaud ? If we are victorious, why do we not give an account of our captives and our slain ? But we are to be satisfied with general notices w^e are conquerors, and to believe it so. Sure this is approving the despotic way of treating the world, which we pretend to fight against, if we sit down satisfied with such contradictory accounts, which have the words of triumph, but do not bear the spirit of it.’ I whispered Mr. Greenhat, ‘ Pray, w’hat can that dissatisfied man be?’ ‘He is,’ answered he, ‘a character j^ou have not yet perhaps observed. You have heard of battle-painters, have mentioned a battle-poet ; but this is a battle-critic. He is a fellow that lives in a government so gentle, that, though it sees him an enemy, suffers his malice, because they know his impotence. He is to examine the weight of an advantage before the company will allow it.’ Greenhat was going on in his ex- planation, when sir George England thought fit to take up the discourse in the following manner. ‘ Gentlemen, The action you are in so great doubt to approve of, is greater than over has been performed in any age ; and the value of it I ob- serve from your dissatisfaction : for battle-critics are like all others ; you are the more offended, the more you ought to be, and are convinced you ought to be, pleased. Had this engagement happened in the time of the old Romans, and such things been acted in their service, there would not be a foot of the wood which was pierced but had been consecrated to some deity, or made memorable by the death of him who expired in it for the sake of his country. It had been said on some monument at the entrance : Here the duke of Argyle drew his sword, and said ‘March.’ Here Webb, after having an accomplished fame for gallantry, exposed himself like a common soldier. Here Rivett, wdio was wounded at the beginning of the day, and carried off as dead, returned to the field, and received his death. Medals had been struck for our general’s beha- viour when he first came into the plain. Here was the fury of the action, and here the hero stood as fearless as if invulnerable. Such cer- tainly had been the cares of that state for their own honour, and in gratitude to their heroic subjects. But the wood intrenched, the plain made more impassable than the wood, and all the difficulties opposed to the most gallant army and the most intrepid leaders that ever the sun shone upon, are treated by the talk of some in this room as objections to the merit of our gene- ral and our army : but,’ continued he, ‘ I leave all the examination of this matter, and a proper discourse on our sense of public actions, to my friend Mr. Bickerstaff ; who may let beaux and gamesters rest, until he has examined into the reasons of men’s being malecontents, in the only nation that suffers professed enemies to breathe in open air.’ From my own Apartment, September 7. The following letters are sent to me from re- lations ; and though I do not know who and who 142 THE TATLER. [No. 66. are intended, I publish them. I have only writ nonsense, if there is nothing in them ; and done a good action, if they alarm any heedless men against the fraternity of the Knights, whom the Greeks call Tx(rx.xXg. Bath, Aug. 30. ‘ Mr. Bickerstaff, — It is taken very ill by several gentlemen here, that you are so little vi- gilant, as to let the dogs run from their kennels to this place. Had you done your duty, vve should have had notice of their arrival ; but the sharpers are now become so formidable here, that they have divided themselves into nobles and commons ; beau Bogg, beau Pert, Rake, and Tallboy, are of their upper house ; broken cap- tains, ignorant attornies, and such other bank- rupts from industrious professions, compose their lower order. Among these two sets of men, there happened here lately some unhappy dif- ferences. Esquire Humphry came down among us with four hundred guineas : his raw appear- ance, and certain signals in the good-natured muscles of Humphry’s countenance, alarmed the societies ; for sharpers are as skilful as beggars in physiognomy, and know as well where to hope for plunder, as the others to ask for alms. Pert was the man exactly fitted for taking with Humphry, as a fine gentleman ; for a raw fool is ever enamoured with his contrary, a coxcomb ; and a coxcomb is what the booby, who wants experience, and is unused to company, regards as the first of men. He ever looks at him with envy, and would certainly be such, if he were not oppressed by his rusticity or bashfulness. There arose an entire friendship by this sympa- thy between Pert and Humphrey, which ended in stripping the latter. We now could see this forlorn youth for some days moneyless, without sword, and one day without his hat, and with secret melancholy pining for his snuff-box ; the jest of the whole town, but most of those who robbed him. ‘ At last fresh bills came down, when imme- diately their countenances cleared up, ancient kindnesses and familiarity renew’ed, and to din- ner he was invited by the fraternity. You are to know, that while he was in his days of solitude, a commoner, who was excluded from his share of the prey, had whispered the esquire, that he was bit, and cautioned him of venturing again. However, hopes of recovering his snuff-box, which was given him by his aunt, made him fall to play after dinner ; yet, mindful of what he was told, he saw something that provoked him to tell them, they were a company of sharp- ers. Presently Tallboy fell on him, and, being too hard at fisty -cuffs, drove him out of doors. The valiant Pert followed, and kicked him in his turn ; which the esquire resented, as being nearer his match ; so challenged him : but dif- fering about time and place, friends interposed, for he had still money left, and persuaded him to ask pardon for provoking them to beat him, and they asked his for doing it. The house, consulting whence Humphry could have his in- formation, concluded it must be from some ma- licious commoner ; and, to be revenged, beau Bogg watched their haunts, and in a shop where some of them were at play with ladies, showed dice which he found, or pretended to find, upon them; and, declaring how false they were, warned the company to take care who they played with. By his seeming candour, he clear- ed his reputation, at least to ibols and some silly women ; but it was still blasted by the esquire’s story wuth thinking men : however, he gained a great point by it ; for the next day he got the company shut up with himself and fellow-mem- bers, and robbed them at discretion. ‘ I cannot express to you with what indigna- i tion I behold the noble spirit of gentlemen de- generated to that of private cut-purses. It is in vain to hope a remedy, while so many of the . fraternity get and enjoy estates of twenty, thirty, and fifty thousand pounds, with impunity, creep ^ into the best conversations, and spread the in- 4 fectious villany through the nation, while the j lesser rogues, that rob for hunger or nakedness, 1 are sacrificed by the blind, and, in this respect, 1 partial and defective law. Could you open men’s i eyes against the occasion of all this, the great corrupter of our manners and morality, the au- thor of more bankrupts than the war, and sure bane of all industry, frugality and good nature ; in a word, of all virtues ; I mean, public or pri- vate play at cards or dice; how willingly would I contribute my utmost, and possibly send you some memoirs of the lives and politics of some of the fraternity of great figure, that might be of use to you in setting this in a clear light against next session ; that all who care for their country or posterity, and see the pernicious ef- fects of such a public vice, may endeavour its destruction by some effectual laws. In concur- rence of this good design, I remain your hum- ble servant, &c.’ Friday, Sept. 2. ‘ Mr. Bickerstaff, — I heartily join with you in your laudable design against the Myrmidons, as well as your late insinuations against Cox- combs of Fire ; and I take this opportunity to congratulate you on the success of your labours, which I observed yesterday in one of tlie hottest fire-men in town; who not only affects a soft smile, but was seen to be thrice contradicted without showing any signs of impatience. These, I say, so happy beginnings, promise fair, and on this account I rejoice you have under- taken to unkennel the curs ; a work of such use, , that I admire it so long escaped your vigilance ; and exhort you, by the concern you have for the good people of England, to pursue your design ; , and, that these vermin may not flatter themselves that they pass undiscovered, I desire you would I acquaint Jack Haughty, that the whole secret 1 of his bubbling his friend with the Swiss at the Thatched-house is well known, as also his j sweetening the knight ; and I shall acknowledge the favour. Your most humble servant,