Class jFf'3t,S 
 
 Book_:..__^ 
 
THE 
 
 GUARDIAN; 
 
 ^fO 
 
 COMPLETE 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 WITH 
 
 NOTES, AND A GENERAL INDEX, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY JONES AND CO. 
 
 TEMPLE OF THE MUSES (Late Lackington's), FINSBURY SQUARE; 
 
 AKB MAY BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 1829. 
 

 PRINTED BY J. HADDON, 
 
 Cftitlr Strut, Finttnirf. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Nf». 
 
 Original Dedications, 
 l . The Author's Address— Importance of Authors 
 
 —Plan of the Work Steele. 
 
 <2. History of the Author— the Lizard Family.... 
 
 3. Remarks on Collins' Discourse on Free-think- 
 
 ing Streleor Berkeley. 
 
 4 . On Dedications— the Author to himself Pope. 
 
 5. Family of the Lizards— the Females Steele. 
 
 6. The same— Sir Harry Lizard 
 
 7. Conversation on Marriage— Smith's Letters to r 
 
 Sir Francis Walsingham 
 
 8. On Passion— Story of Licenciado Esquivel and 
 
 Aguire 
 
 5. Character of Mr. Charwell— his Economies 
 
 — Letter on Free-thinking 
 
 10. On Dress— Letter cf Simon Sleek on that 
 
 Subject 
 
 11. OnReproof. Gay. 
 
 Letter on the Obsequium Catholicon, and 
 
 Cures by it Pope. 
 
 12. On Criticism, and the Artifices of Censorious 
 
 Critics Steele. 
 
 13. Account of the Younger Sons of the Lizards.. 
 
 14* Account of two thoughtless young Men — 
 
 Fashion of driving Carriages 
 
 15. Love Verses — Easy Writing 
 
 16. On Poetry— Songs — Song Writing 
 
 17. On Illicit Love— Story of a French Knight ... 
 
 1 8. Thoughts on the Prospect of Death— Psalm by 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 19. On the Influence of Vice— Insensibility to Vir- 
 
 tuous Sentiment — Henry IV. of France, his . 
 
 Prayer before Battle 
 
 90. On Duelling 
 
 2 1 . Excellency and Superiority of the Scriptures. . 
 
 22. On a Country Life— Pastoral Poetry 
 
 «3. On the same 
 
 94. Jack Lizard's Return from the University — 
 
 On Pedantry — Conversation 
 
 95. On Lord Verulam's History of Henry VII.. Budgell. 
 96 All Women are Ladies— Letter recommending 
 
 a Wife to Sir Harry Lizard Steele. 
 
 97. Grounds to expect a Future State proved... Berkeley. 
 
 98. On Pastoral Poetry Steele. 
 
 99. Essay on Laughter— several Kinds of Laugh- 
 
 ters 
 
 30. On Pastoral Poetry 
 
 31. Various Schemes of Happiness Budgell. 
 
 39. The Subject of Pastoral Poetry treated in an 
 
 Allegory Steele. 
 
 39. On the Merits of the Tragedy of Cato— Pro- 
 
 logue and Epilogue 
 
 34. Conversation on Fine Gentlemen ■ . ■■ 
 
 35. The Pineal Gland discovered— Voyage through 
 
 several Berkeley. 
 
 30. Letter on Punning Birch. 
 
 37. On the Tragedy of Othello— Story of Don 
 
 Alonzo Hughes. 
 
 S8. On Pretty Gentlemen— Letter from a Gentle- 
 man-like Man Steele. 
 
 39 Observations on the Pineal Gland of a Free- 
 thinker Berkeley. 
 
 40. On the Pastorals of Pope and Philips Pope. 
 
 41. Censure of a Passage in the Examiner Steele. 
 
 49. Gifts necessary to a Story-teller..... 
 
 ♦3. Opinions on the Characters of Lucia and Mar- 
 
 ciain C&to... -. — . 
 
 No. 
 
 44. Conduct of certain Old Fellows in Gray's Inn 
 
 Gardens Steele. 
 
 45. Miseries of Seduction—Cyrus and Panthea... 
 
 46. History of Madam Maintenon 
 
 47. The same continued 
 
 48. concluded 
 
 49. Essay on Pleasures, Natural and Fantastical- 
 
 Pleasures of I magination Berkeley. 
 
 50. Visit to the Country— Offensive Barber— Ro- 
 
 mantic Pleasures Steele , 
 
 51. On Sacred Poetry — David's Lamentation over 
 
 Jonathan 
 
 52. Colbert's Conversation with the French King 
 
 on the Power of the Dutch 
 
 53. Strictures on the Examiner's Liberties with 
 
 the Character of 
 
 34. On Equality in Happiness and Misery — — — 
 
 55. Importance of Christianity to Virtue Berkeley. 
 
 56. Reproof and Reproach, a Vision Parm.l. 
 
 57. Of Courtship— Questions and Rules for Steele. 
 
 58. Public Spirit— Letter from a Hackney Author 
 
 — from a Patriotic Drinker — from an Osten- 
 tatious Lady 
 
 59. Letters on Cato 
 
 CO. On the various Modes of reading Books — 
 
 6i. On Cruelty to the Brute Creation— Fable of 
 
 Pilpay Pope. 
 
 62. Visit to Westminster School— Utility of Public 
 
 Seminaries Berkeley 
 
 63. Strictures on the Examiner — Extract from 
 
 Lucas' Practical Christianity Steele. 
 
 64. Petition of the Artificers, of Esau Ringwood, 
 
 Susannah How-d'ye-call, and Hugh Pounce 
 
 — Letter on Cato 
 
 65. Improper Conduct at Church — Poverty of 
 
 the Clergy hurtful to Religion 
 
 66. Common Fame, a Vision Parnell. 
 
 67. Fate of Poets— Recommendation of Tom 
 
 D'Urfey Addison. 
 
 68. Letters on the Wife proposed to Sir Harry 
 
 Lizard Steele. 
 
 69. On Fenelon's Demonstration of the Existence, 
 
 Wisdom, and Omnipotence of God — — 
 
 70. Analogy between St. Paul's and the Christian 
 
 Church — Narrowness of Free-thinkers Berkeley. 
 
 71. Observations on the Increase of Lions — Cha- 
 
 racter of a Lion Addison. 
 
 72. On the Oxford Terra5-filius— Abuse of his 
 
 Office Steele. 
 
 73. On the Improper Interference of Parents in 
 
 the Disposal of their Children— Letters on 
 Passion — Pee vishness— Shyness - 
 
 74. Extract from a Sermon of Bishop Beveridge.. 
 
 75. Extracts from the Sermons of two Divines ... 
 
 76. Endeavour to reconcile the Landed and Tra- 
 
 ding Interests 
 
 77. On the Shortsightedness of Critics, Misers, 
 
 and Free-thinkers Berkeley. 
 
 78. Receipt to make an Epic Poem Pope. 
 
 79. On the Miseries of the Poor— Recommenda- 
 
 tion of their Case Steele. 
 
 80. Strictures on the Examiner -— 
 
 81. Soliloquy of an Athenian Libertine — Prayer 
 
 of one who had been a Libertine 
 
 82. Death and Character of Peer the Comedian.. — • 
 
 83. On Happiness— obstructed by the Free-think- 
 
 m* Btrnetey. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 No. 
 
 •4. Silly Halntiof Coffee-house Oiators— Twisting 
 
 off Muttons Steele. 
 
 • >. On Scandal— Letter from a Sufferer by Ca- 
 lumny — from Daniel Button Steele. 
 
 9t). Classical" Descriptions— of the War Horse in 
 
 J«.!» 
 
 87. General Taste for Intrigue— Immorality of 
 
 Servants j Character of a Master 
 
 88. Superiority of the Christian Ideas of the Be- 
 
 ing ana Attributes of a God Berkeley. 
 
 89. Christian Ideas of a Future Stale 
 
 90. Strictures on the Examiner — Letter to one of 
 
 the Writers in the Guardian Steele. 
 
 91. Account of the Short Club Pope. 
 
 !)«. The same, Characters of the Members '- 
 
 93. Thoughts on the Immortality of the Soul— 
 
 on the Pharisees and Sadducees IFotton. 
 
 94. On Education Steele. 
 
 91. Adventure of a Strolling Company— Letters 
 
 on Lions — Coffee-houses — a Virtuoso— on 
 
 the Terrae-filius 
 
 90. A Proposal for Honorary Rewards— Coins 
 
 and Medals Additon. 
 
 97. Letter from Simon Softly, complaining of a 
 
 Widow — Advice to him 
 
 19?. Notice of the Tatler and Spectator— Scheme 
 
 of a Lion's Head at Button's 
 
 99. Essay on National Justice— a Persian Story.. 
 
 100. On the Tucker— Naked Neeks— Laws of Ly- 
 
 curgus — Position of Venus 
 
 K>1. Letters from France— Gayety of the French. 
 
 102. Variableness of the English Climate 
 
 103. On the Fireworks — Serious Reflections on the 
 
 same 
 
 104. Story of a French Gentleman— Letter on th* 
 
 Manners of the French 
 
 105. Exhibition of the Charity Children— Propo- 
 
 sals to extend our Charities 
 
 106. Vision ofAurelia with a Window in her Breast 
 
 107. Letter from a Projector, offering himself as 
 
 a Nomenclator— Letter from Messrs. Dit- 
 
 ton and Whiston 
 
 10S. Institution of the Tall Club 
 
 Correspondence on the Tucker ■ 
 
 On the Language of Treaty — Improprieties 
 
 instanced . 
 
 Improper Conduct of the British Youth- 
 Love of Knowledge — Solomon's Choice... — ■ 
 
 Art of Flying — Letter from Daedalus— Re- 
 marks on Modern Daedalists 
 
 Letter from a Citizen in his Honey-moon — 
 Tom Truelove's Courtship ■ ■ 
 
 Erection of the Lion's Head— Remarks on 
 
 Lions — on Petticoats 
 
 On Criticism — Strada's Prolusion 
 
 Matters of Dress not to be introduced in the 
 
 Pulpit— Letter on Naked Breasts 
 
 Happiness of living under the Protection of 
 
 Omnipotence 
 
 Information from a Lioness — Offer of an Out- 
 riding Lion 
 
 Translation of Strada's Prolusion 
 
 On Female Gamesters 
 
 Account of the Silent Club Pearce. 
 
 On Female Undressing Addison. 
 
 Sequel of Strada's Prolusion . ■ , 
 
 On Seducers of Innocence— Letter to one 
 
 from a Mother 
 
 Letters from a University Lion— on Horns 
 
 — Burlesque Lyric — Visit to the Lion 
 
 Pleasures of Spring— M usic of Birds Tickell. 
 
 The Attractions of Friendship and Benevo- 
 lence Berkeley. 
 
 The Court of Venus from Claudian Eutden. 
 
 On the Demolition of Dunkirk Steele. 
 
 On Anger, Revenge, Duelling . , 
 
 Merit of the Speculative and Active Part of 
 
 M ankind lianlette. 
 
 On Habits of Sloth and Vice Stuff. 
 
 Letters from a Young Man in Sickness — from 
 the Husband of a Woman that is never 
 in the Wrong— from the Wife of one of 
 the Dumb Club — on Naked Breasts — — 
 
 Duel between Sir Edward Sackville and Lord 
 
 Bruce 
 
 The Lion, how treated by the Town — Com- 
 plaint of a Wife's Dress Addison. 
 
 Best Way to bear Calumny , . 
 
 Various Causes of Death — Country Bill of 
 
 Mortality , 
 
 Advantages of Illustrious Birth — how Conta- 
 minated— Pride of Mr. Ironside 
 
 On Regard for Posterity — ■ . 
 
 History of Lions — Story of Androcles — — 
 
 On Female Dress— Letter to Pope Clement 
 
 on the Tucker 
 
 On Wit— Life of the Author SteeU. 
 
 Danger of Masquerades— Letter from a Dealer 
 
 in Fig Leaves ■ 
 
 Account of the Terrible Club 
 
 Variely of Humour among the English 
 
 Letters from a Swaggerer — concerning a 
 
 Challenge-rAdvertisement . 
 
 History of Lions— Story of Sir George Davis. 
 
 Folly of Extravagance in New-married Per- 
 sons ■ . 
 
 History of Santon Barsisa ■ ■ 
 
 Genius requisite to Excel in Dress Gay. 
 
 On Paternal Affection— Story of a French 
 
 Nobleman Steele. 
 
 Letter from the Father of a young Rake ■ 
 
 Comparative Merit of the two Sexes, an 
 
 Allegory Additon. 
 
 Pride not made for Man 
 
 Lucifer's Account of a Masquerade 
 
 Utility of Learning to the Female Sex 
 
 History and Economy of Ants ■■ 
 
 The same, concluded 
 
 Proper Employment of Time; a Vision . . 
 
 Story of Miss Betty, cured of 'her Vanity 
 
 Conjectures of concealed Meanings under 
 
 the History of the Ants . 
 
 Proper Sense and N otion of Honour . ■ 
 
 Humour of a Blunt Squire— Complaisance — 
 . Storvof Schaoabac 
 
 Letter from an Insulted Chaplain— Poem by 
 
 Sir Thomas More — — 
 
 On Translations— Speech of Pluto from Clau- 
 dian Eutden . 
 
 Miseries of Folly and Vice at the Head of a 
 
 Family Additon. 
 
 On Charity — The Guardian in search of the 
 
 Philosopher's Stone ■ 
 
 Story of Helim and Abdallah ■ . 
 
 Character of a Mistress of a Family from the 
 Book of Proverbs — Translation from Ana- 
 crcon — Letter from Steele on the Exa- 
 miner SteeU. 
 
 Contemplation of the Heavenly Bodies, Sea- 
 sons, &c ■ 
 
 Extract from General Maxims of Trade ■ 
 
 Good done by the Author's Speculrtions— 
 Letter from a short Writer — in Defence 
 of Bare Necks • ■ — 
 
 On the Invention of Letters — Poem in Praise 
 
 of Writing — — 
 
 On laying out Gardens — Whimsical Form of 
 
 Yews Pope. 
 
 On the Manners of the Bath Visitors Steele. 
 
 On Boyle's Lecture — Derham's Physico-The- 
 
 Three Letters intended for the Guardian... Hughe*. 
 
ORIGINAL DEDICATIONS. 
 
 Volume the First, 
 
 TO 
 
 LIEUTENANT-GENERAL CADOGAN. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 IN the character of Guardian, it behoves me 
 to do honour to such as have deserved well 
 of society, and laid out worthy and manly 
 qualities, in the service of the public. No 
 man has more eminently distinguished himself 
 this way, than Mr. Cadogan ; with a contempt 
 of pleasure, rest, and ease, when called to the 
 duties of your g" >rious profession, you have 
 lived in a familiarity with dangers, and with a 
 6trict eye upon the final purpose of the attempt, 
 have wholly disregarded what should befall 
 yourself in the prosecution of.it; thus has life 
 risen to you, as fast as you resigned it, and 
 every new hour, for having so frankly lent the 
 preceding moments to the cause of justice and 
 of liberty, has come home to you, improved 
 with honour: This happy distinction, which is 
 »o very peculiar to you, with the addition of 
 industry, vigilance, patience of labour, thrist, 
 and hunger, in common with the meanest 
 soldier, has made your present fortune unen- 
 vied. For the public always reap greater ad- 
 
 vantage from the example of successful merit, 
 than the deserving man himself can possibly 
 be possessed of; your country knows how 
 eminently you excel in the several parts of 
 military skill, whether in assigning the en- 
 campment, accommodating the troops, leading 
 to the charge, or pursuing the enemy: the re- 
 treat being the only part of the profession 
 which has not fallen within the experience of 
 those, who learned their warfare under the 
 duke of Marlborough. But the true and ho- 
 nest purpose of this epistle is to desire a place 
 in your friendship, without pretending to add 
 any thing to your reputation, who, by your own 
 gallant actions, have acquired that your name 
 through all ages shall be read with honour, 
 wherever mention shall be made of that illus- 
 trious captain. 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 
 your most obedient, 
 
 and most humble servant, 
 
 THEGUAKJDIAlr 
 
 Volume the Second. 
 
 TO 
 
 MR. PULTENEY.* 
 
 SIR, 
 The greatest honour of human life, is to live 
 well with men of merit ; and 1 hope you will 
 pardon me the vanity of publishing, by this 
 means, my happiness in being able to name 
 you among my friends. The conversation of 
 
 * Afteiwircis Karl of Batb. 
 
 a gentleman, that has a refined taste of letters, 
 and a disposition in which those letters found 
 nothing to correct, but very much to exert, is 
 a good fortune too uncommon to be enjoyed in 
 silence. In others, the greatest business of 
 learning is to weed the soil ; in you, it had 
 nothing else to do, but to bring forth fruit. 
 Affability, complacency, and generosity of heart, 
 
VIII 
 
 ORIGINAL DEDICATIONS. 
 
 which are natural to you, wanted nothing from 
 literature, but to refine and direct the appli- 
 cation of them. After I have boasted I had 
 Some share in your familiarity, I know not how 
 to do yon the justice of celebrating you for the 
 choice of an elegant and worthy acquaintance, 
 with whom you live in the happy communi- 
 cation of generous sentiment*, which contri- 
 bute not only to \our own mutual entertain- 
 ment and improvement, but to the honour 
 and service of your country. Zeal for the 
 public good is the characteristic of a man of 
 honour, and a gentleman, and must take place 
 of pleasures, profits, and all other private gra- 
 tifications. Whoever wants this motive, is an 
 open enemy, or an inglorious neuter to man- 
 kind, in proportion to the misapplied advan- 
 tages with which nature and fortune have 
 blessed him. But you have a soul animated 
 
 with nobler views, and know that the distinc- 
 tion of wealth and plenteous circumstances, is 
 a tax upon an honest mind, to endeavour, as 
 much as the occurrences of life will give him 
 leave, to guard the properties of others, and 
 be vigilant for the good of his fellow-subjects. 
 This generous inclination, no man possesses 
 in a warmer degree than yourself; which, that 
 heaven would reward with long possession o 
 that reputation into which you have made so 
 early an entrance, the reputation of a man of 
 sense, a good citizen, and agreeable companion, 
 a disinterested friend, and an unbiassed patriot, 
 is the hearty prayer of, 
 Sir, 
 your most obliged, 
 
 and most obedient, 
 
 humble servant, 
 
 THE GUARPI AM 
 
 THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER. 
 
 ' It is a justice which Mr. Ironside owes 
 gentlemen who have sent him their assistances 
 from time to time, in the carrying on of this 
 work, to acknowledge that obligation, though 
 at the same time he himself dwindles into the 
 character of a mere publisher, by making the 
 acknowledgment. But whether a man does it 
 out of justice or gratitude, or any other virtu- 
 ous reason or not, it is also a prudential act to 
 take no more upon a man than he can bear. 
 Two large a credit has made many a bankrupt, 
 but taking even less than a man can answer 
 with ease, is a sure fund for extending it when- 
 ever his occasions require. All those papers 
 which are distinguished by the mark of a 
 Hand, were written by a gentleman who has 
 obliged the world with productions too sublime 
 to admit that the author of them should re- 
 ceive any addition to his reputation, from such 
 loose occasional thoughts as make up these 
 little treatises; for which reason his name 
 shall be concealed. Those which are marked 
 with a Star, were composed by Mr. Budgell. 
 That upon Dedications, with the Epistle of an 
 Author to Himself, the Club of little Men, 
 the Receipt to make an Epic Poem, the paper 
 of the Gardens of Alcinous, and the Catalogue 
 of Greens, that against Barbarity to Animals, 
 and some others, have Mr. Pope for their 
 utlior. Now I mention this gentleman, I 
 
 take this opportunity* out of the Affection 
 I have for his person, and respect to his merit, 
 to let the world know, that he is now trans- 
 lating Homer's Iliad by subscription. He ha* 
 given good proof of his ability for the work, 
 and the men of greatest wit and learning of 
 this nation, of all parties, are, according to 
 their different abilities, zealous encouragers, 
 or solicitors for the work. 
 
 But to my present purpose. The letter 
 from Gnatho of the Cures performed by Flat- 
 tery, and that of comparing Dress to Criticism, 
 are Mr. Gay's. Mr. Martin, Mr. Philips, 
 Mr. Tic^ell, Mr. Carey, Mr. Eusden, Mr. Ince, 
 and M» Hughes, have obliged the town with 
 entertaining discourses in these voluir.es; and 
 Mr. Berkeley, of Trinity College in Dublin, 
 has embellished them with many excellent 
 arguments in honour of religion and virtue. 
 Mr. Pamell will I hope forgive me, that with- 
 out his leave I mention, that I have seen his 
 hand on the like occasion. There are some 
 discourses of a less pleasing nature which re- 
 late to the divisions amongst us, and such (lest 
 any of these gentlemen should suffer from 
 unjust suspicion,) I must impute to the right 
 author of them, who is one Mr. Steele, of 
 Langunnor, iu the county of Carmarthen, in 
 South Wales. 
 
THE GUARDIAN 
 
 No. 1.] Thursday, March 12, 1713. 
 
 1 lie quern requiris. 
 
 He, whom you seek. 
 
 Mart. Epig. ii. 1. 
 
 HHHERE is no passion so universal, however 
 J- diversified or disguised under different forms 
 and appearances, as the vanity of being known 
 to the rest of mankind, and communicating a 
 man's parts, virtues, or qualifications, to the 
 world : this is so strong upon men of great 
 genius, that they have a restless fondness for 
 satisfying the world in the mistakes they might 
 possibly be under, with relation even to their 
 physiognomy. Mr. Airs, that excellent pen- 
 man, has taken care to affix his own image 
 opposite to the title-page of his learned treatise, 
 wherein he instructs the youthof this nation to 
 arrive at a flourishing hand. The author of 
 The Key to Interest, both simple and compound, 
 containing practical rules plainly expressed in 
 words at length for all rates of interest, and 
 times of payment, for what time soever, makes 
 up to us the misfortune of his living at Chester, 
 by following the example of the above-men- 
 tioned Airs, and coming up to town, over 
 against his title-page, in a very becoming peri- 
 wig, and a flowing robe or mantle, inclosed 
 in a circle of foliages ; below his portraiture, 
 for our farther satisfaction as to the age of that 
 useful writer, is subscribed ' Johannes Ward 
 de civitat. Ces trice, cetat. suce 58. An, Dom. 
 1706.' The serene aspect of these writers, 
 joined with the great encouragement I observe 
 is given to another, or what is indeed to be 
 suspected, in which he indulges himself, con- 
 firmed me in the notion I have of the preva- 
 lence of ambition this way. The author whom 
 I hint at shall be nameless, but his counte- 
 nance is communicated to the public in several 
 views and aspects drawn by the most eminent 
 painters, and forwarded by engravers, artists 
 
 by way of mezzotinto, etchers, and the like. 
 There was, 1 remember, some years ago, one 
 John Gale, a fellow that played upon a pipe, 
 and diverted the multitude by dancing in a 
 ring they made about him, whose face became 
 generally known, and the artists employed their 
 skill in delineating his features, because every 
 man was a judge of the similitude of them. 
 There is little else, than what this John Gale 
 arrived at, in the advantages men enjoy from 
 common fame ; yet do I fear it has always a 
 part in moving us to exert ourselves in such 
 things as ought to derive their beginnings from 
 nobler considerations. But I think it is no 
 great matter to the public what is the incentive 
 which makes men bestow time in their service, 
 provided there be any thing useful in what 
 they produce ; I shall proceed therefore to give 
 an account of my intended labours, not without 
 some hope of having my vanity, at the end of 
 them, indulged in the sort above-mentioned. 
 
 I should not have assumed the title of Guar- 
 dian, had I not maturely considered, that th« 
 qualities necessary for doing the duties of that 
 character, proceed from the integrity of the 
 mind more than the excellence of the under- 
 standing. The former of these qualifications 
 it is in the power of every man to arrive at; 
 and the more he endeavours that way, the less 
 will he want the advantages of the latter ; to 
 be faithful, to be honest, to be just, is what 
 you will demand in the choice of your Guar- 
 dian ; or if you find added to this, that he is 
 pleasant, ingenious, and agreeable, there will 
 overflow satisfactions which make for the or- 
 nament, if not so immediately to the use of 
 your life. As to the diverting part of this paper, 
 by what assistance I shall be capacitated for 
 that, as well as what proofs I have given of my 
 behaviour as to integrity in former life, will 
 appear from my history to be delivered in 
 A 
 
THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 2. 
 
 ensuing discourse*. The main purpose of the 
 work shall he, to protect the modest, the in- 
 dustrious ; to celebrate the wise, the valiant ; 
 to encourage the good, the pious ; to confront 
 the impudent, the idle ; to contemn the vain, 
 the cowardly; and to disappoint the wicked 
 and profane. This work cannot he carried on 
 but by preserving a strict regard, not only to 
 the duties but civilities of life, with the utmost 
 impartiality towards things and persons. The 
 unjust application of the advantages of breeding 
 ami fortune, is the source of all calamity, both 
 public and private ; the correction therefore, 
 or rather admonition, of a Guardian in all the 
 occurrences of a various being, if given with a 
 benevolent spirit, would certainly be of general 
 service. 
 
 in order to contribute as far as I am able to 
 it, I shall publish in respective papers whatever 
 1 think may conduce to the advancement of 
 the conversation of gentlemen, the improve- 
 ment of ladies, the wealth of traders, and the 
 encouragement of artificers. The circumstance 
 relating to those who excel in mechanics, shall 
 be considered with particular application- It 
 is not to be immediately conceived by such as 
 have not turned themselves to reflections of 
 that kind, that Providence, to enforce and en- 
 dear the necessity of social life, has given one 
 man's hands to another man's head, and the 
 carpenter, the smith, the joiner, are as imme- 
 diately necessary to the mathematician, as my 
 amanuensis will be to me, to write much fairer 
 than I can myself. I am so well convinced of 
 this truth, that I shall have a particular regard 
 to mechanics ; and to show my honour for 
 them, I shall place at their head the painter. 
 This gentleman is, as to the execution of his 
 work, a mechanic ; but as to his conception, 
 his spirit, and design, he is hardly below even 
 the poet, in liberal art. It will be from these 
 considerations useful to make the world see 
 the affinity between all works which are bene- 
 ficial to mankind is much nearer, than the il- 
 liberal arrogance of scholars will at all times 
 allow. But I am from experience convinced 
 of the importance of mechanic heads, and 
 shall therefore take them all into my care, from 
 Rowley, who is improving the globes of the 
 earth and heaven in Fleet-street, to Bat. Pigeon, 
 the hair cutter in the Strand. 
 
 But it will be objected upon what pretensions 
 I take upon me to put in for the prochain ami, 
 or nearest friend of all the world. How my 
 head is accomplished for this employment to- 
 wards the public, from the long exercise of it 
 in a private capacity, will appear by reading 
 me the two or three next days with diligence 
 and attention. There is no other paper in being 
 which tends to this purpose. They are most 
 of them histories, or advices of public trans- 
 actions ; but as those representations affect the 
 passions of my readers, I shall sometimes take 
 
 care, the day after a foreign mail, to give them 
 an account of what it has brought. The parties 
 amongst us are too violent to make it possible 
 to pass them by without observation. As to 
 these matters, I shall be impartial, though I 
 cannot be neuter: I am, with relation to t hi- 
 government of the church, a tory, with regard 
 to the state, a whig. 
 
 The charge of intelligence, the pain in com- 
 piling and digesting my thoughts in proper 
 style, and the like, oblige me-to value my paper 
 a half-penny above all other half-sheets.* And 
 all persons who have any thing to communicate 
 to me, are desired to direct their letters (postage 
 paid) to Nestor Ironside, Esq. at Mr. Tonson's in 
 the Strand. I declare beforehand, that I will at 
 no time be conversed with any other way than 
 by letter: for as I am an ancient man, I shall 
 find enough to do to give orders proper for 
 their service, to whom I am by will of their 
 parents Guardian, though I take that to be too 
 narrow a scene for me to pass my whole life in. 
 But I have got my wards so well off my bands. 
 and they are so able to act for themselves, that 
 I have little to do but give a hint, and all that 
 I desire to be amended is altered accordingly. 
 
 My design upon the whole is no less than to 
 make the pulpit, the bar, and the stage, all 
 act in concert in the care of piety, justice, and 
 virtue; for I am past all the regards of this 
 life, and have nothing to manage with any 
 person or party, but to deliver myself as be- 
 comes an old man with one foot in the grave, 
 and one who thinks he is passing to eternity. 
 All sorrows which can arrive at me are com- 
 prehended in the sense of guilt and pain ; if I 
 can keep clear of these two evils, I shall not be 
 apprehensive of any other. Ambition, lust, 
 envy, and revenge, are excrescences of the 
 mind, which I have cut off long ago: but as 
 they are excrescences which do not only de- 
 form, but also torment those on whom they 
 grow, I shall do all I can to persuade all others 
 to take the same measures for their cure which 
 I have. 
 
 No. 2.] Friday, March 13, 1713. 
 
 The readiest way to proceed in my grea N 
 undertaking, is to explain who I am myself 
 that promise to give the town a daily half- 
 sheet : I shall therefore enter into my own 
 history, without losing any time in preamble. 
 I was bom in the year 16*42, at a lone house 
 within half a mile of the town of Brentford, 
 in the county of Middlesex; my parents were 
 of ability to bestow Upon me a liberal educa- 
 tion, and of a humour to think that a great 
 happiness even in a fortune which was but 
 just enough to keep m'e above want. In my 
 
 Two-pence was the original price of tbia paper. 
 
No. 2.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 sixteenth year I was admitted a commoner of 
 Magdalen-hall in Oxford. It was one great 
 advantage, among many more, which men 
 educated at our universities do usually enjoy 
 ahove others, that they often contract friend- 
 ships there, which are of service to them in all 
 the parts of their future life. This good for- 
 tune happened to me ; for during the time of 
 my being an under-graduate, I became inti- 
 mately acquainted with Mr. Ambrose Lizard, 
 who was a fellow-commoner of the neighbour- 
 ing college. I have the honour to be well 
 known to Mr. Josiah Pullen, of our hall above- 
 mentioned ; and attribute the florid old age 
 I now enjoy to my constant morning walks up 
 Hedington-hill in his cheerful company. If 
 the gentleman be still living, 1 hereby give 
 him my humble service. But as I was going 
 to say, J contracted in my early youth an in- 
 timate friendship with young Mr. Lizard, of 
 Northamptonshire. He was sent for a little 
 before he was of bachelor's standing, to be 
 married to Mrs. Jane Lizard, an heiress, whose 
 father would have it so for the sake of the 
 name. Mr. Ambrose knew nothing of it* till 
 he came to Lizard-hall on Saturday night, saw 
 the young lady at dinner the next day, and was 
 married, by order of his father, sir Ambrose, 
 between eleven and twelve the Tuesday follow- 
 ing. Some years after, when my friend came to 
 be sir Ambrose himself, and finding upon proof 
 of her, that he had lighted upon a good wife, 
 he gare the curate who joined their hands the 
 parsonage of Welt, not far off Wellingborough. 
 My friend was married in the year sixty-two, 
 and every year following, for eighteen years to- 
 gether, I left the college (except that year 
 wherein I was chosen fellow of Lincoln,) and 
 sojourned at sir Ambrose's for the months of 
 June, July, and August. I remember very 
 well that it was on the fourth of July, in the 
 year 1674, that I was reading in an arbour to 
 my friend, and stopt of a sudden, observing 
 he did not attend. ' Lay by your book,' said 
 he, * and ]*t us take a turn in the grass-walk, 
 for I have Something to say to you.' After a 
 silence for about forty yards, walking both of 
 as with our eyes downward, one big to hear, 
 the other to speak a matter of great importance, 
 sir Ambrose expressed himself to this effect : 
 * My good friend,' said he, ' you may have ob- 
 served that from the first moment I was in 
 your company at Mr. Willis's chambers, at 
 University college, I ever after sought and 
 courted you, that inclination towards you has 
 improved, from similitude of manners, if I may 
 so say, when I tell you I have not observed in 
 any man a greater candour and simplicity of 
 mind than in yourself. You are a man that 
 are not inclined to launch into the world, but 
 prefer security and ease, in a collegiate or single 
 life, to going into the cares which necessarily 
 attend a public character, or that of a master of 
 
 a family. You see within, my son Marmaduke, 
 my only child ; I have a thousand anxieties 
 upon me concerning him, the greater part of 
 which I would transfer to you, and when I do 
 so, I would make it, in plain English, worth 
 your while.' He would not let me speak, but 
 proceeded to inform me, that he had laid the 
 whole scheme of his affairs upon that foundation. 
 As soon as we went into the house, he gave 
 me a bill upon his goldsmith* in London, of 
 two thousand pounds, and told me, with that 
 he had purchased me, with all the talents I 
 was master of, to be of his family, to educate 
 his son, and to do all that should ever lie in my 
 power for the service of him and his to my 
 life's end, according to such powers, trusts, and 
 instructions, as I should hereafter receive. 
 
 The reader will here make many speeches 
 for me, and without doubt suppose I told my 
 friend he had retained me with a fortune to 
 do that which I should have thought myself 
 obliged to by friendship : but, as he was a 
 prudent man, and acted upon rules of life, 
 which were least liable to the variation of 
 humour, time, or season, I was contented to 
 be obliged by him his own way ; and be- 
 lieved I should never enter into any alliance 
 which should divert me from pursuing the 
 interests of his family, of which 1 should here- 
 after understand myself a member. • Sir Am- 
 brose told me, he should lay no injunction 
 upon me, which should be inconsistent with 
 any inclination I might have hereafter to 
 change my condition. All he meant was, in 
 general, to insure his family from that pest of 
 great estates, the mercenary men of business 
 who act for them, and in a few years become 
 creditors to their masters in greater sums than 
 half the income of their lands amounts to, 
 though it is visible all which gave rise to their 
 wealth was a slight salary, for turning all the 
 rest, both estate and credit of that estate, to 
 the use of their principals. To this purpose 
 we had a very long conference that evening, 
 the chief point of which was, that his only 
 child Marmaduke was from that hour under 
 my care, and I was engaged to turn all my 
 thoughts to the service of the child in par- 
 ticular, and all the concerns of the family in 
 general. My most excellent friend was so well 
 satisfied with my behaviour, that he made me 
 his executor, and guardian to his son. My own 
 conduct during that time, and my manner of 
 educating his son Marmaduke to manhood, and 
 the interest I had in him to the time of his 
 death also, with my present conduct towards 
 the numerous descendants of my old friend, 
 will make, possibly, a series of history of com- 
 mon life, as useful as the relations of the more 
 pompous passages in the lives of princes and 
 statesmen. The widow of sir Ambrose, and 
 
 » A banker at this time was called a goldsmith. 
 
THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 . lea worthy relict of sir Marmaduke, 
 iti living at tins time. 
 I am to let the reader know, that his chief 
 entertainment will arise from what passes at the 
 tea- table of my lady Lizard. That lady is now 
 in the forty-sixth year of her age, was married 
 in the beginning of her sixteenth, is blessed with 
 a numerous offspring of each sex, no less than 
 four sons and five daughters. She was the mo- 
 ther of this large family before she arrived at her 
 thirtieth year: about which time she lost her 
 husband, sir Marmaduke Lizard, a gentleman 
 of great virtue and generosity. He left behind 
 him an improved paternal estate of six thou- 
 sand pounds a-year to his eldest son, and one 
 year's revenue, in ready money, as a portion 
 to each younger child. My lady's Christian 
 name is Aspasia ; and as it may give a certain 
 dignity to our style to mention her by that 
 name, we beg leave at discretion to say lady 
 Lizard, or Aspasia, according to the matter 
 we shall treat of. When she shall be consult- 
 ing about her cash, her rents, her household 
 affairs, we will use the more familiar name; 
 and when she is employed in the forming the 
 minds and sentiments of her children, exerting 
 herself in the acts of charity, or speaking of 
 matters of religion or piety, for the elevation 
 of style we will use the word Aspasia. Aspasia 
 is a lady of great understanding and noble 
 spirit. She has passed several years in widow- 
 hood, with that abstinent enjoyment of life, 
 which has done honour to her deceased hus- 
 band, and devolved reputation upon her chil- 
 dren. As she has both sons and daughters 
 marriageable, she is visited by many on that 
 account, but by many more for her own merit. 
 As there is no circumstance in human life, 
 which may not directly or indirectly concern 
 a woman thus related, there will be abundant 
 matter offer itself from passages in this family 
 to supply my readers with diverting, and per- 
 haps useful notices for their conduct in all the 
 incidents of human life. Placing money on 
 mortgages, in the funds, upon bottomry, and 
 almost all other ways of improving the fortune 
 of a family, are practised by my lady Lizard, 
 with the best skill and advice. 
 
 The members of this family, their cares, 
 passions, interests, and diversions, shall be re- 
 presented, from time to time, as news from 
 the tea-table of so accomplished a woman as 
 the intelligent and discreet lady Lizard. 
 
 No. 3.] Saturday, March 11, J? 13. 
 
 Qnicquld est iihid, quod scntlt, quod sapit, quod vnlt, 
 quod vig< i, caeleste et dlvlniun eat, ob earaquc rem aster- 
 
 iiniii mi in i . - • . -i. Cicero. 
 
 Whatever th.it be, which thinks, which understands, 
 willed \\ll!% wbleh actS) H i^ something celestial and <U- 
 
 ii iiy be eternal, 
 
 I am diverted from the account 1 was giving 
 • he town of my particular concerns* by casting 
 
 [No. 3. 
 
 my e*/c upon a treatise which J could not over- 
 look without an inexcusable negligence, and 
 want of concern for all the civil, as well as re- 
 ligious interests of mankind. This piece has for 
 its title, A Discourse of Free-thinking, occa- 
 sioned by the rise and growth of a sect called 
 Free-thinkers. The author very methodically 
 enters upon his argument, and says, ' by free- 
 thinking, I mean the use of the understanding 
 in endeavouring to find out the meaning of 
 any proposition whatsoever, in considering the 
 nature of the evidence for or against, and in 
 judging of it according to the seeming force 
 or weakness of the evidence.' As soon as he 
 has delivered this definition, from which one 
 would expect he did not design to show a par- 
 ticular inclination for or against any thing 
 before he had considered it, he gives up all 
 title to the character of a free-thinker, with 
 the most apparent prejudice against a body of 
 men, whom of all other a good man would be 
 most careful not to violate, I mean men in 
 holy orders. Persons who have devoted them- 
 selves to the service of God, are venerable to 
 all who fear him ; and it is a certain charac- 
 teristic of a dissolute and ungoverned mind, to 
 rail, or speak disrepectfully of them in general. 
 It is certain, that in so great a crowd of men, 
 some will intrude who are of tempers very un- 
 becoming their function : but because ambition 
 and avarice are sometimes lodged in that bo- 
 som which ought to be the dwelling of sanctity 
 and devotion, must this unreasonable author 
 vilify the whole order? He has not taken the 
 least care to disguise his being an enemy to the 
 persons against whom he writes, nor any where 
 granted that the institution of religious men 
 to serve at the altar, and instruct such who 
 are not as wise as himself, is at all necessary 
 or desirable ; but proceeds, without the least 
 apology, to undermine their credit, and frus- 
 trate their labours: whatever clergymen, in 
 disputes against each other, have unguardedly 
 uttered, is here recorded in such a manner as 
 to affect religion itself, by wresting concessions 
 to its disadvantage from its own achers. If 
 this be true, as sure any man tnat reads the 
 discourse must allow it is, and if religion is 
 the strongest tie of human society, in what 
 manner are we to treat this our common enemy, 
 who promotes the growth of such a sect as he 
 calls free-thinkers ? He that should burn a 
 a house, and justify the action by asserting he 
 is a free agent, would be more excusable than 
 this author in uttering what he has from the 
 right of a free thinker. But there are a set of 
 dry, joyless, doll fellows, who want capacities 
 and talents to make a figure amongst mankind 
 upon benevolent and generous principles, that 
 think to surmount their own natural mean- 
 ness, by laying offences in the way of such as 
 make it their endeavour to excel upon the re- 
 ceived maxims and honest arts of life. If it 
 
No. 3.1 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 were possible to laugh at so melancholy an 
 affair as what hazards salvation, it would be 
 no unpleasant inquiry to ask, what satisfactions 
 they reap, what extraordinary gratification of 
 sense, or what delicious libertinism this sect 
 of free-thinkers enjoy, after getting loose of 
 the laws which confine the passions of other 
 men ? Would it not be a matter of mirth to 
 find, after all, that the heads of this growing 
 sect are sober wretches, who prate whole 
 evenings over coffee, and have not themselves 
 fire enough to be any further debauchees, than 
 merely in principle ? These sages of iniquity 
 are, it seems, themselves only speculatively 
 wicked, and are contented that all the aban- 
 doned young men of the age are kept safe from 
 reflection by dabbling in their rhapsodies, 
 without tasting the pleasures for which their 
 doctrines leave them unaccountable. Thus 
 do heavy mortals, only to gratify a dry pride of 
 heart, give up the interests of another world, 
 without enlarging their gratifications in this : 
 but it is certain there are a sort of men that 
 can puzzle truth, but cannot enjoy the satis- 
 faction of it. This same free-thinker is a crea- 
 ture unacquainted with the emotions, which 
 possess great minds when they are turned for 
 religion, and it is apparent that he is untouched 
 with any such sensation as the rapture of de- 
 votion. Whatever one of these scorners may 
 think, they certainly want parts to be devout ; 
 and a sense of piety towards heaven, as well as 
 the sense of any thing else, is lively and warm 
 in proportion to the faculties of the head and 
 heart. This gentleman may be assured he has 
 not a taste for what he pretends to decry, and 
 the poor man is certainly more a blockhead 
 than an atheist. I must repeat, that he wants 
 capacity to relish what true piety is ; and he 
 is as capable of writing an heroic poem, as 
 making a fervent prayer. When men are thus 
 low and narrow in their apprehensions of 
 things, and at the same time vain, they are 
 naturally led to think every thing they do not 
 understand, not to be understood. Their con- 
 tradiction to what is urged by others, is a 
 necessary consequence of their incapacity to 
 receive it. The atheistical fellows who ap- 
 peared the last age did not serve the devil for 
 nought, but revelled in excesses suitable to 
 their principles ; while in these unhappy days 
 mischief is done for mischiefs sake. These 
 free-thinkers, who lead the lives of recluse stu- 
 dents, for no other purpose but to disturb the 
 sentiments of other men, put me in mind of 
 the monstrous recreation of those late wild 
 youths, who, without provocation, had a wan- 
 tonness in stabbing and defacing those they 
 met with. When such writers as this, who has 
 no spirit but that of malice, pretend to inform 
 the age, mohocks and cut throats may well 
 Set up for wits and men of pleasure. 
 
 It-will be perhaps expected, that I should 
 
 produce some instances of the ill intention of 
 this free-thinker, to support the treatment J 
 here give him. In his fifty-second page he says, 
 
 ' Secondly, The priests throughout the world 
 differ about scriptures, and the authority of 
 scriptures. The Bramins have a book of scrip- 
 ture called the Shaster. The Persees have their 
 Zundavastaw. The Bonzes of China have books 
 written by the disciples of Fo-he, whom they 
 call the ' God and Saviour of the world, who 
 was born to teach the way of salvation, and 
 to give satisfaction for all men's sins.' The 
 Talapoins of Siam have a book of scripture 
 written by Sommonocodom, who, the Siamese 
 say, ■ was born of a virgin, and was the God 
 expected by the universe.' The Dervises have 
 their Alcoran.' 
 
 I believe there is no one will dispute the 
 author's great impartiality in setting down the 
 accounts of these different religions. And I 
 think it is pretty evident he delivers the matter 
 with an air that betrays that the history of 
 1 one born of a virgin' has as much authority 
 with him from St. Sommonocodom as from 
 St. Matthew, Thus he treats revelation. Then 
 as to philosophy, he tells you, p. 136, ' Cicero 
 produces this as an instance of a probable 
 opinion, that they who study philosophy do 
 not believe there are any Gods ;' and then, 
 from consideration of various notions, he af- 
 firms Tully concludes, * that there can be no- 
 thing after death.' 
 
 As to what he misrepresents of Tully, the 
 short sentence on the head of this paper is 
 enough to oppose ; but who can have patience 
 to reflect upon the assemblage of impostures, 
 among which our author places the religion 
 of his country ? As for my part, I cannot see 
 any possible interpretation to give this work, 
 but a design to subvert and ridicule the autho- 
 rity of scripture. The peace and tranquillity 
 of the nation, and regards even above those, 
 are so much concerned in this matter, that it 
 is difficult to express sufficient sorrow for the 
 offender, or indignation against him. But if 
 ever man deserved to be denied the common 
 benefits of air and water, it is the author of 
 A Discourse of Free-thinking. 
 
 No. 4.] Monday, March 16, 1713. 
 
 It matters not how false or forc'd, 
 So the best things be said o' th' worst ; 
 It goes for nothing when 'tis said, 
 Only the arrow's drawn to th' head, 
 Whether it be a swan or goose 
 They "level at : so shepherds use 
 To set the same mark on the hip 
 Both of their sound and rotten sheep. 
 
 Hudihras. 
 
 Though most things which are wrong in 
 their own nature are at once confessed and 
 absolved in that single word Custom ; yet there 
 are some, which as they have a dangerous 
 
a 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 4 
 
 tcmk'iin, a thinking man will the less excuse 
 on that very account. Among these 1 cannot 
 hut reckon the common practice of dedications, 
 which is of so much the worse consequence, 
 tfi it js generally used by the people of polite- 
 ness, ami whom a learned education for the 
 most part ought to have inspired with nobler 
 and juster sentiments. This prostitution of 
 praise is not only a deceit upon the gross of 
 mankind, who take their notion of characters 
 from the learned ; but also the better sort must 
 by this means lose some part at least of that 
 desire of fame which is the incentive to gene- 
 rous actions, when they find it promiscuously 
 bestowed on the meritorious and undeserving : 
 nay, the author himself, let him he supposed 
 to have ever so true a value for the patron, 
 can find no terms to express it, but what have 
 been already used, and rendered suspected by 
 flatterers. Even truth itself in a dedication 
 is like an honest man in a disguise or vizor- 
 mask, and will appear a cheat by being dressed 
 so like one. Though the merit of the person 
 is beyond dispute, 1 see no reason that because 
 one man is eminent, therefore another has a 
 right to be impertinent, and throw praises in 
 his face. 'Tis just the reverse of the practice 
 of the ancient Romans, when a person was ad- 
 vanced to triumph for his services. As they 
 hired people to rail at him in that circum- 
 stance to make him as humble as they could, 
 we have fellows to flatter him, and make him 
 as proud as they can. Supposing the writer 
 not to be mercenary, yet the great man is no 
 more in reason obliged to thank him for his 
 picture in a dedication, than to thank a painter 
 for that on a sign-post ; except it be a less in- 
 jury to touch the most sacred part of him, his 
 character, than to make free with his counte- 
 nance only. 1 should think nothing justified 
 me in this point, but the patron's permission 
 beforehand, that I should draw him, as like as 
 I could ; whereas most authors proceed in this 
 affair just as a dauber I have heard of, who, 
 not being able to draw portraits after the life, 
 was used to paint faces at random, and look 
 out afterwards for people whom he might per- 
 suade to be like them. To express my notion 
 of the thing in a word : to say more to a man 
 than one thinks, with a prospect of interest, 
 is dishonest ; and without it, foolish. And 
 whoever has had success in such an undertak- 
 ing, must of necessity, at once think himself 
 in his heart a knave for having done it, and 
 his patron a fool for having believed it. 
 
 / have sometimes been entertained with con- 
 sidering dedications in no very common light. 
 By observing what qualifies our wi iters think 
 it will he most pleasing to others to compli- 
 ment them with, one may form some judgment 
 which arc most so to themselves ; and in con- 
 sequence, what sort of people they are. With- 
 out this view one can read very few dedications 
 
 but will give us cause to wonder how such 
 things came to be said at all, or how they 
 were said to such persons? I have known a 
 hero complimented upon the decent majesty 
 and state he assumed after victory, and a no- 
 bleman of a different character applauded for 
 his condescension to inferiors. This would 
 have seemed very strange to me, but that I 
 happened to know the authors. He who made 
 the first compliment was a lofty gentleman, 
 whose air and gait discovered when he had 
 published a new book; and the other tippled 
 every night with the fellows who laboured at 
 the press while his own writings were work- 
 ing off. It is observable of the female poets, 
 and ladies dedicatory, that here (as elsewhere) 
 they far exceed us in any strain or rant. As 
 beauty is the thing that sex are piqued upon, 
 they speak of it generally in a more elevated 
 style than is used by the men. They adore in 
 the same manner as they would be adored. So 
 when the authoress of a famous modern ro- 
 mance* begs a young nobleman's permission 
 to pay him her ' kneeling adorations,' I am 
 far from censuring the expression, as some 
 critics would do, as deficient in grammar or 
 sense ; but I reflect, that adorations paid in 
 that posture are what a lady might expect her- 
 self, and my wonder immediately ceases. These, 
 when they flatter most, do but as they would 
 be done unto: for, as none are so much con- 
 cerned at being injured by calumnies as they 
 who are readiest to cast them upon their neigh- 
 bours, so it is certain none are so guilty of 
 flattery to others as those who most ardently 
 desire it themselves. 
 
 What led me into these thoughts was a de- 
 dication 1 happened upon this morning. The 
 reader must understand that I treat the least 
 instances or remains of ingenuity with respect, 
 in what places soever found, or under what- 
 ever circumstances of disadvantage. From 
 this love to letters I have been so happy in 
 my searches after knowledge, that I have 
 found invalued repositories of learning in the 
 lining of band-boxes. I look upon these paste- 
 board edifices, adorned with the fragments of 
 the ingenious, with the same veneration as 
 antiquaries upon ruined buildings, whose walls 
 preserve divers inscriptions and names, which 
 are no where else to be found in the world. 
 This morning, when one of the lady Lizard's 
 daughters was looking over some hoods and 
 ribands, brought by her tire-woman, with 
 great care and diligence, I employed no less 
 in examining the box which contained them; 
 it was lined with certain scenes of a tragedy, 
 written (as appeared by part of the title there 
 extant) by one of the fair sex. What was 
 most legible was the dedication ; which, by 
 
 Mis. Mauley, authoress of the Memoirs from tbe Nc\t 
 
 Ai.il inti.-. 
 
No. 4.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 reason of the largeness of the characters, was 
 least defaced by those gothic ornaments of 
 flourishes and foliage, wherewith the com- 
 pilers of these sort of structures do often in- 
 dustriously obscure the works of the learned. 
 As much of it as I could read with any ease, 
 I shall communicate to the reader, as follows. 
 
 * *** Though it is a kind of profanation to 
 approach your grace with so poor an offering, 
 yet when I reflect how acceptable a sacrifice 
 of first-fruits was to Heaven, in the earliest 
 and purest ages of religion, that they were 
 honoured with solemn feasts, and consecrated 
 to altars by a divine command, *** upon that 
 consideration, as an argument of particular 
 zeal, I dedicate***. It is impossible to be- 
 hold you without adoring ; yet dazzled and 
 awed by the glory that surrounds you, men 
 feel a sacred power, that refines their flames, 
 and renders them pure as those we ought to 
 offer to the Deity. *** The shrine is worthy 
 the divinity that inhabits it. In your grace 
 we see what woman was before she fell, how 
 nearly allied to the purity and perfection of 
 angels. And we adore and bless the glo- 
 rious work !' 
 
 Undoubtedly these and other periods of this 
 most pious dedication, could not but convince 
 the duchess of what the eloquent authoress 
 assures her at the end, that she was her ser- 
 vant with most ardent devotion. I think this 
 a pattern of a new sort of style, not yet taken 
 notice of by the critics, which is above the 
 sublime, and may be called the celestial ; that 
 is, when the most sacred phrases appropriated 
 to the honour of the Deity are applied to a 
 mortal of good quality. As I am naturally 
 emulous, I cannot but endeavour, in imitation 
 of tins lady, to be the inventor, or, at least, the 
 first producer of a kind of dedication, very 
 different from hers and most others, since it 
 has not a word but what the author religiously 
 thinks in it. It may serve for almost any book, 
 either prose or verse, that has been, is, or shall 
 be published, and might run in this manner. 
 
 The Author to himself. 
 MOST HONOURED SIR, 
 These labours, upon many considerations, 
 so properly belong to none as to you. First, 
 as it was your most earnest desire alone that 
 could prevail upon me to make them public. 
 Then as I am secure (from that constant in- 
 dulgence you have ever shown to all which is 
 mine) that no man will so readily take them 
 into protection, or so zealously defend them. 
 Moreover, there is none can so soon discover 
 the beauties ; and there are some parts which, 
 it is possible, few besides yourself are capable 
 of understanding. Sir, the honour, affection, 
 and value I have for you are beyond expression ; 
 as great, I am sure, or greater, than any man 
 
 else can bear you. As for any defects which 
 others may pretend to discover in you, I do 
 faithfully declare I was never able to perceive 
 them ; and doubt not but those persons are 
 actuated purely by a spirit of malice or envy, 
 the inseparable attendants on shining merit 
 and parts, such as I have always esteemed 
 yours to be. It may perhaps be looked upon 
 as a kind of violence to modesty, to say this to 
 you in public; but you may believe me, it is 
 no more than I have a thousand times thought 
 of you in private. Might I follow the impulse 
 of my soul, there is no subject I could launch 
 into with more pleasure than your panegyric. 
 But, since something is due to modesty, let 
 me conclude by telling you, that there is no- 
 thing so much I desire as to know you more 
 thoroughly than I have yet the happiness of 
 doing. I may then hope to be capable to do 
 you some real service ; but till then can only 
 assure you, that I shall continue to be, as I 
 am more than any man alive, 
 Dearest Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, and 
 the greatest of your admirers. 
 
 No. 5.] Tuesday, March 17, 1713. 
 
 Laudantur simili prole puerperae. 
 
 Hor. Lib. 4. Od. v. 23. 
 
 The mother's virtues in the daughters shine. 
 
 I have, in my second paper, mentioned the 
 family into which I was retained by the friend 
 of my youth ; and given the reader to under- 
 stand, that my obligations to it are such as 
 might well naturalize me into the interests of 
 it. They have, indeed, had their deserved 
 effect, and if it were possible fur a man who 
 has never entered into the state of marriage 
 to know the instincts of a kind father to an 
 honourable and numerous house, I may say I 
 have done it. I do not know but my regards, 
 in some considerations, have been more useful 
 than those of a father, and as I wanted all that 
 tenderness, which is the bias of inclination in 
 men towards their own offspring, I have had a 
 greater command of reason when I, was to 
 judge of what concerned my wards, and con- 
 sequently was not prompted, by my partiality 
 and fondness towards their persons, to trans- 
 gress against their interests. 
 
 As the female part of a family is the more 
 constant and immediate object of care and 
 protection, and the more liable to misfortune 
 or dishonour, as being in themselves more 
 sensible of the former, and, from custom and 
 opinion, for less offences more exposed to the 
 latter; I shall begin with the more delicate 
 part of my guardianship, the women of the 
 family of Lizard. The ancient and religious 
 lady, the dowager of my friend sir Ambrose, 
 has for some time estranged herself from eon« 
 
H 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 5, 
 
 .mi, and admits only of the visits of her 
 own family. The observation, that old people 
 remember best those things which entered into 
 i heir thoughts when their memories were in 
 their full strength and vigour, is very remark- 
 ably exemplified in this good lady and myself 
 when we are in conversation ; I choose, indeed, 
 to go thiiher, to divert any anxiety or weariness 
 which at any time I find grow upon me from 
 any present business or care. It is said, that 
 a little mirth and diversion are what recreate 
 the spirits upon those occasions: but there is 
 a kind of sorrow from which I draw a consola- 
 tion that strengthens my faculties and enlarges 
 my mind beyond any thing that can flow from 
 merriment. When we meet, we soon get over 
 any occurrence which passed the day before, 
 and are in a moment hurried back to those 
 days which only we call good ones ; the pas- 
 sages of the times when we were in fashion, 
 with the countenances, behaviour, and jollity, so 
 much, forsooth, above what any appear in now, 
 are present to our imaginations, and almost to 
 our very eyes. This conversation revives to us 
 the memory of a friend, that was more than a 
 brother to me ; of a husband that was dearer 
 than life to her: discourses about that dear 
 and worthy man generally send her to her 
 closet, and me to the despatch of some necessary 
 business which regards the remains, I would 
 say the numerous descendants of my generous 
 friend. I am got, I know not how, out of what 
 I was going say of this lady ; which was, that 
 she is far gone towards a better world ; and 
 I mention her (only with res.pect to this) as 
 she is the object of veneration to those who are 
 derived from her: whose behaviour towards 
 her may be an example to others, and make 
 the generality of young people apprehend, that 
 when the ancient are past all offices of life, it 
 is then the young are to exert themselves in 
 their most laudable duties towards them. 
 
 The widow of sir Marmaduke is to be con- 
 sidered in a very different view. My lady is 
 not in the shining bloom of life, but at those 
 years, wherein the gratifications of an ample 
 fortune, those of pomp and equipage, of being 
 much esteemed, much visited, and generally 
 admired, are usually more strongly pursued 
 than in younger days. In this condition she 
 might very well add the pleasures of courtship, 
 and the grateful persecution of being followed 
 by a crowd of lovers ; but she is an excellent 
 mother and great economist ; which considera- 
 tions, joined with the pleasure of living her 
 own way, preserve her against the intrusion 
 of love. I will not say that my lady has not a 
 secret vanity in being still a fine woman, and 
 neglecting those addresses, to w huh perhaps we 
 
 in part owe her constancy in that her neglect. 
 
 Her daughter Jane, ber eldest child of that 
 sex, is in the twenty-third year of her age, a 
 lady who forms herself after the pattern of her 
 
 mother; but in my judgment, a. she happens 
 to be extremely like her, she sometimes makes 
 her court unskilfully, in affecting that likeneSfl 
 in her very mien, which gives the mother an 
 uneasy sense, that Mrs. Jane really is what her 
 parent has a mind to continue to be; but it is 
 possible I am too observing in this particular, 
 and this might be overlooked iu them both, in 
 respect to greater circumstances : for Mrs. Jane 
 is the right hand of her mother; it is her Study 
 and constant endeavour to assist her in the 
 management of her household, to keep all idle 
 whispers from her, and discourage them before 
 they can come at her from any other hand ; to 
 inforce every thing that makes for the merir 
 of her brothers and sisters towards her, as well 
 as the diligence and cheerfulness of her servants. 
 It is by Mrs. Jane's management that the whole 
 family is governed, neither by love nor fear, 
 but a certain reverence which :s composed of 
 both. Mrs. Jane is what one would call a per- 
 fect good young woman; but neither strict 
 piety, diligence in domestic affairs, or any other 
 avocation, have preserved her against love, 
 which she bears to a young gentleman of great 
 expectation, but small fortune; at the same 
 time that men of very great estates ask her of 
 her mother. My lady tells her that prudence 
 must give way to passion : so that Mrs. Jane, 
 if I cannot accommodate the matter, must 
 conquer more than one passion, and out of 
 prudence banish the man she loves, and marry 
 the man she hates. 
 
 The next daughter is Mrs. Annabella, who 
 has a very lively w it, a great deal of good sense, 
 is very pretty, but gives me much trouble for 
 her from a certain dishonest cunning 1 know 
 in her ; she can seem blind and careless, and 
 full of herself only, and entertain with twenty 
 affected vanities ; whilst she is observing all 
 the company, laying up store for ridicule, and, 
 in a word, is selfish and interested under all 
 the agreeable qualities in the world. Alas, 
 what shall I do with this girl ! 
 
 Mrs. Cornelia passes away her time very 
 much in reading, and that with so great ai 
 attention, that it gives her the air of a student, 
 and has an ill effect upon her, as she is a fine 
 young woman ; the giddy part of the sex will 
 have it she is in love; none will aliow that 
 she affects so much being alone, but for want 
 of particular company. I have railed at ro- 
 mances before her, for fear of her falling into 
 those deep studies : she has fallen in with my 
 humour that way for the time, but 1 know 
 not how, my imprudent prohibition has, it 
 seems, only excited her curiosity ; and I am 
 afraid she is better read than I know of, for 
 she said of a glass of water in which she was 
 going to wash her hands after dinner, dipping 
 her lingers with a pretty lovely air, ' It is 
 chrystalline.' I shall examine farther, and 
 wait for clearer proofs. 
 
No. 5.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 Mrs. Betty is (I cannot by what means or 
 methods imagine) grown mightily acquainted 
 with what passes in the town ; she knows all 
 that matter of my lord such-a-one's leading 
 my lady such-a-one out from the play; she is 
 prodigiously acquainted, all of a sudden, with 
 the world, and asked her sister Jane the other 
 day in an argument, ' Dear sister, how should 
 you know any thing, that hear nothing but 
 what we do in our own family ?' I do not much 
 like her maid. 
 
 Mrs. Mary, the youngest daughter, whom 
 they rally and call Mrs. Ironside, because I have 
 named her the Sparkler, is the very quint- 
 essence of good-nature and generosity; she is 
 the perfect picture of her grandfather; and if 
 one can imagine all good qualities which adorn 
 human life become feminine, the seeds, nay, 
 the blossom of them, are apparent in Mrs. Mary. 
 It is a weakness 1 cannot get over, (for how ri- 
 diculous is a regard to the bodily perfections 
 of a man who is dead) but I cannot resist my 
 partiality to this child, for being so like her 
 grandfather; how often have I turned from 
 her, to hide the melting of my heart when she 
 has been talking to me! I am sure the child 
 has no skill in it, for artifice could not dwell 
 under that visage; but if I am absent a day 
 from the family, she is sure to be at my lodging 
 the next morning to know what is the matter. 
 
 At the head of these children, who have very 
 plentiful fortunes, provided they marry with 
 mine and their mother's consent, is my lady 
 Lizard; who, you cannot doubt, is very well 
 visited. Sir William Oger, and his son almost 
 at age, are frequently at our house on a double 
 consideration. The knight is willing, (for so 
 he very gallantly expresses himself) to marry 
 the mother, or he will consent, whether that 
 be so or not, that his son Oliver shall take any 
 one of the daughters Noll likes best. 
 
 Mr. Rigburt, of the same county, who gives 
 in his estate much larger, and his family more 
 ancient, offers to deal with us for two daughters. 
 
 Sir Harry Pandolf has writ word from his 
 seat in the country, that he also is much in- 
 clined to an alliance with the Lizards, which 
 he has declared in the following letter to my 
 lady • she showed it me this morning. 
 
 « MADAM, 
 * I have heard your daughters very well spoken 
 of: and though I have very great offers in my 
 own neighbourhood, and heard the small-pox is 
 very rife at London, I will send my eldest son 
 to see them, provided that by your ladyship's 
 answer, and your liking of the rent-roll which I 
 send herewith, your ladyship assures me he 
 shall have one of them, for I do not think to 
 have my son refused by any woman ; and so, 
 madam, I conclude, 
 
 e Your most humble servant, 
 
 « HENRY PENDOLA.' 
 
 No. 6.] Wednesday, March 18, 17 13. 
 
 I have despatched my young women, and 
 the town has them among them; it is neces- 
 sary for the elucidation of my future discourses, 
 which I desire may be denominated, as they 
 are the precepts of a Guardian, Mr. Ironside's 
 Precautions; I say it is, after what has been 
 already declared, in the next place necessary to 
 give an account of the males of this worthy 
 family, whose annals I am writing. The affairs 
 of women being chiefly domestic, and not made 
 up of so many circumstances as the duties of 
 men are, I fear I cannot despatch the account 
 of the males under my care, in so few words as 
 I did the explanation which regarded my wo- 
 men. 
 
 Sir Harry Lizard, of the county of Northamp- 
 ton, son and heir of the late sir Marmaduke, 
 is now entered upon the twenty-sixth year of 
 his age, and is now at his seat in the country. 
 
 The estate at present in his hands is above 
 three thousand a-year, after payment of taxes 
 and all necessary charges whatsoever. He is 
 a man of good understanding, but not at all 
 what is usually called a man of shining parts. 
 His virtues are much greater than accomplish- 
 ments, as to his conversation. But when you 
 come to consider his conduct with relation to 
 his manners and fortune, it would be a very 
 great injury not to allow him [to be] a very fine 
 gentleman. It has been carefully provided in 
 his education, that he should be very ready at 
 calculations. This gives him a quick alarm 
 inwardly upon all undertakings; and in a much 
 shorter time than is usual with men who are 
 not versed in business, he is master of the ques- 
 tion before him, and can instantly inform him- 
 self with great exactness in the matter of profit 
 or loss that shall arise from anything proposed 
 to him. The same capacity, joined to an honest 
 nature, makes him very just to other men, as 
 well as to himself. His payments are very punc- 
 tual, and I dare answer he never did, or ever 
 will, undertake any piece of building, or any 
 ornamental improvement of his house, garden, 
 park, or lands, before the money is in his own 
 pocket wherewith he is to pay for such under- 
 taking. He is too good to purchase labourers 
 or artificers (as by this means he certainly 
 could) at an under rate; but he has by this 
 means what I think he deserves from his su- 
 perior prudence, the choice of all who are most 
 knowing and able to serve him. With his ready 
 money, the builder, mason, and carpenter, are 
 enabled to make their market of gentlemen in 
 his neighbourhood, who inconsiderately employ 
 them ; and often pay their undertakers by sale 
 of some of their land : whereas, were the lands 
 on which those improvements are made, sold 
 to the artificers, the buildings would be rated 
 as lumber in the purchase. Sir Harry has for 
 ever a year's income, to extend his charity, 
 14 
 
10 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 6. 
 
 serve his pleasures, or resale his friends. His 
 servants, hit cattle, his poods, speak their mas- 
 ter a rich man. Those about his person, as his 
 bailiff, the groom of his ehamber, and his but- 
 ler, bave a cheerful, not a gay air: the servants 
 belov\ them seem to live in plenty, but not in 
 wantonness. As sir Henry is a young man, and 
 of an active disposition, his best figure is on 
 horse- back. But before I speak of that, I 
 should acquaint you, that during his infancy 
 all the young gentlemen of the neighbourhood 
 were welcome to a part of the house, which was 
 called the school; where, at the charge of the 
 family, there was a grammar-master, a plain 
 sober man, maintained (with a salary, besides 
 his diet, of fifty pounds a-year) to instruct all 
 such children of gentlemen or lower people, as 
 would partake of his education. As they grew 
 up, they were allowed to ride out with him 
 upon his horses. There were always ten or twelve 
 for the saddle in readiness to attend him and 
 his favourites, in the choice of whom he showed 
 a good disposition, and distributed his kindness 
 among them by turns, with great good-nature. 
 All horses, both for the saddle and swift draught, 
 were very well bitted, and a skilful rider, with 
 a riding-house, wherein he (the riding master) 
 commanded, had it in orders to teach any gen- 
 tleman's son of the county that would please 
 to learn that exercise. We found our account 
 in this proceeding, as well in real profit, as in 
 esteem and power in the country; for as the 
 whole shire is now possessed by gentlemen who 
 owe sir Harry a part of education which they 
 all value themselves upon, (their horseman- 
 ship) they prefer his horses to all others, and 
 it is ten per cent, in the price of a steed, which 
 appears to come out of his riding-house. 
 
 By this means it is, that sir Harry, as I was 
 going to say, makes the best figure on horse- 
 back ; for his usual hours of being in the field 
 are well known ; and at those seasons the neigh- 
 bouring gentlemen, his friends and school- 
 fellows, take a pleasure in giving him their 
 company, with their servants well behaved, 
 and horses well commanded. 
 
 I cannot enough applaud sir Harry for a par- 
 ticular care in his horses. He not only bitts all 
 which are ridden, but also all which are for 
 the coach or swift draught, for grace adds 
 mightily to the price of strength ; and he 
 finds his account in it at all markets, more 
 especially for the coach or troop horses, of 
 which that county produces the most strong 
 and ostentatious. To keep up a breed for any 
 use whatever, he gives plates for the best per- 
 forming horse in every way in which that animal 
 can be serviceable- There is such a prize for 
 him that trots best, such for the best walker, 
 such for the best galloper, such for the best 
 pacer; then for him who draws most in such 
 a time to such a place, then to him that car- 
 ries best such a load on his back. He delights 
 
 in this, and has an admirable fancy in the dress 
 of the riders; some admired country girl is to 
 hold the prize, her lovers to trot, and not to 
 mend their pace into a gallop when thev are 
 out-trotted by a rival; some known country 
 wit to come upon the best pacer; these, and 
 the like little joyful arts, gain him the love of 
 all who do not know his worth, and the esteem 
 of all who do. Sir Harry is no friend to the 
 race-horse; he is of opinion it is inhuman, 
 that animals should be put upon their utmost 
 strength and mettle for our diversion only. 
 However, not to be particular, he puts in for 
 the queen's plate every year, with orders to his 
 rider never to win or be distanced ; and, like 
 a good country gentleman, says, it is a fault 
 in all ministries, that they encourage no kind 
 of horses hut those which are swift. 
 
 As I write lives, I dwell upon small matters, 
 being of opinion with Plutarch, that little cir- 
 cumstances show the real man better than 
 things of greater moment. But good economy 
 is the characteristic of the Lizards. I remem- 
 ber a circumstance about six years ago, that 
 gave me hopes he would one time or other make 
 a figure in parliament ; for he is a landed man, 
 and considers his interest, though he is such, 
 to be impaired or promoted according to the 
 state of trade. When he was but twenty years 
 old, I took an opportunity in his presence, to 
 ask an intelligent woollen-draper, what he gave 
 for his shop [at] the corner of Change-alley? 
 The shop is, I believe, fourteen feet long, and 
 eight broad. I was answered, Ninety pounds 
 a year. I took no notice, but the thought de- 
 scended into the breast of sir Harry, and I saw 
 on his table the next morning, a computation 
 of the value of land in an island, consisting of 
 so many miles, with so many good ports; the 
 value of each part of the said island, as it lay 
 to such ports, and produced such commodities. 
 The whole of his working was to know why 
 so few yards near the Change, was so much 
 better than so many acres in Northampton- 
 shire ; and what those acres in Northampton- 
 shire would be worth, were there no trade at 
 all in this island. 
 
 It makes my heart ache, when I think of this 
 young man, and consider upon what plain 
 maxims, and in what ordinary methods men of 
 estate may do good wherever they are seated, 
 that so many should he what they are! It is 
 certain, that the arts which purchase wealth or 
 fame, will maintain them ; and I attribute the 
 splendour and long continuance of this family, 
 to the felicity of having the genius of the 
 founder of it run through all his male line. 
 Old sir Harry, the greatgrandfather of this 
 gentleman, has written in his own hand upon 
 all the deeds which he ever signed, in the hu- 
 mour of that sententious age, this sentence, 
 ' There are four good mothers, of whom are 
 often born four unhappy daughters; truth be- 
 
No. 7-1 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 11 
 
 gets hatred, happiness pride, security danger, 
 and familiarity contempt.' 
 
 No 7.] Thursday, March 19, 1713. 
 
 Vita ci:ato 
 
 Propcrat cnrsu 
 
 Senec. Trag. 
 
 With speedy step life posts away. 
 
 I this morning did myself the honour to visit 
 lady Lizard, and took my chair at the tea-table, 
 at the upper end of which that graceful woman, 
 with her daughters about her, appeared to me 
 with greater dignity than ever any figure, either 
 of Venus attended by the graces, Diana with 
 her nymphs, or any other celestial who owes 
 her being to poetry. 
 
 The discourse we had there, none being pre- 
 sent but our own family, consisted of private 
 matters, which tended to the establishment of 
 these young ladies in the world. My lady, I 
 observed, had a mind to make mention of the 
 proposal to Mrs. Jane, of which she is very 
 fond, and I as much avoided, as heing equally 
 against it; but it is by no means proper the 
 young ladies should observe we ever dissent ; 
 therefore I turned the discourse, by saying, ' it 
 was time enough to think of marrying a young 
 lady, who was but three-and-twenty, ten years 
 hence.' The whole table was alarmed at the 
 assertion, and the Sparkler scalded her fingers, 
 by leaning suddenly forward to look in my 
 face: but my business at present was to make 
 my court to the mother; therefore, without 
 regarding the resentment in the looks of the 
 children, ' Madam,' said I, * there is a petulant 
 and hasty manner practised in this age, in hur- 
 rying away the life of woman, and confining 
 the grace and principal action of it to those 
 years wherein reason and discretion are most 
 feeble, humour and passion most powerful. 
 From the time a young woman of quality has 
 first appeared in the drawing-room, raised a 
 whisper and curiosity of the men about her, 
 had her health drank in gay companies, and 
 distinguished at public assemblies : I say, ma- 
 dam, if within three or four years of her first 
 appearance in town, she is not disposed of, 
 her beauty is grown familiar, her eyes are dis- 
 armed, and we seldom after bear her men- 
 tioned but with indifference. What doubles 
 my grief on this occasion is, that the more 
 discreetly the lady behaves herself, the sooner 
 is her glory extinguished. Now, madam, if 
 merit had a greater weight in our thoughts, 
 when we form to ourselves agreeable charac- 
 ters of women, men would think, in making 
 their choices, of such as would take care of, as 
 well as supply children for, the nursery. It 
 was npt thus in the illustrious days of good 
 queen Elizabeth. I was this morning turning 
 over a folio, called, The Complete Ambassador, 
 consisting chiefly of letters from lord Burleigh, 
 
 earl of Leicester, and sir Thomas Smith. Sir 
 Thomas writes a letter to sir Francis Walsing- 
 ham, full of learned gallantry, wherein you 
 may observe he promises himself the French 
 king's brother (who it seems was but a cold 
 lover) would be quickened by seeing the queen 
 in person, who was then in the thirty-ninth 
 year of her age, A certain sobriety in thoughts, 
 words, and action, which was the praise of that 
 age, kept the fire of love alive; and it burnt 
 so equally, that it warmed and preserved, with- 
 out tormenting and consuming our beings. 
 The letter I mention is as follows : 
 
 " To the Right Worshipful Mr. Francis TVaU 
 singham, Embassador , resident in France. 
 
 " SYR, 
 " I am sorry that so good a matter should, 
 upon so nice a point, be deferred. We may say 
 that the lover will do little, if he will not take 
 the pains once "to see his love; but she must 
 first say yea, before he see her, or she him : 
 twenty ways might be devised why he might 
 come over, and be welcome, and possibly do 
 more in an hour than he may in two years. 
 * Cupido ille qui vincit omnia, in oculos insidet, 
 et ex oculis ejaculatur, et in oculos utriusque 
 videndo non solum, ut ait poeta,fcemina virum. 
 sed virfceminam? that powerful being Cupid, 
 who conquers all things, resides in the eyes, 
 he sends out all his darts from the eyes: by 
 throwing glances at the eyes (according to the 
 poet) not only the woman captivates the man, 
 but also the man the woman. Whatforce, 
 I pray you, can * hearsay,' and ' I think, and 
 I trust,' do in comparison of that c ciimprcesens 
 prcesentem tuctur et alloquitur, et furore for- 
 sitan amoris ductus, amplectitur,' when they 
 face to face see and converse with each other, 
 and the lover in a ecstacy, not to be com- 
 manded, snatches an embrace, and saith to 
 himself, and openly that she may hear, ' Te- 
 neone te me, an etiamnum somno volunt fce- 
 mincevideri cogiad id quod maximum capiunt? 1 
 Are you in my arms, my fair one, or do we both 
 dream, and will women even in their sleep seem 
 forced to what they most desire ? If we be cold, 
 it is our part, besides the person, the sex re- 
 quiretb it. Why are you cold ? Is it not a 
 young man's part to be bold, courageous, and 
 to adventure ? If he should have, he should 
 have but * honorificam repulsam ; even a re- 
 pulse here is glorious : the worst that can be 
 said of him is but as of Phaeton, * Quam si non 
 tenuit magnis tamen excidit ausis: though he 
 could not command the chariot of the sun, his 
 fall from it was illustrious. So far as I conceive, 
 1 Hcec est sola nostra anchor a, hcec jacenda est 
 in nobis alea .•' this is our only anchor, this die 
 must be thrown. In our instability, ' Unum 
 momentum est uno momento perfectum fac- 
 tum, ac dictum stabilitatem facer e potest •' 
 
If 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 
 
 one lucky moment would crown and Ax all. 
 This, or else nothing is to be looked for but 
 continual dalliance and doubtfulucss, so far as 
 ] can see. 
 
 M Your assured friend, 
 F...MI Killiogworth, 'THOMAS SMITH." 
 
 A.i C », 1572. • 
 
 Though my lady was in very good humour, 
 upon the insinuation that, according to the 
 Elizabeth scheme, she was but just advanced 
 above the character of a girl ; I found the rest 
 of the company as much dishearteued, that 
 they were still but mere girls. I went on, there- 
 fore, to attribute the immature marriages 
 which are solemnized in our days to the im- 
 portunity of the men, which made it impos- 
 sible for young ladies to remain virgins so long 
 as they wished from their own inclinations, and 
 the freedom of a single life. 
 
 There is no time of our life, under what cha- 
 racter soever, in which men can wholly divest 
 themselves of an ambition to be in the favour 
 of women. Cardan, a grave philosopher and 
 physician, confesses in one of his chapters, that 
 though he had suffered poverty, repulses, ca- 
 lumnies, and a long series of afflictions, he 
 never was thoroughly dejected, and impatient 
 of life itself, but under a calamity which he suf- 
 fered from the beginniug of his twenty-first to 
 the end of his thirtieth year. He tells us, that 
 the raillery he suffered from others, and the con- 
 tempt which he had of himself, were afflictions 
 beyond expression. I mention this only as an 
 argument extorted from this good and grave 
 man, to support my opinion of the irresistible 
 power of women. He adds in the same chapter, 
 that there are ten thousand afflictions and dis- 
 asters attend the passion itself; that an idle 
 word imprudently repeated by a fair woman, 
 and vast expenses to support her folly and va- 
 nity, every day reduce men to poverty and 
 death ; but he makes them of little considera- 
 tion to the miserable and insignificant condition 
 of being incapable of their favour. 
 
 I make no manner of difficulty of professing 
 I am not surprised that the author has ex- 
 pressed himself after this manner, with relation 
 to love: the heroic chastity so frequently pro- 
 fessed by humorists of the fair sex, generally 
 ends in an unworthy choice, after having over- 
 looked overtures to their advantage. It is for 
 this reason that I would endeavour to direct, 
 and not pretend to eradicate the inclinations 
 of the sexes to each other. Daily experience 
 shows us, that the most rude rustic grows hu- 
 mane as soon as be is inspired by this passion; 
 it gives a new grace to our maimers, a new 
 dignity to our minds, a new visage to our per- 
 sons Whether we are inclined to liberal arts, 
 
 to arrJUj or address in our exercise, our im- 
 provement is hastened by a particular object 
 whom WC WOUld please. ( Inn-fulness, gentle- 
 ness, fortitude, liberality, magnificence, and all 
 
 the virtues which adorn men, which inspire 
 heroes, are most conspicuous in lovers. I speak 
 of love as when such as are in this company 
 are the objects of it, who can bestow upon their 
 husbands (if they follow their excellent mo- 
 ther) all its joys without any of its anxieties. 
 
 No. 8.] Friday, March 20, 1713. 
 
 -Animutn rege- 
 
 Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. ti. &». 
 
 Govern the mind. 
 
 A Guardian cannot bestow his time in any 
 office more suitable to his character, than in 
 representing the disasters to which we are ex- 
 posed by the irregularity of our passions. 1 
 think 1 speak of this matter in a way not yet 
 taken notice of, when I observe that they make 
 men do things unworthy of those very pas- 
 sions. I shall illustrate this by a story I have 
 lately read in the Royal Commentaries of Peru, 
 wherein you behold an oppressor a most con- 
 temptible creature after his power is at an end ; 
 and a person he oppressed so wholly intent 
 upon revenge till he had obtained it, that in 
 the pursuit of it he utterly neglected his own 
 safety ; but when that motive of revenge was 
 at an end, returned to a sense of danger, in 
 such a manner as to be unable to lay hold of 
 occasions which offered themselves for certain 
 security, and expose himself from fear to ap- 
 parent hazard. The motives which I speak of 
 are not indeed so much to be called passions, 
 as ill habits arising from passions, such as 
 pride and revenge, which are improvements of 
 our infirmities^ and arc, methinks, but scorn 
 and anger regularly conducted. But to my 
 story. 
 
 Licenciado Ksquivel, governor of the city Po- 
 tocsi, commanded two hundred men to march 
 out of that garrison towarJs the kingdom of 
 Tucman, with strict orders to use no Indians 
 in carrying their baggage, and placed himself 
 at a convenient station without the gates, to 
 observe how his orders were put in execution ; 
 he found they were wholly neglected, and that 
 Indians were laden with the baggage of the 
 Spaniards, but thought fit to let them march 
 by till the last rank of all came up, out of which 
 be seized one man called Aguire, who had two 
 Indians laden with bis goods. Within few days 
 after he was taken in arrest, be was sentenced 
 to receive two hundred stripes. Aguire repre- 
 sented by his friends, that he was the brother of 
 a gentleman, who bad in bis country an estate, 
 with vassalage of Indians, and hoped his birth 
 would exempt him from a punishment of so much 
 indignity. Licenciado persisted in the kind of 
 punishment he had already pronounced; upon 
 which Aguire petitioned that it might be altered 
 to one that, he should not, survive; and though 
 a gentleman, ai.il from that quality not liable to 
 
No. 8.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 13 
 
 suffer so ignominious a death, humbly besought 
 his excellency that he might be hanged. But 
 though Licenciado appeared all his life, before 
 he came into power, a person of an easy and 
 tractable disposition, he was so changed by his 
 office, that these applications from the unfor- 
 tunate Aguire did but the more gratify his in- 
 solence ; and during the very time of their 
 mediation for the prisoner, he insulted them 
 also, by commanding with a haughty tone, that 
 his orders should be executed that very instant. 
 This, as it is usual on such occasions, made 
 the whole town flock together ; but the prin- 
 cipal inhabitants, abhorring the severity of Li- 
 cenciado, and pitying a gentleman in the con- 
 dition of Aguire, went in a body, and besought 
 the governor to suspend, if not remit the pu- 
 nishment. Their importunities prevailed on 
 him to defer the execution for eight days; but 
 when they came to the prison with his warrant, 
 they found Aguire already brought forth, strip- 
 ped, and mounted on an ass, which is the pos- 
 ture wherein the basest criminals are whipped 
 in that city. His friends cried out, 'Take him 
 off, take him off,' and proclaimed their order 
 for suspending his punishment; but the youth, 
 when he heard that it was only put off for eight 
 days, rejected the favour, and said, 'All my 
 endeavours have been to keep myself from 
 mounting this beast, and from the shame of 
 being seen naked; but since things are come 
 thus far, let the sentence proceed, which will 
 be less than the fears and apprehensions I shall 
 have in these eight days ensuing ; besides, I 
 shall not need to give further trouble to my 
 friends for intercession on my behalf, which is 
 as likely to be ineffectual as what hath already 
 passed.' After he had said this, the ass was 
 whipped forward, and Aguire ran the gantlet 
 according to the sentence. The calm manner 
 in which he resigned himself, when he found 
 his disgrace must be, and the scorn of dallying 
 with it under a suspension of a few days, 
 which mercy was but another form of the go- 
 vernor's cruelty, made it visible that he took 
 comfort in some secret resolution to avenge 
 the affront. 
 
 After this indignity, Aguire could not be per- 
 suaded (though the inhabitants of Potocsi often 
 importuned him from the spirit they saw in 
 him) to go upon any military undertaking, but 
 excused himself with a modest sadness in his 
 countenance, saying, ' that after such a shame 
 as his was, death must be his only remedy and 
 consolation, which he would endeavour to ob- 
 tain as soon as possible.' 
 
 Under this melancholy he remained in Peru, 
 until the time in which the office of Esquivel 
 expired ; after which, like a desperate man, he 
 pursued and followed him, watching an oppor- 
 tunity to kill him, and wipe off the shame of 
 the late affront. Esquivel, being informed of 
 this desperate resolution by his friends, endea- 
 
 voured to avoid his enemy, and took a journey 
 of three or four hundred leagues from him, 
 supposing that Aguire would not pursue him 
 at such a distance; but EsquivePs flight did but 
 increase Aguire's speed in following. The first 
 journey which Esquivel took was to the city 
 Los Reyes, being three hundred and twenty 
 leagues distant; but in less than fifteen days 
 Aguire was there with him ; whereupon Es- 
 quivel took another flight, as far as to the city 
 of Quito, being four hundred leagues distant 
 from Los Reyes ; but in a little more than 
 twenty days Aguire was again with him ; which 
 being intimated to Esquivel, he took another 
 leap as far as Cozco, which "is five hundred 
 leagues from Quito ; but in a few days after he 
 arrived there, came also Aguire, travelling all 
 the way on foot, without shoes or stockings, 
 saying, 'that it became not the condition of a 
 whipt rascal to travel on horseback, or appear 
 amongst men.' In this manner did Aguire 
 haunt and pursue Esquivel for three years and 
 four months ; who being now tired and wearied 
 with so many long and tedious journies, resolved 
 to fix his abode at Cozco, where he believed 
 that Aguire would scarce adventure to attempt 
 any thing against him, for fear of the judge 
 who governed that city, who was a severe man, 
 impartial and inflexible in all his proceedings; 
 and accordingly took a lodging in the middle 
 of the street of the great church, where he 
 lived with great care and caution, wearing a 
 coat of mail under his upper coat, and went 
 always armed with his sword and dagger, which 
 are weapons not agreeable to his profession. 
 .However Aguire followed hither also, and hav- 
 ing in vain dogged him from place to place, 
 day after day, he resolved to make the attempt 
 upon him in his own house, which he entered, 
 and wandered from room to room, till at last 
 he came into his study where Licenciado lay 
 on a couch asleep. Aguire stabbed him with 
 his dagger with great tranquillity, and very 
 leizurely wounded him in other parts of the 
 body, which were not covered with his coat of 
 mail. He went out of the house in safety ; but 
 as his resentment was sated, he now began to 
 reflect upon the inexorable temper of the go- 
 vernor of the place. Under this apprehension 
 he had not composure enough to fly to a 
 sanctuary, which was near the place where 
 he committed the fact ; but ran into the 
 street, frantic and distracted, proclaiming him- 
 self a criminal, by crying out, 'Hide me, hide 
 me.' 
 
 The wretched fate and poor behaviour o„ 
 Licenciado, in flying his country to avoid the 
 same person whom he had before treated with 
 so much insolence, and the high resentment of 
 a man so inconsiderable as Aguire, when much 
 injured, are good admonitions to little spirits 
 in exalted stations, to take care how they treat 
 brave men in low condition. 
 
H 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 fNo. 9. 
 
 No. 9.] Saturday, March fl, 1713. 
 
 in tantas brerl crevcrtnl opea, sea maritimls seu ter- 
 IHtillmi fractions, aeu nmliitudinis increment!*, sen >anr- 
 Ui.ito discipline. Ho. 
 
 'Jlicy rose in a short time to that pitch of wealth and 
 grxndear, hy means of an extensive commerce both by 
 sea and land, by an increase of the people, and by the 
 rigour of their laws and discipline. 
 
 Many of the subjects of my papers will con- 
 sist of such things as I have gathered from the 
 conversation, or learned from the conduct of a 
 gentleman, who has been very conversant in 
 our family, by name Mr. Charwell.* This 
 person was formerly a merchant in this city, 
 who, by exact economy, great frugality, and 
 very fortunate adventures, was about twenty 
 years since, and the fortieth year of his age, 
 arrived to the estate which we usually call a 
 plum. This was a sum so much beyond his 
 first ambition, that he then resolved to retire 
 from the town and the business of it together. 
 Accordingly he laid out one half of his money 
 upon the purchase of a nobleman's estate, not 
 many miles distant from the country seat of 
 my lady Lizard. From this neighbourhood 
 our first acquaintance began, and has ever since 
 been continued will equal application on both 
 sides. Mr. Charwell visits very few gentlemen 
 in the country; his most frequent airings in 
 the summer time are visits to my lady Lizard. 
 And if ever his affairs bring him up to town 
 during the winter, as soon as these are des- 
 patched, he is sure to dine at her house, or to 
 make one at her tea-table, to take her com- 
 mands for the country. 
 
 I shall hardly be able to give an account how 
 this gentleman has employed the twenty years 
 since he made the purchase I have mentioned, 
 without first describing the conditions of the 
 estate. 
 
 The estate then consisted of a good large old 
 house, a park of two thousand acres, eight 
 thousand acres more of land divided into farms. 
 The land not barren, but the country very thin 
 of people, and these the only consumers of the 
 wheat and barley that grew upon the premises. 
 A river running by the house, which was in 
 the centre of the estate, but the same not na- 
 vigable, and the rendering it navigable had 
 been opposed by the generality of the whole 
 country. The roads excessive bad, and no pos- 
 sibility of getting off the tenants' corn, but at 
 such a price of carriage as would exceed the 
 whole value when it came to market. The 
 underwoods all destroyed, to lay the country 
 open '■) my lord's pleasures ; but there was in- 
 deed the less want of this find, there being 
 large coal-pits in the estate, within two miles 
 
 * flic person here Blinded r<>, is said to have been the 
 charitable Kdward < olatOQ,of BrUtol, member >>i PatUa- 
 ment for that city, who riled unmarried in October, 17-1, 
 
 ■boot lh«' dote of hit Cighty«fiftll yen, ' without decay in 
 
 li- nnrti i standing, ^ llhoul I iboni or mm i i w,' 
 
 of the house, and such a plenty of coals as was 
 sufficient for whole counties. But then the want 
 of water-carriage made these also a mere drug, 
 and almost every man's for fetching. Many 
 timber-trees were still standing only for want 
 of chapmen, very little being used for building 
 in a country so thin of people, and those at a 
 greater distance being in no likelihood of buying 
 pennyworths, if they must be at the charge 
 of land-carriage. Yet every tree was valued at 
 a much greater price than would be given for 
 it in the place ; so was every acre of land in the 
 park; and, as for the tenants, they were all 
 racked to extremity, and almost every one of 
 them beggars. All these things Mr. Charwell 
 knew very well, yet was not discouraged from 
 going on with his purchase. 
 
 |But in the first place, he resolved that a 
 hundred in family should not ruin him, as it 
 had done his predecessor. Therefore, pretending 
 to dislike the situation of the old house, he 
 made choice of another at a mile distance, 
 higher up the river, at a comer of the park, 
 where, at the expense of four or five thousand 
 pounds, and all the ornaments ef the old house, 
 he built a new one, with all convenient offices, 
 more suitable to his revenues, yet not much 
 larger than my lord's dog-kennel, and a great 
 deal less than his lordship's stables. 
 
 The next thing was to reduce his park. He 
 took down a great many pales, and with these 
 inclosed only two hundred acres of it near ad- 
 joining to his new house. The rest he con- 
 verted to breeding cattle, which yielded greater 
 profit. 
 
 The tenants began now to be very much dis- 
 satisfied with the loss of my lord's family, which 
 had been a constant market for great quan- 
 tities of their corn ; and with the disparking 
 so much land, by which provisions were likely 
 to be increased in so dispeopled a country. 
 They were afraid they must be obliged them- 
 selves to consume the whole product of their 
 farms, and that they should be soon undone 
 by the economy and frugality of this gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Mr. Charwell was sensible their fears were 
 but too just ; and that, if neither their goods 
 could be carried off to distant markets, nor the 
 markets brought home to their goods, his 
 tenants must run away from their farms. He 
 had no hopes of making the river navigable, 
 which was a point that could not be obtained 
 by all the interest of his predecessor, and was 
 therefore not likely to be yielded up to a man 
 who was not yet known in the country. All 
 that was left for him was to bring the market 
 home to his tenants, which was the very thing 
 he intended before he ventured upon his pur- 
 chase. He had even then projected in his 
 thoughts the plan of a great town just below 
 the old house ; he therefore presently set him- 
 self about the execution of his project. 
 
No. 9. 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 15 
 
 The thing has succeeded to his wish. In the 
 space of twenty years he is so fortunate as to 
 see a thousand new houses upon his estate, 
 and at least five thousand new people, men, 
 women, and children, inhabitants of those 
 houses, who are comfortably subsisted by their 
 own labour, whithout charge to Mr. Charwell, 
 and to the great profit of his tenants. 
 
 It cannot be imagined that such a body of 
 people can be subsisted at less than five pounds 
 per head, or twenty-five thousand pounds per 
 annum, the greatest part of which sum is an- 
 nually expended for provisions among the far- 
 mers of the next adjacent lands. And as the 
 tenants of Mr. Charwell are nearest of all 
 others to the market, they have the best prices 
 for their goods by all that is saved in the car- 
 riage. 
 
 But some provisions are of that nature, that 
 they will not bear a much longer carriage than 
 from the extreme parts of his lands ; and I 
 think I have been told, that for the single ar- 
 ticle of milk, at a pint every day for every 
 house, his tenants take from this town not 
 much less than five hundred pounds per an s 
 num. 
 
 The soil of all kinds, which is made every 
 year by the consumption of so great a town, 
 I have heard has been valued at two hundred 
 pounds per annum. If this be true, the estate 
 of Mr. Charwell is so much improved in this 
 very article, since all this is carried out upon 
 his lands by the back carriage of those very 
 carts, which were loaden by his tenants with 
 provisions and other necessaries for the people. 
 
 A hundred thousand bushels of coal are ne- 
 cessary to supply so great a multitude with 
 yearly fuel. And as these are taken out of the 
 coal-pits of Mr. Charwell, he receives a penny 
 for every bushel ; so that this very article is an 
 addition of four hundred pounds per annum to 
 his revenues. And as the town and people are 
 every year increasing, the revenues in the 
 above-mentioned, and many other articles, are 
 increasing in proportion. 
 
 There is now no longer any want of the fa- 
 mily of the predecessor. The consumption of 
 five thousand people is greater than can be 
 made by any fifty of the greatest families in 
 Great Britain. The tenants stand in no need 
 of distant markets to take off the product of 
 their farms. The people so near their own doors 
 are already more than they are able to supply ; 
 and what is wanting at home for this purpose 
 is supplied from places at greater distance, at 
 whatsoever price of carriage. 
 
 All the farmers every where near the river 
 are now, in their turn, for an act of parliament 
 to make it navigable, that they may have an 
 easy carriage for their corn to so good a market. 
 The tenants of Mr. Charwell, that they may 
 have the whole market to themselves> are al- 
 most .the only persons against it. But they 
 
 will not be long able to oppose it : their leases 
 are near expiring : and as they are grown very 
 rich, there are many other persons ready to 
 take their farms at more than double the pre- 
 sent rents, even though the river should he 
 made navigable, and distant people let in to sell 
 their provisions together with these farmers. 
 
 As for Mr. Charwell himself, he is in no 
 manner of pain lest his lands should fall in 
 their value by the cheap carriage of provisions 
 from distant places to his town. He knows 
 very well the cheapness of provisions was one 
 great means of bringing together so great 
 numbers, and that they must be held together 
 by the same means. He seems to have nothing 
 more in his thoughts than to increase his town 
 to such an extent, that all the country for ten 
 miles round about shall be little enough to 
 supply it. He considers that at how great a 
 distance soever provisions shall be brought 
 thither, they must end at last in so much soil 
 for his estate, and that the farmers of other 
 lands will by this means contribute to the im- 
 provement of his own. 
 
 But by what encouragement and rewards, 
 by what arts and policies,, and what sort of 
 people he has invited to live upon his estate, 
 and how he has enabled them to subsist by 
 their own labour, to the great improvement of 
 his lands, will be the subjects of some of my 
 future precautions. 
 
 * To the Guardian. 
 
 •SIR, March 16. 
 
 ' By your paper of Saturday last, you give 
 the town hopes that you will dedicate that day 
 to religion. You could not begin it better than 
 by warning your pupils of the poison vented 
 under a pretence to free-thinking. If you can 
 spare room in your next Saturday's paper for a 
 few lines on the same subject, these are at your 
 disposal. 
 
 ' I happened to be present at a public con- 
 versation of some of the defenders of this dis- 
 course of free-thinking, and others that differed 
 from them ; where I had the diversion of hear- 
 ing the same man in one breath, persuade us 
 to freedom of thought, and in the next, offer 
 to demonstrate that we had no freedom in any 
 thing. One would think men should blush, 
 to find themselves entangled in a greater con- 
 tradiction than any the discourse ridicules. 
 This principle of free fatality or necessary li- 
 berty, is a worthy fundamental of the new sect ; 
 and indeed, this opinion is an evidence and 
 clearness so nearly related to transubstantia- 
 tion, that the same genius seems requisite for 
 either. It is fit the world should know how 
 far reason abandons men that would employ 
 it against religion ; which intention, 1 hope, 
 justifies this trouble from, Sir, 
 
 * Your hearty well-wisher, 
 
 'MiSATIIEUS,' 
 
1G 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 10. 
 
 No, 1".] Mmlay, March ?3, 1713. 
 Venn ad me « e| c rlunltws 
 
 Vi»nin iiiiniuiii Indulges, minium ineptos c% 
 Nlmiojn ij)«c est dams prater BBqnamqne ft bonam, 
 
 Tt r. Adeiph. Act i. sc. l. 
 
 Hi Is perpetually coming to me, and ringing in my e.trs, 
 thai I do wmng to indulge him so lunch in tlie article of 
 dress ! bnl Uie fault lies in his own excessive and unrca 
 soluble severity. 
 
 When I am in deep meditation in order to 
 give my wards proper precautions, I have a 
 principal regard to the prevalence of things 
 which people of merit neglect, and from which 
 those of no merit raise to themselves an esteem : 
 of this nature is the business of dress. It is 
 weak in a man of thought and reflection to be 
 either depressed or exalted from the perfections 
 or disadvantages of his person. However there 
 is a respective conduct to be observed in the 
 habit, according to the eminent distinction of 
 the body, either way. A gay youth in the 
 possession of an ample fortune could not re- 
 commend his understanding to those who are 
 not of his acquaintance more suddenly, than 
 by sobriety in his habit ; as this is winning at 
 first sight, so a person gorgeously fine, which 
 in itself should avoid the attraction of the be- 
 holders' eyes, gives as immediate offence. 
 
 I make it my business when my lady Lizard's 
 youngest daughter, miss Molly, is making 
 clothes, to consider her from head to foot, and 
 cannot be easy when there is any doubt lies 
 upon me concerning the colour of a knot, or 
 any other part of her head-dress, which by its 
 darkness or liveliness might too much allay or 
 brighten her complexion. There is something 
 loose in looking as well as you possibly can ; but 
 it is also a vice not to take care how you look. 
 
 The indiscretion of believing that great qua- 
 lities make up for the want of things less con- 
 siderable, is punished too severely in those who 
 are guilty of it. Every day's experience shows 
 us, among variety of people with whom we are 
 not acquainted, that we take impressions too 
 favourable and too disadvantageous of men at 
 first sight from their habit. I take this to be 
 a point of great consideration, and I shall con- 
 sider it in my future precautions as such. As 
 to the female world, I shall give them my opi- 
 nion at large by way of comment upon a new 
 suit of the Sparkler's, which is to come home 
 next week. I design it a model for the ladies ; 
 she and I have had three private meetings 
 about it. As to the men, 1 am very glad to 
 bear, being myself a fellow of Lincoln-college, 
 that there is at last in one of our universities 
 risen a happy genius for little things. It is 
 extremely to be lamented, that hitherto we 
 i >inic from the college as unable to put on our 
 own clothes as we do from nurse. We owe 
 many misfortunes, and an unhappy backward- 
 ness in urging our way in the world, to the 
 neglect of these less matters. For this reason 
 
 1 shall authorise and support the gentleman 
 who writes me the following letter; and though, 
 out of diffidence of the reception his proposal 
 should meet with from me, he has given him- 
 self too ludicrous a figure ; I doubt not but from 
 his notices to make men who cannot ariive at 
 learning in that place, come from thence with- 
 out appearing ignorant ; and such as can, to be 
 truly knowing without appearing bookish. 
 
 1 To the Guardian. 
 
 Oxford, March 18, 
 'SIR, 1712-13. 
 
 ' 1 foresee that you will have many cor- 
 respondents in this place ; but as I have often 
 observed, with grief of heart, that scholars are 
 wretchedly ignorant in the science I profess, 
 I flatter myself that my letter will gain a place 
 in your papers. I have made it my study, sir, 
 in these seats of learning, to look into the 
 nature of dress, and am what they call an 
 academical beau. I have often lamented that 
 I am obliged to wear a grave habit, since by 
 that means I have not an opportunity to in- 
 troduce fashions amongst our young gentle- 
 men ; and so am forced, contrary to my own 
 inclinations, and the expectation of all who 
 know me, to appear in print. I have indeed 
 met with some success in the projects I have 
 communicated to some sparks with whom I am 
 intimate ; and I cannot without a secret 
 triumph confess, that the sleeves turned up 
 with green velvet, which now flourish through- 
 out the university, sprang originally from my 
 invention. 
 
 As it is necessary to have the head clear, 
 as well as the complexion, to be perfect in this 
 part of learning, I rarely mingle with the men 
 (for 1 abhor wine,) but frequent the tea-tables 
 of the ladies. I know every part of their dress, 
 and can name all their things by their names. 
 I am consulted about every ornament they 
 buy; and, I speak it without vanity, have a 
 very pretty fancy to knots, and the like. Some- 
 times I take a needle, and spot a piece of 
 muslin for pretty Patty Cross-stitch, who is 
 my present favourite, which, she says, I do 
 neatly enough ; or read one of your papers, 
 and explain the motto, which they all like 
 mightily. But then I am a sort of petty tyrant 
 amongst them, for I own I have my humours. 
 If any thing be amiss, they are sure Mr. Sleek 
 will find fault; if any hoity-toity things make 
 a fuss, they are sure to be taken to pieces the 
 next visit. I am the dread of poor Celia, whose 
 wrapping-gown is not right India; and am 
 avoided by Thalastris, in her second-hand 
 mantua, which several masters of arts think 
 very fine, whereas I perceived it had been 
 scoured, with half an eye. 
 
 1 Thus have I endeavoured to improve my 
 understanding, and am desirous to commu- 
 nicate my innocent discoveries to those, who, 
 
No. 11,] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 17 
 
 like me, may distinguish themselves more to 
 advantage by their bodies than their minds. 
 J do not think the pains I have taker in these 
 my studies, thrown away, since by these means, 
 though 1 am not very valuable, I am however 
 not disagreeable. Would gentlemen but reflect 
 upon what I say, they would take care to make 
 the best of themselves ; for I think it intoler- 
 able that a blockhead should be a sloven. 
 Though every man cannot fill his head with 
 learning, it is in any one's power to wear a 
 pretty periwig; let him who cannot say a witty 
 thing, keep his teeth white at least; he who 
 hath no knack at writing sonnets, may how- 
 ever have a soft hand ; and he may arch his 
 eye-brows, who hath not strength of genius 
 for the mathematics. 
 
 ' After the conclusion of the peace, we shall 
 undoubtedly have new fashions from France ; 
 and 1 have some reason to think that some 
 particularities in the garb of their abb£s may 
 be transplanted hither to advantage. What 
 I find becoming in their dress I hope f may, 
 without the imputation of being popishly in- 
 clined, adopt into our habits ; but would wil- 
 lingly have the authority of the Guardian to 
 countenance me in this harmless design. I 
 would not hereby assume to myself a jurisdic- 
 tion over any of our youth, but such k as are 
 jcapable of improvement any other way. As 
 for the awkward creatures that mind their 
 studies, I look upon them as irreclaimable. 
 But over the afore- mentioned order of men, 
 I desire a commission from you to exercise full 
 authority. Hereby I shall be enabled from 
 time to time to introduce several pretty odd- 
 nesses in the taking and tucking up of gowns, 
 to regulate the dimensions of wigs, to vary the 
 t-jfts upon caps, and to enlarge or. narrow the 
 hems of bands, as I shall think most for the 
 public good. 
 
 ' 1 have prepared a treatise against the cravat 
 and berdash,* which I am told is not ill done ; 
 and .have thrown together some hasty obser- 
 vations upon stockings, which my friends assure 
 me I need not be ashamed of. But I shall 
 not offer them to the public until they are 
 approved of at our female club ; which I am 
 the more willing to do, because I am sure of 
 their praise ; for they own I understand these 
 things better than they do. I shall herein be 
 very proud of your encouragement ; for, next 
 to keeping the university clean, my greatest 
 ambition is to be thought. Sir, 
 
 * Your most obedient hi mble servant, 
 
 « SIMON SLEEK.' 
 
 No. ll.] Tuesday, March 24, 1713 
 
 Hue propius me, 
 
 Dam doceo insanire omnes, vos ordine adite. 
 
 Hor. Lib. 2. Sat. iii. 80. 
 
 • A kind of uetikcloth so called, whence such as sold them 
 ere styled hsberdaslurs. 
 
 Attend my lecture, whilst I plainly show, 
 That all mankind are mad, from high to low. 
 
 There is an oblique way of reproof, which 
 takes off from the sharpness of it ; and an 
 address in flattery, which makes it agreeable 
 though never so gross: but of all flatterers, the 
 most skilful is he who can do what you like, 
 without saying any thing which argues he does 
 it for your sake; the most winning circum- 
 stance in the world being the conformity of 
 manners. I speak of this as a practice neces- 
 sary in gaining people of sense, who are no. 
 yet given up to self-conceit; those who ar 
 far gone in admiration of themselves need not 
 be treated with so much delicacy. The follow- 
 ing letter puts this matter in a pleasant and 
 uncommon light : the author of it attacks this 
 vice with an air of compliance, and alarms us 
 against it by exhorting us to it. 
 
 To the Guardian. 
 'SIR, 
 
 * As you profess to encourage all those who 
 any way contribute to the public good, I flatter 
 myself I may claim your countenance and pro- 
 tection. I am by profession a mad-doctor, but 
 of a peculiar kind, not of those whose aim it 
 is to remove frenzies, but one who makes it 
 my business to confer an agreeable madness 
 on my fellow-creatures, for their mutual delight 
 and benefit. Since it is agreed by the philo- 
 sophers, that happiness and misery consist 
 chiefly in the imagination, nothing is more 
 necessary to mankind in general than this 
 pleasing delirium, which renders every one 
 satisfied with himself, and persuades him that 
 all others are equally so. 
 
 * I have for several years, both at home and 
 abroad, maJe this science my particular study, 
 which I may venture to say I have improved 
 in almost all the courts of Europe ; and have 
 reduced it into so safe and easy a method, as 
 to practise it on both sexes, of what dispo- 
 sition, age, or quality soever, with success. 
 What enables me to perform this great work, 
 is the use of my Obsequium Catholicon, or the 
 Grand Elixir, to support the spirits of human 
 nature. This remedy is of the most grateful 
 flavour in the world, and agrees with all tastes 
 whatever. It is delicate to the senses, de- 
 lightful in the operation, may be taken at all 
 hours without confinement, and is as properly 
 given at a ball or playhouse as in a private 
 chamber. It restores and vivifies the most 
 dejected minds, corrects and extracts all that 
 is painful in the knowledge of a man's self. 
 One dose of it will instantly disperse itself 
 through the whole animal system, dissipate 
 the first motions of distrust so as never to re 
 turn, and so exhilirate the braitf \nd rarify the 
 gloom of reflection, as to give tlie patients a 
 new flow of spirits, a vivacity of behaviour, 
 and a pleasing dependence upon their own 
 capacities. r 
 
M 
 
 THE GUARDIANS 
 
 No. II. 
 
 ' Let ■ person be never so far gone, 1 advise 
 him not to despair; even though he has heen 
 troubled many years with restless reflections, 
 which by long neglect have hardened into 
 -wiled consideration. Those that have heen 
 .tttng with satire may here find a certain an- 
 tidote, which infallibly disperses all the remains 
 jf poison that has been left in the understand- 
 ing by bad cures. It fortifies the heart against 
 the rancour of pamphlets, the inveteracy of 
 epigrams, and the mortification of lampoons ; 
 as has heen often experienced by several per- 
 sons of both sexes, during the seasons of Tun- 
 bridge and the Bath. 
 
 1 I could, as farther instances of my success, 
 produce certificates and testimonials from the 
 favourites and ghostly fathers of the most 
 eminent princes of Europe ; but shall content 
 myself with the mention of a few cures, which 
 1 have performed by this my grand universal 
 restorative, during the practice of one month 
 only since I came to this city. 
 
 €ures in the month of February, 1713. 
 ' George Spondee, Esq. poet, and inmate of 
 the pansh of St: Paul's Covent-garden, fell 
 into violent fits of the spleen upon a thin third 
 night. He had heen frighted into a vertigo 
 hy the sound of cat-calls on the first day ; and 
 the frequent hissings on the second made him 
 unable to endure the bare pronunciation of the 
 letterS. I searched into the causes of his dis- 
 temper ; and by the prescription of a dose of 
 *ny Obsequium, prepared secundum artem, 
 recovered him to his natural state of madness. 
 I cast in at proper intervals the words, 111 
 taste of the town, Envy of critics, Bad per- 
 formance of the actors, and the like. He is 
 so perferctly cured that he has promised to 
 .ring another play upon the stage next winter. 
 A lady of professed virtue, of the parish of 
 St. James's, Westminster, who hath desired 
 her name may be concealed, having taken 
 offence at a phrase of double meaning in con- 
 versation, undiscovered by any other in the 
 company, suddenly fell into a cold fit of mo- 
 desty. Upon a right application of praise of 
 her virtue, I threw the lady into an agreeable 
 waking dream, settled the fermentation of her 
 blood into a warm charity, so as to make her 
 look with patience on the very gentleman that 
 offended. 
 
 Hilar la, of the parish of St. Giles's in the 
 fields, a coquette of long practice, was by the 
 reprimand of an old maiden i educed to look 
 grave in company, and deny herself the play 
 of the fan. hi short, she was brought to such 
 
 melancholy circumstances, that she would 
 
 sometimes unawares fall into devotion at 
 church. I advised her to take a few innocent 
 freedoms with occasional kisses, prescribed 
 her the exercise of the eyes, and immediately 
 rair.ed her to her former state of life. She on 
 
 a sudden recovereu ner dimples, furled her fan, 
 threw round her glances, and for these two 
 Sundays last past has not once been seen in an 
 attentive posture. This the churchwardens 
 are ready to attest upon oath. 
 
 * Andrew Terror, of the Middle temple, mo- 
 hock, was almost induced by an aged bencher 
 of the same house to leave off bright conver- 
 sation, and pure over Coke upon Littleton. 
 He was so ill that his hat began to flap, and 
 he was seen one day in the last term at West* 
 minster-hall. This patient had quite lost his 
 spirit of contradiction; I, by the distillation 
 of a few of my vivifying drops in his ear, drew 
 him from his lethargy, and restored him to his* 
 usual vivacious misunderstanding. He is at 
 present very easy in his condition. 
 
 1 I will not dwell upon the recital of the 
 innumerable cures I have performed within 
 twenty days last past; but rather proceed ttt 
 exhort all persons of whatever age, complexion, 
 or quality, to take as soon as possible of this 
 my intellectual oil : which applied at the ear 
 seizes all the senses with a most agreeable 
 transport, and discovers its effects, not only 
 to the satisfaction of the patient, but all who 
 converse with, attend upon,- or any way relate 
 to him or her that receives the kindly infec- 
 tion, it is often administered by chamber- 
 maids, valets, or any the most ignorant d'>- 
 mestic; it being one peculiar excellence of 
 this my oil, that it is most prevalent, the more 
 unskilful the person is or appears who applies 
 it. It is absolutely necessary for ladies to take 
 a dose of it just before they take coach to go 
 a visiting. 
 
 ' But J offend the public, as Horace said, 
 when I trespass on any of your time. Give 
 me leave then, Mr. Ironside, to make you a 
 present of a drachm or two of my oil; though 
 I have cause to fear my prescriptions will not 
 have the effect upon you I could wish : there- 
 fore I do not endeavour to bribe you in my 
 favour by the present of my oil, but wholly 
 depend upon your public spirit and generosity ; 
 which, I hope, will recommend to the world 
 the useful endeavours of, Sir, 
 Your most obedient, 
 
 most faithful, most devoted, 
 
 most humble servant and admirer, 
 
 ' (iN.ATHO. 
 
 * m * Beware of counterfeits, for such are 
 abroad. 
 
 ' N. B. I teach the arcana of my art at rea- 
 sonable rates to gentlemen of the universities^ 
 who desire to be qualified for writing dedica- 
 tions; and to young lovers and fortune-hunters, 
 to be paid at the day of marriage. I instruct 
 pcrs ins of bright capacities to flatter others, 
 and t hose of the meanest, to flatter themselves. 
 I was the first inventor of Docket looking- 
 glasses/ 
 
No. 12.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 19 
 
 No. H>.] Wednesday, March 25, 1713. 
 
 W I tin i:i nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, dncunt : 
 \'el quia turpc putant parere minoiibns— 
 
 Hot. Lib. 2. Ep. i. 84. 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 You'd think no fools disgraced the former rei«n, 
 Did not some grave examples jet remain, 
 Who scorn a lad should match his father's skill, 
 And having once been wrong, will be so still. Pope. 
 
 When a poem makes its first appearance in 
 the world, I have always observed that it gives 
 employment to a greater number of critics 
 than any other kind of writing. Whether it 
 be that most men, at some time of their lives, 
 have tried their talent that way, and thereby 
 think they have a right to judge; or whether 
 they imagine, that their making shrewd obser- 
 vations upon the polite arts, gives them a 
 pretty figure ; or whether there may not be 
 some jealousy and caution in bestowing ap- 
 plause upon those who write chiefly for fame. 
 Whatever the reasons be, we find few dis- 
 couraged by the delicacy and danger of such 
 an undertaking. 
 
 I think it certain that most men are na- 
 t«* rally not only capable of being pleased with 
 that which raises agreeable pictures in the 
 fancy, but willing also to own it. But then 
 there are many, who, by false applications of 
 some rules ill understood, or out of deference 
 to men whose opinions they value, have formed 
 to themselves certain schemes and systems o f 
 satisfaction, and will not be pleased out o 1 
 their own way. These are not critics them 
 selves, but readers of critics, who, without the 
 labour of perusing authors, are able to give 
 their characters in general ; and know just as 
 much of the several species of poetry, as those 
 who read books of geography do of the genius 
 of this or that people or nation. These gen- 
 tlemen deliver their opinions sententiously, 
 and ixi general terms ; to which it being im- 
 p issible readily to frame complete answers, 
 they have often the satisfaction of leaving the 
 board in triumph. As young persons, and par- 
 ticularly the ladies, are liable to be led aside 
 by these tyrants in wit, I shall examine two or 
 three of the many stratagems they use, and 
 subjoin such precautions as may hinder candid 
 readers from being deceived thereby. 
 
 The first 1 shall take notice of is an objec- 
 tion commonly offered, viz. * that such a poem 
 path indeed some good lines in it, but it is not 
 a regular piece.' This, for the most part, is 
 urged by those whose knowledge is drawn from 
 some famous French critics, who have written 
 npon the epic poem, the drama, and the great 
 kinds of poetry, which cannot subsist without 
 great regularity ; but ought by no means to 
 be required in odes, epistles, panegyrics, and 
 the like, which naturally admit of greater 
 liberties. The enthusiasm in odes, and the 
 freedom of epistles, is rarely disputed: but 
 
 I have often heard the poems upon public occa- 
 sions, written in heroic verse, which I choose 
 to call panegyrics, severely censured upon this 
 account ; the reason whereof 1 cannot guess, 
 unless it be, that because they are written in 
 the same kind of numbers and spirit as an epic 
 poem, they ought therefore to have the same 
 regularity. Now an epic poem consisting chiefly 
 in narration, it is necessary that the incidents 
 should he related in the same order that they 
 are supposed to have been transacted. But in 
 works of the above-mentioned kind, there is 
 no more reason that such order should be ob- 
 served, than that an oration should be as me- 
 thodical as a history. I think it sufficient 
 that the great hints suggested from the sub- 
 ject, be so disposed, that the first may naturally 
 prepare the reader for what follows, and so on ; 
 and that their places cannot be changed with- 
 out disadvantage to the whole. 1 will add 
 further, that sometimes gentle deviations, 
 sometimes bold, and even abrupt digressions, 
 where the dignity of the subject seems to give 
 the impulse, are proofs of a noble genius; as 
 winding about and returning artfully to the 
 main design are marks of address and dexterity. 
 Another artifice made use of by pretenders 
 to criticism, is an insinuation, ' that all that 
 is good is borrowed from the ancients.' Th s 
 is very common in the mouths of pedants, ana 
 perhaps in their hearts too ; but is often urged 
 1 by men of no great learning, for reasons very 
 obvious. Now nature being still the same, it 
 is impossible for any modern writer to paint 
 her otherwise than the ancients have done. If, 
 for example, I was to describe the general's 
 horse at the battle of Blenheim as my fancy 
 represented such a noble beast, and that de- 
 scription should resemble what Virgil hath 
 drawn for the horse of his hero, >t would be 
 almost as ill-natuFed to urge that I had stolen 
 my description from Virgil, as to reproach the 
 duke of Marlborough for fighting ordy like 
 jEneas. All that the most exquisite judgment 
 can perform is, out of that great variety of cir 
 cumstances wherein natural objects may be 
 considered, to select the most beautiful; and 
 to place images in such views and lights as will 
 affect the fancy after the most delightful man- 
 ner.. But over and above a just painting of 
 nature, a learned reader will find a new beauty 
 superadded in a happy imitation of some famous 
 ancient, as it revives in his mind the pleasure 
 he took in his first reading such an author. 
 Such copyings as these give that kind of double 
 delight which we perceive when we look upon 
 the children of a beautiful couple ; where the 
 eye is not more charmed with the symmetry 
 of the parts, than the mind by observing the 
 resemblance transmitted from parents to their 
 offspring, and the mingled features of the father 
 and mother. The phrases of holy writ, and 
 allusions to several passages in the inspired 
 
20 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 13. 
 
 writing! (though not produced .15 proofs of 
 doctrine) add majesty and authority to the 
 noil, st discourses of the pulpit : in like manner, 
 an imitation of the air of Homer and Virgil, 
 raises the dignity of modern poetry, and makes 
 it appear stately and venerable. 
 
 The last observation I shall make at present 
 it upon the disgust taken by those critics, who 
 put on their clothes prettily, aud dislike ever}' 
 thing that is not written with ease. 1 hereby 
 therefore give the genteel part of the learned 
 world to understand, that every thought which 
 is agreeable to nature, and expressed in lan- 
 guage suitable to it, is written with ease. There 
 are some things which must be written with 
 strength, which nevertheless are easy. The 
 statue of the gladiator, though represented in 
 such a posture as strains every muscle, is as 
 easy as that of Venus ; because the one ex- 
 presses strength and fury as naturally as the 
 other doth beauty and softness. The passions 
 are sojnetimes to be roused, as well as the fancy 
 to be entertained ; and the soul to be exalted and 
 enlarged, as well as soothed. This often requires 
 a raised and figurative style; which readers 
 of low apprehensions, or soft and languid dispo- 
 sitions (having heard of the words, fustian and 
 bombast) are apt to reject as stiff and affected 
 language. But nature and reason appoint dif- 
 ferent garbs for different things; and since I 
 write this to the men of dress, I will ask them 
 if a soldier, who is to mount a breach, should 
 be adorned like a beau, who is spruced up for 
 a ball ? 
 
 No. 13.] Thursday, March 26, 1713. 
 
 «•» Pudore et liberalitate liberos 
 
 Retitrere, satins esse, credo, qnam nictn. 
 
 Ter. Adelph. Act. i. Sc. l. 
 
 I cfteem it better to keep children in awe by a sense 
 of shame, and a condescension to their inclinations, than 
 by fear. 
 
 The reader has had some account of the 
 whole family of the Lizards, except the younger 
 sons. These are the branches which ordinarily 
 spread themselves, when they happen to be 
 hopeful, into other houses, and new genera- 
 tions, as honourable, numerous, and wealthy, 
 as those from whence they are derived. For this 
 reason it is, that a very peculiar regard is to 
 be had to their education. 
 
 Young men, when they are good for any 
 thing, and left to their own inclinations, delight 
 cither in those accomplishments we call their 
 exercise, in the sports of the field, or in letters. 
 
 Mr* Thomas, the second son, does not follow 
 
 any of these with too deep an attention, but 
 took to each of them enough never to appear 
 ungraceful or ignorant. This general incli- 
 nation makes him the more agreeable, and 
 saves him from the imputation of pedantry. 
 
 Mis carriage is so easy, that be is acceptable 
 
 to all with whom he converses ; he generally 
 falls in with the inclination of his company, if 
 never assuming, or prefers himself to others. 
 Thus he always gains favour without envy, and 
 has every man's good wishes. It is remarkable, 
 that from his birth to this day, though he is 
 now four-and-twenty, 1 do not rememember 
 that he has ever had a debate with any of his 
 play-fellows or friends.. 
 
 His thoughts, and present applications are 
 to get into a court life; for which, indeed, I 
 cannot but think him peculiarly formed for 
 he has joined to this complacency of manners 
 a great natural sagacity, and can very well 
 distinguish between things and appearances. 
 That way of life, wherein all men are rivals, 
 demauds great circumspection to avoid con- 
 troversies arising from different interests; but 
 he who is by nature of a flexible temper lias 
 his work half done. I have been particularly 
 pleased with his behaviour towards women : 
 he has the skill, in their conversation, to con- 
 verse with them, as a man would with those 
 from whom he might have expectations, but 
 without making requests. I do not know that 
 I ever heard him make what they call a com- 
 pliment, or be particular in his address to any 
 lady ; and yet I never heard any woman speak 
 of him, but with a peculiar regard. I believe 
 he has been often beloved, but know not that 
 he was ever yet a lover. The great secret 
 among them, is to be amiable without design. 
 He has a voluble speech, a vacant countenance, 
 and easy action, which represents the fact 
 which he is relating with greater delight than 
 it would have been to have been present at 
 the transaction he recounts. For you see it 
 not only your own way by the bare narration, 
 but have the additional pleasure of his sense or 
 it, by this manner of representing it. There 
 are mixed in his talk so many pleasant ironies, 
 that things which deserve the severest lan- 
 guage are made ridiculjus instead of odious, 
 and you see every thing in the most good-na- 
 tured aspect it can bear. It is wonderfully 
 entertaining to me to hear him so exquisitely 
 pleasant, and never say an ill-natured thing. 
 He is, with all his acquaintance, the person 
 generally chosen to reconcile any difference, 
 and if it be capable of accommodation, Tom 
 Lizard is an unexceptionable referee. It has 
 happened to him more than once, that he has 
 been employed by each opposite in a private 
 manner, to feel the pulse of the adversary ; 
 and when each has proposed the decision of the 
 matter, by any whom the other should name, 
 he has taken hold of the occasion, and put on 
 the authority assigned by them both, so sea- 
 sonably, that they have begun a new corre- 
 spondence with each other, fortified by his 
 friendship to whom they both owe the value 
 they have for one another, and consequently, 
 confer a greater measure of their good-will 
 
No. 13.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 21 
 
 upon the interposer. I must repeat, that above 
 all, my young man is excellent at raising the 
 subject on which he speaks, and casting a light 
 upon it more agreeable to his company, than 
 they thought the subject was capable of. He 
 avoids all emotion and violence, and never is 
 warm, but on an affectionate occason. Gen- 
 tleness is what peculiarly distinguishes him 
 from other men, and it runs through all his 
 words and actions. 
 
 Mr. William, the next brother, is not of this 
 smooth make, nor so ready to accommodate 
 himself to the humours and inclinations of other 
 men, but to weigh what passes with some 
 severity. He is ever searching into the first 
 springs and causes of any action or circum- 
 stance, insomuch, that if it were not to be ex- 
 pected that experience and conversation would 
 allay that humour, it must inevitably turn 
 him to ridicule. But it is not proper to break 
 in upon an inquisitive temper, that is of use to 
 him in the way of life which he proposes to 
 himself, to wit, the study of the law, and the 
 endeavour to arrive at a faculty in pleading.- 
 J have been very careful to kill in him any 
 pretensions to follow men already eminent, 
 any farther than as their success is an encou- 
 ragement; but make it my endeavour to 
 cherish, in the principal and first place, his 
 eager pursuit of solid knowledge in his pro- 
 fession : for I think that clear conception will 
 produce clear expression, and clear expression 
 proper action : 1 never saw a man speak very 
 well, where I could not apparently observe this, 
 and it shall be a maxim with me till I see an 
 instance to the contrary. When young and 
 unexperienced men take any particular person 
 for their pattern, they are apt to imitate them 
 in such things, to which their want of know- 
 ledge makes them attribute success, and not 
 to the real causes of it. Thus one may have 
 an air, which proceeds from a just sufficiency 
 and knowledge of the matter before him, which 
 may naturally produce some motion of his head 
 and body, which might become the bench 
 better than the bar. How painfully wrong 
 would this be in a youth, at his first appearance, 
 when it is not well even for the sergeant of the 
 greatest weight and dignity. But I will, at 
 this time, with a hint only of his way of life, 
 leave Mr. William at hi.« **^dy in the Temple. 
 
 The youngest son, Mr. John, is now in the 
 twentieth year of his age, and has had the good 
 fortune and honour to be chosen last election 
 Cellow of All-souls college in Oxford. He is 
 very graceful in his person ; has height, 
 strength, vigour, and a certain cheerfulness 
 and serenity that creates a sort of love, which 
 people at first sight observe is ripening into 
 esteem. He has a sublime vein in poetry, and 
 a warm manner in recommending, either in 
 speech or writing, whatever he has earnestly 
 at heart. This excellent voung man has de- 
 
 voted himself to the service of his Creator; 
 and, with an aptitude to every agreeable qua- 
 lity, and every happy talent, that could make 
 a man shine in a court, or command in a 
 camp, he is resolved to go into holy orders. 
 He is inspired with a true sense of that func- 
 tion, when chosen from a regard to the in- 
 terests of piety and virtue, and a scorn of what- 
 ever men call great in a transitory being, when 
 it comes in competition with what is unchange- 
 able and eternal. Whatever men would un- 
 dertake from a passion to glory, whatever they 
 would do for the service of their country, this 
 youth has a mind prepared to achieve for the 
 salvation of souls. What gives me great hopes 
 that he will one day make an extraordinary 
 figure ',;: the Christian world is, that his in- 
 vention, his memory, judgment and imagina- 
 tion, are always employed upon this one view ; 
 and I do not doabt, but in my future precau- 
 tions, to present the youth of this age with 
 more agreeable narrations compiled by this 
 young man on the subject of heroic piety, than 
 any they can meet with in the legends of love 
 and honour. 
 
 No, 14.] Friday, March 27, 1713. 
 
 Nee sit, qua sit iter, nee si sciat imperet 
 
 Ovid, Met. Lib. ii. 170. 
 
 -Nor did he know 
 
 Which way to turn the reins, or where to go ; 
 Nor would the horses, had he known, obey., 
 
 Addisoi\ 
 
 * To the Guardian. 
 
 * You having in your first paper declaied, 
 among other things, that you will publish 
 whatever you think may conduce to the ad- 
 vancement of the conversation of gentlemen, 
 I cannot but hope you will give my young 
 masters, when 1 have told you their age, con- 
 dition, and how they lead their lives, and who, 
 though I say it, are as docile as any youths in 
 Europe, a lesson which they very much want, 
 to restrain them from the infection of bad com- 
 pany, and squandering away their time in idle 
 and unworthy pursuits. A word from you, I 
 am very well assured, will prevail more with 
 them than any remonstrance they will meet with 
 at home. The eldest is now about seventeen 
 years of age, and the younger fifteen, born of 
 noble parentage, and to plentiful fortunes. 
 They have a very good father and mother, and 
 also a governor, but come very seldom (except 
 against their wills) in the sight of any of them. 
 That which I observe they have moat relish to, 
 is horses and cock-fighting, which they too 
 well understand, being almost positive at first 
 sight to tell you which horse will win the 
 match, and which cock the battle ; and if you 
 are of another opinion, will lay you what you 
 please on their own, and it is odds but vou lose. 
 
rz 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 14. 
 
 U hat I tear to be the greatest prejudice to 
 them, is their keeping much closer to their 
 horses' heels than their books, and conversing 
 more with their stablemen and lackies than 
 with their relations and gentlemen: and, I ap- 
 prehend, are at this time better skilled how to 
 hold the reins and drive a coach, than to trans- 
 late a verse in Virgil or Horace. For, the other 
 day, taking a walk abroad, th?e met accident- 
 ally in the fields with two young ladies, whose 
 conversation they were very much pleased with, 
 and being desirous to ingratiate themselves 
 further into their favour, prevailed with them, 
 though they had never seen them before in 
 their lives, to take the air in a coach of their 
 father's which waited for them at the end of 
 Gray's -inn -lane. The youths ran with the 
 wings of love, and ordered the coachman to 
 wait at the town's end till they came back. 
 One of our young gentlemen got up before, 
 and the other behind, to act the parts they had 
 long, by the direction and example of their 
 comrades, taken much pains to qualify them- 
 selves for, and so gallopped off. What these 
 mean entertainments will end in, it is impos- 
 sible to foresee; but a precaution upon that 
 subject might prevent very great calamities in 
 a very worthy family, who take in your papers, 
 and might perhaps be alarmed at what you lay 
 before them upon this subject. 
 1 I am, Sir, 
 
 * Your most humble servant, 
 
 « T. S.' 
 
 Te the Guardian. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 1 I writ to you on the twenty-first of this 
 month, which you did not think fit to take 
 notice of; it gives me the greater trouble that 
 you did not, because I am confident the father 
 of tne young lads whom I mentioned, would 
 have considered how far what was said in my 
 letter concerned himself; upon which it is 
 now too late to reflect. His ingenious son, the 
 coachman, aged seventeen years, has since that 
 time, ran away with, and married one of the 
 girls I spoke of in my last. The manner of 
 carrying on the intrigue, as I have picked it 
 out of the younger brother, who is almost six- 
 teen, still a bachelor, was as follows. One of 
 the young women whom they met in the fields 
 seemed very much taken with my master, the 
 elder BOD, and was prevailed with to go into a 
 cake-house not far off the town. The girl, it 
 si cms, acted her part so well, as to enamour 
 the boy, and make biro inquisitive into her 
 place of abode, with all other questions which 
 
 were pece&iary toward further intimacy. The 
 matter \\:i^ so managed, that the lad was made 
 to believe there was no possibility of conversing 
 with her, by reason of a very severe mother, 
 but with the utmost caution. What, it seems, 
 mad' (lie mother, forsooth, the more suspicious 
 
 was, that .because the men said her daughter 
 was pretty, somebody or other would persu uk 
 her to marry while she was too young to know 
 how to govern a family. By what I can l~aru 
 from pretences as shallow as this, she appeared 
 so far from having a design upon her lo\cr, 
 that it seemed impracticable to him to get 
 her, except it were carried on with much se- 
 crecy and skill. Many were the interviews 
 these lovers had in four-and- twenty hours time: 
 for it was managed by the mother, that he 
 should run in and out as unobserved by her, and 
 *' -girl be called every other instant into the 
 ;,ext room, and rated (that she could not stay 
 in a place) in his hearing. The young gentle- 
 man was at last so much in love, as to he 
 thought by the daughter engaged far enough 
 to put it to the venture that he could not live 
 without her. It was now time for the mother 
 to appear, who surprised the lovers together in 
 private, and banished the youth her house 
 What is not in the power of love! the cha- 
 rioteer, attended by his faithful friend, the 
 younger brother, got out the other morning a 
 little earlier than ordinary, and having made 
 a sudden friendship with a lad of their o«t, 
 age the force of ten shillings, who drove a 
 hackney coach, the elder brother took his post 
 in the caoch-box, where he could act with a 
 great deal of skill and dexterity, and waited at 
 the corner of the street where his mistress lived, 
 in hopes of carrying her off under that disguise 
 The whole day was spent in expectation of an 
 opportunity; but in many parts of it he had 
 kiud looks from a distant window, which was 
 answered by a brandish of his whip, and a 
 compass taken to drive round and show his 
 activity, and readiness to convey her where she 
 should command him. Upon the approach of 
 the evening, a note was thrown into his coach 
 by a porter, to acquaint him that his mistress 
 and her mother should take coach exactly at 
 seven o'clock; but that the mother was to be 
 set down, and the daughter to go further, and 
 call again. The happy minute came at last, 
 when our hack had the happiness to take in 
 his expected fare, attended by her mother, and 
 the young lady with whom he had first met 
 her. The mother was set down in the Strand, 
 and her daughter ordered to call on her when 
 she came from her cousin's, an hour afterward*. 
 The mother was not so unskilful as not to 
 have instructed her daughter whom to send 
 for, and how to behave herself when her lover 
 should urge her consent, We ye! know no fur- 
 ther particulars, but that my young master was 
 married that night at Knightsbridge, in the 
 presence of his brother ;»nd two or three other 
 persons; and that just before the ceremony he 
 took his brother aside, and asked him to marry 
 the other young woman. Now, sir, I will not 
 harangue upon this adventure, but only oh 
 serve, that if the education of this coUJptJUXUl 
 
No. 15.1 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 23 
 
 creature had been more careful as to his ra- 
 tional part, the animal life in him had not, 
 perhaps, been so forward, but he might have 
 Waited longer before he was a husband. How- 
 ever, as the whole town will, in a day or two, 
 know the names, persons, and other circum- 
 stances, I think this properly lies before your 
 guardianship to consider, for the admonition 
 of others ; but my young master's fate is irre- 
 vocable. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, your most humble servant.' 
 
 
 No 15.] Suturdmj, March 28, 1713. 
 
 sibi quivis, 
 
 Sj eret idem, sudet multum, frustraque laboret, 
 
 idem Hor. Ars Poet. 240. 
 
 All men will try, and hope to write as well, 
 And (not without much pains) be undeceived. 
 
 Roscommon. 
 
 I came yesterday into the parlour, where 
 I found Mrs. Cornelia, my lady'e third daugh- 
 ter, all alone, reading a paper, which as I after- 
 wards found, contained a copy of verses upon 
 love and friendship. She, I believe, appre- 
 hended that I had glanced my eye npon the 
 f»aper, and by the order and disposition of the 
 ines might distinguish that they were poetry ; 
 and therefore, with an innocent confusion in 
 her face, she told me I might read them if I ' 
 pleased, and so withdrew. By the hand, at 
 first sight, I could not guess whether they came 
 from a beau or a lady; but having put on my 
 spectacles, and perused them carefully, I found 
 by some peculiar modes in spelling, and a cer- 
 tain negligencs in grammar, that it was a fe- 
 male sonnet. I have since learned, that she 
 hath a correspondent in the country, who is as 
 bookish as herself; that they write to one an- 
 other by the names of Astrea and Dorinda, and 
 are mightily admired for their easy lines. As 
 I should be loth to have a poetess in our family, 
 and yet am unwilling harshly to cross the bent 
 jf a young lady's genius, I chose rather to 
 tnrow together some thoughts upon that kind 
 of poetry which is distinguished by the name 
 of Easy, than to risk the fame of Mrs. Cornelia's 
 friend, by exposing her work to public view. 
 
 I have said in a foregoing paper, that every 
 thought which is agreeable to nature, and ex- 
 pressed in a language suitable to it, is written 
 with ease: which I offered in answer to those 
 who ask for ease in all kinds of poetry ; and it 
 is so far true, as it states the notion of easy 
 writing in general, as that is opposed to what 
 is forced or affected. But as there is an easy 
 mein, and easy dress, peculiarly so called; so 
 there is an easy sort of poetry. In order to 
 write easily, it is necessary, in the first place, 
 to think easily. Now, according to dif- 
 ferent subjects, men think differently ; anger, 
 fury, and the rough passions, awaken strong 
 thoughts ; glory, grandeur, power, raise great 
 
 thoughts ; love, melancho.}, solitude, and 
 whatever gently touches the soul, inspire easy 
 thoughts. 
 
 Of the thoughts suggested by these gentle 
 subjects, there are some which may be set off 
 by style and ornament. Others there are, 
 which the more simply they are conceived, 
 and the more clearly they are expressed, give 
 the soul proportionably the more pleasing 
 emotions. The figures of • fyle added to them 
 serve only to hide a beauty, however gracefully 
 they are put on, ana a«"e thrown away like 
 paint upon a fine cctfiphzion. But here, not 
 only liveliness of k.r cy is requisite to exhibit a 
 great variety of in.hges, but ako niceness of 
 judgment to cull out those, which, without 
 the advantage of foreign art, will shine by 
 their own intrinsic beauty. By these means, 
 whatsoever seems to demand labour being re- 
 jected, that only which appears to be easy and 
 natural will come in ; and so art will be hid 
 by art, which is the perfection of easy writing. 
 
 I will suppose an author to be really pos- 
 sessed with the passion which he writes upon, 
 and then we shall see how he would acquit 
 himself. This I take to he the safest way to 
 form a judgment of him, since if he be not 
 truly moved, he must at least work up his 
 imagination as neai as possible, to resemble 
 reality. I choose to instance in love, which 
 is observed to have produced the most finished 
 performances in *his kind. A lover will be 
 full of sincerity, that he may be believed by 
 his mistress ; he will, therefore, think simply; 
 he will express himself perspicuously, that he 
 may not perplex her; he will, therefore, write 
 unaffectedly. Deep reflections are made by 
 a head undisturbed; and points of wit and 
 fancy are the work of a heart at ease ; these 
 two dangers then, into which poets are apt to 
 run, are effectually removed out of the lover's 
 way. The selecting proper circumstances, and 
 placing them in agreeable lights, are the finest 
 secrets of all poetry ; but the recollection of 
 little circumstances, is the lover's sole medita- 
 tion, and relating them pleasantly the business 
 of his life. Accordingly we find that the most 
 celebrated authors of this rank excel in love- 
 verses. Out of ten thousand instances I shall 
 name one, which I think the most delicate 
 and tender 1 ever saw. 
 
 ' To myself I sigh often, w itnout knowing why ; 
 And when absent from Phyllis, methinks I could die. 
 
 A man who hath ever been in love will be 
 touched at the reading of these lines ; and 
 every one, who now feels that passion, actually 
 feels that they are true. 
 
 From what I have advanced, it appears 
 how difficult it is to write easily. But when 
 easy writings fall into the hands of an ordinary 
 reader, they appear to him so natural and un- 
 laboured, that he immediately resolves to 
 
2\ 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 [No. 16. 
 
 Write, .mil I.iikio that all be hath to do is to 
 take nn pains. Thus he thinks, indeed simply, 
 hut the thoughts, not being chosen with judic- 
 ium!, arc not beautiful : he, it is true, expresses 
 him>ell plainly, but flatly withal. Again, if a 
 man of vivacity takes it in his head to write 
 I his way, what self-denic.l must he undergo, 
 when bright points of wit occur to his fancy ! 
 How difficult will he find it to reject florid 
 phrases, and pretty embellishments of style ! 
 So true it is, that simplicity of all things is the 
 hardest to be copied, and ease to be acquired 
 with the greatest labour. Our family knows 
 very well how ill lady Flame looked, when she 
 imitated Mrs. Jane in a plain black suit. And 
 I remember, when Frank Courtly was saying 
 the other day, that any man might write easy, 
 I only asked him, if he thought it possible 
 that squire Hawthorn should ever come into a 
 room as he did ? He mack me a very handsome 
 bow, and answered with a smile/ Mr. Ironside, 
 you have convinced me.' 
 
 I shall conclude this paper by observing that 
 pastoral poetry, which is the most considerable 
 kind of easy writing, hath the oftenest been at- 
 tempted with ill success, of any sort whatso- 
 ever. I shall, therefore, in a little time, com 
 municate my thoughts upon that subject to 
 the public. 
 
 No. 16. ] Monday, March 30, 1713. 
 
 Nc fort6 pudori 
 
 Sit tibi, musa lyra: solers, et cantor Apollo. 
 
 Hor. Ars.-Poet. 406- 
 
 Blush not to patronise the muse's skill. 
 
 Two mornings ago a gentleman came in to 
 ray lady Lizard's tea-table, who is distinguished 
 in town by the good taste he is known to have 
 in polite writings, especially such as relate to 
 love and gallantry. The figure of the man 
 had something odd and grotesque in it, though 
 his air and manner were genteel and easy, and 
 his wit agreeable. The ladies in complaisance 
 to him turned the discourse to poetry. This 
 soon gave him an occasion of producing two 
 new songs to the company ; which, he said, he 
 would venture to recommend as complete per- 
 formances. The first, continued he, is by a 
 gentleman of an unrivalled reputation in every 
 ind of writing; and the second by a lady 
 who does me the honour to be in love with me, 
 because I am not handsome. Mrs. Annabclla 
 upon this (who never lets slip an occasion of 
 doing sprightly things) gives a twitch to the 
 paper with a linger and a thumb, and snatches 
 it out of the gentleman's hands: then casting 
 her eye over it with a seeming impatience she 
 read Ufl the snugs; and in a very obliging 
 manner desired the gentleman would let her 
 have a cop} ol them, together with his judge- 
 ment upon songs in general ; that I may be 
 
 able, said she, to judge of gallantries of this 
 nature, if ever it should be my fortune to bare 
 a poetical lover. The gentleman complied; 
 and accordingly Mrs Annabclla, the very next 
 morning, when she was at her toilet, had the 
 following packet delivered to her by a spruce 
 valet de chambre. 
 
 THE FIRST SONG. 
 I. 
 
 On Belvidera's bosom lying. 
 
 Wishing, panting, sighing, dying. 
 The cold regardless maid lo move, 
 
 With unavailing prayers I sue: 
 ' You first have taught me how to lort. 
 
 Ah teach me to be happy too !' 
 
 II. 
 
 But she, alas ! unkindly wise, 
 
 To all my sighs and tears replies, 
 ' Tis every prudent maid's concern 
 
 Her lover's fondness lo improve ; 
 If to be happy you shall learn, 
 
 You quickly would forget to love.' 
 
 THE SECOND SONG. 
 
 Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art 
 
 To please my partial eyes ; 
 The charms that have subdued my heart, 
 
 Another may despise. 
 
 Thy face is to my humour made, 
 
 Another it may fright : 
 Perhaps, by some fond whim betrayed, 
 
 Iu oddness I delight. 
 
 III. 
 
 Vain youth, to your confusion know, 
 
 4 Tis to my love's excess 
 You all your fancied beauties owe, 
 
 Which fade as that grows less. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For your own sake, if not for mine, 
 
 You should preserve my fire : 
 Since you, my swain, no more will shine, 
 
 When 1 no more admire. 
 
 By me, indeed, you are allow'd 
 
 The wonder of your kind ; 
 But be not of my judgement proud, 
 
 Whom love has render'd blind. 
 
 ' To Mrs: Annabell a Lizard. 
 
 ' MADAM, 
 
 'Toletyousee how absolute your commands 
 are over me, and to convince you of the opinion 
 1 have of your good sense. I shall without any 
 preamble of compliments, give you my thoughts 
 upon song-writing, in the same order as they 
 have occurred to me, only allow me, in my 
 own defence to say, that I do not remember 
 ever to have met with any piece of criticism 
 upon this subject; so that if I BIT, or seem 
 singular in my opinions, you will be the more 
 at liberty to differ from them, since' 1 do not 
 pretend to support them by any authority. 
 
 ' In all ages, and in every nation where 
 poetry has been in fashion, the tribe of sonnet- 
 teers ha\e been very numerous. Every pert 
 voung fellow that has a moving fancy, and the 
 least jingle of verse in his head, sets up for a 
 
No. 16.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 25 
 
 writer of songs, and resolves to immortalize 
 hi* bottle or his mistress. What a world of 
 insipid productions in this kind have we been 
 pestered with since the revolution, to go no 
 higher I This, no doubt, proceeds in a great 
 measure from not forming a right judgment 
 of the nature of these little compositions. It 
 is true they do not require an elevation of 
 bought, nor any extraordinary capacity, nor 
 an extensive knowledge ; but then they de- 
 mand great regularity, and the utmost nicety ; 
 an exact purity of style, with the most easy 
 and flowing numbers ; an elegant and unaf- 
 fected turn of wit, with one uniform and simple 
 design. Greater works cannot well be with- 
 out some inequalities and oversights, and they 
 are in them pardonable ; but a song loses all 
 its lustre if it be not polished with the greatest 
 accuracy. The smallest blemish :n it, like 
 a flaw in a jewel, takes off the whole value of 
 it. A song is, as it were, a little image in 
 enamel, that requires all the nice touches of 
 the pencil, a gloss and a smoothness, with those 
 delicate finishing strokes, which would be su- 
 perfluous and thrown away upon larger figures*, 
 where the strength and boldness of a masterly 
 hand gives all the grace, 
 
 * Since you may have recourse to the French 
 and English translations, you will not accuse 
 me of pedantry, when I tell you that Sappho, 
 Anacreon, and Horace in some of his shorter 
 lyrics,are the completest models for little odes 
 or sonnets. You will find them generally pur- 
 suing a single thought in their songs, which 
 is driven to a point, without those interrup- 
 tions and deviations so frequent iu the mo- 
 dern writers of this order. To do justice to 
 the French, there is no living language that 
 abounds so much in good songs. The genius 
 of the people, and the idiom of their tongue, 
 seems adapted to compositions of this sort. 
 Our writers generally crowd into one song, 
 materials enough for several ; and so they starve 
 every thought, by endeavouring to nurse up 
 more than one at a time. They give you a 
 string of imperfect sonnets, instead of one 
 finished piece, which is a fault Mr. Waller 
 (whose beauties cannot be too much admired) 
 sometimes falls into. But, of all our country- 
 men; none are more defective in their songs, 
 through a redundency of wit, than Dr. Donne 
 and Mr. Cowley. In them, one point of wit 
 flashes so fast upon another, that the reader's 
 attention is dazzled by the continual sparkling 
 of their imagination ; you find a new design 
 started almost in every line, and you come to 
 the end without the satisfaction of seeing any 
 one of them executed. 
 
 ' A song should be conducted like an epi- 
 gram ; and the only difference between them 
 is, that one does not require the lyric numbers, 
 and is usually employed upon satirical occa- 
 sions ; whereas the business of the other, for 
 
 the most part, is, to. express (as my lord Ros- 
 common translates it from Horace) 
 
 " Love's pleasing cues, an,d the free joys o* nine," 
 
 * I shall conclude what I have to say upon 
 this subject, by observing, that the French do 
 very often confound the song and the epigram, 
 and take the one reciprocally for the other. 
 An instance of which I shall give you in a re- 
 markable epigram which passes current abroad 
 for an excellent song. 
 
 " Tu paries mal par-tout de moi, 
 Je dis du bien par-tout de toi ; 
 Quel malheur est Ien6tre? 
 L'on ne croit ni l'un nl l'autrc." 
 
 ' For the satisfaction of such of your friends 
 as may not understand the original, I shall 
 venture to translate it after my fashion, so as 
 to keep strictly to the turn of thought, at the 
 expense of losing something in the poetry and 
 versification. 
 
 ' Thou speakest always ill of me, 
 I speak always well of thee : 
 But spite of all our noise and pother, 
 The world belieyes nor one nor t'other.' 
 
 * Thus, madam, I have endeavoured to com 
 ply with your commands ; not out of vanity of 
 erecting myself into a critic, but out of an 
 earnest desire of being thought, upon all occa- 
 sions, ' Your most obedient servant.' 
 
 N^o. 17.] Tuesday, March 31, 1713. 
 
 — Minimumque libidine peccant. — Juv. Sat. vi. 134. 
 Lust is the smallest sin they own. Drydeu. 
 
 If it were possible to bear up against the 
 force of ridicule, which fashion has brought 
 upon people for acknowledging a veneration 
 for the most sacred things, a man might say 
 that the time we now are in is set apart for 
 humiliation ; and all our actions should at 
 present more particularly tend that way. I re- 
 member about thirty years ago an eminent 
 divine, who was also most exactly well-bred, 
 told his congregation at Whitehall, that if they 
 did not vouchsafe to give their lives a new turn, 
 they must certainly go to a place which he did 
 not think fit to name in that courtly audience. 
 It is with me as with that gentleman. I would, 
 if possible, represent the errors of life, espe- 
 cially those arising from what we call gallantry, 
 in such a manner as the people of pleasure 
 may read me. In this case I must not be 
 rough to gentlemen and ladies, but speak of 
 sin as a gentleman. It might not perhaps be 
 amiss, if, therefore, I should call my present 
 precaution, A Criticism upon Fornication ; and, 
 by representing the unjust taste they have who 
 affect that way of pleasure, bring a distaste 
 upon it among all those who are judicious in 
 their satisfactions. I will be bold then to lay 
 down for a rule, that he who follows this 
 kind of gratification, ""ives up much greater 
 P 
 
26 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 [No. 17. 
 
 delight by pursuing it, than he can possibly 
 enjoy from it. As to the common women and 
 the stews, there is no one but will allow this 
 assertion at lirst sight; but if it will appear, 
 .hat they who deal with those of the sex who 
 are less profligate, descend to greater base- 
 nesses than if they frequented brothels, it 
 should, methinks, bring this iniquity under 
 some discountenance. The rake who, without 
 sense of character or decency, wallows and 
 ranges in common houses, is guilty no farther 
 than of prostituting himself, and exposing his 
 health to diseases: but the man of gallantry 
 cannot pursue his pleasures without treachery 
 to some man he ought to love, and making 
 despicable the woman he admires. To live in 
 a continual deceit ; to reflect upon the dis- 
 honour you do some husband, father, or brother, 
 who does not deserve this of you, and whom 
 you would destroy did you know they did the 
 like towards you, are circumstances which pall 
 the appetite, and give a man of any sense of 
 honour very painful mortification. What more 
 need be said against a gentleman's delight, 
 than that he himself thinks himself abase man 
 in pursuing it; when it is thoroughly consi- 
 dered, he gives up bis very being as a man of 
 integrity who commences gallant ? Let him or 
 her who is guilty this way but weigh the matter 
 a little, and the criminal will find that those 
 whom they most esteemed are of a sudden be- 
 come the most disagreeable companions : nay, 
 their good qualities are grown odious and pain- 
 ful. It is said, people who have the plague 
 have a delight in communicating the infection : 
 in like manner, the sense of shame, which is 
 never wholly overcome, inclines the guilty this 
 way to contribute to the destruction of others. 
 And women are pleased to introduce more 
 women into the same condition, though they 
 can have no other satisfaction from it, than 
 that the infamy is shared among greater num- 
 bers, which they flatter themselves eases the 
 burden of each particular person. 
 
 It is a most melancholy consideration, that 
 for momentary sensations of joy, obtained by 
 stealth, men are forced into a constraint of all 
 their words and actions in the general and 
 ordinary occurrences of life. It is an impossi- 
 oility in this case to be faithful to one person, 
 without being false to all the rest of the world. 
 The gay figures in which poetical men of loose 
 morals have placed this kind of stealth are but 
 feeble consolations, when a man is inclined 
 to soliloquy or meditation upon his past life; 
 flashes of wit can promote joy, but they cannot 
 allay grief. 
 
 Disease, sickness, and misfortune, are what 
 all men living are liable c>; it is therefore 
 ridiculous atxl mad to pursue, instead of shun- 
 ning, what must add to our anguish under 
 disease, sickness, or misfortune. It is possible 
 there may be f ose bloc d" ure too warm 
 
 to admit of these compunctions: if there are 
 such, I am sure they are laying up store for 
 them: but I have better hopes of those who 
 have not yet erased the impressions and advan- 
 tages of a good education and fortune; thej 
 may be assured, ' that whoever wholly give 
 themselves up to lust, will find it the leasl 
 fault they are guilty of.' 
 
 Irreconcilable hatred to those they have 
 injured, mean shifts to cover their offences, 
 envy and malice to the innocent, and a general 
 sacrifice of all that is good-natured or praise- 
 worthy when it interrupts them, will possess all 
 their faculties, and make them utter strangers 
 to the noble pleasures which flow from honour 
 and virtue. Happy are they, who from the 
 visitation of sickness, or any other accident, 
 are awakened from a course which leads to 
 an insensibility of the greatest enjoyments in 
 human life. 
 
 A French author, giving an account of a 
 very agreeable man, in whose character he 
 mingles good qualities and infirmities, rather 
 than vices and virtues, tells the following story. 
 ' Our kinght,' says he, ' was pretty much 
 addicted to the most fashionable of all faults. 
 He had a loose rogue for a lackey, not a little 
 in his favour, though he had no other name 
 for him when he spoke of him but " the 
 rascal," or, to him, but " sirrah." One morn- 
 ing when he was dressing, " Sirrah," says he, 
 " be sure you bring home this evening a pretty 
 wench." The fellow was a person of diligence 
 and capacity, and had for some time addressed 
 himself to a decayed old gentlewoman, who 
 had a young maiden to her daughter, beauteous 
 as an angel, not yet sixteen years of age. The 
 mother's extreme poverty, and the insinuations 
 of this artful lackey concerning the soft dispo- 
 sition and generosity of his master, made her 
 consent to deliver up her daughter. But many 
 were the entreaties and representations of the 
 mother to gain her child's consent to an action, 
 which she said she abhorred, at the same time 
 she exhorted her to it; " but child," says she, 
 can you see your mother die for hunger?" 
 The virgin argued no longer, but bursting into 
 tears, said she would go any where. The lackey 
 conveyed her with great obsequiousness and 
 secrecy to his master's lodging, ami placed her 
 in a commodious apartment till he came home. 
 The knight, who knew his man never failed 
 of bringing in his prey, indulged his genius at 
 a banquet, and was in high humour at an en- 
 tertainment with ladies, expecting to be re- 
 ceived in the evening by one as agreeable as 
 the best of them. When he came home, his 
 lackey met him with a saucy and joyful fami- 
 liarity, crying out, " She is as handsome as an 
 angel (for there is no other simile on these 
 occasions,) but the tender fool has wept till 
 her eyes are swelled and bloated ; for she is a 
 maid and a gentlewoman." With that he 
 
No. l/.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 27 
 
 conducted his master to the room where she 
 was, and retired. The knight, when he saw 
 her bathed in tears, said in some surprise, 
 " Don't you know, young woman, why you 
 are brought hither ? The unhappy maid fell 
 on her knees, and with many interruptions of 
 sighs and tears, said to him " 1 know, alas ! 
 too well why J am brought hither; my mother, 
 to get bread for her and myself, has sent me 
 to do what you pleased ; but would it would 
 please Heaven I could die, before I am added 
 to the number of those miserable wretches who 
 live without honour !" With this reflection she 
 wept anew, and beat her bosom. The knight, 
 stepping back from her, said, " I am not so 
 abandoned as to hurt your innocence against 
 your will.*' 
 
 ' The novelty of the accident surprised him 
 into virtue ; and, covering the young maid 
 with a cloak, he led her to a relation's house, 
 to whose care he recommended her for that 
 night. The next morning he sent for her 
 mother, and asked her if her daughter was a 
 maid ? The mother assured him, that when 
 she delivered her to his servant, she was a 
 stranger to man. " Are not you then," re- 
 plied the knight, " a wicked woman to contrive 
 the debauchery of your own child?" She held 
 down her face with fear and shame, and in her 
 confusion uttered some broken words concern- 
 ing her poverty. " Far be it," said the gen- 
 tleman, " that you should relieve yourself from 
 want by a much greater evil : your daughter is 
 a fine young creature ; do you know of none 
 that ever spoke of her for a wife ?" The mother 
 answered, " There is an honest man in our 
 neighbourhood that loves her, who has often 
 said he would marry her with two hundred 
 pounds." The knight ordered his man to 
 reckon out that sum, with an addition of fifty 
 to buy the bride clothes, and fifty more as a 
 help to her mother.' 
 
 I appeal to all the gallants in the town, whe- 
 ther possessing all the beauties in Great Britain 
 could give half the pleasure as this young gen- 
 tleman had in the reflection of having relieved 
 a miserable parent from guilt and poverty, an 
 innocent virgin from public shame, and be- 
 stowing a virtuous wife upon an honest man ? 
 
 As all men who are guilty this way have 
 not fortunes or opportunities for making 
 such atonements for their vices, yet all men 
 may do what is certainly in their power at this 
 good season. For my part, I do not care how 
 ridiculous the mention of it may be, provided 
 I hear it has any good consequence upon the 
 wretched, that I recommend the most aban- 
 doned and miserable of mankind to the charity 
 of all in prosperous conditions under the same 
 guilt with those wretches. The Lock hospital 
 in Kent street, Southwark, for men; that in 
 Kingsland for women, js a receptacle for all 
 sufferers mangled by this iniquity. Penitents 
 
 should in their own hearts take upon th*m all 
 the shame and sorrow they have escaped ; and 
 it would become them to make an oblation for 
 their crimes, by charity to those upon whom 
 vice appears in that utmost misery and de- 
 formity, which they themselves are free from 
 by their better fortune, rather than greater 
 innocence. It would quicken our compassion 
 in this case, if we considered there may be 
 objects there, who would now move horror and 
 loathing, that we have once embraced with 
 transport: and as we are men of honour (for 
 I must not speak as we are Christians) let 
 us not desert our friends for the loss of their 
 noses. 
 
 No. 18.] Wednesday, April i, 1713. 
 
 Animaeque capaces 
 
 Mortis - 
 
 Souls, undismay'd by death. 
 
 Lucan. 
 
 The prospect of death is so gloomy and dis- 
 mal, that if it were constantly before our eyes, 
 it would embitter all the sweets of life. The 
 gracious Author of our being hath therefore so 
 formed us, that we are capable of many pleasing 
 sensations and reflections, and meet with so 
 many amusements and solicitudes, as divert 
 our thoughts from dwelling upon an evil, 
 which, by reason of its seeming distance, makes 
 but languid impressions upon the mind. But 
 how distant soever the time of our death may 
 be, since it is certain that we must die, it is 
 necessary to allot some portion of our life to 
 consider the end of it ; and it is highly con- 
 venient to fix some stated times to meditate 
 upon the final period of our existence here. 
 The principle of self-love, as we are men, wiL 
 make us inquire, what is like to become of u 
 after our dissolution ; and our conscience, a* 
 we are Christians, will inform us, that accord- 
 ing to the good or evil of our actions here, we 
 shall be translated to the mansions of eternal 
 bliss or misery. When this is seriously weighed, 
 we must think it madness to be unprepared 
 against the black moment : but when we re- 
 flect that perhaps that black moment may be 
 to-night, how watchful ought we to be ! 
 
 I was wonderfully affected with a discourse 
 I had lately with a clergyman of my acquaint- 
 ance upon this head, which was to this effect : 
 ' The consideration,' said the good man, * that 
 my being is precarious, moved me many years 
 ago to make a resolution, which 1 have dili- 
 gently kept, and to which I owe the greatest 
 satisfaction that a mortal man can enjoy. 
 Every night before I address myself in private 
 to my Creator, I lay my hand upon my heart, 
 and ask myself, whether if God should require 
 my soul of me this night, 1 could hope for 
 mercy from him ? The bitter agonies I under- 
 went in this my first acquaintance with myself 
 
2S 
 
 Tin: GUARDIAX. 
 
 [No. 19. 
 
 Dtferri so far from throwing me into despair of 
 i'.at men v which is over all God's works, that 
 they rather proved motives to greater circum- 
 spection id my future eonduct. The oftener 
 1 exercised myself in meditations of this kind, 
 the less was my anxiety; and by making the 
 thoughts of death familiar, what was at first 
 so terrible and shocking, is become the sweetest 
 of my enjoyments. These contemplations have 
 indeed made me serious, but not sullen ; nay, 
 they are so f »r from having soured my temper, 
 that as I have a mind perfectly composed, and 
 a secret spring of joy in my heart, so my con- 
 versation is pleasant, and my countenance se- 
 rene ; I taste all the innocent satisfactions of 
 life pure and sincere; I have no share in plea- 
 sures that leave a sting behind them, nor am 
 I cheated with that kind of mirth, "in the 
 midst of which there is heaviness."' 
 
 Of all the professions of men, a soldier's, 
 chiefly, should put him upon this religious vi- 
 gilance. His duty exposes him to such hazards, 
 that the evil which to men in other stations 
 may seem far distant, to him is instant, and 
 ever before his eyes. The consideration, that 
 what men in a martial life purchase is gained 
 with danger and labour, and must perhaps be 
 parted with very speedily, is the cause of much 
 licence and riot. As moreover it is necessary 
 to keep up the spirits of those who are to en- 
 counter the most terrible dangers, offences of 
 this nature meet with great indulgence. But 
 there is a courage better founded tban this 
 animal fury. The secret assurance, that all 
 is right within, that if he falls in battle, he 
 will the more speedily he crowned with true 
 glory, will add strength to a warrior's arm, and 
 intrepidity to his heart. 
 
 One of the most successful stratagems 
 whereby Mahomet became formidable, was the 
 assurance that impostor gave his votaries, that 
 whoever was slain in battle should be imme- 
 diately conveyed to that luxurious paradise his 
 wanton fancy had invented. The ancient 
 Druids taught a doctrine which had the same 
 effect, though with this difference from Ma- 
 homet's, that the souls of the slain should 
 transmigrate into other bodies, and in them 
 he rewarded according to the degrees of their 
 merit. This is told by Lucan with his usual 
 spirit. 
 
 ' You leach tli.tt souls, from fleshy chains unbound, 
 
 Seek not pale shades and Erebus profound, 
 
 Bill fleeting hence to Other regions stray, 
 
 OtlC* more to mix with animated clay ; 
 
 1 1. ,i ' death's a gap (if men may trust the lore) 
 
 Twlxt lives In hind and ages yet before. 
 
 A blest mistake! which fat. ?» dread power disarms; 
 
 a, id spars ii^ vbt'riei on t<> war's alarms; 
 
 Lavish of lite, they ru.«h wilii licicc delight 
 Amid-t the leglulISi and provoke the fight ; 
 o'i r-matchlng death, aud freely east away 
 'i i;.it loan ot i ; ii- 1 «■ gods an- bound to p*y.' 
 
 Our gallant countryman, sir Philip Sidney, 
 fraJ a noble example of courage and devotion. 
 
 I am particularly pleased to find that he hath 
 translated the whole book of Psalms into Eng- 
 lish verse. A friend of mine informs me, that 
 he hath the manuscript by him, which is said 
 in the title to have been done, ' By the most 
 nohle and virtuous Gent. Sir Philip Sidney, 
 Knight.' They having been never printed. I 
 shall present the public with one of them, 
 which my correspondent assures me he bath 
 faithfully transcribed, and wherein I have taken 
 the liberty only to alter one word. 
 
 rSALM CXXXViL* 
 
 I. 
 
 !Nifjh seated where the liver flows, 
 
 That watt reth Babel's thankful plain, 
 Which then our tears, in peailed rows, 
 
 Did help to water with the rain : 
 The thought of Sion bred snch woes, 
 That though our harps we did retain 
 Yet useless and untouched there, 
 On willows only hang'd they were. 
 
 II. 
 Now while our harps were hanged so, 
 The men whose captives then we lay, 
 Did on our griefs insulting go, 
 
 And more to grieve us thus did say ; 
 You that of music make such show, 
 Come sing us now a Sion's lay : 
 Oh no I we have nor voice nor hand 
 For such a song in such a land. 
 
 III. 
 Though far I be, sweet Sion hill, 
 
 In foreign soil exil'd from thee, 
 Yet let my hand forget his skill 
 
 If ever thou forgotten be ; 
 Am\ let my tongue fast glewed still 
 Unto my roof, lie mute in hie ; 
 If thy neglect within me sprint-. 
 Or aught 1 do but Bated) sing. 
 
 IV. 
 But thon, O Lord, shalt not forget 
 To quit the pains of Edom's race. 
 Who causelessly, yet hotly set 
 
 Thy holy city to deface, 
 Did thus the bloody victors whet, 
 What time they enter'd first the piace, 
 ■ Down, down with it at any baud, 
 Make all a waste, let nothing sta:id. 
 
 V. 
 
 And Babylon, that didst us waste, ♦ 
 
 Thyself shalt one day wasted be : 
 
 And happy lie, who what thou hast 
 
 Unto us done, shall do to thee ; 
 Like bitterness shall make thee taste, 
 Like woeful objects make thee sec : 
 Yea, happy who thy little ones 
 Shall take and dash against the stones. 
 
 No. 19.] Thursday, April 2, 1713. 
 
 Nc te semper inops agitet vexetqnc cupido ; 
 Nc pavor, et rerum medku liter milium spec 
 
 Ilor. Lib. 1. Ep. xviii. 98. 
 
 Lest avarice, itill poor, disturb thine case ; 
 
 Or fear should shake, or cares thy mind abuse, 
 
 ( )i ai di lit hope for things of little ft* Creech. 
 
 1 r was prettily observed by somebody con* 
 ceruitig the great vices, that there are three 
 which give pleasure, as covctousness, gluttony, 
 
 * Dr. Donne's Poena. &c. E's. r>7, edit. 1719. 
 
No. 1.9.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 2{) 
 
 and lust ; one which tastes of nothing but pain, 
 as envy ; the rest have a" mixture of pleasure 
 and pain, as anger and pride. But when a 
 man considers the state of his own mind, about 
 which every member of the Christian world is 
 supposed at this time to be employed, he will 
 find that the best defence against vice is pre- 
 serving the worthiest part of his own spirit pure 
 from any great offence against it. There is a 
 magnanimity which makes us look upon our- 
 selves with disdain, after we have been betrayed 
 by sudden desire, opportunity of gain, the ab- 
 sence of a person who excels us, the fault of a 
 servant, or the ill fortune of an adversary, into 
 the, gratification of lust, covetousness, envy, 
 rage, or pride ; when the more sublime part 
 of our souls is kept alive, and we have not re- 
 peated iirfrrmities till they are become vicious 
 habits. 
 
 The vice of covetousness is what enters 
 deepest into the soul of any other; and you 
 may have seen men, otherwise the most agree- 
 able creatures in the world, so seized with the 
 desire of being richer, that they shall startle 
 at indifferent things, and live in a continual" 
 guard and watch over themselves from a re- 
 mote fear of expense. No pious man can be 
 so circumspect in the care of his conscience, 
 as the covetous man is in that of his pocket. 
 
 If a man would preserve his own spirit, and 
 his natural approbation of higher and more 
 worthy pursuits, he could never fall into this 
 littleness, but his mind would be still open to 
 honour and virtue, in spite of infirmities and 
 relapses. But what extremely discourages me 
 in my precautions as a Guardian, is, that there 
 is a universal defection from the admiration 
 of virtue. Riches and outward splendour have 
 taken up the place of it ; and no man thinks he 
 is mean, if he is not poor. But alas this des- 
 picable spirit debases our very being, and makes 
 our passions take a new turn from their na- 
 tural bent. 
 
 It was a cause of great sorrow and melan- 
 choly to me some nights ago at a play, to see 
 a crowd in the habits of the gentry of England, 
 stupid to the noblest sentiments we have. The 
 circumstance happened in the scene of distress 
 betwixt Percy and Anna Bullen. One of the 
 centinels, who stood on the stage to prevent 
 the disorders which the most unmannerly race 
 of young men that ever were seen in any age 
 frequently raise in public assemblies, upon 
 Percy's beseeching to be heard, burst into 
 tears ; upon which the greatest part of the 
 audience fell into a loud and ignorant laughter; 
 which others, who were touched with the liberal 
 compassion in the poor fellow, could hardly 
 suppress by their clapping. But the man, 
 without the least confusion or shame in his 
 countenance for what had happeued, wiped 
 away the tears and was stiil intent upon the 
 play. The distress still rlsiiig, the suldier was 
 
 so much moved, that lie was obliged to turn 
 his face from the audience, to their no small 
 merriment. Percy had the gallantry to take 
 notice of his honest heart; and, as I am told, 
 gave him a crown to help him in his affliction. 
 It is certain this poor fellow, in his humble 
 condition, had such a lively compassion as a 
 sowl unwedded to the world; were it otherwise, 
 gay lights and dresses, with appearances of 
 people of fashion and wealth, to which his 
 fortune could not be familiar, would have 
 taken up all his attention and admiration. 
 
 It is every thing that is praise-worthy, as 
 well as pure religion (according to a book too 
 sacred for me to quote,) ' to visit the father- 
 less and widows in their affliction, and to keep 
 himself unspotted from the world.' Every step 
 that a man makes beyond moderate and rea- 
 sonable provision, is taking so much from the 
 worthiness of his own spirit; and he that is 
 entirely set upon making a fortune, is all that 
 while undoing the man. He must grow deaf 
 to the wretched, estrange himself from the 
 agreeable, learn hardness of heart, disrelish 
 every thing that is noble, and terminate all m 
 his despicable self. Indulgence in anyone im- 
 moderate desire or appetite engrosses the whole 
 creature, and his life is sacrificed to that one 
 desire or appetite ; but how much otherwise is 
 it with those that preserve alive in them some- 
 thing that adorns their condition, and shows 
 the man, whether a prince or a beggar, above 
 his fortune ! 
 
 I have just now recorded a foot-soldier for 
 the politest man in a British audience, from 
 the force of nature, untainted with the singu- 
 larity of an ill-appiied education. A good spirit 
 that is not abused, can add new glories to the 
 highest state in the world, as well as give 
 beauties to the meanest. I shall exemplify 
 this]by inserting a prayer of Harry the Fourth 
 of France just before a battle, in which he ob- 
 tained an entire victory. 
 
 ' O Lord of hosts, who canst see through the 
 thickest veil and closet disguise, who viewest 
 the bottom of my heart, and the deepest de- 
 signs of my enemies, who hast in thy hands, as 
 well as before thine eyes, all the events which 
 concern human life; if thou knowest that my 
 reign will promote thy glory and the safety of 
 thy people; if thou knowest that I have no 
 other ambition in my soul, but to advance the 
 honour of thy holy name, and the good of this 
 state ; favour, O great God, the justice of my 
 arms, and reduce all the rebels to acknowledge 
 him whom thy sacred decrees, and the order 
 of a lawful succession, have made their sove- 
 reign : but, if thy good providence has ordered 
 it otherwise, and thou seest that I should prove 
 one of those kings whom thou givest in thine 
 anger, take from me, O merciful God, my life 
 and my crown, make me this day a sacrifice 
 to tbv will, let rav death end the calamities of 
 
30 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 20. 
 
 France, ami let my blood be the last that is 
 spilt in this quarrel.' 
 
 The king uttered this generous prayer in a 
 Voice, and with a countenance, that inspired 
 all who heard and beheld him with like mag- 
 nanimity : then turning to the squadron, at 
 the head of which he designed to charge, ■ My 
 fellow-soldiers,' said he, ' as you run my for- 
 tune, so do I yours; your safety consists in 
 keeping well your ranks ; but if the heat of the 
 action should force you to disorder, think of 
 nothing but rallying again ; if you lose the sight 
 of your colours and standards, look round for 
 the white plume in my beaver; you shall see 
 it wherever you are, and it shall lead you to 
 glory and to victory.* 
 
 The magnanimity of this illustrious prince 
 was supported by a firm of reliance on Provi- 
 dence, which inspired him with a contempt of 
 life, and an assurance of conquest. His gener- 
 ous scorn of royalty, but as it consisted with 
 the service of God, and good of his people, is 
 an instance, that the mind of man, when it is 
 well disposed, is always ahove its condition, 
 even though it be that of a monarch. 
 
 No. 20.J Fridaij, April 3, 1713. 
 
 Semper et iiifirmi est animi exigniqoe voluptas 
 Ullio Juv. Sat. xiii. 180. 
 
 Revenge, which still we find 
 
 The weakest frailty of a feeble mind. Creech. 
 
 All gallantry and fashion, one would ima- 
 gine, should rise out of the religion and laws 
 of that nation wherein they prevail; but, alas! 
 in this kingdom, gay characters, and those 
 which lead in the pleasure and inclinations of 
 the fashionable world, are such as are readiest 
 to practise crimes the most abhorrent to nature, 
 and contradictory to our faith. A Christian 
 and a gentleman are made inconsistent appel- 
 lations of the same person ; you are not to 
 expect eternal life, if you do not forgive in- 
 juries; and your mortal life is uncomfortable 
 if you are not ready to commit a murder in 
 resentment for an affront : for good sense as 
 well as religion is so utterly banished the 
 world, that men glory in their very passions, 
 and pursue trifles ivith the utmost vengeance ; 
 so little do they know, that to forgive is the 
 most arduous pitch human nature can arrive 
 at. A coward has often fought, a coward has 
 often conquered, but ' a coward never forgave.' 
 The power of doing that flows from a strength 
 of soul conscious of its own force ; whence it 
 
 draws a certain sail ty, which its enemy is not 
 of consideration enough to interrupt; for it is 
 
 peculiar in the make of a brave man to have 
 bis friends seem much ahove him, his enemies 
 
 much below him. 
 
 Yet though the neglect of our enemies may, 
 
 so intense a forgiveness as the love of them, i* 
 not to be in the least accounted for by the 
 force of constitution, but is a more spiritual 
 and refined moral, introduced by him who died 
 for those that persecuted him ; yet very justly 
 delivered to us, when we consider ourselves 
 offenders, and to be forgiven on the reasonable 
 terms of forgiving ; for who can ask what he 
 will not bestow, especially when that gift is 
 attended with a redemption from the crudest 
 slavery to the most acceptable freedom ? For 
 when the mind is in contemplation of revenge, 
 all its thoughts must surely be tortured with 
 the alternate pangs of rancour, envy, hatred, 
 and indignation ; and they who profess a sweet 
 in the enjoyment of it, certainly never felt the 
 consummate bliss of reconciliation. At such 
 an instant the false ideas we received unravel, 
 and the shyness, the distrust, the secret scorns, 
 and all the base satisfactions men had in each 
 other's faults and misfortunes, are dispelled, 
 and their souls appear in their native white- 
 ness, without the least streak - of that malice 
 or distaste which sullied them : and perhaps 
 those very actions, which, when we looked at 
 them in the oblique glance with which hatred 
 doth always see things, were horrid and odious; 
 when observed with honest and open eyes, are 
 beauteous and ornamental. 
 
 But if men are averse to us in the most vio- 
 lent degree, and we can never bring them to 
 an amicable temper, then indeed we are to 
 exert an obstinate opposition to them ; and 
 never let the malice of our enemies have so 
 effectual an advantage over us, as to escape 
 our good-will. For the neglected and despised 
 tenets of religion are so generous, and in so 
 transcendent and heroic a manner disposed for 
 public good, that it is not in a man's power to 
 avoid their influence ; for the Christian is as 
 much inclined to your service when your 
 enemy, as the moral man when your friend. 
 
 But the followers of a crucified Saviour must 
 root out of their hearts all sense that there is 
 any thing great and noble in pride or haughti- 
 ness of spirit ; yet it will be very difficult to fix 
 that idea in our souls, except we can think as 
 worthily of ourselves, when we practise the 
 contrary virtues. We must learn, and be con- 
 vinced, that there is something sublime and 
 heroic in true meekness and humility, for they 
 arise from a great, not a groveling idea of 
 things ; for as certainly as pride proceeds from 
 a mean and narrow view of the little advan- 
 tages about a man's self, so meekness is founded 
 on the extended contemplation of the place we 
 bear in the universe, and a just observation 
 how little, how empty, how wavering, are our 
 deepest resolves and counsels. And as, to a 
 well taught mind, when you have said a 
 haughty and proud man, you have spoke a 
 nil row conception, little spirit, and despicable 
 carriage ; so when you have said a man is meek 
 
No. 20.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 31 
 
 and humble, you have acquainted us that such 
 a person has arrived at the hardest task in the 
 world, in a universal observation round him, 
 to be quick to see his own faults, and other 
 men's virtues, and at the height of pardoning 
 every man sooner than himself; you have also 
 given us to understand, that to treat him 
 kindly, sincerely, and [respectfully, is but a 
 mere justice to him that is ready to do us the 
 same offices. This temper of soul keeps us 
 always awake to a just sense of things, teaches 
 us that we are as well akin to worms as to 
 angels; and as nothing is above these, so is 
 nothing below those. It keeps our under- 
 standing tight about us, so that all things 
 appear to us great or little, as they are in na- 
 ture and the sight of heaven, not as they are 
 gilded or sullied by accident or fortune. 
 
 It were to be wished that all men of sense 
 would think it worth their while to reflect upon 
 the dignity of Christian virtues ; it would pos- 
 sibly enlarge their souls into such a contempt 
 of what fashion and prejudice have made ho- 
 nourable, that their duty, inclination, and 
 honour, would tend the same way, and make 
 all their lives a uniform act of religion and 
 virtue. 
 
 As to the great catastrophe of this day, on 
 which the Mediator of the world suffered the 
 greatest indignities and death itself for the sal- 
 vation of mankind, it would be worth gentle- 
 men's consideration, whether from his example 
 it would not be proper to kill all inclinations 
 to revenge ; and examine whether it would 
 not be expedient to receive new notions of 
 what is great and honourable. 
 
 This is necessary against the day wherein 
 he who died ignominiously for us ' shall descend 
 from heaven to be our judge, in majesty and 
 glory.' How will the man who shall die by 
 the sword of pride and wrath, and in conten- 
 tion with his brother, appear before him, at 
 f whose presence nature shall be in an agony, 
 and the great and glorious bodies of light be 
 obscured ; when the sun shall be darkened, 
 the moon turned into blood, and all the powers 
 of heaven shaken ; when the heavens them- 
 selves shall pass away with a great noise, and 
 the elements dissolve with fervent heat ; when 
 the earth also, and all the works that are 
 therein, shall be burnt up !' 
 
 What may justly damp in our minds the di- 
 abolical madness, which promps us to decide 
 our petty animosities by the hazard of eternity, 
 is, that in that one act, the criminal does not 
 only highly offend, but forces himself into the 
 presence of his judge ; that is certainly his case 
 who dies in a duel. I cannot but repeat it, he 
 that dies in a duel knowingly offends God, and 
 in that very action rushes into his offended 
 presence. Is it possible for the heart of man 
 to conceive a more terrible image than that of 
 a departed spirit in this condition ? Could we 
 
 but suppose it has just left its body, and struck 
 with the terrible reflection, that to avoid the 
 laughter of fools, and being the by-word of 
 idiots, it has now precipitated itself into the 
 din of demons, and the howlings of eternal 
 despair, how willingly now would it suffer the 
 imputation of fear and cowardice, to have one 
 moment left not to tremble in vain ! 
 
 The scriptures are full of pathetical and 
 warm pictures of the condition of a happy or 
 miserable futurity ; and I am confident, that 
 the frequent reading of them would make the 
 way to a happy eternity so agreeable and 
 pleasant, that he who tries it will find the dif- 
 ficulties, which he before suffered in shunning 
 the allurements of vice, absorbed in the pleasure 
 he will take in the pursuit of virtue : and how 
 happy must that mortal be, who thinks himself 
 in the favour of an Almighty, and can think of 
 death as a thing which it is an infirmity not to 
 desire ? 
 
 No. 21.] Saturday, April 4, 1713. 
 
 Fungar inani 
 
 Firs. Km. vi. 885. 
 
 Mimere 
 
 An empty office I'll discharge. 
 
 Doctor Tillotson, in his discourse 
 cerningthe Danger of all kno 
 
 con- 
 n sin, both from 
 the light of nature and revelation, after having 
 given us the description of the last day out of 
 holy writ, has this remarkable passage : 
 
 * I appeal to any man, whether this be not 
 a representation of things very proper and suit- 
 able to that great day, wherein he who made 
 the world shall come to judge it ? And whether 
 the wit of man ever devised any thing so awful, 
 and so agreeable to the majesty of God, and 
 the solemn judgment of the whole world ? The 
 description which Virgil makes of the Elysian 
 Fields, and the Infernal Regions, how infinitely 
 do they fall short of the majesty of the holy 
 scripture, and the description there made of 
 heaven and hell, and of the great and terrible 
 day of the Lord ! so that in comparison they 
 are childish and trifling ; and yet perhaps he 
 had the most regular and most governed ima- 
 gination of any man that [ever lived, and ob- 
 served the greatest decorum in his characters 
 and descriptions. But who can declare the 
 great things of God, but he to whom God shall 
 reveal them ?' 
 
 This observation was worthy a most polite 
 man, and ought to be of authority with all who 
 are such, so far as to examine whether he spoke 
 that as a man of a just taste and judgment, or 
 advanced it merely for the service of his doc- 
 trine as a clergyman. 
 
 I am very confident whoever reads the gos- 
 pels, with a heart as much prepared in favour 
 of them as when he sits down to Virgil or 
 Homer, will find no passage there which is not 
 told with more natural force than any episode 
 
32 
 
 THE GUAKDIAN. 
 
 [No. 2J. 
 
 in either of those wits, which were the chief of 
 mere mankind. 
 
 The la>t thing I read was the twenty-fourth 
 chapter of St. Luke, which gives an account 
 of the manner in which our blessed Saviour, 
 atu r bis resurrection, joined with two disciples 
 OB the way to Emmaus as an ordinary traveller, 
 and took the privilege as such to inquire of 
 them, what occasioned a sadness he observed 
 in their countenances ; or whether it was from 
 any public cause ? Their wonder that any man 
 so near Jerusalem should be a stranger to what 
 had passed there ; their acknowledgement to 
 one they met accidentally, that they had be- 
 lieved in this prophet ; and that now, the third 
 day after his death, they were in doubt as to 
 their pleasing hope, which occasioned the hea- 
 viness he took notice of ; are all represented 
 in a style which men of letters call ' the great 
 and noble simplicity.' The attention of the 
 disciples when he expounded the scriptures 
 concerning himself, his offering to take his 
 leave of them, their fondness of his stay, and 
 the manifestation of the great guest whom they 
 had entertained while he was yet at meat with 
 them, are all incidents whieh wonderfully 
 please the imagination of a Christian reader; 
 and give to him something of that touch of 
 mind which the brethren felt, when they said 
 one to another, ' Did not our hearts burn within 
 us, while he talked with us by the way, and 
 while he opened to us the scriptures ?' 
 
 I am very far from pretending to treat these 
 matters as they deserve ; but I hope those 
 gentlemen who are qualified for it, and called 
 t> it, will forgive me, and consider that I speak 
 as a mere secular man, impartially considering 
 the effect which the sacred writings will have 
 upon the soul of an intelligent reader ; and it 
 is some argument, that a thing is the imme- 
 diate work of God, when it so infinitely trans- 
 cends all the labours of man. When 1 look 
 upon Raphael's picture of our Saviour appearing 
 to his disciples after his resurrection, I cannot 
 but think the just disposition of that piece has 
 in it the force of many volumes on the subject. 
 The evangelists are easily distinguished from 
 the rest by a passionate zeal and love which 
 the painter has thrown in their faces ; the 
 huddled group of those who stand most distant 
 are admirable representations of men abashed 
 with their late unbelief and hardness of heart. 
 And such endeavours as this of Raphael, and of 
 all men not called to the altar, are collateral 
 helps not to be despised by the ministers of the 
 gospel. 
 
 It is with this view that I presume upon sub- 
 jects of this kind ; and men may take up this 
 paper, and be ( atched by an admonition under 
 the disguise of a diversion. 
 
 All the arts and sciences ought to be cm- 
 
 ployed in one confederacy against the prevail- 
 ing torrent of vice' and impiety; and it will be 
 
 no small step in the progress of reli; -on, if it is 
 as evident as it mi; lit to be, that fee. wants tlie 
 best taste and best sense a man can have, who is 
 cold to the ' beauty of holiness.' 
 
 As for my part, when I have happened to 
 attend the corpse of a friend to his interment, 
 and have seen a graceful man at the entrance 
 of a church-yard, who became the diguity of 
 his function, and assumed an authority which 
 is natural to truth, pronounce' I am the re- 
 surrection and the life; he that believetb in 
 me, though he were dead yet shall he live; 
 and whosoever liveth and believetb in me shall 
 never die : I say, upon such an occasion, the 
 retrospect upon past actions between the de- 
 ceased whom I followed and myself, together 
 with the many little circumstances that strike 
 upon the soul, and alternately give grief and 
 consolation, have vanished like a dream ; and 
 I have been relieved as by a voice from heaven, 
 when the solemnity has proceeded, and after a 
 long pause I again heard the servant of God 
 utter, ' I know that my Redeemer liveth, and 
 that he shall stand at the latter day upon the 
 earth ; and though worms destroy this body, yet 
 in my flesh shall { see God ; whom I shall see 
 for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not 
 another.' How have I been raised above this 
 world and all its regards, and how well pre- 
 pared to receive the next sentence which the 
 holy man has spoken ! ' We brought nothing 
 into this world, and it is certain we can carry 
 nothing out ; the Lord gave, and the Lord 
 hath taken away, blessed be the name of the 
 Lord V 
 
 There .are, I know, men of heavy temper 
 without genius, who can read these expressions 
 of scripture with as much indifference as they 
 do the rest of these loose papers, However, 
 I will not despair but to bring men of wit into 
 a love and admiration of sacred writings ; and, 
 as old as I am, I promise myself to see the 
 day when it shall be as much in fashion among 
 men of politeness to admire a rapture of Saint 
 Paul, as any fine expression in Virgil or Horace ; 
 and to see a well-dressed young man produce 
 an evangelist out of his pocket, and be no 
 more out of countenance than if it were a 
 classic printed by Elzevir. 
 
 It is a gratitude that ought to be paid to 
 Providence by men of distinguished faculties, to 
 praise and adore the author of their being with 
 a spirit suitable to those faculties, and rouse 
 slower men by their words, actions, and wri- 
 tings, to a participation of their transports and 
 thanksgivings. 
 
 No. J'.'.j Monday, April 6, 1713. 
 
 Rma milii et ligni plareant in vallibus amncs, 
 Hiiiiiint amen sylvasquc ioglorius — 
 
 Firg. Georg. ii. 4i£. 
 
No. 22.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 33 
 
 My next desire is, void or care and strife, 
 
 To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life, 
 
 A country cottage near a crystal flood, 
 
 A winding valley, and a lofty wood. Dryden. 
 
 Pastoral poetry not only amuses the fancy 
 the most delightfully, but is likewise more in- 
 debted to it than any other sort whatsoever. 
 It transports us into a kind of fairy-land, where 
 our ears are soothed with the melody of birds, 
 bleating- flocks, and purling- streams ; our eyes 
 inchanted with flowery meadows and springing 
 greens ; we are laid under cool shades, and 
 entertained with all the sweets and freshness of 
 nature. It is a dream, it is a vision, which we 
 wish may be real, and we believe that it is true. 
 
 Mrs. Cornelia Lizard's head was so far turned 
 with these imaginations, when we were last in 
 the country, that she lost her rest by listening 
 to nightingales ; she kept a pair of turtles 
 cooing in her chamber, and had a tame lamb 
 running after her up and down the house. I 
 used all gentle methods to bring her to herself; 
 as having had a design heretofore of turning 
 shepherd myself, when I read Virgil or Theo- 
 critus at Oxford. But as my age and experience 
 have armed me against any temptation to the 
 pastoral life, I can now with the greater safety 
 consider it ; and shall lay down such rules, as 
 those of my readers, who have the aforesaid 
 design, ought to observe, if they would follow 
 the steps of the shepherds and shepherdesses 
 of ancient times. 
 
 In order to form a right judgment of pastoral 
 poetry, -it will be necessary to cast back our 
 eyes on the first ages of the world. For since 
 that way of life is not now in being, we must 
 inquire into the manner of it when it actually 
 did exist. Before mankind was formed into 
 large societies, or cities were built, and com- 
 merce established, the wealth of the world 
 consisted chiefly in flocks and herds. The 
 tending of these, we find to have been the 
 employment of the first princes, whose subjects 
 were sheep and oxen, and their dominions the 
 adjoining vales. As they lived in great afflu- 
 ence and ease, we may presume that they en- 
 joyed such pleasures as that condition afforded, 
 free and uninterrupted. Their manner of life 
 gave them vigour of body and serenity of mind. 
 The abundance they were possessed of secured 
 them from avarice, ambition, or envy ; they 
 could scarce have any anxieties or contentions, 
 where every one had more than he could tell 
 what to do with. Love indeed might occasion 
 some rivalships amongst *hem, because many 
 lovers fix upon one object, for the loss of which 
 hey will be satisfied with no c&mpensation. 
 Otherwise it was a state of ease, innocence, 
 and contentment ; where plenty begot plea- 
 ure, and pleasure begot singing, and singing 
 begot poetry, and poetry begot pleasure again. 
 Thus happy was the first race of men, but 
 rude withal, and uncultivated. For before 
 
 they could make any considerable progress in 
 arts and sciences, the tranquillity of the rural 
 life was destroyed by turbulent and ambitious 
 spirits ; who, having built cities, raised armies, 
 and studied policies of state, made vassals of 
 the defenceless shepherds, and rendered that 
 which was before easy and unrestrained, a 
 mean, laborious, miserable condition. Hence, 
 if we consider the pastoral period before learn- 
 ing, we shall find it unpolished, if after, we 
 shall find it unpleasant. 
 
 The use that I would make of this short 
 review of the country life sna»* be this: An 
 author that would amuse himself by writing 
 pastorals, should form in his fancy a rural scene 
 of perfect ease and tranquillity where inno- 
 cence, simplicity, and joy abound. It is not 
 enough that he writes about the country ; he 
 must give us what is agreeable in that scene, 
 and hide what is wretched. It is, indeed, 
 commonly affirmed, that truth well painted 
 will certainly please the imagination; but it is 
 sometimes convenient not to discover the whole 
 truth, but that part which only is delightful. 
 We must sometimes show only half an image 
 to the fancy; which if we display in a lively 
 manner, the mind is so dexterously deluded, 
 that it doth not readily perceive that the other 
 half is concealed. Thus in writing pastorals, 
 let the tranquillity of that life appear full and 
 plain, but hide the meanness of it ; represent 
 its simplicity as clear as you please, but cover 
 its misery. I would not hereby be so under- 
 stood, as if 1 thought nothing that is irksome 
 or unpleasant should have a place in these 
 writings ; I only mean that this state of life in 
 general should be supposed agreeable. But as 
 there is no condition exempt from anxiety, 
 I will allow shepherds to be afflicted with such 
 misfortunes as the loss of a favourite lamb, 
 or a faithless mistress. He may, if you please, 
 pick a thorn out of his foot ; or vent his grief 
 for losing the prize in dancing ; but these 
 being small torments, they recommend that 
 state which only produces such trifling evils. 
 Again, 1 wou/d not seem so strict in my notions 
 of innocence and simplicity, as to deny the use 
 of a little railing, or the liberty of stealing a 
 kid or a sheep-hook. For these are likewise 
 such petty enormities, that we must think the 
 country happy where these are the greatest 
 transgressions. 
 
 When a reader is placed in such a scene as 
 1 have described, and introduced into such 
 company as I have chosen, he gives himself up 
 to the pleasing delusion ; and since every one 
 doth not know how it comes to pass, I will 
 venture tv tell him why he is pleased. 
 
 The first reason is, because all mankind love 
 ease. Though ambition and avarice employ 
 most men's thoughts, they are such uneasy 
 habits, that we do not indulge them out of 
 choice, but from some necessity, real or ima- 
 
31 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 ~No. 23. 
 
 gitnrv. W« leek happiness, in which ease is 
 the principal ingredient, and the end proposed 
 
 in our most restless pursuits is tranquillity. 
 We are therefore soothed and delighted with 
 t lie representation of it, and fancy we partake 
 of the pleasure. 
 
 A second reason is our secret approbation of 
 innocence and simplicity. Human nature is 
 not so much depraved, as to hinder us from 
 respecting goodness in others, though we our- 
 selves want it. This is the reason why we are 
 so much charmed with the pretty prattle of 
 children, and even the expressions of pleasure 
 or uneasiness in some part of the brute crea- 
 tion. They are without artifice or malice ; 
 and we love truth too well to resist the charms 
 of sincerity. 
 
 A third reason is our love of the country. 
 Health, tranquillity, and pleasing objects are 
 the growth of the country; and though men, 
 for the general good of the world, are made to 
 love populous cities, the country hath the 
 greatest share in an uncorrupted heart. When 
 we paint, describe, or any way indulge our 
 fancy, the country is the scene which supplies 
 us with the most lovely images. This state 
 was that wherein God placed Adam when in 
 Paradise ; nor could all the fanciful wits of 
 antiquity imagine any thing that could admi- 
 nister more exquisite delight in their Elysium. 
 
 No. 23.] Tuesday, April 7, 1713. 
 
 Extrema per illos 
 
 Justicia excedens tcrris vestigia fecit. 
 
 Virg. Gcor. ii. 473. 
 
 From hence Astrca took her flight, and here 
 
 The prints of her departing steps appear. D)-yden. 
 
 Having already conveyed my reader into 
 the fairy or pastoral land, and informed him 
 what manner of life the inhabitants of that 
 region lead ; I shall, in this day's paper, give 
 him some marks whereby he may discover 
 whether he is imposed upon by those who pre- 
 tend to be of that country ; or, in other words, 
 what are the characteristics of a true Arcadian. 
 
 From the foregoing account of the pastoral 
 life, we may discover that simplicity is neces- 
 sary in the character of shepherds. Their 
 minds must be supposed so rude and unculti- 
 vated, that nothing but what is plain and un- 
 affected can come from them. Nevertheless, 
 we arc not obliged to represent them dull and 
 stupid, since fine spirits were undoubtedly in 
 the wond before arts were invented to polish 
 and adorn them. We may therefore introduce 
 shepherds with good sense, and even with wit, 
 provided their manner of thinking be not too 
 gallant or refined. For all men, both rude 
 and polite, think and conceive things the same 
 way, (truth being eternally the same to all) 
 thoagta they expreil them very differently. For 
 
 here lies the difference. Men, who, by long 
 study and experience have reduced their ideaj 
 to certain classes, and consider the genera, 
 nature of things abstracted from particulars, 
 express their thoughts after a more concise, 
 lively, surprising manner. Those who nave 
 little experience, or cannot abstract, delivef 
 their sentiments in plain descriptions, by cir- 
 cumstances, and those observations which eithet 
 strike upon the senses, or are the first motions 
 of the mind. And though the former raises 
 our admiration more, the latter gives more 
 pleasure, and soothes us more naturally. Thus 
 a courtly lover may say to his mistress : 
 
 ' With thee for ever I in woods could rest, 
 Where never human fool the ground hath prest ; 
 Thou e'en from dungeons darkness canst exclude, 
 And from a desert banish solitude.' 
 
 A shepherd will content himself to say the 
 same thing more simply : 
 
 ' Lome, Rosalind, oh .' come, for without thee 
 What pleasure can the couutry have for me 1 ' 
 
 Again, since shepherds are not allowed to 
 make deep reflections, the address required is 
 so to relate an action, that the circumstances 
 put together shall cause the reader to refrect. 
 Thus, by one delicate circumstance, Corydoi* 
 tells Alexis that he is the finest songster of the 
 country : 
 
 • Of seven smooth joints a mellow pipe I have, 
 Which with his dying breath Damcetas gave : 
 And said, " This, Corydon, I leave to thee, 
 For only thou deserv'st it after me." ' 
 
 As in another pastoral writer, after the same 
 manner a shepherd informs us how much bis 
 mistress likes him: 
 
 ' As I to cool me bath'd oae sultry day, 
 Fond Lydu lurking in the sedses lay. 
 The wanton laugh'd, and seein'd in haste to fly, 
 Yet often stopp'd, and often tarn'd her eye.' 
 
 If ever a reflection be pardonable in pastorals, 
 it is where the thought is so obvious, that it 
 seems to come easily to the mind ; as in the 
 following admirable improvement of Virgil and 
 Theocritus : 
 
 ' Fair is my flock, nor yet uncomely I, 
 If liquid fountains flatter not. And why 
 Should liquid fountains flatter us, yet show 
 The bordering flowers less beauteous than they grow ? 
 
 A second characteristic of a true shepherd is 
 simplicity of manners, or innocence. This is 
 so obvious from what I have before advanced, 
 that it would be but repetition to insist long 
 upon it. I shall only remind the reader, that 
 as the pastoral life is supposed to be where 
 nature is not much depraved, sincerity and 
 truth will generally run through it. Some 
 slight transgressions for the sake of variety 
 may be admitted, which in effect will only serve 
 to set off the simplicity of it in general. I can- 
 not better illustrate this rule than by the fol- 
 lowing example of a swain who found his 
 mistress asleep: 
 
No. 24.1 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 35 
 
 « Once Delia slept on easy moss reolin'd, 
 Her lovely limbs half bare, hjkI rude the wind : 
 I smoolh'd her coats, and stifle a silent kiss: 
 Condemn me, shepherds, if I did amiss.' 
 
 A third sign of a swain is, that something of 
 religion, and even superstition is part of his 
 character. For we find that those who have 
 Jived easy lives in the country, and contemplate 
 the works of nature, live in the greatest awe 
 of their Author. Nor doth this humour prevail 
 Jess now than of old. Our peasants as sincerely 
 helieve the tales of goblins and fairies, as the 
 neathens those of fauns, nymphs, and satyrs. 
 Hence we 'find the works of Virgil and Theo- 
 critus sprinkled with left-handed ravens, blasted 
 oaks, witchcrafts, evil eyes, and the like. And 
 I observe with great pleasure that our English 
 author of the pastorals I have quoted hath 
 practised this secret with admirable judgment. 
 
 I will yet add another mark, which may be 
 observed very often in the above-named poets, 
 which is agreeable to the character of shep- 
 herds, and nearly allied to superstition, I mean 
 the use of proverbial sayings. I take the com- 
 mon similitudes in pastoral to be of the pro- 
 verbial order, which are so frequent, that it is. 
 needless, and would be tiresome to quote them. 
 I shall only take notice upon this head, that 
 it is a nice piece of art to raise a proverb above 
 the vulgar style, and still keep it easy and 
 unaffected. Thus the old wish, ' God rest his 
 soul,' is finely turned: 
 
 • Then gentle Sidney liv'd, the shepherd's friend, 
 Eternal blessings on his shade attend ! ' 
 
 No. 24.] Wednesday, April 8, 1713. 
 
 Diceuda tacendaque calles 1 Pcrs. Sat. iv. 5. 
 
 Dost thou, so young, 
 
 Know when to speak, and when to hold thy tongue? 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Jack Lizard was about fifteen when he was 
 first entered in the university, and being a 
 youth of a great deal of fire, and a more than 
 ordinary application to his studies, it gave his 
 conversation a very particular turn. He had 
 too much spirit to hold his tongue in company; 
 but at the same time so little acquaintance 
 with the world, that he did not know how to 
 talk like other people. 
 
 After a year and a half's stay at the univer- 
 sity, he came down among us to pass away a 
 month or two in the country. The first night 
 after his arrival, as we were at supper, we 
 were all of us very much improved by Jack's 
 table-talk. He told us, upon the appearance 
 of a dish of wild fowl, that according to the 
 opinion of some natural philosophers they 
 might be lately come from the moon. Upon 
 which the Sparkler bursting out into a laugh, 
 he iusulted her with several questions relating 
 to the bigness and distance of the moon and 
 stars ; and after every interrogatory would be 
 
 winking upon me, and smiling at his sister 
 ignorance. Jack gained his point ; for the 
 mother was pleased, and all the servants starea 
 at the learning of their young master. Jack 
 was so encouraged at this success, that for th* 
 first week he dealt wholly in paradoxes. l\ 
 was a common jest with him to pinch one & 
 his sister's lap-dogs, and afterwards prove he 
 could not feel it. When the girls were sorting 
 a set of knots, he would demonstrate to then/ 
 that all the ribands were of the same colour; 
 or rather, says Jack, of no colour at all. My 
 lady Lizard herself, though she was not a little 
 pleased with her son's improvements, was one 
 day almost angry with him ; for having acci- 
 dentally burnt her fingers as she was lighting 
 the lamp for her tea-pot, in the midst of her 
 anguish Jack laid hold of the opportunity to 
 instruct her that there was no such thing as 
 heat in fire. In short, no day passed over our 
 heads, in which Jack did not imagine he mada 
 the whole family wiser than they were before. 
 That part of his conversation which gave* 
 me the most pain, was what passed among 
 those country gentlemen that came to visit us 
 On such occasions Jack usually took upon him 
 to be the mouth of the company ; and thinking 
 himself obliged to be very merry, would enter, 
 tain us with a great many old sayings and ab 
 surdities of their college-cook. 1 found this 
 fellow had made a very strong impression upon 
 Jack's imagination ; which he never considered 
 was not the case of the rest of the company, 
 till after many repeated trials he found that 
 his stories seldom made any body laugh but 
 himself. 
 
 I all this while looked upon Jack as a young 
 tree shooting out into blossoms before its time ; 
 the redundancy of which, though it was a little 
 unseasonable, seemed to foretell an uncommon 
 fruitfulness. 
 
 In order to wear out the vein of pedantry 
 which ran through his conversation, I took 
 him out with me one evening, and first of all 
 insinuated to him this rule, which I had my- 
 self learned from a very great author, 'To 
 think with the wise, but talk with the vulgar.' 
 Jack's good sense soon made him reflect that 
 he had exposed himself to the laughter of the 
 ignorant by a contrary behaviour; upon which 
 he told me, that he would take care for the 
 future to keep his notions to himself, and con- 
 verse in the common received sentiments of 
 mankind. He at the same time desired me 
 to give him any other rules of conversation 
 which I thought might be for his improvement. 
 I told him I would think of k ; and accordingly, 
 as I have a particular affection for the young 
 man, I gave him the next morning the follow- 
 ing rules in writing, which may perhaps have 
 contributed to make him the agreeable man 
 he now is. 
 
 The faculty of interchanging our thoughts 
 
SG 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 24. 
 
 with one another, or what we express hy the 
 word conversation, has always heen represented 
 hv moral writers as one of the noblest privi- 
 leges of reason, and which more particularly 
 sets mankind above the brute part of the 
 creation. 
 
 Though nothing so much gains upon the 
 affections as this extemjwre eloquence, which 
 we have constantly occasion for, and are obliged 
 to practise every day, we very rarely meet 
 with any who excel in it. 
 
 The conversation of most men is disagree- 
 able, not so much for want of wit and learning, 
 as of good-breeding and discretion. 
 
 If you resolve to please, never speak to gra- 
 tify any particular vanity or passion of your 
 own, but always with a design either to divert 
 or inform the company. A man who only aims 
 at one of these, is always easy in his discourse. 
 He is never out of humour at being inter- 
 rupted, because he considers that those who 
 hear him are the best judges whether what he 
 was saying could either divert or inform them. 
 
 A modest person seldom fails to gain the 
 good-will of those he converses with, because 
 nobody envies a man who does not appear to 
 be pleased with himself. 
 
 We should talk extremely little of ourselves. 
 Indeed what can we say ? It would be as im- 
 prudent to discover our faults, as ridiculous to 
 count over our fancied virtues. Our private 
 and domestic affairs are no less improper to be 
 introduced in conversation. What does it 
 concern the company how many horses you 
 keep in your stables ? or whether your servant 
 is most knave or fool ? 
 
 A man may equally affront the company he 
 is in, by engrossing all the talk, or observing 
 a contemptuous silence. 
 
 Before you tell a story, it may be generally 
 not amiss to draw a short character, and give 
 the company a true idea of the principal per- 
 sons concerned in it. The beauty of most things 
 consisting not so much in their being said or 
 done, as in their being said or done by such a 
 particular person, or on such a particular oc- 
 casion. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the advantages of youth, 
 few young people please in conversation: the 
 reason is, that want of experience makes them 
 positive, and what they say is rather with a 
 design to please themselves than any one else. 
 
 It is certain that age itself shall make many 
 things pass well enough, which would have 
 been laughed at in the mouth of one much 
 younger. 
 
 Nothing, however, is more insupportable to 
 men of sense, than an empty formal man who 
 speaks in proverbs, and decides all contro- 
 versies with a short sentence. This piece of 
 stupidity is the more insufferable, as it puts 
 on the air of wisdom. 
 
 A prudent man will avoid talking much of 
 
 any particular science, for which he is re- 
 markably famous. There is not, methinks, a 
 handsomer thing said of Mr. Cowley in his 
 whole life, than, that none but his intimate 
 friends ever discovered he was a great poet by 
 his discourse : besides the decency of this rule, 
 it is certainly founded in good policy. A man 
 who talks of any thing he is already famous 
 for, has little to get, but a great deal to lose. 
 I might add, that he who is sometimes silent 
 on a subject where every one is satisfied he 
 could speak well, will often be thought no less 
 knowing in other matters, where perhaps he 
 is wholly ignorant. 
 
 Women are frightened at the name of argu- 
 ment, and are sooner convinced by a happy 
 turn, or witty expression, than by demonstra- 
 tion. 
 
 Whenever you commend, add your reasons 
 for doing so ; it is this w lrch distinguishes the 
 approbation of a man of sense from the flat- 
 tery of sycophants, and admiration of fools. 
 
 Raillery is no longer agreeable than while 
 the whole company is • leased with it. I would 
 least of all be understood to except the person 
 rallied. 
 
 Though good humour, sense, and discretion, 
 can seldom fail to make a man agreeable, it 
 may be no ill policy sometimes to prepare 
 yourself in a particular manner for conver- 
 sation, by looking a little further than your 
 neighbours into whatever is become a reigning 
 subject. If our armies are besieging a place 
 of importance abroad, or our house of commons 
 debating a bill of consequence at home, you 
 can hardly fail of being heard with pleasure, 
 if you have nicely informed yourself of the 
 strength, situation, and history of the first, or 
 of the reasons for and against the latter. It 
 will have the same effect, if when any single 
 person begins to make a noise in the world, 
 you can learn some of the smallest accidents 
 in his life or conversation, which though they 
 are too fine for the observation of the vulgar, 
 give more satisfaction to men of sense (as they 
 are the best openings to a real character) than 
 the recital of his most glaring actions. I know 
 but one ill consequence to be feared from this 
 method, namely, that coming full charged 
 into company, you should resolve to unload 
 whether a handsome opportunity offers itself 
 or no. 
 
 Though the asking of questions may plead 
 for itself the specious names of modesty, and 
 a desire of information, it affords little pleasure 
 to the rest of the company who are not troubled 
 with the same doubts; besides which, he who 
 asks a question would do well to consider that 
 he lies wholly at the mercy of another before 
 he receives an answer. 
 
 Nothing is more silly than the pleasure some 
 people take iu what they call' speaking their 
 mimls.' A man of this make will say a rude 
 
No. 25.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 37 
 
 thing for the mere pleasure of saying it, when 
 an opposite hehaviour, full as innocent, might 
 have preserved his friend, or made his fortune. 
 
 It is not impossible for a man to form to 
 himself as exquisite a pleasure in complying 
 with the humour and sentiments of others, as 
 of bringing others over to his own ; since it is 
 the certain sign of a superior genius, that can 
 take and become whatever dress it pleases. 
 
 I shall only add, that, besides what I have 
 here said, there is something which can never 
 be learnt but in the company of the polite. 
 The virtues of men are catching as well as their 
 vices ; and your own observations added to these 
 will soon discover what it is that commands 
 attention in one man, and makes you tired 
 and displeased with the discourse of another. 
 
 No. 25] Thursday, April 9, 1713. 
 
 Quis tarn Lueili fautor inepte est, 
 
 Ut non hoc fateatur '{ Hor. Lib. 1. Sat. x. 2. 
 
 What friend of his • 
 
 So blindly partial, to deny me this ? Creech. 
 
 The prevailing humour of crying up authors 
 that have writ in the days of our forefathers, 
 and of passing slightly over the merit of our 
 contemporaries, is a grievance that men of a 
 free and unprejudiced thought have complained 
 of through all ages in their writings. 
 
 1 went home last night full of these reflec- 
 tions from a coffee-house, where a great many 
 excellent writings were arraigned, and as many 
 very indifferent ones applauded, more (as it 
 seemed to me) upon the account of their date, 
 than upon any intrinsic value or demerit. The 
 conversation ended with great encomiums upon 
 my lord Verulam's History of Henry the Vllth. 
 The company were unanimous in their appro- 
 bation of it. I was too well acquainted with 
 the traditional vogue of that book throughout 
 the whole nation, to venture my thoughts upon 
 it. Neither would I now offer my judgment 
 upon that work to the public (so great a ve- 
 neration have I for the memory of a man whose 
 writings are the glory of our nation,) but that 
 the authority of so leading a name may perpe- 
 tuate a vicious taste amongst us, and betray 
 future historians to copy after a model which 
 I cannot help thinking far from complete. 
 
 As to the fidelity of the history, 1 have no- 
 thing to say : to examine it impartially in that 
 view would require much pains and leisure. 
 But as to the composition of it, and sometimes 
 the choice of matter, I am apt to believe it 
 will appear a little faulty to an unprejudiced 
 reader. A complete historian should be en- 
 dowed with the essential qualifications of a 
 great poet. His style must be majestic and 
 grave, as well as simple and unaffected ; his 
 narration should be animated, short, and clear, 
 
 * Of the poet Luciluus. 
 
 and so as even to outrun the impatience of the 
 reader, if possible. This can only be done by 
 being very sparing and choice in words, by 
 retrenching all cold and superfluous circum- 
 stances in an action, and by dwelling upon 
 such alone as are material, and fit to delight 
 or instruct a serious mind. This is what we 
 find in the great models of antiquity, and in 
 a more particular manner in Livy, whom it 
 is impossible to read without the warmest 
 emotions. 
 
 But my lord Verulam, on the contrary, is 
 ever in the tedious style of declaimers, using 
 two words for one; ever endeavouring to be 
 witty, and as fond of out-of-the-way similies 
 as some of our old play-writers. He abounds 
 in low phrases, beneath the dignity of history, 
 and often condescends to little conceits anu 
 quibbles. His political reflections are fre- 
 quently false, almost every where trivial and 
 puerile. His whole manner of turning his 
 thoughts is full of affectation and pedantry ; 
 and there appears throughout his whole work 
 more the air of a recluse scholar, than of a 
 man versed in the world. 
 
 After passing so free a censure upon a book 
 which for these hundred years and upwards 
 has met with the most universal approbation, 
 I am obliged in my own defence to transcribe 
 some of the many passages I formerly collected 
 for the use of my first charge, sir Marmaduke 
 Lizard. It would be endless should I point 
 out the frequent tautologies and eircu-mlo- 
 cutions that occur in every page, which do, 
 as it were, rarify, instead of condensing his 
 thoughts and matter. It was, in all proba- 
 bility, his application to the law that gave him 
 a habit of being so wordy ; of which 1 shall 
 put down two or three examples. 
 
 * That all records, wherein there was any 
 memory or mention of the king's attainder, 
 should be defaced, cancelled, and taken off the 
 file. — Divers secret and nimble scouts and spies, 
 &c. to learn, search, and discover all the cir- 
 cumstances and particulars. — To assail, sap,and 
 work into the constancy of sir Robert Clifford.' 
 
 I leave the following passages to every one's 
 consideration, without making any farther re- 
 marks upon them. 
 
 ' He should be well enough able to scattef 
 the Irish as a flight of birds, and rattle away 
 his swarm of bees with their king. — The rebeij 
 took their way towards York, &c. but their 
 snow-ball did not gather as it went. — So that 
 (in a kind of mattacina* of human fortune) 
 he turned a broachf that had worn a crown ; 
 whereas fortune commonly doth not bring in 
 a comedy or farce after a tragedy. — The queen 
 was crowned, &c. about two years after the 
 marriage, like an old christening that had 
 stayed long for god- fathers. — Desirous to trou- 
 
 • A frolicsome dance. 
 
 f A spiu 
 
33 
 
 THE GUARD I AX. 
 
 [N T o. 26. 
 
 ble the waters in Italy, that he might fish the 
 better, easting the net not out of St. Peter's, 
 but out of Borgia's bark. — And therefore upon 
 the first grain of incense that was sacrificed 
 upon the altar of peace at Bulloigne, Perkin 
 was smoked away. — This was the end of this 
 little cockatrice of a king, that was able to 
 destroy those that did not espy him first. — It 
 was observed, that the great tempest which 
 drove Philip into England, blew down the 
 Golden Eagle from the spire of St. Paul's ; 
 and in the fall, it fell upon a sign of the Black 
 Eagle, which was in Paul's church-yard, in the 
 place where the school-house now standeth, 
 and battered it, and broke it down: which was 
 a strange stooping of a hawk upon a fowl. — 
 The king began to find where his shoe did 
 wring him. — In whose bosom or budget most 
 of Perkin's secrets were laid up. — One might 
 know afar off where the owl was by the flight 
 of birds. — Bold men, and careless of fame, and 
 that took toll of their master's grist. — Empson 
 and Dudley would have cut another chop out 
 of him. — Peter Hialas, some call him Elias ; 
 surely he was the forerunner of, &c. — Lionel, 
 bishop of Concordia, was sent as nuncio, &c. 
 but, notwithstanding he had a good ominous 
 name to have made a peace, nothing followed. — 
 Taxing him for a great taxer of his people. — 
 Not by proclamations, but by court-fames, 
 which commonly print better than printed 
 proclamations. — Sir Edward Poynings was en- 
 forced to make a wild chace upon the wild 
 Irish. — In sparing of blood by the bleeding of 
 so much treasure. — And although his own case 
 had both steel and parchment more than the 
 other ; that is to say, a conquest in the field, 
 and an act of parliament. — That pope knowing 
 that king Henry the Sixth was reputed in the 
 world abroad but for a simple man, was afraid 
 it would but diminish the estimation of that 
 kind of honour, if there were not a distance 
 kept between innocents and saints.' - 
 
 Not to trouble my reader with auy more 
 instances of the like nature, I must observe 
 that the whole work is ill conducted, and the 
 story of Perkin Warbeck (which should have 
 been only like an episode in a poem) is spun 
 out to near a third part of the book. The 
 character of Henry the Seventh, at the end, 
 -s rather an abstract of his history than a cha- 
 racter. It is tedious, and diversified with so 
 many particulars as confound the resemblance, 
 and make it almost impossible for the reader 
 Jo form any distinct idea of the person. It is 
 Hot thus the ancients drew their characters; 
 >>ut in a few just and bold strokes gave you 
 the distinguishing features of the mind (if I 
 /nay be allowed the metaphor) in so distinct a 
 manner, and in so strong a light, that you 
 grew intimate with your man immediately, 
 and knew biin from a hundred. 
 
 After all, it must be considered in favour of 
 
 my lord Verulam, that he lived in an age 
 wherein chaste and correct writing was not 
 in fashion, and when pedantry was the mode 
 even at court ; so that it is no wonder if the 
 prevalent humour of the times bore down his 
 genius, though superior in force, perhaps, to 
 auy of our countrymen that have either gone 
 before or succeeded him. 
 
 No. 26.] Friday, April 10, 1713. 
 
 Nou ego illam milii doleni esse puto, qua: dos dicitur, 
 Scd padicitiam et ptulorem el sedatam capidinen. 
 
 Plant. 
 
 A woman's true dowry, in my opinion, is not that which 
 is usually so called ; but virtue, modesty, and restrained 
 desires. 
 
 A healthy old fellow, that is not a fool, is 
 the happiest creature living. It is at that 
 time of life only, men enjoy their faculties 
 with pleasure and satisfaction. It is then we 
 have nothing to manage, as the phrase is; we 
 speak the downright truth, and whether the 
 rest of the world will give us the privilege or 
 not, we have so little to ask of them, that we 
 can take it. I shall be very free with the 
 women from this one consideration ; and, hav- 
 ing nothing to desire of them, shall treat them 
 as they stand in nature, and as they ate adorn- 
 ed with virtue, and not as they are pleased to 
 form and disguise themselves. A set of fops, 
 from one generation to another, has made such 
 a pother with * bright eyes, the fair sex, the 
 charms, the air,' and something so incapable 
 to be expressed but with a sigh, that the crea- 
 tures have utterly gone out of their very being, 
 and there are no women in all the world. If 
 they are not nymphs, shepherdesses, graces, 
 or goddesses, they are to a woman, all of them 
 1 the ladies.' Get to a christening at any alley 
 in the town, and at the meanest artificer's, 
 and the word is, ' Well, who takes care of the 
 ladies ?* I have taken notice that ever since 
 the word Forsooth was banished for Madam, 
 the word Woman has been discarded for Lady. 
 And as there is now never a woman in England, 
 I hope I may talk of women without offence 
 to the ladies. What puts me in this present 
 disposition to tell them their own, is, that in 
 the holy week I very civilly desired all delin- 
 quents in point of chastity to make some atone- 
 ment for their freedoms, by bestowing a charity 
 upon the miserable wretches who languish in 
 the Lock hospital. But I hear of very little 
 done in that matter ; and I am informed, they 
 are pleased, instead of taking notice of my 
 precaution, to call me an ill-bred old fellow, 
 and say I do not understand the world. It is 
 not, it seems, within the rules of good-breeding 
 to tax the vices of people of quality, and the 
 commandments were made for the vulgar. 
 I am indeed informed of some oblations sent 
 into the house, but they are all come from the 
 
No. 26.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 39 
 
 servants of criminals of condition. A poor 
 chamber-maid has sent in ten shillings out of 
 her hush-money, to expiate her guilt of being 
 in her mistress's secret ; but says she dare not 
 ask her ladyship for any thing, for she is not 
 to suppose that she is locked up with a young 
 gentleman, in the absence of her husband, 
 three hours together, for any harm ; but, as 
 my lady is a person of great sense, the girl 
 does not know but that they were reading 
 some good book together ; but because she 
 fears it may be otherwise, she has sent her ten 
 shillings for the guilt of concealing it. We have 
 a thimble from a country girl that owns she 
 has had dreams of a fine gentleman who comes 
 to their house, who gave her half-a-crown, and 
 Did her have a care of the men in this town ; 
 but she thinks he does not mean what he says, 
 and sends the thimble because she does not 
 hate him as she ought. The ten shillings, this 
 thimble, and an occamy spoon from some other 
 unknown poor sinner, are all the atonement 
 which is made for the body of sin in London 
 and Westminster. I have computed that there 
 is one in every three hundred who is not chaste; 
 and if that be a modest computation, how great 
 a number are those who make no account of 
 my admonition ! It might be expected one or 
 two of the two hundred and ninety-nine honest, 
 might, out of mere charity and compassion to 
 iniquity, as it is a misfortune, have done some- 
 thing upon so good a time as that wherein 
 they were solicited. But major Crab-tree, a 
 sour pot companion of mine, says, the two 
 hundred ninety and nine are one way or other as 
 little virtuous as the three hundredth unchaste 
 woman — I would say lady. It is certain, that 
 we are infested with a parcel of jilflirts, who 
 are not capable of being mothers of brave men, 
 for the infant partakes of the temper and dis- 
 position of its mother. We see the unaccount- 
 able effects which sudden frights and longings 
 have upon the offspring ; and it is not to be 
 doubted, but the ordinary way of thinking of 
 the mother has its influence upon what she 
 bears about her nine months. Thus, from the 
 want of care in this particular of choosing 
 wives, you see men after much care, labour, 
 and study, surprised with prodigious starts of 
 ill-nature and passion, that can be accounted 
 for no otherwise but from hence, that it grew 
 upon them in embryo, and the man was deter- 
 mined surly, peevish, froward, sullen, or out- 
 rageous, before he saw the light. The last 
 time I was in a public place 1 fell in love by 
 proxy for sir Harry Lizard. The young woman 
 happens to be of quality. Her father was a 
 gentleman of as noble a disposition as any 
 I ever met with. The widow, her mother, 
 under whose wing she loves to appear, and is 
 proud of it, is a pattern to persons of condition. 
 Good sense, heightened and exerted with good 
 breeding, is the parent's distinguishing cha- 
 
 racter; and if we can get this young woman 
 into our family, we shall think we have a much 
 better purchase than others, who, without hef 
 good qualities, may bring into theirs the greatest 
 accession of riches. I sent sir Harry by last 
 night's post the following letter on the subject. 
 
 « DEAR. S/K HARRY, 
 
 . Upon our last parting, and as I had just 
 mounted the little roan I am so fond of, you 
 called me back ; and when I stooped to you, 
 you squeezed me by the hand, and with allu- 
 sion to some pleasant discourse we had had a 
 day or two before in the house, concerning the 
 present mercantile way of contracting mar- 
 riages, with a smile and a blush you bid me 
 look upon some women for you, and send word 
 how they went. I did not see one to my mind 
 till the last opera before Easter. I assure you 
 I have been as unquiet ever since, as I wish 
 you were till you had her. Her height, her 
 complexion, and everything but her age, which 
 is under twenty, are very much to my satis- 
 faction: there is an ingenuous shame in her 
 eyes, which is to the mind what the bloom of 
 youth is to the body ; neither implies that 
 there are virtuous habits and accomplishments 
 already attained by the possessor, but they 
 certainly show an unprejudiced capacity to- 
 wards them. As to the circumstance of this 
 young woman's age, I am reconciled to her 
 want of years, because she pretends to nothing 
 above them ; you do not see in her the odious 
 forwardness to I know not what, as in the as- 
 sured countenances, naked bosoms, and con- 
 fident glances of her cotemporaries. 
 
 4 1 will vouch for her, that you will have her 
 whole heart, if you can win it ; she is in no 
 familiarities with the fops, her fan has never 
 been yet out of her own hand, and her bro- 
 ther's face is the only man's she ,:ver looked 
 in stedfastly. 
 
 * When I have gone thus far, and told you 
 that I am very confident of her as to her virtue 
 and education, I may speak a little freely to 
 you as you are a young man. There is a dig- 
 nity in the young lady's beauty, when it shall 
 become her to receive your friends with a good 
 air, and affable countenance ; when she is to 
 represent that part of you which you must 
 delight in, the frank and cheerful reception 
 of your friends, her beauties will do as much 
 honour to your table, as they will give you 
 pleasure in your bed. 
 
 ' It is no small instance of felicity to have a 
 woman, from whose behaviour your friends are 
 more endeared to you ; and for whose sake 
 your children are as much valued as for your 
 own. 
 
 * It is not for me to celebrate the lovely 
 height of her forehead, the soft pulp of her 
 lips, or to describe the amiable profile which 
 her fine hair, cheeks, and neck, made to the 
 
40 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 27 
 
 beholden that night, but shall leave them to 
 your own observation when you come to town ; 
 w Inch vou may do at your leisure, and be time 
 enough, for there are many in town richer 
 tban her whom I recommend. 
 
 ' I am Sir, your most obedient 
 
 ' and most humble servant, 
 
 « N ESI OR IRONSIDE.' 
 
 No. 27.] Saturday, April 11, 1713. 
 
 Malta pntans, sortemquc amnio miseratus iniquam. 
 Virg. JF.n. vi. 332. 
 
 Struck with compassion of so sad a state. 
 
 In compassion to those gloomy mortals, who 
 by their unbelief are rendered incapable of 
 feeling those impressions of joy and hope 
 which the celebration of the late glorious fes- 
 tival naturally leaves on the mind of a Chris- 
 tian, I shall in this paper endeavour to evince 
 that there are grounds to expect a future state, 
 without supposing in the reader any faith at 
 all, not even the belief of a Deity. Let the 
 most stedfast unbeliever open his eyes, and 
 take a survey of the sensible world, and then 
 say if there be not a connexion, and adjustment, 
 and exact and coustant order discoverable in 
 all the parts of it. .Whatever be the cause, the 
 thing itself is evident to all our faculties. Look 
 into the animal system, the passions, senses, 
 aud locomotive powers ; is not the like contri- 
 vance and propriety observable in these too? 
 Are they not fitted to certain ends, and are 
 they not by nature directed to proper objects ? 
 
 Is it possible, then, that the smallest bodies 
 should, by a management superior to the wit 
 of man, be disposed in the most excellent 
 manner agreeable to their respective natures ; 
 and yet the spirits or souls of men be neglected, 
 or managed by such rules as fall short of man's 
 understanding ? Shall every other passion be 
 i ightly placed by nature, and shall that appe- 
 tite of immortality natural to all mankind he 
 alone misplaced, or designed to be frustrated ? 
 Shall the industrious application of the inferior 
 animal powers in the meanest vocations be 
 answered by the ends we propose, and shall 
 not the generous efforts of a virtuous mind be 
 rewarded ? In a word, shall the corporeal world 
 be all order and harmony, the intellectual, dis- 
 cord and confusion ? He who is bigot enough 
 to believe these things, must bid adieu to that 
 natural rule of ' reasoning from analogy ;' must 
 run counter to that maxim of common sense, 
 * That men ought to form their judgments of 
 things unexperienced, from what they have 
 experienced.' 
 
 If any thing looks like a recompense of ca- 
 jamitous virtue on this side the grave, it is either 
 kn assurance that thereby we obtain the favour 
 and protection of heaven, and shall, whatever 
 ftefalU i ls i u this, in another life meet with a just 
 
 return ; or elso that applause and reputation 
 which is thought to attend virtuous actions 
 The former of these, our free-thinkers, out o 
 their singular wisdom and benevolence to man 
 kind, endeavour to erase from the minds o 
 men. The latter can never be justly distri 
 buted in this life, where so many ill actiens are 
 reputable, and so many good actions dises 
 teemed or misinterpreted ; where subtle hypo- 
 crisy is placed in the most engaging bght, and 
 modest virtue lies concealed ; where the heart 
 and the soul are hid from the eyes of men, and 
 the eyes of men are dimmed and vitiated. 
 Plato's sense in relation to this point is con- 
 tained in his Gorgias, where he introduces 
 Socrates speaking after this manner. 
 
 1 It was in the reign of Saturn provided by a 
 law, which the gods have since continued down 
 to this time, That they who had lived virtuously 
 and piously upon earth, should after death en- 
 joy a life full of happiness, in certain islands 
 appointed for the habitation of the blessed : 
 but that such as have lived wickedly should go 
 into the receptacle of damned souls, named 
 Tartarus, there to suffer the punishments they 
 deserved. But in all the reign of Saturn, and 
 in the beginning of the reign of Jove, living 
 judges were appointed, by whom each person 
 was judged in his lifetime, in the same day 
 on which he was to die. The consequence of 
 which was, that they often passed wrong judge- 
 ments. Pluto, therefore, who presided in Tar- 
 tarus, and the guardians of the blessed islands, 
 finding that, on the other side, many unfit per- 
 sons were sent to their respective dominions, 
 complained to Jove, who promised to redress 
 the evil. He added, The reason of these un- 
 just proceedings are that men are judged in 
 the body. Hence many conceal the blemishes 
 and imperfections of their minds by beauty, 
 birth, and riches; not to mention, that at the 
 time of trial there are crowds of witnesses to 
 attest their having lived well. These things 
 mislead the judges, who being themselves also 
 of the number of the living, are surrounded 
 each with his own body, as with a veil thrown 
 over his mind. For the future, therefore, it 
 is my intention that men do not come on their 
 trial till after death, when they shall appear 
 before the judge, disrobed of all their corporeal 
 ornaments. The judge himself too shall be a 
 pure unveiled spirit, beholding the very soul, 
 the naked soul of the party before him. With 
 this view 1 have already constituted my sons, 
 Minos and Rhadamanthus, judges, who are 
 natives of Asia ; and ^Eacus, a native of Europe. 
 These, after death, shall hold their court in a 
 certain meadow, from which there are two 
 roads, leading the one to Tartarus the other to 
 the Islands of" the blessed.'" 
 
 From this, as from numberless other passages 
 of his writings, may be seen Plato's opinion of 
 a future stato. A thing therefore in regard to 
 
No. 27. J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 41 
 
 us so comfortable, in itself so just and excellent, 
 a thing so agreeable to the analogy of nature, 
 and so univei sally credited by all orders and 
 ranks of men, of all nations and ages, what is 
 it that should move a few men to reject ? 
 Surely there must be something of prejudice 
 in the case. 1 appeal to the secret thoughts 
 of a free-thinker, if he does not argue within 
 himself after this manner: 'The senses and 
 faculties I enjoy at present are visibly designed 
 to repair or preserve the body from the injuries 
 it is liable to in its present circumstances. 
 But in an eternal state, where no decays are 
 to be repaired, no outward injuries to be fenced 
 against, where there are no flesh and bones, 
 nerves or blood-vessels, there will certainly be 
 noue of the senses : and that there should be 
 a state of life without, the senses is incon- 
 ceivable.' 
 
 But as this manner of reasoning proceeds 
 from a poverty of imagination, and narrowness 
 of soul in those that use it, I shall endeavour 
 to remedy those defects, and open their views, 
 by laying before them a case which, being na- 
 turally possible, may perhaps reconcile them 
 to the belief of what is supernaturally revealed. 
 
 Let us suppose^ person blind and deaf from 
 his birth, who, being grown to man's estate, is, 
 by the dead palsy, or some other cause deprived 
 of his feeling, tasting, and smelling, and at 
 the same time has the impediment of his hear- 
 ing removed, and the film taken from his eyes. 
 What the five senses are to us, that the touch, 
 taste, and smell, were to him. And any other 
 ways of perception of a more refined and ex- 
 tensive nature were to him as inconceivable, 
 as to us those are which will one day be 
 adapted to perceive those things which ' eye 
 hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it 
 entered into the heart of man to conceive.' 
 And it would be just as reasonable in him to 
 conclude, that the loss of those three senses 
 could not possibly be succeeded by any new 
 inlets of perception, as in a modern free- 
 thinker to imagine there can be no state of life 
 and perception without the senses he enjoys 
 at present. Let us further suppose the same 
 person's eyes, at their first opening, to be 
 struck with a great variety of the most gay and 
 pleasing objects, and his ears with a melodious 
 concert of vocal and instrumental music. Be- 
 hold him amazed, ravished, transported ; and 
 you have some distant representation, some 
 faint and glimmering idea of the ecstatic state 
 of the soul in that article in which she emerges 
 from this sepulchre of flesh into life and im- 
 mortality. 
 
 N. B. It has been observed by the Chris- 
 tians, that a certain ingenious foreigner,* who 
 
 * M. Deslandes, who was a free-thinker, and had pub- 
 lished a historical list of all who died laughing. He had 
 the small-pox here" in England, of which he recovered. 
 
 has published many exemplary jests for the 
 use of persons in the article of death, was very 
 much out of humour in a late fit of sickness, 
 till he was in a fair way of recovery. 
 
 No. 28.] Monday, April 13, 1713. 
 
 iEtas parentum pejor avis tulit 
 
 Nos nequiores, mox daturos 
 
 Progeniem vitiosiorem. 
 
 [lor. Lib. 5. Od. vi. 46. 
 
 Our fathers have been worse than theirs, 
 
 And we than ours : next age will see 
 
 A race more profligate than we. Roscommon. 
 
 Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus are the 
 most famous amongst the Greek writers of 
 pastorals. The two latter of these are judged to 
 be far short of Theocritus, whom I shall speak 
 of more largely, because he rivals the greatest 
 of all poets, Virgil himself. He hath the ad- 
 vantage confessedly of the Latin, in coming 
 before him, and writing in a tongue more pro- 
 per for pastoral. The softness of the Doric 
 dialect, which this poet is said to have im- 
 proved beyond any who came before him, is 
 what the ancient Roman writers owned their 
 language could not approach. But beside? 
 this beauty, he seems to me to have had a soul 
 more softly and teuderly inclined to this way 
 of writing than Virgil, whose genius led him 
 naturally to sublimity. It is true that the 
 great Roman, by the niceness of his judgment, 
 and great command of himself, has acquitted 
 himself dexterously this way. But a penetra- 
 ting judge will find there the seeds of that fire 
 which burned afterwards so bright in the Geo r .- 
 gics, and blazed out in the ^Eneid. 1 must cot, 
 however, dissemble that these bold strokes ap- 
 pear chiefly in those Eclogues of Virgil which 
 ought not to be numbered amongst his pasto- 
 rals, which are indeed generally thought to be 
 all of the pastoral kind ; but by the best judges 
 are only called his select poems, as the word 
 Eclogue originally means. 
 
 Those who will take the pains to consult 
 Scaliger's comparison of these two poets, will 
 find that Theocritus hath outdone him in, 
 those very passages which the critic hath pro- 
 duced in honour of Virgil. There is, in short e 
 more innocence, simplicity, and whatever else 
 hath been laid down as the distinguishing 
 marks of pastoral, in the Greek than the Ro- 
 man : and all arguments from the exactness, 
 propriety, conciseness, and nobleness of Virgil, 
 may very well be turned against him. There is, 
 indeed, sometimes a grossness and clownishness 
 in Theocritus, which Virgil, who borrowed his 
 greatest beauties from him, hath avoided. J 
 will, however, add, that Virgil out of the ex* 
 cellence of genius only, hath come short of 
 Theocritus : and had possibly excelled him, if 
 in greater subjects he had not been born *o 
 excel all mankind. 
 
THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. '2V. 
 
 The Italians' a era the lirst amongst the mo- 
 derm that fell into pastoral writing. It is 
 observed, that the people of that nation are 
 very profound and abstruse in their poetry as 
 well as politics; fond of surprising 1 conceits 
 and far-fetched imaginations, and labour 
 chiefly to say what was never said before. 
 From persons of this character, how can we 
 expect that air of simplicity and truth which 
 hath been proved so essential to shepherds ? 
 There are two pastoral plays in this language, 
 which they boast of as the most elegant per- 
 formances in poetry that the latter ages have 
 produced ; the Aminta of Tasso, and Guarini's 
 Pastor Fido. lu these the names of the per- 
 sons are indeed pastoral, and the sylvan gods, 
 the dryads, and the satyrs, appointed with 
 the equipage of antiquity ; but neither the 
 language, sentiments, passions, or designs, like 
 those of the pretty triflers in Virgil and Theo- 
 critus. I shall produce an example out of each, 
 which are commonly taken notice of, as pat- 
 terns of the Italian way of thinking in pastoral. 
 Sylvia, in Tasso's poem, enters adorned with a 
 garland of flowers, and views herself in a foun- 
 tain with such self-admiration, that she breaks 
 out into a speech to the flowers on her head, 
 and tells them, ' she doth not wear them to 
 adorn herself, but to make them ashamed.' 
 Jn the Pastor "Fido, a shepherdess reasons after 
 an abstruse philosophical manner about the 
 violence of love, and expostulates with the 
 gods, ' for making laws so rigorous to restrain 
 us, and at the same time giving us invincible 
 desires.' Whoever can bear these, may be 
 assured he hath no taste for pastoral. 
 
 When I am speaking of the Italians, it 
 would be unpardonable to pass by Sannaza- 
 rius. He hath changed the scene in this kind 
 of poet i y from woods and lawns, to the barren 
 beach and boundless ocean : introduce^s sea- 
 calves in the room of kids and lambs, sea- 
 mews for the lark and the linnet, and presents 
 his mistress with oysters instead of fruits and 
 flowers. How good soever his style and thoughts 
 may be, yet who can pardon him for his ar- 
 bitrary change of the sweet manners and 
 pleasing objects of the country, for what in 
 their own nature are uncomfortable and dread- 
 ful ? I think he hath few or no followers, or, 
 if any, such as knew little of his beauties, and 
 only copied his faults, and so are lost and for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The French are so far from thinking ab- 
 strusely, that they often seem not to think at 
 all. It is all a run of numbers, common-place 
 descriptions of woods, floods, groves, loves, &c. 
 Those who write the most accurately fall into 
 the manner of their country, which is gallantry. 
 I cannot better illustrate what 1 would say of 
 the French than by the dress in which they 
 make their shepherds appear in their pastoral 
 interludes upon the itage, as 1 find it described 
 
 by a celebrated author. ' The Eln-pherds,' 
 laith he, ' are all embroidered, and acquit them- 
 selves in a ball better than our English dancing- 
 masters. I have seen a couple of rivers ap- 
 pear in red-stockings; and Alpheus, instead 
 of having his head covered with sedges and 
 hull-rushes, making love in a fair full bottomed 
 perriwig and a plume of feathers; but with a 
 voice so full of shakes and quavers, that I should 
 have thought the murmurs of a country brook 
 the much more azreeable music* 
 
 No. 29.] Tuesday, April 11, 1713, 
 
 Ride si oapia Mart. Lib. C. Epig. x!i. 1. 
 
 Laugh if you arc wise. 
 
 In order to look into any person's temper, 
 I generally make my first observation upon his 
 laugh, whether he is easily moved, and what 
 are the passages which throw him into that 
 agreeable kind of convulsion. People are never 
 so much unguarded, as when they are pleased ; 
 and laughter being a visible symptom of some 
 inward satisfaction, it is then, if ever, we may 
 believe the face. There is, perhaps, no better 
 index to point us to the particularities of the 
 mind than this, which is in itself one of the 
 chief distinctions of our rationality. For, as 
 Milton says, 
 
 ' Smiles from reason flow, to brutes dem'd, 
 
 And are of love the food ' 
 
 It may be remarked in general under this head, 
 that the laugh of men of wit is for the most part 
 but a faint constrained kind of half-laugh, as 
 such persons are never without some diffidence 
 about them : but that of fools is the most ho- 
 nest, natural, open laugh in the world. 
 
 1 haye often had thoughts of writing a trea- 
 tise upon this faculty, wherein I would have 
 laid down rules for the better regulation of it 
 at the theatre. I would have criticised on the 
 laughs now in vogue, by which our comic 
 writers might the better know how to trans- 
 port an audience into this pleasing affection. 
 I had set apart a chapter for a dissertation on 
 the talents of some of our modern comedians ; 
 and as it was the manner of Plutarch to draw 
 comparisons of his heroes and orators, to set 
 their actions and eloquence in a fairer light ; 
 so I would have made the parallel of Pinketh- 
 man, Norris, and Bullock ; and so far shown 
 their different methods of raising mirth, that 
 any one should be able to distinguish whether 
 the jest was the poet's or the actor's. 
 
 As the playhouse affords us the most occa- 
 sions of observing upon the behaviour of the 
 face, it may he useful (for the direction of those 
 who would be critics this way) to remark, that 
 the virgin ladies usually dispose themselves in 
 the front of the boxes, the young married wo- 
 men compose the second row, while the rear 
 
No. 29.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 43 
 
 Is generally made up of mothers of long stand- 
 ing-, undesigning maids, and contented widows. 
 Whoever will cast his eye upon them under 
 this view, during the representation of a play, 
 will find me so far in the right, that a double 
 entendre strikes the first row into an affected 
 gravity, or careless indolence, the second will 
 venture at a smile, but the third take the con- 
 ceit entirely, and express their mirth in a 
 downright laugh. 
 
 When I descend to particulars, I find the 
 reserved prude will relapse into a smile at the 
 extravagant freedoms of the coquette ; the 
 coquette in her turn laughs at the starchness 
 and awkward affectation of the prude ; the 
 man of letters is tickled with the vanity and 
 ignorance of the fop ; and the fop confesses his 
 ridicule at the impoliteness of the pedant. 
 
 I fancy we may range the several kinds of 
 laughers under the following heads : 
 
 The Dimplers. 
 The Smilers. 
 The Laughers. 
 The Grinners. 
 The Horse-laughers. 
 
 The dimple is practised to give a grace to 
 the features, and is frequently made a bait to 
 entangle a gazing lover; this was called by 
 the ancients the Chian laugh. 
 
 The smile is for the most part confined to 
 the fair sex, and their male retinue. It ex- 
 presses our satisfaction in a silent sort of ap- 
 probation, doth not too much disorder the 
 features, and is practised by lovers of the most 
 delicate address. This tender motion of the phy- 
 siognomy the ancients called the Ionic laugh. 
 
 The laugh among us is the common Risus of 
 the ancients. 
 
 The grin by writers of antiquity is called the 
 Syncrusian; and was then, as it is at this time, 
 made use of to display a beautiful set of teeth. 
 
 The horse-laugh, or the Sardonic, is made 
 use of with great success in all kinds of dispu- 
 tation. The proficients in this kind, by a well- 
 timed laugh, will baffle the most solid argu- 
 ment. This upon all occasions supplies the 
 want of reason, is always received with great 
 applause in coffee-house disputes ; and that 
 side the laugh joins with, is generally observed 
 to gain the better of his antagonist. 
 
 The prude hath a wonderful esteem for the 
 Chian laugh or dimple : she looks upon all the 
 other kinds of laughter as excesses of levity; 
 and is never seen upon the most extravagant 
 jests to disorder her countenance with the 
 ruffle of a smile. Her lips are composed with 
 a primness peculiar to her character, all her 
 modesty seems collected into her face, and she 
 but very rarely takes the freedom to sink her 
 cheek into a dimple. 
 
 The young widow is only a Chian for a time ; 
 her smiles are confined by decorum, and she is 
 
 obliged to make her face sympathize wkh her 
 habit; she looks demure by art, and by the 
 strictest rules of decency is never allowed the 
 smile till the first offer or advance towards her 
 is over. 
 
 The effeminate fop, who by the long exercise 
 of his countenance at the glass, hath reduced 
 it to an exact discipline, may claim a place in 
 this clan. You see him upon any occasion, to 
 give spirit to his discourse, admire his own 
 eloquence by a dimple. 
 
 The Ionics are those ladies that take a greater 
 liberty with their features ; yet even these may 
 be said to smother a laugh, as the former to 
 stifle a smile. 
 
 The beau is an Ionic out of complaisance, 
 and practises the smile the better to sympathize 
 with the fair. He will sometimes join in a 
 laugh to humour the spleen of a lady, or ap- 
 plaud a piece of wit of his own, but always 
 takes care to confine his mouth within the 
 rules of good breeding; he takes the laugh 
 from the ladies, but is never guilty of so great 
 an indecorum as to begin it. 
 
 The Ionic laugh is of universal use to men 
 of power at their levies ; and is esteemed by 
 judicious place-hunters a more particular mark 
 of distinction than the whisper. A young 
 gentleman of my acquaintance valued himself 
 upon his success, having obtained this favour 
 after the attendance of three months only. 
 
 A judicious author, some years since pub- 
 lished a collection of sonnets, which he very 
 successfully called, Laugh and be Fat ; or, Pills 
 to purge Melancholy: 1 cannot sufficiently ad- 
 mire the facetious title of these volumes, and 
 must censure the world of ingratitude, while 
 they are so negligent in rewarding the jocose 
 labours of my friend Mr. D'Urfey, who was so 
 large a contributor to this treatise, and to 
 whose humorous productions so many rural 
 squires in the remotest parts of this island are 
 obliged for the dignity and state which corpu- 
 lency gives them. The story of the sick man's 
 breaking an imposthume by a sudden fit of 
 laughter, is too well known to need a recital. 
 It is my opinion, that the above pills would be 
 extremely proper to be taken with asses milk, 
 and mightily contribute towards the renewing 
 and restoring decayed lungs. Democritus is 
 generally represented to us as a man of the 
 largest size, which we may attribute to his 
 frequent exercise of his risible faculty. I re- 
 member Juvenal says of him, 
 
 Perpetuo lisn pulinonem agitare solebat. — Sat. x. 33. 
 
 He shook his sides with a perpetual laugh. 
 
 That sort of man whom a late writer has 
 called the Butt, is a great promoter of this 
 healthful agitation, and is generally stocked 
 with so much good humour, as to strike in 
 with the gayety of conversation, though some 
 innocent blunder of his own be the subject of 
 the raillery. 
 
44 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 
 
 Aft 
 
 I shall range all old amorous dotards under 
 tin.* denomination of Grinners ; when a young 
 blooming wench touches their fancy, by an 
 endeavour to recall youth into their cheeks, 
 they immediately overstrain their muscular 
 features, and shrivel their countenance into 
 this frightful merriment. 
 
 The wag is of the 6ame kind, and by the 
 same artifice labours to support his impotence 
 of wit : but he very frequently calls in the 
 horse-laugh to his assistance. 
 
 There are another kind of grinners, which 
 the ancients call Megarics ; and some moderns 
 have, not injudiciously, given them the name of 
 the Sneerers. These always indulge their mirth 
 at the expense of their friends, and all their 
 ridicule consists in unseasonable ill-nature. I 
 oould wish these laughers would consider, that 
 let them do what they can, there is no laugh- 
 ing away their own follies by laughing at other 
 people's. 
 
 The mirth of the tea-table is for the most 
 part Megaric; and in visits the ladies them- 
 selves very seldom scruple the sacrificing a 
 friendship to a laugh of this denomination. 
 
 The coquette hath a great deal of the Me- 
 garic in her ; but, in short, she is a proficient 
 in laughter, and can run through the whole 
 exercise of the features ; she subdues the for- 
 mal lover with the dimple, accosts the fop with 
 the smile, joins with the wit in the downright 
 laugh, to vary the air of her countenance fre- 
 quently rallies with the grin, and when she 
 has ridiculed her lover quite out of his under- 
 standing, to complete his misfortunes, strikes 
 him dumb with the horse-laugh. 
 
 The horse-laugh is a distinguishing charac- 
 teristic of the rural hoyden, and it is observed 
 to be the last symptom of rusticity that for- 
 sakes her under the discipline of the boardiug- 
 school. 
 
 Punsters, I find, very much contribute to- 
 wards the Sardonic, and the extremes of either 
 wit or folly seldom fail of raising this noisy 
 kind of applause. As the ancient physicians 
 held the Sardonic laugh very beneficial to the 
 lungs ; I should, methinks, advise all my 
 countrymen of consumptive and hectical con- 
 stitutions to associate with the most facetious 
 punsters of the age. Persius hath very ele- 
 gantly described a Sardonic laugher in the 
 following line, 
 
 Iugt-mln.it tremulos naso crispantc oachinnos. 
 
 Sat. iii. 87. 
 Redoubled peals of trembling laughter bursts, 
 Convulsing every feature Of the face. 
 
 Laughter is a vent of any sudden joy that 
 strikes upon the mind, which being too volatile 
 and strong, breaks out in this tremor of the 
 voice. The poets make use of this metaphor 
 when they would describe nature in her richest 
 dress, for beauty is never so lovely as when 
 adorned with the smile, aud conversation never 
 
 sits easier upon us, than when we now and 
 then discharge ourselves in a symphony of 
 laughter, which may not improperly be called, 
 The Chorus of Conversation. 
 
 No. 30.] Wednesday, April 15, 1713. 
 
 rcdeunt Saturnia Rtgna. 
 
 Vhrg. Eel. iv. 6. 
 
 Satamian times 
 
 Roll round again. 
 
 Dry den. 
 
 The Italians and French being despatched, 
 I come now to the Engli b, whom I shall treat 
 with such meekness as becomes a good patriot ; 
 and shall so far recom.nend this our island as 
 a proper scene for pastoral, under certain regu- 
 lations, as will satisfy the courteous reader 
 that I am in the landed interest. 
 
 I must in the first place observe, that our 
 countrymen have so good an opinion of the 
 ancients, and think so modestly of themselves, 
 that the generality of pastoral writers have 
 either stolen all from the Greeks and Romans, 
 or so servilely imitated their manners and cus- 
 toms, as makes them very ridiculous. In look- 
 ing over some English pastorals a few days 
 ago, I perused at least fifty lean flocks, and 
 reckoned up a hundred left-handed ravens, 
 besides blasted oaks, withering meadows, and 
 weeping deities. Indeed most of the occasional 
 pastorals we have, are built upon one and the 
 same plan. A shepherd asks his fellow,' Why he 
 is so pale ? if his favourite sheep hath strayed ? 
 if his pipe be broken ? or Phyllis unkind?' He 
 answers, ' None of these misfortunes have be- 
 fallen him, but one much greater, for Damon 
 (or sometimes the god Pan) is dead.' This 
 immediately causes the other to make com- 
 plaints, and call upon the lofty pines and silver 
 streams to join in the lamentation. While he 
 goes on, his friend interrupts him, and tells him 
 that Damon lives, and shews him a track of 
 light in the skies to confirm it; then invites 
 him to chesnuts and cheese. Upon this scheme 
 most of the noble families in Great Britain have 
 been comforted ; nor can I meet with any right, 
 honourable shepherd that doth not die and live 
 again, after the manner of the aforesaid Damon. 
 
 Having already informed my reader wherein 
 the knowledge of antiquity may he serviceable, 
 I shall now direct him where he may lawfully 
 deviate from the ancients. There are some 
 things of an established nature in pastoral, 
 which are essential to it, such as a country 
 scene, innocence, simplicity. Others there are 
 of a changeable kind, such as habits, customs, 
 and the like. The difference of the climate is 
 also to be considered, for what is proper in 
 Arcadia, or even in Italy, might be very absurd 
 in a colder country. By the sam^ rule, the 
 difference of the soil, of fruits, and flowers, ii 
 to be observed. And in so fine a couutry aa 
 
No. 30.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 45 
 
 Britain, what occasion is there for that pro- 
 fusion of hyacinths and Pastaa roses, and that 
 cornucopia of foreign fruits which the British 
 shepherds never heard of? How much more 
 pleasing is the following scene to an English 
 reader ! 
 
 ' This place may seem for shepherds' leisure made, 
 So lovingly these elms unite their shade. 
 Th' ambitious woodbine, how it climbs to breathe 
 lis balmy sweets around on all beneath ! 
 The ground with grass of cheerfnl green bespread, 
 Thro' which the springing flow'r uprears its head ! 
 Lo here the king-cup of a golden hue 
 Meclley'd with daisies white, and endive blue ! 
 Hark, how the gaudy goldfinch and the thrush, 
 With tuneful warbiings fill that bramble bush! 
 In pleasing conceit all the birds combine, 
 And tempt us in tho various song to join. 
 
 The theology of the ancient pastoral is so 
 very pretty, that it were pity entirely to change 
 it ; but I think that part only is to he retained 
 which is universally known, and the rest to be 
 made up out of our own rustical superstition 
 of hob-thrushes, fairies, goblins, and witches. 
 The fairies are capable of being made very 
 entertaining persons, as they are described by 
 several of our poets ; and particularly by Mr. 
 Pope: 
 
 ' About this spring (if ancient fame say true) 
 The dapper elves their moon-light sports pursue, 
 Their pigmy king, and little fairy queen, 
 In circling dances gambol'd on the green, 
 While tuneful sprites a merry concert made, 
 And airy music warbled through the shade.' 
 
 What hath been said upon the difference of 
 climate, soil, and theology, reaches the pro- 
 verbial sayings, dress, customs and sports of 
 shepherds. The following examples of our 
 pastoral sports are extremely beautiful : 
 
 ' Whilome did I, all as this poplar fair, 
 Upraise my heedless head, devoid of care, 
 'Mong rustic routs the chief for wanton game ; 
 Nor could they merry make till Lobbin came. 
 Who better seen than I in shepherds arts, 
 To please the lads, and win the lasses hearts ? 
 How deftly to mine oaten reed, so sweet, 
 Wont they upon the green to shift their feet? 
 And when the dauce was done, how would they yearn 
 Some well devised tale from me to learn? 
 For many songs, and tales of mirth had I, 
 To chace the ling'ring sun adown the sky.' 
 
 ' O now ! if ever, bring 
 
 The laurel green, the smelling eglantine, 
 And tender branches from the mantling vine, 
 The dewy cowslip that in meadow grows, 
 The fountain violet, and garden rose : 
 Your hamlet strew, and every public was', 
 And consecrate to mirth Albino's day. 
 Myself will lavish all my little store : 
 And deal about the goblet flowing o'er : 
 Old Moulin there shall harp, young Mico sing, 
 And Cuddy dance the round amidst the ring, 
 And Hobbinolliis antic gambols play.' 
 
 The reason why such changes from the an- 
 cients should be introduced is very obvious; 
 namely, that poetry being imitation, and that 
 imitation being the best which deceives the 
 most easily, it follows that we must take up 
 the customs which are most familiar, or uni- 
 versally known, since no man can be deceived 
 
 or delighted with the imitation of what he is 
 ignorant of. 
 
 It is easy to be observed that these rules are 
 drawn from what our countrymen Spenser and 
 Philips have performed in this way. I shall 
 not. presume to say any more of them, than 
 that both have copied and improved the beau- 
 ties of the ancients, whose manner of thinking 
 I would above all things recommend. As far 
 as our language would allow them, they have 
 formed a pastoral style according to the Doric 
 of Theocritus, in which I dare not say they 
 have excelled Virgil ! but I may be allowed, 
 for the honour of our language, to suppose it 
 more capable of that pretty rusticity than the 
 Latin. To their works I refer my reader to 
 make observations upon the pastoral style : 
 where he will sooner find that secret than from 
 a folio of criticisms. 
 
 No. 31.] Thursday, April 16, 1713. 
 
 Fortcm posce auiinum— Juv. Sat. x. 357. 
 
 Ask of the gods content and strength of mind. 
 
 'My lady Lizard is never better pleased than 
 when she sees her children about her engaged 
 in any profitable discourse. I found her last 
 night sitting in the midst of her daughters, 
 and forming a very beautiful semicircle about 
 the fire. I immediately took my place in an 
 elbow chair, which is always left empty for 
 me in one corner. 
 
 Our conversation fell insensibly upon the 
 subject of happiness, in which every one of the 
 young ladies gave her opinion, with that free- 
 dom and unconcemeduess which they always 
 use when they are in company only with their 
 mother and myself. 
 
 Mrs. Jane declared, that she thought it the 
 greatest happiness to be married to a man of 
 merit, and placed at the head of a well-regu- 
 lated family. 1 could not but observe, that 
 in her character of a man of merit, she gave 
 us a lively description of Tom Worthy, who 
 has long made his addresses to her. The sisters 
 did not discover this at first, till she began to 
 run down fortune in a lover, and, among the 
 accomplishments of a man of merit, unluckily 
 mentioned white teeth and black eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Annabella, after having rallied her sis- 
 ter upon her man of merit, talked much of 
 conveniencies of life, affluence of fortune, and 
 easiness of temper, in one whom she should 
 pitch upon for a husband. In short, though 
 the baggage would not speak out, I found the 
 sum of her wishes was a rich fool, or a man so 
 turned to her purposes, that she might enjoy 
 his fortune, and insult his understanding. 
 
 The romantic Cornelia was for living in a 
 wood among choirs of birds, with zephyrs, 
 echos, and rivulets, to make up the concert . 
 she would not seem to include a husband in 
 
-in 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 ;no. 31. 
 
 ber scheme, but at Ihe same time talked so 
 passionately of cooing turtles, mossy banks, 
 and beds of violets, that one might easily per- 
 ceive she was not without thoughts of a com- 
 panion in her solitudes. 
 
 Miss Betty placed her summitm bonum in 
 equipages, assembles, balls, and birth-nights, 
 talked in raptures of sir Edward Shallow's gilt 
 coach, and my lady Tattle's room, in which 
 she saw company; nor would she have easily 
 given over, had she not observed that her 
 mother appeared more serious than ordinary, 
 and by her looks showed that she did not ap- 
 prove such a redundance of vanity and imper- 
 tinence. { 
 
 My favourite, the Sparkler, with an air of 
 innocence and modesty, which is peculiar to 
 her, said that she never expected such a thing 
 as happiness, and that she thought the most 
 any one could do was to keep themselves from 
 being uneasy ; for, as Mr. Ironside has often 
 told as, says she, we should endeavour to be 
 easy here, and happy hereafter : at the same 
 time she begged me to acquaint them by what 
 rules this ease of mind, or if I would please 
 to call it happiness, is best attained. 
 
 My lady Lizard joined in the same request 
 with her youngest daughter, adding, with a 
 serious look, The thing seemed to her of so 
 great consequence, that she hoped I would for 
 once forget they were all women, and give my 
 real thoughts of it with the same justness I 
 would use among a company of my own sex. 
 I complied with her desire, and communicated 
 my sentiments to them on this subject as near 
 as 1 can remember, pretty much to the follow- 
 ing purpose. 
 
 As nothing is more natural than for every 
 one to desire to be happy, it is not to be won- 
 dered at that the wisest men in all ages have 
 spent so much time to discover what happiness 
 is, and wherein it chiefly consists. An emi- 
 nent writer, named Varro, reckons up no less 
 than two hundred eighty-eight different opi- 
 nions upon this subject; and another, called 
 Lucian, after having given us a long catalogue 
 of the notions of several philosophers, endea- 
 vours to show the absurdity of all of them, 
 without establishing any thing of his own. 
 
 That which seems to have made so many 
 err in this case, is the resolution they took to 
 fix a man's happiness to one determined point ; 
 which I conceive cannot be made up but by 
 the concurrence of several particulars. 
 
 I shall readily allow Virtue the first place, 
 as she is the mother of Content. It is this 
 which oalms our thoughts, and makes us survey 
 ourselves with ease and pleasure. Naked virtue, 
 however, is not alone sufficient to make a man 
 happy. ' It must be accompanied with at least 
 a moderate provision of all the necessaries of 
 life, and not ruffled and disturbed by bodily 
 j ain . A fit of the stone was sharp enough to 
 
 make a stoic cry out * that Zeno, his master, 
 taught him false, when he told him tliat paiu 
 was no evil.' 
 
 But, besides this, virtue is so far from bein^ 
 alone sufficient to make a man happv, that 
 the excess of it in some particulars, joined to 
 a soft and feminine temper, may often give us 
 the deepest wounds, and chiefly contribute to 
 render us Uneasy. I might instance in pity, 
 love, and friendship. In the two last passions 
 it often happens, that we so entirely give up 
 our hearts, as to make our happiness wholly 
 depend upon another person ; a trust for which 
 no human creature, however excellent, cau 
 possibly give us a sufficient security. 
 
 The man, therefore, who would be truly 
 happy, must, besides an habitual virtue, dttaiu 
 to such a ' strength of mind,' as to confine bis 
 happiness within himself, and keep it from 
 being dependent upon others. A man of this 
 make will perform all those good-natured 
 offices that could have been expected from 
 the most bleeding pity, without being so far 
 affected at the common misfortunes of human 
 life, as to disturb his own repose. His actions 
 of this kind are so much more meritorious than 
 anotLer's, as they flow purely from a principle 
 of virtue, and a sense of his duty ; whereas a 
 man of a softer temper, even while he is assist- 
 ing another, may in some measure be said to 
 be relieving himself. 
 
 A man endowed with that ' strength of mind' 
 I am here speaking of, though he leaves it to 
 his friend or mistress to make him still more 
 happy, does not put it in the power of either 
 to make him miserable. 
 
 From what has been already said, it will also 
 appear, that nothing can be more weak than to 
 place our happiness in the applause of others, 
 since by this means we make it wholly inde- 
 pendent of ourselves. People of this humour, 
 who place their chief felicity in reputation and 
 applause, are also extremely subject to envy, 
 the most painful as well as the most absurd of 
 all passions. 
 
 The surest means to attain that 'strength of 
 mind,' and independent state of happiness I am 
 here recommending, is a virtuous mind suffi- 
 ciently furnished with ideas to support solitude, 
 and keep up an agreeable conversation with 
 itself. Learning is a very great help on this 
 occasion, as it lays up an infinite number of 
 notions in the memory, ready to be drawn 
 out, and set in order upon any occasion. The 
 mind often takes the same pleasure in looking 
 over these her treasures, in augmenting and 
 disposing them into proper forms, as a prince 
 does in a review of his army. 
 
 At the same time I must own, that as a 
 mind thus furnished, feels a secret pleasure in 
 the consciousness of its own perfection, and is 
 delighted with such occasions as call upon it 
 to try its force, a lively imagination shall pro- 
 
No. 32.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 47 
 
 duce a pleasure very little inferior to the for- 
 mer in persons of much weaker heads. As the 
 first, therefore, may not be improperly called, 
 ' the heaven of a wise man,' the latter is ex- 
 tremely well represented by our vulgar ex- 
 pression, which terms it ' a fool's paradise.' 
 There is, however, this difference between 
 them, that as the first naturally produces that 
 strength and greatness of mind I have been 
 all along describing as so essential to render a 
 man happy, the latter is ruffled and discom- 
 posed by every accident, and lost under the 
 most common misfortune. 
 
 It is this 'strength of mind' that is not to be 
 overcome by the changes of fortune, that rises 
 at the sight of dangers, and could make Alex- 
 ander (in that passage of his life so much ad- 
 mired by the prince of Cond^,) when his army 
 mutinied, bid his soldiers return to Macedon, 
 and tell their countrymen that they had left 
 their king conquering the world ; since for his 
 part he could not doubt of raising an army 
 wherever he appeared. It is this that chiefly 
 exerts itself when a man is most oppressed, 
 and gives him always in proportion'to whatever 
 malice or injustice would deprive him of. It is 
 this, in short, that makes the virtuous man 
 insensibly set a value upon himself, and throws 
 a varnish over his words and actions, that will 
 at last command esteem, and give him a 
 greater ascendant over others, than all the ad- 
 vantages of birth and fortune. 
 
 No. 32.] Friday, April 17, 1713. 
 
 ipse vo.ens, facilisque seqnetur, 
 
 Si te fata vocant ; aliter lion viribus ullis 
 
 Vincaa Fjjrg. J£u. vi. 146. 
 
 The willing metal will obey thy hand, 
 Following with ease, if, favour'd by thy fate, 
 Thou an foredoom'd t© view the Stygian state : 
 If not no labour can the tree constrain : 
 And strength of stubborn aims and steel are vain. 
 
 Dry den. 
 
 Having delivered my thoughts upon pastoral 
 poetry, after a didactic manner, in some fore- 
 going papers, wherein I have taken such hints 
 from the critics as I thought rational, and de- 
 parted from them according to the best of my 
 iudgment, and substituted others in their place, 
 I shall close the whole with the following fable 
 or allegory. 
 
 In ancient times there dwelt in a pleasant 
 vale of Arcadia a man of very ample possessions, 
 named Menalcas ; who, deriving his pedigree 
 from the god Pan, kept very strictly up to the 
 rules of the pastoral life, as it was in the golden 
 age. He had a daughter, his only child, called 
 Amaryllis. She was a virgin of a most en- 
 chanting beauty, of a most easy and unaffected 
 air ; but having been bred up wholly in the 
 country, was bashful to the last degree. • She 
 had a voice that was exceeding sweet, yet had 
 a rusticity in its tone, which, however, to most 
 
 who heard her seemed an additional charm. 
 Though in her conversation in general she was 
 very engaging, yet to her lovers, who were nu- 
 merous, she was so coy, that many left her in 
 disgust after a tedious courtship, and matched 
 themselves where they were better received. 
 For Menalcas had not only resolved to take a 
 son-in-law who should inviolably maintain the 
 customs of his family, but had received one 
 evening as he walked in the fields, a pipe of an 
 antique form from a faun, or, as some say, 
 from Oberon the fairy, with a particular charge 
 not to bestow his daughter upon any one who 
 could not play the same tune upon it as at 
 that time he entertained him with. 
 
 When the time that he had designed to give 
 her in marriage was near at hand, he published 
 a decree, whereby he invited the neighbouring 
 youths to make trial of this musical instrument, 
 with promise that the victor should possess his 
 daughter, on condition that the vanquished 
 should submit to what punishment he thought 
 fit to inflict. Those who were not yet discou- 
 raged, and had high conceits of their own worth, 
 appeared or. the appointed day, in a dress and 
 equipage suitable to their respective fancies. 
 
 The place of meeting was a flowery meadow, 
 through which a clear stream murmured in 
 many irregular meanders. The shepherds made 
 a spacious ring for the contending lovers : and 
 in one part of it there sat upon a little throne 
 of turf, under an arch of eglantine and wood- 
 bines, the father of the maid, and at his right 
 hand the damsel crowned with roses and lilies. 
 She wore a flying robe of a slight green stuff; 
 she had her sheep-hook in one hand, and the 
 fatal pipe in the other. 
 
 The first who approached her was a youth 
 of a graceful presence and courtly air, but drest 
 in a richer habit than had ever been seen in 
 Arcadia. He wore a crimson vest, cut indeed 
 after the shepherd's fashion, but so enriched 
 with embroidery, and sparkling with jewel*, 
 that the eyes of the spectators were diverted 
 from considering the mode of the garment by 
 the dazzling of the ornaments. His head was 
 covered with a plume of feathers, and his sheep- 
 hook glittered with gold and enamel. He ac- 
 costed the damsel after a very gallant manner* 
 and told her,' Madam, you need not to consult 
 your glass to adorn yourself to-day^ you may 
 see the greatness of your beauty in the number 
 of your conquests.'* She having never heard 
 any compliment so polite, could give him no 
 answer, but presented the pipe. He applied it 
 to his lips, and began a tune which he set off 
 with so many graces and quavers, that the 
 shepherds and shepherdesses (who had paired 
 themselves in order to dance) could not follow 
 it ; as indeed it required great skill and regu- 
 larity of steps, which they had never been bred 
 
 * Vide Fontenelle. 
 
48 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 33. 
 
 to. Menalcas ordered him to be stripped of 
 his costly robes, and to be clad in a russet weed, 
 and confined hiin to tend the flocks in the 
 rallies for a year and a day. 
 
 The second that appeared was in a very dif- 
 ferent garb. He was clothed in a garment of 
 rough goat-skins, his hair was matted, his 
 beard neglected ; in his person uncouth, and 
 awkward in his gait. He came up fleering to 
 the nymph, and told her ' he had hugged his 
 lambs, and kissed his young kids, but be hoped 
 to kiss one that was sweeter.'* 'The fair one 
 blushed with modesty and anger, and prayed 
 secretly against him as she gave him the pipe. 
 He snatched it from her, but with some diffi- 
 culty made it sound ; which was in such harsh 
 and jarring motes, that the shepherds cried one 
 and all that he understood no music. He was 
 immediately ordered to the most craggy parts 
 of Arcadia, to keep the goats, and commanded 
 never to touch a pipe any more. 
 
 The third that advanced appeared in clothes 
 that were so strait and uneasy to him, that he 
 seemed to move with pain. He marched up 
 to the maiden with a thoughtful look and 
 stately pace, and said, ' Divine Amaryllis, you 
 wear not those roses to improve your beauty, 
 but to make them ashamed. 'f As she did not 
 comprehend his meaning, she presented the 
 instrument without reply. The tune that he 
 played was so intricate and perplexing, that 
 the shepherds stood stock-still, like people 
 astonished and confounded. In vain did he plead 
 that it was the perfection of music, and com-< 
 posed by the most skilful master in Hesperia. 
 Mcnalcas, finding that he was a stranger, hos- 
 pitably took compassion on him, and delivered 
 him to an old shepherd, who was ordered to 
 get him clothes that would fit him, and teach 
 him to speak plain. 
 
 The fourth that stepped forwards was young 
 Amyntas, the most beautiful of all the Arca- 
 dian swains, and secretly beloved by Amaryllis. 
 He wore that day the same colours as the maid 
 for whom he sighed. He moved towards her 
 with an easy but unassured air: she blushed 
 as he came near her, and when she* gave him 
 the fatal present, they both trembled, but 
 neither could speak. Having secretly breathed 
 his vows to the gods, he poured forth such 
 melodious notes, that though they were a little 
 wild and irregular, they filled every heart with 
 delight. The swains immediately mingled in 
 the dance; and the old shepherds affirmed, 
 that they had often heard such music by night, 
 which they imagined to be played by some of 
 the rural deities. The good old man leaped 
 from his throne, and, after be had embraced 
 him, presented him to his daughter, which 
 caused a general acclamation. 
 
 While they were in the midst of their joy, 
 
 • Vide Theocritiw. 
 
 Yi'l ■ T.ts.-o. 
 
 they were surprised with a very odd appear- 
 ance. A person in a blue mantle, crowned 
 with sedges and rushes, stepped into the middle 
 of the ring. He had an angling rod in his 
 hand, a pannier upon his back, and a poor 
 meagre wretch in wet clothes carried seme 
 oysters before him. Being asked, whence he 
 came, and what he was? He told them, he 
 was come to invite Amaryllis from the plains 
 to the seashore, that his substance consisted 
 in sea-calves, and that he was acquainted with 
 the Nereids and the Naiads. ' Art thou ac> 
 quainted with the Naiads?' said Menalcas : 
 to them then shalt thou return.' The shep- 
 herds immediately hoisted him up as an enemy 
 to Arcadia, and plunged him in the river, where 
 he sunk, and was never heard of since. 
 
 Amyntas and Amaryllis lived a long and 
 happy life, and governed the vales of Arcadia. 
 Their generation was very long-lived, there 
 having been but four descents in above two 
 thousand years. His heir was called Theocritus, 
 who left his dominions to Virgil; Virgil left 
 his to his son Spenser ; and Spenser was suc- 
 ceeded by his eldest- born, Philips. 
 
 !"p. iv. 
 
 No. 33. Saturday, April 18,1713. 
 
 Dignutn sapicnte, bonoque est. 
 
 liar. Lib. 1. 
 
 Worthy a wise man, and a good. 
 
 I HAVE made it a rule to myself, not to pub 
 lish any thing on a Saturday, but what shali 
 have some analogy to the duty of the day en- 
 suing. It is an unspeakable pleasure to me, 
 that I have lived to see the time when I can 
 observe such a law to myself, and yet turn my 
 discourse upon what is done at the playhouse. 
 I am sure the reader knows 1 am going to 
 mention the tragedy of Cato. The principal 
 character is moved by no consideration but 
 respect to that sort of virtue, the sense of w hich 
 is retained in our language under the word 
 Public Spirit. All regards to his domestic are 
 wholly laid aside, and the hero is drawn as 
 having by this motive, subdued instinct itself, 
 and taking comfort from the distresses of his 
 family, which are brought upon them by their 
 adherence to the cause of truth and liberty. 
 There is nothing uttered by Cato but what is 
 worthy the best of men; and the sentiments 
 which are given him are not only the most 
 warm for the conduct of this life, but such as 
 we may think will not need to be erased, but 
 consist with the happiness of the human soul 
 in the next. This illustrious character has its 
 proper influence on all below it : the other vir- 
 tuous personages are, in their degree, as worthy, 
 and as exemplary, as the principal ; the con- 
 duct of the lovers (who are more warm, though 
 more discreet, than ever yet appeared on the 
 stage) basin it a constant sense of the great 
 catastrophe which was expected from the ap- 
 
No. 33.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 49 
 
 proach of Caesar. But to see the modesty of 
 a heroine, whose country and family were at 
 the same time in the most imminent danger, 
 preserved, while she breaks out into the most 
 fond and open expressions of her passion for 
 her lover, is an instance of no common address. 
 Again, to observe the body of a gallant young 
 man brought before us, who, in the bloom of 
 his youth, in the defence of all that is good 
 and great, had received numberless wounds : 
 I say, to observe that this dead youth is intro- 
 duced only for the example of his virtue, and 
 that his death is so circumstantiated, that we 
 are satisfied, for all his virtue, it was for the 
 good of the world, and his own family, that 
 his warm temper was not to be put upon far- 
 ther trial, but his task of life ended while it 
 was yet virtuous, is an employment worthy the 
 consideration of our young Britons. We are 
 obliged to authors, that can do what they will 
 with us, that they do not play our affections 
 and passions against ourselves ; but to make 
 us so soon resigned to the death of Marcus, of 
 whom we were so fond, is a power that would 
 be unfortunately lodged in a man without the 
 love of virtue. 
 
 Were it not that I speak, on this occasion, 
 rather as a Guardian than a critic, I could 
 proceed to the examination of the justness of 
 each character, and take notice that the Nu- 
 midian is as well drawn as the Roman. There 
 is not an idea in all the part of Syphax which 
 does not apparently arise from the habits which 
 grow in the mind of an African ; and the scene 
 between Juba and his general, where they talk 
 for and against a liberal education, is full of 
 instruction. Syphax urges all that can be said 
 against philosophy, as it is made subservient 
 to ill ends, by men who abuse their talents ; 
 and Juba sets the less excellencies of activity, 
 labour, patience of hunger, and strength of 
 body, which are the admired qualifications of 
 a Numidian, in their proper subordination to 
 the accomplishments of the mind. But this 
 play is so well reeommended by others, that 
 I will not for that, and some private reasons, 
 enlarge any farther. Doctor Garth has very 
 agreeably rallied the mercenary traffic between 
 men and women of this age, in the epilogue, 
 by Mrs. Porter, who acted Lucia. And Mr. 
 Pope has prepared the audience for a new 
 scene of passion and transport on a more noble 
 foundation than they have before been enter- 
 tained with, in the prologue. I shall take the 
 liberty to gratify the impatience of the town 
 by inserting these two excellent pieces, as 
 earnests of the work itself, which will be printed 
 within few days. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO CATO, BY MR. POPE. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. WILKS. 
 
 To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 
 To raise the genius, and to mend the heart ; 
 
 To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, 
 Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold : 
 For this the tragic muse first trod the stage, 
 Commanding tears to stream thro' every age ; 
 Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, 
 And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. 
 Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move 
 The hero's glory, or the virgin's love ; 
 In pitying love we but our weakness show, 
 And wild ambition well deserves its woe. 
 Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous cause, 
 Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws : 
 He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise, 
 And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes ; 
 Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws, 
 What Plato thought, and god-like Cato was. 
 No common object to your sight displays ; 
 But what with pleasure Heaven itself survey?, 
 A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, 
 And greatly falling with a falling state. 
 While Cato gives his little senate laws, 
 What bosom beats not in his country's cause ? 
 Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? 
 Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed i 
 Ev'n when proud Caesar, 'midst triumphal cars, 
 The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, 
 Ignobly vain, and impotently great, 
 Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state ; 
 As her dead father's rev'rend image past, 
 The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast, 
 The triumph ceas'd— tears gush'd from ev'ry eye v 
 The world's great victor past unheeded by ; 
 Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd, 
 And honour'd Caesar's less than Cato's sword. 
 Britons attend : be worth like this approv'd, 
 And show you have the virtue to be mov'd. 
 With honest scorn the first-fam'd Cato view'd 
 Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subclu'd. 
 Our scene precariously subsists too long 
 On French translation, and Italian song : 
 Dare to have sense yourselves, assert the stage, 
 Be justly warm'd with your own native rage : 
 Such plays alone should please a British ear, 
 As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear. 
 
 EPILOGUE TO CATO, BY DR. GARTH. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MRS. PORTER. 
 
 What odd fantastic things we women do ! ^ 
 
 Who would not listen when young lovers woo 1 L 
 
 What ! die a maid yet have the choice of two ! J 
 
 Ladies are often cruel to their cost : 
 
 To give you pain, themselves they punish most. 
 
 Vows of virginity should well be weigh'd ; 
 
 Too oft they're cancel'd, tho' in convents made. 
 
 Would you revenge such rash resolves you may** 
 
 Be spiteful and believe the thing we say ; > 
 
 We hate you when you're easily said Nay. J 
 
 How needless* if you kuew us, were your fears ; 
 Let love have eyes, and beauty will have ears, 
 Our hearts are form'd as you yourselves would choose, 
 Too proud to ask, too humble to refuse : 
 We give to merit, and to wealth we sell; 
 He sighs with most success that settles well. 
 The woes of wedlock with the joys we mix ; 
 'Tis best repenting in a coach and six. 
 Elame not our conduct, since we but pursue 
 Those lively lessons we have learned from yon : 
 Your breasts no more the fire of beauty warms ; 
 But wicked wealth usurps the power of charms : 
 What pains to get the gaudy thing you hate, 
 To swell in show, and be a wretch in state ! 
 At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow ; 
 Ev'n churches are no sanctuaries now : 
 There golden idols all your vows receive : 
 She is no goddess who has nought to give. 
 Oh may once more the happy age appear, 
 When words were artless, and the soul sincere ; 
 When gold and grandeur were unenvy'd things, 
 And crowns less coveted than groves and springs. 
 Love then shall only mourn when truth complain*, 
 And constancy feel transport in its chains ; 
 Sighs with suecess their own soft anguish tell, 
 And eyes shall utter what the lips conceal ; 
 G 
 
50 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 34, 
 
 Viiinc again to its biislu station climb, 
 And beauty ft >r no I -in-iny but time: 
 
 1 ho in. mall listen to desert alone, 
 Ainl every Lucia rind a Catos sou. 
 
 No. 34.] Monday, April 'JO, 17 1; 
 
 Mores lnultorcin vidit- 
 
 lloi\ Ars Poet. ver. 142. 
 lie many men and many manners siw. 
 It is a most vexatious thing to an old man, 
 who endeavours to square his notions by reason, 
 and to talk from reflection and experience, to 
 fall in with a circle of young ladies at their 
 afternoon tea-table. This happened very lately 
 to be my fate. The conversation, for the first 
 half-hour, was so very rambling, that it is hard 
 to say what was talked of, or who spoke least 
 to the purpose. The various motions of the 
 fan, the tossings of the head, intermixed with 
 all the pretty kinds of laughter, made up the 
 greatest part of the discourse. At last, this 
 modish way of shining, and being witty, settled 
 into something like conversation, and the talk 
 ran upon ' fine gentlemen.' From the several 
 characters that were given, and the exceptions 
 that were made, as this or that gentleman 
 happened to be named, I found that a lady is 
 not difficult to be pleased, and that the town 
 swarms with fine gentlemen. A nimble pair 
 of heels, a smooth complexion, a full-bottom 
 wig, a laced shirt, an embroidered suit, a pair 
 of fringed gloves, a hat and feather ; any one 
 or more of these and the like accomplishments 
 ennobles a man, and raises him above the 
 vulgar, in a female imagination. On the con- 
 trary, a modest serious behaviour, a plain 
 dress, a thick pair of shoes, a leathern belt, 
 a waistcoat not lined with silk, and such like 
 imperfections, degrade a man, and are so many 
 blots in his escutcheon. I could not forbear 
 smiling at one of the prettiest and liveliest of 
 this gay assembly, who excepted to the gen- 
 tility of sir William Hearty, because he wore a 
 frieze coat, and breakfasted upon toast and ale. 
 I pretended to admire the fineness of her taste ; 
 and to strike in with her in ridiculing those 
 awkward healthy gentlemen, that seem to make 
 nourishment the chief end of eating. I gave 
 her an account of an honest Yorkshire gen- 
 tleman, who (when I was a traveller) used to 
 invite his acquaintance at Paris to break their 
 fast with him upon cold roast beef and mum. 
 There was, I remember, a little French mar- 
 quis, who was often pleased to rally him unmer- 
 cifully upon beef and pudding, of which our 
 countryman would despatch a pound or two 
 with great alacrity, while this antagonist was 
 piddling at a mushroom, or the haunch of a 
 frog. I could perceive the lady was pleased 
 with what I said, and we parted very good 
 friends, by virtue of a maxim I always observe, 
 Never to contradict or reason with a sprightly 
 female. 1 went home, however, full of a great 
 
 many serious reflections, upon \\ hat had parsed 
 and though, in complaisance, I disguised my 
 sentiment 5, to keep up t lie good humour of 
 my fair companions, and to avoid being looked 
 upon as a testy old fellow, yet out of the good- 
 will I bear to the sex, and to prevent for the 
 future their being imposed upon by counter- 
 feits, I shall give them the distinguishing marks 
 of ' a true fine gentleman.' 
 
 When a good artist would express any re- 
 markable character in sculpture, he endeavours 
 to work up his figure into all the perfections 
 his imagination can form ; and to imitate not 
 so much what is, as what may or ought to be. 
 I shall follow their example, in the idea I am 
 going to trace out of a fine gentleman, by 
 assembling together such qualifications as seem 
 requisite to make the character complete. In 
 order to this I shall premise in general, that 
 by a fine gentleman I mean a man complete^ 
 qualified as well for the service and good, as 
 for the ornament and delight of society. When 
 I consider the frame of mind peculiar to a gen- 
 tleman, I suppose it graced with all the dignity 
 and elevation of spirit than human nature is 
 capable of. To this I would have joined a 
 clear understanding, a reason free from pre- 
 judice, a steady judgment, and an extensive 
 knowledge. When J think of the heart of a 
 gentleman, I imagine it firm and intrepid, void 
 of all inordinate passions, and full of tender- 
 ness, compassion, and benevolence. When I 
 view the fine gentleman with regard to his 
 manners, methinks I see him modest without 
 bashfulness, frank and affable without imper- 
 tinence, obliging and complaisant without 
 servility, cheerful and in good humour without 
 noise. These amiable qualities are not easily 
 obtained ; neither are there many men that 
 have a genius to excel this way. A finished 
 gentleman is perhaps the most uncommon of 
 all the great characters in life. Besides the 
 natural endowments with which this distin- 
 guished man is to be born, he must run through 
 a long series of education. Before he makes 
 his appearance and shines in the world, he 
 must be principled in religion, instructed in 
 all the moral virtues, and led through the 
 whole course of the polite arts and sciences. 
 He should be no stranger to courts and to 
 camps ; he must travel to open his mind, to 
 enlarge his views, to learn the policies and in- 
 terests of foreign states, as well as to fashion 
 and polish himself, and to get clear of national 
 prejudices, of which every country has its 
 share. To all these more essential improve- 
 ments, he must not forget to add the fashion- 
 able ornaments of life, such as are the lan- 
 guages and the bodily exercises most in vogue; 
 neither would I have him think even dress 
 itself beneath his notice. 
 
 It is no very uncommon thing in the world 
 to meet with men of probity; there are like- 
 
No. 35.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 5i 
 
 wise a great many men of honour to be found. 
 Men of courage^ men of sense, and men of 
 letters are frequent ; but a true fine gentleman 
 is what one seldom sees. He is properly a 
 compound of the various good qualities that 
 embellish mankind. As the great poet ani- 
 mates all the different parts of learning by the 
 force of his genius, and irradiates all the com- 
 pass of his knowledge by the lustre and bright- 
 ness of his imagination ; so all the great and 
 solid perfections of life appear in the finished 
 gentleman, with a beautiful gloss and varnish ; 
 every thing he says or does is accompanied with 
 a manner, or rather a charm, that draws the 
 admiration and good-will of every beholder. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 For the benefit of my female readers. 
 
 N. B. The gilt chariot, the diamond ring, 
 the gold snuff-box, and brocade sword-knot, 
 are no essential parts of a fine gentleman ; but 
 may be used by him, provided he casts his eye 
 upon them but once a day. 
 
 No. 35.'] Tuesday, April 21, 1713. 
 O vitas Philosophic dux, virUUis indagatrixl Cicero. 
 O Philosophy, thou guide of life, and discoverer of virtue ! 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 * I am a man who have spent great part of 
 that time in rambling through foreign coun- 
 tries which young gentlemen usually pass at 
 the university ; by which course of life, although 
 I have acquired no small insight into the man- 
 ners and conversation of men, yet I could not 
 make proportionable advances in the way of 
 science and speculation. In my return through 
 France, as I was one day setting forth this my 
 case to a certain gentleman of that nation, 
 with whom 1 had contracted a friendship ; after 
 some pause, he conducted me into his closet, 
 and opening a little amber cabinet, took from 
 thence a small box of snuff, which he said was 
 given him by an uncle of his, the author of The 
 Voyage to the World of Descartes ; and, with 
 many professions of gratitude and affection, 
 made me a present of it, telling me, at the 
 same time, that he knew no readier way to 
 furnish and adorn a mind with knowledge in 
 the arts and sciences, than that same snuff 
 rightly applied. 
 
 " You must know," said he, " that Descartes 
 was the first who discovered a certain part of the 
 brain, called by anatomists the Pineal Gland, 
 to be the immediate receptacle of the soul, 
 where she is affected with all sorts of percep- 
 tions, and exerts all her operations by the in- 
 tercourse of the animal spirits which run through 
 the nerves that are thence extended to all parts 
 of the body." He added, " that the same philo- 
 sopher haying considered the body as a machine, 
 
 or piece of clock-work, which performed all 
 the vital operations without the concurrence 
 of the will, began to think a way may be found 
 out for separating the soul for some time from 
 the body, without any injury to the latter; 
 and that, after much meditation on that sub 
 ject, the above-mentioned virtuoso composed 
 the snuff he then gave me ; which, if taken in 
 a certain quantity, would not fail to disengage 
 my soul from my body. Your soul (continued 
 he) being at liberty to transport herself with a 
 thought wherever she pleases, may enter into the 
 pineal gland of the most learned philosopher, 
 and being so placed, become spectator of all 
 the ideas in his mind, which would instruct 
 her in a much less time than the usual me- 
 thods." I returned him thanks, and accepted 
 his present, and with it a paper of directions. 
 
 * You may imagine it was no small improve- 
 ment and diversion, to pass my time in the 
 pineal glands of philosophers, poets, beaux, 
 mathematicians, ladies, and statesmen. One 
 while to trace a theorem in mathematics 
 through a long labyrinth of intricate turns, 
 and subtleties of thought ; another to be con- 
 scious of the sublime ideas and comprehensive 
 ▼iews of a philosopher, without any fatigue or 
 wasting of my own spirits. Sometimes to 
 wander through perfumed groves, or enameled 
 meadows, in the fancy of a poet : at others to 
 be present when a battle or a storm raged, or 
 a glittering palace rose in his imagination ; 
 or to behold the pleasures of a country life, 
 the passion of a generous love, or the warmth 
 of devotion wrought up to rapture. Or (to 
 use the words of a very ingenious author) to 
 
 ' Behold the raptures which a writer knows, 
 When in his breast a vein of fancy glov. s, 
 Behold his business while he works the mine, 
 Behold his temper when he sees it shine. 
 
 Essay on the different styles of poetry. 
 
 * These gave me inconceivable pleasure. Nor 
 was it an unpleasant entertainment, sometimes 
 to descend from these sublime and magnificent 
 ideas to the impertinencies of a beau, the dry 
 schemes of a coffee-house politician, or the 
 tender images in the mind of a young lady. 
 And, as in order to frame a right idea of human 
 happiness, I thought it expedient to make a trial 
 of the various manners wherein men of different 
 pursuits were affected, I one day entered into 
 the pineal gland of a certain person, who seemed 
 very fit to give me an insight into all that 
 which constitutes the happiness of him who 
 is called a Man of Pleasure. But I found my- 
 self not a little disappointed iti my notion of 
 the pleasures which attend a voluptuary, who 
 has shaken off the restraints of re-ason. 
 
 * His intellectuals. I observed, were grown 
 unserviceable by too little use, and his senses 
 were decayed and worn out by too much. That 
 perfect inaction of the higher powers pre- 
 vented appetite in prompting him to sensual 
 
:>-' 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 36. 
 
 gratifications; and the outrunning natural 
 appetite produced a loathing instead of a plea- 
 sun-. 1 there beheld the intemperate cravings 
 tif youth, without the enjoyments of it; and 
 the ireakllCM of old age, without its tranquil- 
 lity. When the passions were teazed and 
 BDUBed by some powerful object, the effect was 
 not to delight or sooth the mind, but to tor- 
 tirre it between the returning extremes of ap- 
 petites, and satiety. 1 saw a wretch racked at 
 the same time, with a painful remembrance of 
 past miscarriages, a distaste of the present ob- 
 jects that solicit his senses, and a secret dread 
 of futurity. And I could see no manner of 
 relief or comfort in the soul of this miserable 
 man, but what consisted in preventing his cure, 
 by inflaming his passions, and suppressing his 
 reason. But though it must be owned he had 
 almost quenched that light which his Creator 
 had set up in his soul, yet, in spite of all his 
 efforts, I observed at certain seasons frequent 
 flashes of remorse strike through the gloom, 
 and interrupt that satisfaction he enjoyed in 
 hiding his own deformities from himself. 
 
 * I was also present at the original formation 
 or production of a certain book in the mind 
 of a free-thinker, and believing it may not be 
 unacceptable to let you into the secret manner 
 and internal principles by which that pheno- 
 menon was formed, I shall in my next give 
 you an account of it. 
 
 ' 1 am, in the mean time, 
 ' Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 • ULYSSES COSMOPOLITAN 
 
 N. B. Mr. Ironside has lately received out of 
 France ten pounds avoirdupois weight of this 
 philosophical snuff, and gives notice that he will 
 make use of it, in order to distinguish the real 
 from the professed sentiments of all persons of 
 eminence in court, city, town, and country. 
 
 No. 36.] Wednesday, April 22> 1713. 
 
 J'uuica se quantis attollet gloria rebus ! 
 
 Virg. S.\\. iv. 49- 
 What rebus's exalt the pnnnic fame! 
 
 The gentleman who doth me the favour to 
 write the following letter, saith as much for 
 himself as the thing will bear. I am particu- 
 larly pleased to find, that in his Apology for 
 Punning be only celebrates the art, as it is a 
 part of conversation* I look upon premeditated 
 quibbles, and puns committed to the press, as 
 unpardonable crimes. There is as much dif- 
 ference betwixt these and the starts in com- 
 mon discourse, as betwixt casual rencounters, 
 and murder with malice prepense. 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. 
 • BIB, 
 I have from your writings conceived such 
 an opinion of your benevolence to mankind, 
 
 that I trust you will not suffer any art to be 
 vilified which helps to polish and adorn us. 
 I do not know any sort of wit that hath been 
 used so reproachfully as the Pun : and 1 per- 
 suade myself that I shall merit your esteem, 
 by recommending it to your protection ; since 
 there can be no greater glory to a generous 
 soul, than to succour the distrest. I shall, 
 therefore, without farther preface, offer to 
 your consideration the following Modest Apo- 
 logy for Punning; wherein I shall make use of 
 no double meanings or equivocations: since 
 I think it unnecessary to give it any other 
 praises than truth and common sense, its pro- 
 fessed enemies, are forced to grant. 
 
 In order to make this a useful work, I 
 shall state the nature and extent of the pun, 
 I shall discover the advantages that flow from 
 it, the moral virtues that it produces, and the 
 tendency that it hath to promote vigour of 
 body and ease of mind. 
 
 ' The pun is defined by one, who seems to 
 be no well-wisher to it, to be " A conceit 
 arising from the use of two words that agree 
 in the sound, but differ in the sense." Now 
 if this be the essense of the pun, how great 
 must we allow the dignity of it to be, when 
 we consider that it takes in most of the consi- 
 derable parts of learning ; for is it not most cer- 
 tain, that all learned disputes are rather about 
 sounds than sense ? Are not the controversies 
 of divines about the different interpretations 
 of terms ? Are not the disputations of philoso- 
 phers about words, and all their pompous dis- 
 tinctions only so many unravellings of double 
 meanings ? Who ever lost his estate in West- 
 minster-hall, but complained that he was quib- 
 bled out of his right ? or what monarch ever 
 broke a treaty, but by virtue of equivocation ? 
 In short, so great is the excellence of this art, 
 so diffusive its influence, that when I go into 
 a library, I say to myself, " What volumes of 
 puns do I behold !" When 1 look upon the men 
 of business, I cry out, " How powerful is the 
 tribe of the quibblers !" When 1 see statesmen 
 and ambassadors, I reflect, " How splendid the 
 equipage of the quirk ! in what pomp do the 
 punsters appear!" 
 
 * But as there are serious puns, such as 
 I have instanced in, so likewise there are 
 puns comical. These are what I would re- 
 commend to my countrymen ; which I shall 
 do by displaying the advantanges flowing from 
 them. 
 
 ' The first advantage of punning is, that it 
 gives us the compass of our own language. This 
 is very obvious. For the great business of the 
 punster is to hunt out the several words in our 
 tongue that agree in sound, and have various 
 significations. By this means he will likewise 
 enter into the nicety of spelling, an accomplish- 
 ment regarded only by middling people, and 
 much neglected by persons of great and no 
 
No. 36.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 53 
 
 quality. This error may produce unnecessary 
 folios amongst grammarians yet unborn. But 
 to proceed. A man of learning hath, in this 
 manner of wit, great advantages ; as indeed, 
 what advantages do not flow from learning ? 
 If the pun fails in English, he may have 
 speedy recourse to the Latin, or the Greek, 
 and so on. I have known wonders performed 
 by this secret, i have heard the French as- 
 sisted by the German, the Dutch mingle with 
 the Italian, and where the jingle hath seemed 
 desperate in the Greek, 1 have known it revive 
 in the Hebrew. My friend Dick Babel hath 
 often, to show his parts, started a conceit at 
 the ecpuinoctial, and pursued it through all the 
 degrees of latitude ; and, after he had punned 
 round the globe, hath sat down like Alexander, 
 and mourned that he had no more worlds to 
 conquer. 
 
 * Another advantage in punning is, that it 
 ends disputes, or, what is all one, puns comical 
 destroy puns serious. Any man that drinks a 
 bottle knows very well, that about twelve, 
 people that do not Uiss, or cry, are apt to de- 
 bate. This often occasions heats and heart- 
 burnings, unless one of the disputants vouch- 
 safes to end the matter with a joke. How 
 often have Aristotle and Cartesius been recon- 
 ciled by a merry conceit ! how often have whigs 
 and tories shook hands over a quibble ! and 
 the clashing of swords been prevented by the 
 jingling of words ! 
 
 1 Attention of mind is another benefit en- 
 joyed by punsters. This is discoverable from 
 the perpetual gape of the company where they 
 are, and the earnest desire to know what was 
 spoken last, if a word escapes any one at the 
 table. I must add, that quick apprehension is 
 required in the hearer, readily to take some 
 things which are very far-fetched ; as likewise 
 great vivacity in the performer, to reconcile dis- 
 tant and even hostile ideas by the mere mimicry 
 of words, and energy of sound. 
 
 ' Mirth or good-humour is the last advantage, 
 that, out of a million, I shall produce to re- 
 commend punning. But this will more natu- 
 rally fall in when I come to demonstrate its 
 operation upon the mind and body. I shall 
 now discover what moral virtues it promotes ; 
 and shall content myself with instancing in 
 those which every reader will allow of. 
 
 ' A punster is adorned with humility. This 
 our adversaries will not deny ; because they hold 
 it to be a condescension in any man to trifle, as 
 they arrogantly call it, with words. I must, 
 however, confess, for my own share, I never 
 punned out of the pride of my heart, nor did 
 I ever know one of our fraternity, that seemed 
 to be troubled with the thirst of glory. * 
 
 * The virtue called urbanity by the moralists, 
 or a courtly behaviour, is much cultivated by 
 this science. For the whole spirit of urbanity 
 consists in a desire to please the company, and 
 
 what else is the design of the punster ? Accord- 
 ingly we find such bursts of laughter, such agi- 
 tations of the sides, such contortions of the 
 limbs, such earnest attempts to recover the dy- 
 ing laugh, such transport in the enjoyment of it 
 in equivocating assemblies, as men of common 
 sense are amazed at, and own they never felt. 
 
 ' But nothing more displays itself in the 
 punster, than justice, the queen of all the vir- 
 tues. At the quibbling board every performer 
 hath its due. The soul is struck at once, and 
 the body recognizes the merit of each joke, by 
 sudden and comical emotions. Indeed, how 
 should it be otherwise, where not only words, 
 but even syllables have justice done them; 
 where no man invades the right of another, but, 
 with perfect innocence and good-nature, takes 
 as much delight in his neighbour's joy as in 
 his own ? 
 
 * From what hath been advanced, it will 
 easily appear, that this science contributes to 
 ease of body, and serenity of mind. You have, 
 in a former precaution, advised your hectica 
 readers to associate with those of our brother- 
 hood, who are, for the most part, of a corpulent 
 make, and a round vacant countenance. It is 
 natural the next morning, after a merriment, 
 to reflect how we behaved ourselves the night 
 before : and I appeal to any one, whether it 
 will not occasion greater peace of mind to con 
 sider, that he hath only been waging harmless 
 war with words, than if he had stirred his 
 brother to wrath, grieved the soul of his neigh- 
 bour by calumny, or increased his own wealth 
 by fraud. As for health of body, I look upon 
 punning as a nostrum, a Mtdicina Gymnastica, 
 that throws off all the bad humours, and occa- 
 sions such a brisk circulation of the blood, as 
 keeps the lamp of life in a clear and constant 
 flame. I speak, as all physicians ought to do 
 from experience. A friend of mine, who had 
 the ague this spring, was, after the failing of 
 several medicines and charms, advised by me 
 to enter into a course of quibbling. He threw 
 his electuaries out at his window, and took 
 Abracadabra off from his neck, and by the 
 mere force of punning upon that long magica 
 word, threw himself into a fine breathing sweat 
 and a quiet sleep. He is now in a fair way of 
 recovery, and says pleasantly, he is less obliged 
 to the Jesuits for their powder, than for their 
 equivocation. 
 
 ' Sir, this is my Modest Apology for Pun- 
 ning ; which I was the more encouraged to 
 undertake, because we have a learned univer- 
 sity where it is in request, and I am told that 
 a famous club hath given it protection. If this 
 meets with encouragement, I shall write a vin- 
 dication of the rebus, and do justice to the 
 conundrum. I have indeed looked philosophi- 
 cally into their natures, and made a sort of 
 Arbor Porphyriana of the several subordi- 
 nations and divisions of low wit. Th'»3 the 
 
54 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 [Xo. 3 
 
 ladiei perbapi may not understand ; but I 
 shall thereby ^iN »• the beam an opportunity of 
 ihowing their learning; 
 
 ' I am Sir, 
 
 * With great respect 
 1 Your most obedient humble servant.' 
 
 No. 37.] Thursday, Aj)ril 23, 1713. 
 
 Mc ducc damn oku homines compescite curas. 
 
 Olid. Rem. Amor. ver. fiO. 
 
 Learn, mortals, from my precepts to contioul 
 The furious passions that disturb the soul. 
 
 It is natural for an old man to be fond of 
 such entertainments as revive in his imagination 
 the agreeable impressions made upon it in his 
 youth : the set of wits and beauties he was 
 first acquainted with, the balls and drawing- 
 rooms in which he made an agreeable figure, 
 the music and actors he heard and saw when 
 his life was fresh, and his spirits vigorous and 
 quick, have usually the preference in his esteem 
 to any succeeding pleasures that present them- 
 selves when his taste is grown more languid. 
 It is for this reason I never see a picture of 
 sir Peter Lely's, who drew so many of my first 
 friends and acquaintance, without a sensible 
 delight; and I am in raptures when I reflect 
 on the compositions of the famous Mr. Henry 
 Laws, long before Italian music was introduced 
 into our nation. Above all, I am pleased in 
 observing that the tragedies of Shakspeare, 
 which in my youthful days have so frequently 
 filled my eyes with tears, hold their rank still, 
 and are the great support of our theatre. 
 
 It was with this agreeable prepossession of 
 mind, I went some time ago, to see the old 
 tragedy of Othello, and took my female wards 
 with me, having promised them a little before 
 to carry them to the first play of Shakspeare's 
 which should be acted. Mrs. Cornelia, who is 
 a great reader, and never fails to peruse the 
 ulay bills, which are brought to her every day, 
 gave me notice of it early in the morning. 
 When I came to my lady Lizard's at dinner, I 
 found the young folks all drest, and expecting 
 the performance of my promise. I went with 
 them at the proper time, placed them together 
 ni the boxes, and myself by them in a corner 
 6eat. As I have the chief scenes of the play 
 by heart, I did not look much on the stage, 
 out formed to myself a new satisfaction in 
 Keening an eye on the faces of my little audience, 
 ;.ud observing, as it were by reflection, the 
 different passions of the play represented in 
 their countenances. Mrs. Betty told us the 
 names of several persons of distinction, as they 
 took tin ir places in the boxes, and enter- 
 tained us with the history of a new marriage 
 or two till the curtain drew up. I soon per- 
 ceived that Mrs. Jane was touched with the 
 bve of Desdemona, and in a concern to see 
 Jow she would come oil with her parents. 
 
 Annabella had a rambling eye, and for some 
 time was more taken up with observing what 
 gentleman looked at her, and with criticising 
 tin dress of the ladies, than with any thing 
 that passed on the stage. Mrs. Cornelia, who 
 I have often said is addicted to the study of 
 romances, commended that speech in the play 
 in which Othello mentions his ' hair- breadth 
 scapes in th' imminent deadly breach,' and 
 recites his travels and adventures with which 
 he had captivated the heart of Desdemona. 
 The Sparkler looked several times frighted; 
 ami as the distress of the play was heightened, 
 their different attention was collected, and 
 fixed wholly on the stage, till I saw them all, 
 with a secret satisfaction, betrayed into tears. 
 I have often considered this play as a noble, 
 but irregular, production of a genius which had 
 the power of animating the theatre beyond any 
 writer we have ever known. The touches of 
 nature in it are strong and masterly; but the 
 economy of the fable, and in some particulars 
 the probability, are too much neglected. If I 
 would speak of it in the most severe terms, I 
 should say as Waller does of the Maid's Tragedy, 
 
 ' Great are its faults, but glorious is its flame.' 
 
 But it would be a poor employment in a 
 critic to observe upon the faults, and show no 
 taste for the beauties, in a work that has al- 
 ways struck the most sensible part of our au- 
 diences in a very forcible manner. 
 
 The chief subject of this piece is the passion 
 of jealousy, which the poet has represented 
 at large, in its birth, its various workings and 
 agonies, and its horrid consequeuces. From 
 this passion and the innocence and simplicity 
 of the person suspected, arises a very moving 
 distress. 
 
 It is a remark, as I remember, of a modern 
 writer, who is thought to have penetrated 
 deeply into the nature of the passions, that 
 ' the most extravagant love is nearest to the 
 strongest hatred.' The Moor is furious in both 
 these extremes. His love is tempestuous, and 
 mingled with a wildness peculiar to his cha- 
 racter, which seems very artfully to prepare 
 for the change which is to follow. 
 
 How savage, yet how ardent is that expres- 
 sion of the raptures of his heart, when, looking 
 after Desdemona as she withdraws, he breaks 
 out, 
 
 * Excellent wrrtchl Perdition catch my soal 
 Bnt l <i>> love iheej and when 1 love Lkee uot, 
 (.'bans is come again. 1 
 
 The deep and subtle villany of (ago, in 
 working this change from love to jealousy, in 
 so tumultuous a mind as that of Othello, pre- 
 possessed with a confidence in the disinterested 
 affection of the man who is leading him on in- 
 sensibly to his ruin, is likewise drawn with a 
 masterly hand. lago's broken hints, questions, 
 and Iteming care to hide the reason of them j 
 
No. 37J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 55 
 
 his obscure suggestions to raise the curiosity of 
 the Moor; his personated confusion, and re- 
 fusing to explain himself while Othello is drawn 
 on, and held in suspense till he grows impatient 
 and angry; then his throwing in the poison, 
 and naming to him in a caution the passion he 
 would raise, 
 
 « O beware of jealousy ! — : ' 
 
 are inimitable strokes of art, in that scene 
 which has always been justly esteemed one of 
 the best which was ever represented on the 
 theatre. 
 
 To return to the character of Othello; his 
 strife of passions, his starts, his returns of love, 
 and threatenings to Iago, who put his mind 
 on the rack, his relapses afterwards to jealousy, 
 his rage against his wife, and his asking pardon 
 of Iago, whom he thinks he had abused for his 
 fidelity to him, are touches which no one can 
 overlook that has the sentiments of human 
 nature, or has considered the heart of man in 
 its frailties, its penances, and all the variety of 
 its agitations. The torments which the Moor 
 suffers are so exquisitely drawn, as to render 
 him as much an object of compassion, even in 
 the barbarous action of murdering Desdemona, 
 as the innocent person herself who falls under 
 his hand. 
 
 But there is nothing in which the poet has 
 more shown his judgment in this play, than in 
 the circumstance of the handkerchief, which 
 is employed as a confirmation to the jealousy 
 of Othello already raised. What I would here 
 observe is, that the very slightness of this cir- 
 cumstance is the beauty it. How finely has 
 Shakspeare expressed the nature of jealousy 
 in those lines, which, on this occasion, be puts 
 into the mouth of Iago, 
 
 'Trifles light as air 
 Are to the jealous, confirmation strong 
 As proofs of holy writ.' 
 
 It would be easy for a tasteless critic to turn 
 any of the beauties I have here mentioned into 
 ridicule ; l,«it such a one would only betray a 
 mechanical judgment, formed out of borrowed 
 rules and common-place reading, and not aris- 
 ing from any true discernment in human na- 
 ture, and its passions. 
 
 As the moral of this tragedy is an admirable 
 caution against hasty suspicions, and the giving 
 way to the first transports of rage and jealousy, 
 which may plunge a man in a few minutes 
 into all the horrors of guilt, distraction, and 
 ruin, I shall further enforce it, by relating a 
 scene of misfortunes of the like kind, which 
 really happened some yearc ago in Spain ; and 
 is an instance of the most tragical hurricane 
 of passion I have ever met with in history. It 
 may be easily conceived that a heart ever big 
 with resentments of its own dignity, and never 
 allayed by reflections which make us honour 
 
 ourselves for acting with reason and equality, 
 will take fire precipitautly. It will on a sudden 
 flame too high to be extinguished. The short 
 story I am going to tell is a lively instance of 
 the truth of this observation, and a just warn- 
 ing to those of jealous honour to look about 
 them, and begin to possess their souls as they 
 ought, for no man of spirit knows how terrible 
 a creature he is, till he comes to be provoked. 
 
 Don Alonzo, a Spanish nobleman, had a 
 beautiful and virtuous wife, with whom he had 
 lived for some years in great tranquillity. The 
 gentleman, however, was not free from the 
 faults usually imputed to his nation ; he was 
 proud, suspicious, and impetuous. He kept a 
 Moor in his house, whom, on a complaint from 
 his lady, he had punished for a small offence 
 with the utmost seventy. The slave vowed 
 revenge, and communicated his resolution to 
 one of the lady's women with whom he lived 
 in a criminal way. This creature also hated 
 her mistress, for she feared she was observed 
 by her ; she therefore undertook to make Don 
 Alonzo jealous, by insinuating that the gar- 
 dener was often admitted to his lady in private, 
 and promising to make him an eye-witness of 
 it. At a proper time agreed on between her 
 and the Morisco, she sent a message to the 
 gardener, that his lady, having some hasty 
 orders to give him, would have him come that 
 moment to her in her chamber. In the meac 
 time she had placed Alonzo privately in afi 
 outer room, that he might observe who passed 
 that way. It was not long before he saw the 
 gardener appear. Alonzo had not patience, 
 but following him into the apartment, struck 
 him at one blow with a dagger to the heart ; 
 then dragging his lady by the hair without in- 
 quiring father, he instantly kSled her. 
 
 Here he paused, looking on the dead bodies 
 with all the agitations of a demon of revenge ; 
 when the wench who bad occasioned these 
 terrors, distracted with remorse, threw herself 
 at his feet, and in a voice of lamentation, with- 
 out sense of the consequence, repeated all her 
 guilt. Alonzo was overwhelmed with all the 
 violent passions at one instant, and uttered 
 the broken voices and motions of each of them 
 for a moment, till at last he recollected him- 
 self enough to end his agony of love, anger, 
 disdain, revenge, and remorse, by murdering 
 the maid, the Moor, and himself. 
 
 No. 38.] Friday, April 24, 1713. 
 
 — Prodire terms si non datur nltr&. 
 
 Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. 
 Thus far at least, though here we stop. 
 
 32. 
 
 I have lately given a precaution concerning 
 the difficulty in arriving at what ought to be 
 esteemed a ' fine gentleman.' That charactet 
 has been long wholly engrossed by well-drest 
 
5G 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 33. 
 
 beau, and men of sense have given up all 
 pretence to it. The highest any of them con- 
 tend for, is the character of a ' pretty gentle- 
 man ;' for here the dress may be more careless, 
 and some wit is thought necessary ; whereas a 
 fine gentleman is not obliged to converse fur- 
 ther than the offering his snuffbox round the 
 room. However, the pretty gentleman must 
 have his airs : and though they are not so pom- 
 pous as those of the other, yet they are so af- 
 fected, that few who have understanding can 
 oriug themselves to be proficients this way, 
 though ever so useful towards being well re- 
 ceived ; but if they fail here, they succeed with 
 some difficulty in being allowed to have ' much 
 of the gentleman' in them. To obtain this 
 epithet, a man of sense must arrive at a certain 
 desire to appear more than is natural to him ; 
 but as the world goes, it is fit he should be 
 encouraged in this attempt, since nothing can 
 mend the general taste, but setting the true 
 character in as public a view as the false. This, 
 indeed, can never be done to the purpose, 
 while the majority is so great on the wrong 
 side ; one of a hundred will have the shout 
 against him ; but if people of wit would be as 
 zealous to assist old Ironside, as he is to pro- 
 mote them and their interest, a little time 
 would give these things a new turn. However, 
 I will not despair but I shall be able to sum- 
 mon all the good sense in the nation to my 
 assistance, in my ambition to produce a new 
 race of mankind, to take the places of such as 
 have hitherto pretended to engross the fashion. 
 The uuiversity scholar shall be called upon to 
 learn his exercise, and frequent mixt company ; 
 the military, and the travelled man, to read 
 the best authors ; the country gentleman, to 
 divide his time, so as, together with the care 
 of his estate, to make an equal progress in 
 learning and breeding ; and when the several 
 candidates think themselves prepared, I shall 
 appoint under officers to examine their quali- 
 fications, and, as I am satisfied with their re- 
 port, give out my passports recommending 
 them to all companies as ' the Guardian's fine 
 gentlemen.' If my recommendations appear 
 just, I will not doubt but some of the present 
 line gentlemen will see the necessity of retire- 
 ment, till they can come abroad with appro- 
 bation. I have indeed already given out orders 
 in this behalf, and have directed searchers to 
 at i end at the inns where the Oxford and Cam- 
 nridge coaches stand, and commanded them to 
 Dfing any young fellow, of any hopes in the 
 world, directly to my lodgings as soon as he 
 ands, for I will take him though I know I can 
 Only make him * much of a gentleman :' for, 
 When I have gone thus far, one would think it 
 should be easy to make him a' gentleman-like 
 man.' As the world now goes, we have no 
 adequate idea of what is meant by ' gentle- 
 manly,' 'gentleman- like,' or' much of a gentle- 
 
 man ;' you cannot be cheated at play, but it 
 is certainly done by ' a very gentleman- like 
 man ;' you cannot be deceived in your affairs, 
 but it was done in some ' gentlemanly manner ; 
 you cannot be wronged in your bed, but all the 
 world will say of him that did the injury, it 
 must be allowed ' he is very much of a gentle- 
 man.' Here is a very pleasant fellow, a cor- 
 respondent of mine, that puts in for that ap- 
 pellation even to highwaymen. I must confess 
 the gentlemen he personates is very apparently 
 such, though I did not look upon that sort of 
 fellow in that light, till he favoured me with 
 his letter, which is as follows : 
 
 « MR. IRONSIDE, 
 * I have been upon the highway these six 
 years, in the Park, at the Play, at Bath, Tun- 
 bridge, Epsom, and at every other place where 
 I could have any prospect of stealing a fortune; 
 but have met with no success, being disap- 
 pointed either by some of your damned Iron- 
 side race, or by old cursed curs, who put more 
 bolts on their doors and bars in their windows 
 than are in Newgate. All that see me own 
 I am ' a gentleman-like man ;' and, whatever 
 rascally things the grave folks say I am guilty 
 of, they themselves acknowledge I am a ' gen- 
 tlemanly kind of man,' and in every respect 
 accomplished for running away with a lady. 
 I have been bred up to no business, am illite- 
 rate, have spent the small fortune I had in 
 purchasing favours from the fair sex. The 
 bounty of their purses I have received, as well 
 as the endearments of their persons, but I have 
 gratefully disposed of it among themselves, for 
 I always was a keeper when I was kept. 1 am 
 fearless in my behaviour, and never fail of put- 
 ting your bookish sort of fellows, your men of 
 merit, forsooth, out of countenance. I triumph 
 when I see a modest young woman blush at an 
 assembly, or a virgin betrayed into tears at a 
 well-wrought scene in a tragedy. 1 have long 
 forgot shame, for it proceeds from a conscious- 
 ness of some defect; and 1 am, as 1 told yt-u, 
 ' a gentlemanly man.' 1 never knew any but 
 you musty philosophers applaud blushes, and 
 you yourselves will allow that they are caused 
 either by some real imperfection, or the ap- 
 prehension of defect where there is not any; 
 but for my part I hate mistakes, and shall not 
 suspect myself wrongfully. Such as I am, if 
 you approve of my person, estate and charac- 
 ter, I desire you would admit me as a suitor 
 to one of the Lizards, and beg your speedy 
 answer to this ; for it is the last time my black 
 coat will hear scouring, or my long wig buck- 
 ling. I am, Sir, the fair ladies', 
 
 * and your humble servant, 
 
 • WILL. BAREFACLV 
 
 Those on the highway, who make a stand 
 with a pistol at your breast (compelled perhaps 
 
No. 39.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 57 
 
 by necessity, misfortune, or driven out of an 
 Honest way of life, to answer the wants of a 
 craving family,) are much more excusable than 
 those of their fraternity, who join the conver- 
 sations of gentlemen, and get into a share of 
 their fortunes without one good art about them. 
 What a crowd of these gentleman-like men 
 are about this town ? For from an unjust mo- 
 desty, and incapacity for common life, the 
 ordinary failings of men of letters and industry 
 in our nation, it happens that impudence sup- 
 presses all virtue, and assumes the reward and 
 esteem which are due to it. Hence it is that 
 worthless rogues have the smiles of the fair, 
 and the favours of the great : to be well dressed 
 and in health, and very impudent, in this licen- 
 tious undistinguishing age, is enough to con- 
 stitute a person ' very much of a gentleman ;' 
 and to this pass are we come, by the prosti- 
 tution of wit in the cause of vice, which has 
 made the most unreasonable and unnatural 
 things prevail against all the suggestions of 
 common sense. Nobody denies that we live in 
 a Christiau country, and yet he who should 
 decline, upon respective opportunities, to com- 
 mit adultery or murder, would be thought 
 * very little of a gentleman." 
 
 N. S9.~] 
 
 Saturday, April 25, 1715. 
 
 Ilor. Ars Poet. ver. 7. 
 
 ^gr'i sorania. 
 
 A sick man's dreams. 
 
 My correspondent who has acquired the 
 faculty of entering into other men's thoughts, 
 having, in pursuance to a former letter, sent 
 me an account of certain useful discoveries he 
 has made by the help of that invention, I shall 
 communicate the same to the public in this 
 paper. 
 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, 
 
 ' On the eleventh day of October, in the 
 year 1712, having left my body locked up safe 
 in my study, I repaired to the Grecian coffee- 
 house, where entering into the pineal gland of 
 a certain eminent free-thinker, I made directly 
 to the highest part of it, which is the seat of 
 the understanding, expecting to find there a 
 comprehensive Knowledge of all things, human 
 and divine ; but to my no small astonishment, 
 I found the place narrower than ordinary, in- 
 somuch that there was not any room for a 
 miracle, prophecy, or separate spirit. 
 
 * This obliged me to descend a story lower, 
 into the imagination, which I found larger, 
 indeed, but cold and comfortless. I discovered 
 Prejudice, in the figure of a woman, standing 
 in a corner, with her eyes close shut, and her 
 fore-fingers stuck in her ears ; many words in 
 a confused order, but spoken with great em- 
 phasis, issued from her mouth. These, being 
 condensed by the coldness of the place, formed 
 
 a sort of mist, through which methought I 
 saw a great castle with a fortification cast 
 round it, and a tower adjoining to it,, that 
 through the windows appeared to be filled with 
 racks and halters. Beneath the castle I could 
 discern vast dungeons, and all about it lay 
 scattered the bones of men. It seemed to be 
 garrisoned by certain men in black, of a gigan- 
 tic size, and most terrible forms. But as [ 
 drew near, the terror of the appearance va- 
 nished ; and the castle I found to be only a 
 church, whose steeple with its clock and bell- 
 ropes was mistaken for a tower filled with racks 
 and halters. The terrible giants in black 
 shrunk into a few innocent clergymen. The 
 dungeons were turned into vaults designed only 
 for the habitation of the dead ; and the forti- 
 fications proved to be a church-yard, with some 
 scattered bones in it, and a plain stone wall 
 round it> 1 
 
 * I had not been long here before my curio- 
 sity was raised by a loud noise that I heard in 
 the inferior region. Descending thither I 
 found a mob of the passions assembled in a 
 riotous manner. Their tumultuary proceed- 
 ings soon convinced me, that they affected a 
 democracy. After much noise and wrangle, 
 they at length all hearkened to Vanity, who 
 proposed the raising of a great army of notions, 
 which she offered to lead against those dread- 
 ful phantoms in the imagination that had oc- 
 casioned all this uproar. 
 
 ' Away posted Vanity, and I after her, to the 
 storehouse of ideas ; where I beheld a great 
 number of lifeless notions confusedly thrown 
 together, but upon the approach of Vanity they 
 began to crawl. Here were to be seen, among 
 other odd things, sleeping deities, corporeal 
 spirits, and worlds formed by chance ; with an 
 endless variety of heathen notions, the most 
 irregular and grotesque imaginable ; and with 
 these were jumbled several of Christian extrac- 
 tion ; but such was the dress and light they 
 were put in, and their features were so dis- 
 torted, that they looked little better than 
 heathens. There was likewise assembled no 
 small number of phantoms in strange habits, 
 who proved to be idolatrous priests of different 
 nations. Vanity gave the word, and straitway 
 the Talopoins, Faquirs, Bramins, and Bonzes, 
 drew up in a body. The right wing consisted 
 of ancient heathen notions, and the left, of 
 Christians naturalized. All these together, 
 for numbers, composed a very formidable army ; 
 but the precipitation of Vanity was so great, 
 and such was their own inbred aversion to the 
 tyranny of rules and discipline, that they seemed 
 rather a confused rabble than a regular army 
 I could, nevertheless, observe, that they al 
 agreed in a squinting look, or cast of their eye 
 towards a certain person in a mask, who was 
 placed in the centre, and whom, by sure signs 
 and tokens, I discovered to be Atheism. 
 H 
 
58 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. S3 
 
 • \ mitj bad bo tooner ted per forces into 
 ition, but she resolved upon storm- 
 ing the castle^ and giving noquarter. They 
 assault with a loud outcry and great 
 ision. I, for my part, made the best of 
 inv u.iv, ami re-entered my own lodging:. Some 
 time after, inquiring at a bookseller's for a 
 Discourse on Free-thinking, which had made 
 some noise, I met with the representatives of 
 all those notions drawn up in the same confused 
 order upon paper. Sage Nestor, , 
 * I am, 
 ' Your most obedient humble servant, 1 
 
 ' ULYSSES COSMOPOLITAN 
 
 ' N. B. I went round the table, but could not 
 find a wit, or mathematician among them.' 
 
 I imagine the account here given may be 
 useful in directing to the proper cure of a free- 
 thinker. In the first place, it is plain his 
 understanding wants to be opened and en- 
 larged, and he should be taught the way to 
 order and methodise his ideas ; to which end 
 the study of the mathematics may be useful. 
 I am farther of opinion, that as his imagination 
 is filled with amusements arising from preju- 
 dice, and the obscure or false lights in which 
 he sees things, it will be necessary to bring 
 him into good company, and now and then 
 carry him to church ; by which means he may 
 in time come to a right sense of religion, and 
 wear off the ill impressions he has received. 
 Lastly, I advise whoever undertakes the re- 
 formation of a modern freethinker, that above 
 all things he be careful to subdue his vanity; 
 that being the principal motive which prompts 
 a little genius to distinguish itself by singu- 
 larities that are hurtful to mankind. 
 
 Or, if the passion of vanity, as it is for the 
 most part very strong in your free-thinkers, 
 cannot be subdued, let it be Won over to the 
 interest of religion, by giving them to under- 
 stand that the greatest genii of the age have 
 a respect for things sacred; that their rhap- 
 sodies find no admirers, and that the name 
 Free-tbtnker has, like Tyrant of old, degene- 
 rated from its original signification, and is now 
 supposed to denote something contrary to wit 
 and reason. In line, let them know that what- 
 ever temptations a few men of parts might 
 formerly have had, from the novelty of the 
 thing, to oppose the received opinions of Chris- 
 tians, yet that now the humour is worn out, 
 and blasphemy and irreligion are distinctions 
 vrbicfa have long since descended down to 
 lackeys and drawers. 
 
 Hut it must be my business to prevent all 
 pretenders in this kind from hurting the igno- 
 rant and unwary. In order to this, I coiinuu- 
 nicated an intelligence which 1 received of a 
 
 gentleman's appearing very sorry that he was 
 
 n.it vvell during a late lit of sickness, contrary 
 t I bis own doctrine] which obliged him to be 
 
 merry upon that occasion, except he was sure 
 of recovering. Upon this advice to the world, 
 the following advertisement got a place in the 
 post-boy : 
 
 * Whereas in the paper called the Guardian 
 of Saturday, the eleventh of April, instant, a 
 corollary reflection was made on Monsieur 
 
 I) , a member of the royal academy 
 
 of sciences in Paris, author of a book lately 
 published, entitled, 
 
 A Philological Essay, or Reflections on the 
 death of Free-thinkers, with the characters of 
 the most eminent persons of both sexes, an- 
 cient and modern, that died pleasantly and 
 unconcerned, &c. Sold by J. Baker in Pater- 
 noster-row : Suggesting, as if that gentleman, 
 now in London," was very much out of humour, 
 in a late fit of sickness, till he was in a fair 
 way of recovery :" This is to assure the public, 
 that the said gentleman never expressed the 
 least concern at the approach of death, but 
 expected the fatal minute with a most heroical 
 and philosophical resignation ; of which a copy 
 of verses he writ, in the serene intervals of his 
 distemper, is an invincible proof.' 
 
 All that I contend for, is, that this gentle 
 man was out of humour when he was sick ; and 
 the advertiser, to confute me, says, that ' in 
 the serene intervals of his distemper,' that is, 
 when he was not sick, he writ verses. I shall 
 not retract my advertisement till I see those 
 verses, and I will choose what to believe then, 
 except they are underwritten by his nurse, nor 
 then neither, except she is a house-keeper. 
 I must tie this gentleman close to the argu- 
 ment ; for if he had not actually his fit upon 
 him, there is nothing courageous in the thing, 
 nor does it make for his purpose, nor are they 
 heroic verses. 
 
 The point of being merry at the hour of 
 death is a matter that ought to be settled by 
 divines ; but the publisher of the Philological 
 Essay produces his chief authorities from Lu- 
 cretius, the earl of Rochester, and Mr. John 
 Dryden, who were gentlemen that did not 
 think themselves obliged to prove all they 
 said, or else proved their assertions by saying or 
 swearing they were all fools that believed to 
 the contrary. If it be absolutely necessary 
 that a man should be facetious at his death, it 
 would be very well if these gentlemen, Mon- 
 sieur D and Mr. B would repent 
 
 betimes, and not trust to a death- bed inge- 
 nuity ; by what has appeared hitherto they 
 have only raised our longing to see their pos- 
 thnmus works. 
 
 The author of Poeta Rustkantis literatum 
 Otium is but a mere phraseologist, the philo- 
 logical publisher is but a translator: but I ex- 
 pected better usage from Mr. Abel Roper, who 
 is an original. 
 
No. 40.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 59 
 
 No. 40.] Monday, April 27, 1713. 
 
 Compulerantque greges Cory don etThyisis in unum : 
 Ex illo Corydon, Corydon est tempore nobis. 
 
 Hrg. Ed. vii. 2. 
 Tlieir sheep and goats together graz'd the plaiBS— 
 Since when ? 'tis Cor> don among the swains, 
 Young Corydon without a rival r.igns. Dry den. 
 
 I designed to have troubled the reader with 
 no farther discourses of pastorals ; but being 
 informed that I am taxed of partiality in not 
 mentioning an author, whose eclogues are pub- 
 Jished in the same volume with Mr. Philips's, 
 J shall employ this paper in observations upon 
 nun, written in the free spirit of criticism, and 
 without apprehension of offending the gentle- 
 man, whose character it is, that he takes the 
 greatest care of his works before they are pub- 
 lished, and has the least concern for them af- 
 terwards. 
 
 I have laid it down as the first rule of pas- 
 toral, that its idea should be taken from the 
 manners of the golden age, and the moral 
 formed upon the representation of innocence ; 
 it is therefore plain that any deviations from 
 that design degrade a poem from being true 
 pastoral. In this view it will appear that Virgil 
 can only have two of his eclogues allowed to 
 be such. His first and ninth must be rejected, 
 because they describe the ravages of armies, 
 and oppressions of the innocent; -Corydon's 
 criminal passion for Alexis throws out the se- 
 eond ; the calumny and railing in the third 
 are not proper to that state of concord ; the 
 eighth represents unlawful ways of procuring 
 love by enchantments, and introduces a shep- 
 herd whom an inviting precipice tempts to self- 
 murder. As to the fourth, sixth and tenth, 
 they are given up by Heinsius,Salmasius, Rapin, 
 and the critics in general.* They likewise ob- 
 serve that but eleven of all the Idyllia of Theo- 
 critus are to be admitted as pastorals ; and even 
 out of that number the greater part will be ex- 
 cluded, for one or other of the reasons above- 
 mentioned. So that when I remarked in a former 
 paper, that Virgil's eclogues, taken altogether, 
 are rather select poems than pastorals, I might 
 have said the same thing, with no less truth, 
 of Theocritus. The reason of this I take to be 
 yet unobserved by the critics, viz. ' They never 
 meant them all for pastorals ;' which it is plain 
 Philips hath done, and in that particular ex- 
 celled both Theocritus and Virgil. 
 
 As simplicity is the distinguishing character- 
 istic of pastoral, Virgil has been thought guilty 
 of too courtly a style : his language is perfectly 
 pure, and he often forgets he is among peasants. 
 I have frequently wondered that since he was 
 so conversant in the writings of Ennius, he had 
 not imitated the rusticity of the Doric, as well, 
 Dy the help of the old obsolete Roman language, 
 as Philips hath by the antiquated English. For 
 
 * Sec Rapia de Carm. Past, pars 3. 
 
 example, might he not have said ' quoi instead 
 of ' cut-,' ' quoijum' for * cujnm ;' ' volt' for 
 ' vult,' &c. as well as our modem hath ' wel- 
 laday' for' alas,' ' whilome' for ' of old,' ''make 
 mock' for ' deride,' and * witless younglings' 
 for ' simple lambs,' &c. by which means he had 
 attained as much of the air of Theocritus, as 
 Philips hath of Spenser ?* 
 
 Mr. Pope hath fallen into the same error 
 with Virgil. His clowns do not converse in all 
 the simplicity proper to the country. His 
 names are borrowed from Theocritus and Vir- 
 gil, which are improper to the scene of his pas- 
 torals. He introduces Daphnis, Alexis, and 
 Thyrsis on British plains, as Virgil had done 
 before him on the Mantuan : whereas Philips, 
 who hath the strictest regard to propriety, 
 makes choice of names peculiar to the country, 
 and more agreeable to a reader of delicacy ; 
 such as Hobbinol, Lobbin, Cuddy, and Colin 
 Clout. 
 
 So easy as pastoral writing may seem (in 
 the simplicity we have described it), yet it re- 
 quires great reading, both of the ancients and 
 moderns, to be a master of it. Philips hath 
 given us manifest proofs of his knowledge of 
 books ; it must be confessed his competitor 
 hath imitated some single thoughts of the an- 
 cients well enough, if we consider he had not 
 the happiness of a university education ; but 
 he hath dispersed them here and there, with- 
 out that order and method which Mr. Philips 
 observes, whose whole third pastoral is an in- 
 stance how well he hath studied the fifth of 
 Virgil, and how judiciously reduced Virgil's 
 thoughts to the standard of pastoral ; as his 
 contention of Colin Clout and the Nightingale, 
 shows with what exactness he hath imitated 
 Strada. 
 
 When I remarked it as a principal fault to 
 introduce fruits and flowers of a foreign growth, 
 in descriptions where the scene lies in our 
 country, I did not design that observation 
 should extend also to animals, or the sensitive 
 life; for Philips hath with great judgment 
 described wolves in England, in his first pas- 
 toral. Nor would I have a poet slavishly con- 
 fine himself (as Mr. Pope hath done) to one 
 particular season of the year, one certain time 
 of the day, and one unbroken scene in each 
 eclogue. It is plain Spenser neglected this 
 pedantry, who, in his pastoral of November, 
 mentions the mournful song of the nightingale. 
 ' Sad Philomel her son? in tears doth steep." 
 
 And Mr. Philips, by a poetical creation, hath 
 raised up finer beds of flowers than the most 
 industrious gardener ; his roses, lilies and daf- 
 fodils, blow in the same season. 
 
 But the better to discover the merits of our 
 two contemporary pastoral writers, I shall en- 
 deavour to draw a parallel of them, by setting 
 several of their particular thoughts in the same 
 
GO 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 40 
 
 light, whereby it will be obvious how much 
 
 Philips bath the advantage. With what sim- 
 plicity lie introduces two shepherds singing al- 
 ternately: 
 
 Come, Rosalind, O come, for without thee 
 NVh.it pleasure cm the country have for me. 
 Come, Rosalind, O come: My brinded kine, 
 Mv snowy sheep, my farm, and all, is thine. 
 tome, Kosalind, O come; here shady bowers, 
 ||,i. are cool fountains, and here springing flow'rs. 
 Come, Rosalind ; here ever let us stay, 
 And sweetly waste our live long time away. 
 
 Dur other pastoral writer, in expressing the 
 same thought, deviates into downright poetry. 
 
 Stteph. In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, 
 At mom the plains, at noon the shady grove, 
 But Delia always ; fore'd from Delia's sight, 
 Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight. 
 
 Daph. Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, 
 
 More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day ; 
 Ev'n spring displeases when she shines not here : 
 But, blest with her , 'tis spring throughout the year. 
 
 In the first of these authors, two shepherds 
 thus innocently describe the behaviour of their 
 mistresses. 
 
 llobb. As Marian bath'd, by chanca I passed by ; 
 
 She blush'd, and at me cast a side-long eye : 
 Then swift beneath the crystal wave she try'd 
 Her beautions form, but all in vain to hide. 
 
 Lanq. As I to cool me bath'd one sultry day, 
 Fond Lydia lurking in the sedges lay ; 
 The wanton langh'd, and seem'd in haste to fly ; 
 Yet often stopp'd, and often turn'd her eye. 
 
 The other modern (who it must be confessed 
 fiath a knack of versifying) hath it as follows : 
 
 Hreph. Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain. 
 
 Then, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain ; 
 Rut feigns a laugh, to see me search around, 
 And by that laugh the willing fair is found. 
 
 Daph. The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green ; 
 Stic runs, but hopes she does not rim unseen ; 
 "While a kind glance at her pursuer Mies, 
 How much at variance are her feet and eyes! 
 
 There is nothing the writers of this kind of 
 poetry are fonder of, than descriptions of pas- 
 toral presents. Philips says thus of a sheep- 
 hook : 
 
 Of seasonal elm ; where studs of brass appear, 
 To speak the giver's name, the month, and year, 
 J he hook of polbh'd steel, the handle turn'd, 
 And lichly by the graver's skill adoru'd.' 
 
 The other of a bowl embossed with figures : 
 
 -where wanton ivy twines ; 
 
 And swi lling clusters bend the curling vines ; 
 
 Four figures rising from the work appear, 
 
 The various seasons of the rolling year; 
 
 And what is that which hinds the radiant sky, 
 
 Where twelve bright signs In beauteous order lie? 
 
 The simplicity of the swain in this place, 
 who forget* the name of the Zodiac, is no ill imi- 
 tation of Virgil; but how much more plainly 
 and unaffectedly would Philips have dressed 
 tliis thought in his Doric? 
 
 And wh.,t that bight, which Rirds the Welkin sheen, 
 
 W&era twelve gaj iigpi i„ mM | array are sm) '{ 
 
 If the reader would indulge his curiosity any 
 farther in the comparison of particulars, he 
 
 may read the first pastoral of Philips with the 
 second of his contemporary, and the fourth and 
 sixth of the former, with the fourth and first 
 of the latter ; where several parallel places will 
 occur to every oi>e. 
 
 Having now shown some parts, in which these 
 two writers may be compared, it is a justice I 
 owe to Mr. Philips, to discover those in which 
 no man can compare with him. First that 
 beautiful rusticity, of which I shall only produce 
 two instances, out of a hundred not yet quoted : 
 
 O woful day ! O day of woe, quoth he. 
 And woful 1, who live the day to see 1 
 
 That simplicity of diction, the melancholy 
 flowing of the numbers, the solemnity of the 
 sound, and the easy turn of the words, in this 
 dirge (to make use of our author's expression) 
 are extremely elegant. 
 
 In another of his pastorals a shepherd utters 
 a dirge not much inferior to the former, in the 
 following lines : 
 
 Ah me the while .' an me, the luckless day I 
 Ah luckless lad, the rather might I say ; 
 Ah silly I / more silly than my sheep, 
 Which on the flow'ry plains I once did keep. 
 
 How he still charms the ear with these artful 
 repetitions of the epithets ; and how significant 
 is the last verse ! I defy the most common 
 reader to repeat them without feeling some 
 motions of compassion. In the next place I 
 shall rank his proverbs, in which I formerly 
 observed he excels. For example, 
 
 A rolling stone is ever bare of moss ; 
 
 And, to their cost, green years old proveibs cross. 
 
 He that late lies down, as late will rise, 
 
 And, sluggard like, till noon-day snoring lies, 
 Against ill luck all cunning foresight fails; 
 Whether we sleep or wake it nought avails. 
 Nor fear, from upright sentence, wrong. 
 
 Lastly, his elegant dialect, which alone might 
 prove him the eldest born of Spenser, and our 
 only true Arcadian ; I should think it proper 
 for the several writers of pastoral, to confine 
 themselves to their several counties : Spenser 
 seems to have been of this opinion ; for he hath 
 laid the scene of one of his pastorals in Wales, 
 where, with all the simplicity natural to that 
 part of our island, one shepherd bids the other 
 good-morrow in an unusual and elegant man- 
 ner. 
 
 Diggon Davcy, I bid hur God-day ; 
 Or Diggon bur is, or 1 mis-say. 
 
 Diggon answers, 
 
 Hur was hur while it was day light: 
 
 But now hur is a most wretched wight, &c. 
 
 But the most beautiful example of this kind 
 that I ever met with, is a very valuable piece 
 which I chanced to find among some old ma- 
 nuscripts, entitled, A Pastoral Ballad ; which 
 I think, for its nature and simplicity, may 
 (notwithstandin Uie modesty of the title) be 
 
No. 41. J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 61 
 
 allowed a perfect pastoral. It Is composed in 
 the Somersetshire dialect, and the names such 
 as are proper to the country people. It may be 
 observed, as a farther beauty of this pastoral, 
 the words Nymph, Dryad, Naiad, Faun, Cupid, 
 or Satyr, are not once mentioned through the 
 whole. I shall make no apology for inserting 
 some few lines of this excellent piece. Cicily 
 breaks thus into the subject, as she is going a 
 milking: 
 
 Cteily, Rager go vetch tha kee,* or else tha zun 
 Will quite be g», bevore c'have half a don. 
 
 Roger. Thou should'st not ax ma tweece, but I've a be 
 To dreave our bull to bull tha parson's kee. 
 
 It is to be observed, that this whole dialogue 
 is formed upon the passion of jealousy; and 
 his mentioning the parson's kine naturally re- 
 vives the jealousy of the shepherdess Cicily, 
 which she expresses as follows : 
 Cicily. Ah Rager, Rager, chez was zore avraid 
 
 When in yond vield you kiss'd tha parson's maid : 
 
 Is this the love that once to me you zed [.bread ? 
 
 When from tha wake thou brought'st me ginger- 
 Rogcr. Cicily thou charg'st me false— I'll zwear to thee, 
 
 Tha parson's maid is still a maid for me. 
 
 In which answer of his are expressed at once 
 that ' spirit of religion/ and that * innocence 
 of the golden age,' so necessary to be observed 
 by all writers of pastoral. 
 
 At the conclusion of this piece, the author 
 reconciles the lovers, and ends the eclogue the 
 most simply in the world: 
 
 So Rager parted vor to vetch tha kee, 
 And vor her bucket iu went Cicily. 
 
 I am loth to show my fondness for antiquity so 
 far as to prefer this ancient British author to 
 our present English writers of pastoral ; but I 
 cannot avoid making this obvious remark, that 
 both Spenser and Philips have hit into the same 
 road with this old west country bard of ours. 
 
 After all that hath been said I hope none 
 can think it any injustice to Mr. Pope, that I 
 forbore to mention him as a pastoral writer ; 
 since upon the whole he is of the same class 
 with Moschus and Bion, whom we have ex- 
 cluded that rank ; and of whose eclogues, as 
 well as some of Virgil's, it may be said, that 
 according to the description we have given of 
 this sort of poetry, they are by no means pas- 
 torals, but * something better.' 
 
 No. 41.] Tuesday, April 28, 1713. 
 
 E'en churches are no sanctuaries now. 
 
 Epilogue to Cato. 
 
 The following letter has so much truth and 
 reason in it, that I believe every man of sense 
 and honour in England, will have a just indig- 
 nation against the person who could commit 
 so great a violence, as that of which my cor- 
 respondent complains. 
 
 * That is, kine or cows. 
 
 * To the Autluor of the Guardian. 
 •SIR, 
 ' I claim a place in your paper for what I 
 now write to you, from the declaration which 
 you made at your first appearance, and the very 
 title you assume to yourself. 
 
 * If the circumstance which I am going to 
 mention is over- looked by one who calls him- 
 self Guardian, I am sure honour and integrity, 
 innocence and virtue, are not the objects of 
 his care. — The Examiner ends his discourse of 
 Friday, the twenty-fourth instant, with these 
 words: 
 
 " No sooner was D — * among the whigs, and 
 confirmed past retrieving, but lady Char — te-f* 
 is taken knotting in St. James's chapel during 
 divine service, in the immediate presence both 
 of God and her majesty, who were affronted 
 together, that the family might appear to be 
 entirely come over. I spare the beauty for 
 the sake of her birth ; but certainly there was 
 no occasion for so public a proof, that her 
 fingers are more dexterous in tying a knot, 
 than her father's brains in perplexing the go- 
 vernment." 
 
 * It is apparent that the person here intended 
 is by her birth a lady, and daughter of an earl 
 of Great Britain; and the treatment this au- 
 thor is pleased to give her, he makes no scruple 
 to own she is exposed to by being his daughter. 
 Since he has assumed a licence to talk of this 
 nobleman in print to his disadvantage, I hope 
 his lordship will pardon me, that out of the 
 interest which I, and all true Englishmen, have 
 in his character, I take the liberty to defend 
 him. 
 
 * I am willing on this occasion, to allpw the 
 claim and pretension to merit to be such, as 
 the same author describes in his preceding 
 paper. 
 
 " By active merit (says the Examiner of the 
 twenty-first) I understand, not only the power 
 and ability to serve, but the actual exercise of 
 any one or more virtues, for promoting the 
 good of one's country, and a long and steady 
 course of real endeavours to appear useful in 
 a government ; or where a person eminently 
 qualified for public affairs, distinguishes him- 
 self in some critical juncture, and at the ex- 
 pense of his ease and fortune, or with the 
 hazard of his person, exposes himself to the 
 malice of a designing faction, by thwarting 
 their wicked purposes, and contributing to the 
 safety, repose, and welfare of a people." 
 
 Let us examine the conduct of this noble 
 earl by this description. Upon the late glo- 
 rious revolution, when it was in debate in what 
 manner the people of England should express 
 their gratitude to their deliverer, this lord, 
 
 • Earl of Nottingham. 
 
 t His daughter, lady Charlotte Finch, afterwards duchess 
 of Somerset 
 
62 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 r \ T o. 41. 
 
 from tlu* utmost tenderness and loyalty to his 
 unhappy prince,and apprehensive of the danger 
 
 • a change, voted against king Wil- 
 to the throne. However, his 
 follow ing w ri ices sufficiently testified the truth 
 vf that bis memorable expression, " Though 
 be could not make a king, he could obey him." 
 The whole course and tenour of his life ever 
 since has been visibly animated, by a steady 
 and constant zeal for the monarchy and epis- 
 copacy of these realms. He has been ever 
 reviled by all who are cold to the interests 
 of our established religion, or dissenters from 
 it, as a favourer of persecution, and a bigot to 
 the church, against the civil rights of his fel- 
 low-subjects. Thus it stood with him at the 
 trial of doctor Sacheverell, when this noble earl 
 had a very great share in obtaining the gentle 
 sentence which the house of lords pronounced 
 o.) that occasion. But, indeed, I have not heard 
 that any of his lordship's dependents joined 
 saint Harry in the pilgrimage which " that 
 meek man" took afterwards round England, 
 followed by drum, trumpet, and acclamations, 
 to " visit the churches." — Civil prudence made 
 it, perhaps, necessary to throw the public af- 
 fairs into such hands as had no pretensions to 
 popularity in either party, but from the distri- 
 bution of the queen's favours. 
 
 ' During such, and other later transactions 
 ('which are too fresh to ne"ed being recounted) 
 the earl of Nottingham has had the misfortune 
 to differ with the lords who have the honour 
 to be employed in the administration ; but 
 even among these incidents he has highly dis- 
 tinguished himself in procuring an act of par- 
 liament, to prevent that those who dissent from 
 the church should serve in the state. 
 
 4 1 hope these are great and critiwal junctures, 
 wherein this gentleman has shown himself a 
 patriot and lover of the church in as eminent 
 manner, as any other of his fellow-subjects. 
 
 He has at all times, and in all seasons, 
 shown the same steady abhorrence to all inno- 
 vations." But it is from this behaviour, that 
 be bas deserved so ill of the Examiner, as to 
 be termed a " late convert'' to those whom he 
 calls factious, and introduced in bis. profane 
 dialogue of April the sixth, with a servant and 
 B mad woman. I think I have, according to 
 
 t be Examiner's own descripl ion of merit, shown 
 
 bow little this nobleman deserves such treat- 
 ment. 1 shall now appeal tO all the world, to 
 
 consider whether the outrage committed against 
 
 the young lady had not been cruel and insuf- 
 ferable, toward! the daughter of the highest 
 
 offender. 
 
 The Utmost malice and invention could go 
 no Farther than to forge a story of her having 
 
 inadvertently done an indifferent action in a 
 sacred place, or what temper can this man 
 i»e made, thai could have no sense of the pangs 
 
 be must give a young lady to be barely men- 
 
 tioned in a public paper, much more t.j be 
 named in a libellous manner, as having offended 
 God and man. 
 
 * But the wretch, as dull as he is wicked, 
 felt it strike on his imagination, that knotting 
 and perplexing would make a quaint sting at 
 the end of his paper, and had no compunction, 
 though he introduced his witticism at the ex- 
 pense of a young lady's quiet, and (as far as in 
 him lies) her honour. Does he thus finish his 
 discourse of religion ? This is indeed t4 to lay 
 at us and make every blow fell to the ground." 
 
 1 There is no party concerned in this circum- 
 stance; but every man that hopes for a vir- 
 tuous woman to his wife, that would defend 
 his child, or protect his mistress, ought to re- 
 ceive this insolence as done to himeelf. " In 
 the immediate presence of God and her majesty, 
 that the family might appear to be entirely 
 come over," says the fawning miscreant. — It is 
 very visible which of those powers (that he has 
 put together) he is the more fearful of offend- 
 ing. But he mistakes his way in making his 
 court to a pious sovereign, by naming her with 
 the Deity, in order to find protection for in- 
 sulting a virtuous woman, who comes to call 
 upon him in the royal chapel. 
 
 ' If life be fas it ought to be with people of 
 their character, whom the Examiner attacks) 
 less valuable and dear than honour and repu- 
 tation, in that proportion is the Examiner worse 
 than an assassin, we have stood by and tamely 
 heard him aggravate the disgraces of the brave 
 and the unfortunate, we have seen him double 
 the anguish of the unhappy man, we have seen 
 him trample on the ashes of the dead ; but all 
 this has concerned greater life, and could touch 
 only public characters, they did but remotely 
 affect our private and domestic interests ; but 
 when due regard is not had to the honour of 
 women, all human society is assaulted. The 
 highest person in the world is of that sex, and 
 has the utmost sensibility of an outrage com- 
 mitted against it. She, who was the best wife 
 that ever prince was blessed with, will, though 
 she sits on a throne, jealously regard the honour 
 of a young lady who has not entered into that 
 condition. 
 
 * Lady Char — te's quality will make it im- 
 possible that this cruel usage can escape her 
 majesty's notice ; and it is the business of every 
 honest man to trace the offender, and expose 
 him to the indignation of his sovereign.' 
 
 No. i .'.] Wednesday, April <29, 1713. 
 
 Non mlSHira cutem, Did plenR cruoria hirndo. 
 
 llor. Art i >(l( »• vcr. alt. 
 
 Sticking like leeches till they burst with blood. 
 
 Roscommon, 
 
 Tom Lizard told us a stoy the other day, 
 of some persons which our family know very 
 
No. 42.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 63 
 
 well, with so much humour and life, that it 
 caused a great deal of mirth at the tea-table. 
 His brother Will, the Templar, was highly de- 
 lighted with it, and the next day being with 
 some of his inns-of-eourt acquaintance, resolved 
 (whether out of the henevolence, or the pride 
 of his heart, I will not determine) to entertain 
 them with what he called ' a pleasant humour 
 enough.' I was in great pain for him when I 
 heard him begin, and was not at all surprised 
 to find the company very little moved by it. 
 Will blushed, looked round the room, and with 
 a forced laugh, ' Faith, gentlemen,' said he, ' I 
 do not know what makes you look so grave; 
 it was an admirable story when 1 heard it.' 
 
 When I came home 1 fell into a profound 
 contemplation upon story-telling, and as 1 have 
 nothing so much at heart as the good of my 
 country, I resolved to lay down some precau- 
 tions upon this subject. 
 
 I have often thought that a story-teller is 
 born, as well as a poet. It is, I think, certain, 
 that some men have such a peculiar cast of 
 mind, that they see things in another light 
 than men of grave dispositions. Men of a 
 lively imagination, and a mirthful temper, will 
 represent things to their hearers in the same 
 manner as they themselves were affected with 
 them ; and wiiereas serious spirits might per- 
 haps have been disgusted at the sight of some 
 odd occurrences in life ; yet the very same oc- 
 currences shall please them in a well-told story, 
 where the disagreeable parts of the images are 
 concealed, and those only which are pleasing 
 exhibited to the fancy. Story-telling is there- 
 fore not an art,, but what we call ' a knack ;' 
 it doth not so much subsist upon wit as upon 
 humour; and 1 will add, that it is not perfect 
 without proper gesticulations of the body, 
 which naturally attend such merry emotions 
 of the mind. I know very well, that a certain 
 gravity of countenance sets some stories off to 
 advantage, where the hearer is to be surprised 
 in the end ; but this is by no means a general 
 rule ; for it is frequently convenient to aid and 
 assist by cheerful looks, and whimsical agita- 
 tions. I will go yet further, and affirm that the 
 success of a story very often depends upon the 
 make of the body, and formation of the fea- 
 tures, of him who relates it. I have been of 
 this opinion ever since I criticised upon the 
 chin of Dick Dewlap. I very often had the 
 weakness to repine at the prosperity of his 
 conceits, which made him pass for a wit with 
 the widow at the coffee-house, and the ordinary 
 mechanics that frequent it ; nor could I myself 
 forbear laughing at them most heartily, though 
 upon examination I thought most of them very 
 flat and insipid. I found after some time, that 
 the merit of his wit was founded upon the 
 shaking of a fat paunch, and the tossing up of a 
 pair of rosy joles. Poor Dick had a fit of sick- 
 ness,, which robbed him of his fat and his fame 
 
 at once; and it was full three months before 
 he regained his reputation, which rose in pro- 
 portion to his floridity. He is now very jolly 
 and ingenious, and hath a good constitution 
 for wit. 
 
 Those who are thus adorned with the gifts 
 of nature, are apt to show their parts with too 
 much ostentation : I would therefore advise all 
 the professors of this art never to tell stories 
 but as they seem to grow out of the subject 
 matter of the conversation, or as they serve to 
 illustrate or enliven it. Stories that are very 
 common are generally irksome ; but may be 
 aptly introduced, provided they be only hinted 
 at, and mentioned by way of allusion. Those 
 that are altogether new should never be 
 ushered in without a short and pertinent cha- 
 racter of the chief persons concerned ; because, 
 by that means, you make the company ac- 
 quainted with them; and it is a certain rule, 
 that slight and trivial accounts of those who 
 are familiar to us, administer more mirth, 
 than the brighest points of wit in unknown 
 characters. A little circumstance in the com- 
 plexion or dress of the man you are talking of 
 sets his image before the hearer, if it be chosen 
 aptly for the story. Thus, I remember Tom 
 Lizard, after having made his sisters merry 
 with an account of a formal old man's way of 
 complimenting, owned very frankly, that his 
 story would not have been worth one farthing, 
 if he had made the hat of him whom he repre- 
 sented one inch narrower. Besides the mark- 
 ing distinct characters, and selecting pertinent 
 circumstances, it is likewise necessary to leave 
 off in time, and end smartly. So that there is 
 a kind of drama in the forming of a story, and 
 the manner of conducting and pointing it, is the 
 same as in an epigram. It is a miserable thing, 
 after one hath raised the expectation of the 
 company by humorous characters, and a pretty 
 conceit, to pursue the matter too far. There 
 is no retreating, and how poor it is for a story- 
 teller to end his relation by saying, ' that's all !' 
 
 As the choosing of pertinent circumstances 
 is the life of a story, and that wherein humour 
 principally consists; so the collectors of im- 
 pertinent particulars are the very bane and 
 opiates of conversation. Old men are great 
 transgressors this way. Poor Ned Poppy, — 
 he's gone— was a very honest man, but was so 
 excessively tedious over his pipe, that he was 
 not to be endured. He knew so exactly what 
 they had for dinner ; when such a thing hap- 
 pened ; in what ditch his bay stone-horse had 
 his sprain at that time, and how his man Jehn, 
 — no ! 'twas William, started a hare in the 
 common field ; that he never got to the end 
 of his tale. Then he was extremely particular 
 in marriages and inter-marriages, and cousins 
 twice or thrice removed ; and whether such a 
 thing happened at the latter end of July, of 
 the beginning of August. He had a marvelous 
 
fri 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 [No. 43. 
 
 tendency likewise to digressions; insomuch 
 thai if ■ considerable person "^ mentioned in 
 ln> story, I"- would straightway launch out into 
 IB epbodfl of bhn ; «nd again, if in that per- 
 ion's Story he had occasion to remember a third 
 mau, be broke off, and gave us his history, and 
 so on. He always put me in mind of what 
 lir William Temple informs us of the tale-tel- 
 lers in the north of Ireland, who are hired to 
 tell stories of giants and inchanters to lull 
 people asleep. These historians are obliged, 
 by their bargain, to go on without stopping; 
 so that after the patient hath, by this benefit, 
 enjoyed a long nap, he is sure to find the ope- 
 rator proceeding in his work. Ned procured the 
 like effect in me the last time I was with him. 
 As he was in the third hour of his story, and 
 very thankful that his memory did not fail him, 
 I fairly nodded in the elbow chair. He was much 
 affronted at this, till I told him, ' Old friend, 
 you have your infirmity, and I have mine.' 
 
 But of all evils in story-telling, the humour 
 of telling tales one after another, in great 
 numbers, is the least supportable. Sir Harry 
 Pandolf and his son gave my lady Lizard great 
 offence in this particular. Sir Harry hath 
 what they call a string of stories, which he 
 tells over every Christmas. When our family 
 visits there, we are constantly, after supper, en- 
 tertained with the Glastonbury Thorn. When 
 we have wondered at that a little, ' Ay, but, 
 father,' saith the son, ' let us have the Spirit in 
 the Wood.' After that hath been laughed at, 
 ' Ay, but father,' cries the booby again, * tell us 
 how you served the robber.' ' Alack-a-day,' 
 saith sir Harry, with a smile, and rubbing his 
 forehead, ' I have almost forgot that; but 'tis 
 a pleasant conceit, to be sure.' Accordingly 
 he tells that and twenty more in the same in- 
 dependent order, and without the least vari- 
 ation, at this day, as he hath done to my 
 knowledge, ever since the revolution. I must 
 not forget a very odd compliment that sir Harry 
 always makes my lady when he dines here. 
 After dinner he strokes his belly, and says with 
 a feigned concern in his countenance, ' Madam, 
 1 have lost by you to-day.' ' How so, sir 
 Harry?' replies my lady; ' Madam,' says he, 
 
 I have lost an excellent stomach.' At this, 
 his son and heir laughs immoderately, and 
 winks upon Mrs. Annabella. This is the thirty- 
 third time that sir Harry hath been thus arch, 
 and 1 can bear it no longer. 
 
 As the telling of stories is a great help and 
 life to conversations I always encourage them, 
 if they art- pertinent and innocent; in opposi- 
 tion to those gloomy mortals, who disdain every 
 thing but nutter of fact. Those grave fellows 
 are my aversion, who sift every thing with the 
 utmost iiieet\, and rind the malignity of a lie 
 in | piece of humour, pushed a little beyond 
 exact truth. I likewise have a poor opinion 
 of those, who have got | trick of keeping a 
 
 steady countenance, that cock their hats, and 
 look glum when a pleasant thing is said, and 
 ask, * Well ! and what then ?' Men of wit and 
 parts should treat one another with benevo- 
 lence : and I will lay it down as a ttsiim, that 
 if you seem to have a good opinion of another 
 man's wit, he will allow you to have judgment. 
 
 No. 43.] Thursday, April 30, 1713. 
 
 Emit ire leves indigna Tragaedia versa?, 
 Ut festus matrona moveri jnssa diebus. 
 
 Hot: Ars Poet. ver. 231. 
 
 Tragedy sbon'ri blush as much to stoop 
 
 To the low mimic tollies of a farce, 
 
 As a grave matron would to dauce with girls. 
 
 Eoscommtmt. 
 
 I HAD for some days observed something in 
 agitation, which was carried by smiles and 
 whispers between my lady Lizard and her 
 daughters, with a professed declaration that 
 Mr. Ironside should not be in the secret. 
 I would not trespass upon the integrity of the 
 Sparkler so much as to solicit her to break ber 
 word even in a trifle; but I take it for an in- 
 stance of her kindness to me, that as soon as 
 she was at liberty, she was impatient to let 
 me know it, and this morning sent me the 
 following billet. 
 
 * My brother Tom waited upon us all last 
 night to Cato ; we sat in the first seats in the 
 box of the eighteen-penny gallery. You must 
 come hither this morning, for we shall be full 
 of debates about the characters. I was for 
 Marcia last night, but find that partiality was 
 owing to the awe I was under in her father's 
 presence ; but this morning Lucia is my woman. 
 You will tell me whether I am right or no 
 when I see you ; but I think it is a more diffi- 
 cult virtue to forbear going into a family, 
 though she was in love with the heir of it, for 
 no other reason but because her happiness was 
 inconsistent with the tranquillity of the whole 
 house to which she should be allied. I say, 
 I think it a more generous virtue in Lucia to 
 conquer her love from this motive, than in 
 Marcia to suspend hers in the present circum- 
 stances of her father and her country : but 
 pray be here to settle these matters. 
 ' I am, your most obliged 
 
 * and obedient humble servant, 
 
 « MARY LIZARD.' 
 
 I made all the haste imaginable to the family, 
 where I found Tom with the play in his hand, 
 and the whole company with a sublime cheer- 
 fulness in their countenance, all ready to speak 
 to me at once : and before I could draw my 
 chair, my lady herself repeated : 
 
 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion, 
 The (incline of a skin that 1 admire; 
 Iteauty soon jrows familiar lo the lover, 
 
No. 43. J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 65 
 
 Fades In his eye, and palls upon the sense. 
 The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex : 
 True, she is fair ; (oh, how divinely fair !) 
 But still the lovely maid improves her charms 
 With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, 
 And sanctity of manners.' 
 
 I was going to speak, when Mrs. Cornelia 
 etood up, and with the most gentle accent and 
 sweetest tone of voice succeeded her mother: 
 
 So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains 
 Of rushing torrents and descsnding rains, 
 Works itself clear, and as it runs refines, 
 Till by degrees the floating mirror shines, 
 Reflects each flower that on the border grows, 
 And a new heaven in its fair bosom shows. 
 
 I thought now they would have given me 
 time to draw a chair; but the Sparkler took 
 hold of me, and I heard her with the utmost 
 delight pursue her admiration of Lucia in the 
 words of Portius : 
 
 Athwart the terrors that thy vow 
 
 Has planted round thee, thou appear'st more fair, 
 More amiable, and risest in thy charms, 
 Loveliest of women I Heaven is in thy son!, 
 Beauty and virtue shine for ever round thee, 
 Bright'ning each other ; thou art all divine! 
 
 When the ladies had done speaking, I took 
 the liberty to take my place ; while Tom, who. 
 like a just courtier, thinks the interest of his 
 prince and country the same, dwelt upon these 
 lines : 
 
 Remember, O my friends, the laws, the rights, 
 The generous plan of power deliver'd down 
 From age to age, by your reuown'd fore-fathers, 
 (So dearly bought, the price of so much blood.) 
 O let it never perish in your hands .' 
 But piously transmit it to your children. 
 
 Though I would not take notice of it at that 
 time, it went to my heart that Annabella, for 
 whom I have long had some apprehensions, 
 said nothing on this> occasion, but indulged 
 herself in the sneer of a little mind, to see the 
 rest so much affected. Mrs. Betty also, who 
 tnows forsooth more than us all, overlooked 
 the whole drama, but acknowledged the dresses 
 of Syphaxand Juba were very prettily imagined. 
 The love of virtue, which has been so warmly 
 roused by this admirable piece in all parts of 
 the theatre, is an unanswerable instance of 
 how great force the stage might be towards 
 the improvement of the world, were it regarded 
 and encouraged as much as it ought. There 
 is no medium in this case, for the advantages 
 of action, and the representation of vice and 
 virtue in an agreeable or odious manner before 
 our eyes, are so irresistibly prevalent, that the 
 theatre ought to be shut up, or carefully govern- 
 ed, in any nation that values the promotion of 
 virtue or guard of innocence among its people. 
 Speeches cr sermons will ever suffer, in some 
 degree, from the characters of those that make 
 them ; and mankind are so unwilling to reflect 
 on what makes for their own mortification, 
 that they are ever cavilling against the lives 
 of those who speak in the cause of goodness, 
 to keep themselves in countenance, and con- 
 
 tinue in beloved infirmities. But in the case 
 of the stage, envy and detraction are baffled, 
 and none are offended, but all insensibly won 
 by personated characters, which they neither 
 look upon as their rivals, or superiors ; every 
 man that has any degree of what is laudable 
 in a theatrical character, is secrectly pleased, 
 and encouraged in the prosecution of that 
 virtue without fancying any man about him has 
 more of it. To this purpose I fell a talking 
 at the tea table, when my lady Lizard, with a 
 look of some severity towards Annabella and 
 Mrs. Betty, was pleased to say, that it must 
 be from some trifling prepossession of mind 
 that any one could be unmoved with the cha- 
 racters of this tragedy ; nor do I yet understand 
 to what circumstance in the family her ladyship 
 alluded, when she made all the company look 
 serious, and rehearsed, with a tone more exalted, 
 those words of the herione, 
 
 In spite of all the virtues we can boast, 
 The woman that deliberates is lost. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Whereas Bat Pigeon in the Strand, hair- 
 cutter to the family of the Lizards, has attained 
 to great proficience in his art, Mr. Ironside 
 advises all persons of fine heads, in order to 
 have justice done them, to repair to that in- 
 dustrious mechanic. 
 
 N. B. Mr. Pigeon has orders to talk with, 
 and examine into the parts and characters of 
 young persons, before he thins the covering 
 near the seat of the brain. 
 
 No. 44.] Friday, May 1, 1713. 
 
 Hac iter .Elysium nobis. Virg. 2£n. vi. 542. 
 
 This path conducts us to th' Elysian fields. 
 
 I have frequently observed in the walks be- 
 longing to all the inns of court, a set of old 
 fellows who appear to be humorists, and 
 wrapped up in themselves ; but have long been 
 at a loss when I have seen them smile, and 
 name my name as I passed by, and say, Old 
 Ironside wears well. I am a mere boy to some 
 of them who frequent Gray's-inn, but am not 
 a little pleased to find they are even with tht 
 world, and return upon it its neglect towards 
 them, which is all the defence we old fellowf 
 have against the petulancy of young people. 
 I am very glad to observe that these sages oi 
 this peripatetic sect study tranquillity and in- 
 dolence of body and mind, in the neighbour- 
 hood of so much contention as is carried on 
 among the students of Littleton. The follow- 
 ing letter gives us some light into the manner* 
 and maxims of these philosophers. 
 
 * To the Guardian. 
 'SIR, 
 ' As the depredations of time and fortune 
 have been lamented in all ages, those persons 
 

 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 44, 
 
 1 »nd disputed the tyranny of 
 either of these, have employed the sublimest 
 latioM of the writers in all languages. 
 A> these deoi ssed heroes have had their places 
 judiciously assigned tbea already in the temple 
 of lame, I would immortalize some persons now 
 ahve, r/ho to me are greater objects of envy, 
 both as their bravery is exercised with the ut- 
 most tranquillity and pleasure to themselves, 
 and as they are substantially happy on this 
 gtde the grave, in opposition to all the Greek 
 and Latin scraps to the contrary. 
 
 4 As therefore I am naturally subject to cruel 
 inroads from the spleen, as I affirm all evil to 
 come from the east, as I am the weather-glass 
 of every company I come into, I sometimes, 
 according to Shakspeare. 
 
 Sit like my grandsire cut in alabaster, 
 
 Sleep whilst 1 wake, and creep into the jaundice 
 
 By being peevish. 
 
 1 I would furnish out a table of merry fame, 
 in envious admiration of those jovial blades, 
 who disappoint the strokes of age and fortune 
 with the same gayety of soul, as when through 
 youth or affluence they were in their prime 
 for fancy, frolic, and achievement. There 
 are, you may observe, in all public walks, per- 
 sons who by a singular shabbiness of their 
 attire, make a very ridiculous appearance in 
 the opinion of the men of dress. They are 
 very sullen and involved, and appear in such 
 a state of distress and tribulation as to be 
 thought inconsolable. They are generally of 
 that complexion which was in fashion during 
 the pleasurable reign of Charles the second. 
 Some of them, indeed, are of a lighter brown, 
 whose fortunes fell with that of king James. 
 Now these, who are the jest of such as take 
 themselves, and the world usually takes, to be 
 in prosperity, are the very persons whose hap- 
 piness, were it understood, would be looked 
 upon with burning envy. I fell into the dis- 
 covery of them in the following manner. One 
 day last summer, being particularly under the 
 dominion of the spleen, 1 resolved to sooth my 
 melancholy in the company of such, whose 
 appearance promised a full return of any com- 
 plaints I could possibly utter. Living near 
 Gray's-inn walk, I went thither in search of 
 the persons above described, and found some 
 if them seated upon a bench, where, as Milton 
 sings, 
 
 the unpierced shade 
 
 Imbrowried their noontide bower. 
 
 1 squeezed iu among them, and they did 
 not only receive my moanings with singular 
 ntimanity, but gave me all possible encourage- 
 ment to enlarge them. If the blackness of 
 my spleen raised any imaginary distemper of 
 body, some one of them immediately sympa- 
 thized with me. Ill spoke of any disappoint- 
 ment in my fortune, uuithcr of them would 
 
 abate my sorrowing by recounting to me his 
 own defeat upon the very same circumstances. 
 If I touched upon overlooked merit, the whole 
 assembly seemed to condole with me very 
 feelingly upon that particular. In short, I 
 could not make myself so calamitous in mind, 
 body, or circumstances, but some one of them 
 was upon a level with me. When I had wound 
 up my discourse, and was ripe for their intended 
 raillery, at first they crowned my narration 
 with several piteous sighs and groans, but after 
 a short pause, and a signal given for the onset, 
 they burst out into a most incomprehensible 
 fit of laughter. You may be sure I was nota- 
 bly out of countenance, which gave occasion 
 to a second explosion of the same mirth. What 
 troubled me most was, that their figure, age, 
 and short swords, preserved them from any 
 imputation of cowardice upon refusal of battle, 
 and their number from insult. I had now no 
 other way to be upon good terms with them, 
 but desiring I might be admitted into this fra- 
 ternity. This was at first vigorously opposed, 
 it being objected to me, that I affected too 
 much the appearance of a happy man to be 
 received into a society so proud of appearing 
 the most afflicted. However, as I only seemed 
 to be what they really were, I am admitted by 
 way of triumph upon probation for a year : 
 and if within that time it shall be possible for 
 them to infuse any of their gayety into me, 
 I can, at Mon mouth-street, upon mighty easy 
 terms, purchase the robes necessary for my 
 installment into this order ; and when they 
 have made me as happy, shall be willing to 
 appear as miserable as any of this assembly. 
 I confess I have ever since been ashamed, that 
 I should once take that place to be sacred to 
 the disconsolate, which I now must affirm to 
 be the only Elysium on this side the Styx ; and 
 that ever I should look upon those personages 
 as lively instances of the outrage of time and 
 fortune, who disallow their empire with such 
 inimitable bravery. Some of these are pretty 
 good classical scholars, and they follow these 
 studies always walking, upon account of a cer- 
 tain sentence in Pliny's epistles to the follow- 
 ing effect. " 'Tis inconceivable how much the 
 understanding is enlivened by the exercise of 
 the body." If therefore their author is a little 
 difficult, you will see them fleeting with a very 
 precipitate pace, and when it has been very 
 perplexed and abstruse, I have seen a couple 
 of these students prepare their apprehensions 
 by still quicker motions, till they run into 
 wisdom. These courses do not only make them 
 go through their studies with pleasure and 
 profit, but there is more spirit and vigour in 
 their dialogues after the heat and hurry of 
 these perambulations. This place was chosen 
 as the peculiar resort of these sages, not only 
 upon account of its air and situation, but in 
 regard to certain edifices and seats therein 
 
No. 44.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 07 
 
 raised with great magnificence and conveni- 
 ence : and here, after the toils of their walks, 
 and upon any stress of weather, these blessed 
 inhabitants assemble themselves. There is 
 one building particularly, in which, if the day 
 permit, they have the most frequent confer- 
 ences, not so much because of the loveliness 
 of its eminence, as a sentence of literature in- 
 eircling the extremities of it, which I think is 
 as follows : " Franciscus Bacon Eques Auratus 
 Executor Testamenti Jeremice Bettenham Hu- 
 *'us Hospitii Viri Abstemii et Contemplativi 
 Hanc Sedem posuit in Memorium Ejusdcm." 
 Now this structure being erected in honour- 
 able memory of the abstemious, the contemp- 
 lative Mr. Bettenham, they take frequent 
 occasion to rally this erudition, which is to 
 continue the remembrance of a person, who, 
 according to their translation of the words, 
 being confessed to have been of most splenetic 
 memory, ought rather to lie buried in oblivion. 
 
 Lest they should flag in their own way of 
 conversation, they admit a fair-one to relieve 
 them with hers. There are two or three thin 
 existences among them, which I think I may 
 call the ghosts of departed beaus, who pay their 
 court more particularly to this lady, though 
 their passion never rises higher than a kiss, 
 which is always 
 
 Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, 
 
 And sweet reluctant amorous delay. Milton. 
 
 ' As it is the character of this fraternity to 
 turn their seeming misfortunes to their advan- 
 tage, they affirm it to be the greatest indul- 
 gence imaginable in these amours, that nature 
 perpetuates their good inclinations to the fair, 
 by an inability to extinguish them. 
 
 * During my year of probation, I am to pre- 
 pare myself with such parts of history as have 
 engaged their application during the leisure of 
 their ill- fortune; I am therefore to read Rush- 
 worth and Clarendon, in the perusal of which 
 authors I am not obliged to enter into the 
 ustness of their reflections and characters, but 
 am desired to read, with an eye particularly 
 curious, the battles of Marston-moor and Edge- 
 hill, in one of which every man of this assem- 
 oly has lost a relation ; and each has a story 
 which none who has not read those battles is 
 able to taste. 
 
 ' I had almost forgot to mention a most un- 
 exampled piece of their gallantry. Some time 
 since, in a prodigious foggy morning, I went 
 tn search of these persons to their usual place 
 of resort, and perhaps shall hardly be believed, 
 when I affirm, that, notwithstanding they 
 Sucked in so condensed and poisonous an aether, 
 I found them enjoying themselves with as much 
 vivacity, as if they had breathed in the serenity 
 of Montpelier. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 * your most humble servant, 
 
 < J. W.' 
 
 No. 45.] Saturday, May % 1713. 
 
 I do not know that I have been more inti 
 mately moved with pity in my whole life, than 
 when I was reading a letter from a young wo- 
 man, not yet nineteen, in which there are these 
 lamentable words, ' Alas! whither shall I fly? 
 he has deceived, ruined, and left me.' The 
 circumstances of her story are only those or- 
 dinary ones, that her lover was a man of greate? 
 fortune than she could expect would address to 
 her upon honourable terms ; but she said to 
 herself, ' She had wit and beauty, and such 
 charms as often captivate so far as to make 
 men forget those meaner considerations, and 
 innocent freedoms were not to be denied. A 
 gentleman of condition is not to be shunned 
 purely for being such ; and they who took no- 
 tice of it, did it only out of malice, because, 
 they were not used by him with the same dis- 
 tinction.' But I would have young women, 
 who are orphans, or unguarded with powerful 
 alliances, consider with horror the insolence of 
 wealth. Fortune does in a great measure de- 
 nominate what is vice and virtue ; or if it does 
 not go so far, innocence is helpless, and oppres- 
 sion unpunished without its assistance ; for 
 this reason it is, that I would strictly recom- 
 mend to my young females not to dally with 
 men whose circumstances can support them 
 against their falsehood, and have the fashion 
 or c a base self-interested world on their side, 
 which, instead of avenging the cause of aa 
 abused women, will proclaim her dishonour ; 
 while the person injured is shunned like a pes- 
 tilence, he who did the wrong sees no difference 
 in the reception he meets with, nor is he the 
 less welcome to the rest of the sex, who are 
 still within the pale of honour and innocence. 
 What makes this circumstance the more la- 
 mentable, is, that it frequently falls upon those 
 who have greatest merit and understanding. 
 Gentleness of disposition, and taste of polite 
 conversation, I have often known snares toward 
 vice in some, whilst sullenness and disrelish ot 
 any thing that was agreeable, have been the 
 only defences of virtue in others. I have my 
 unhappy correspondent's letter before me ; and 
 she says she is sure, he is so much a gentle- 
 man, and he has that natural softness, that it 
 he reads any thing moving on this subject in 
 my paper, it will certainly make him think. 
 Poor girl ! * Caesar ashamed ! Has not he seen 
 Pharsalia ?' Does the poor creature imagine 
 that a scrip of paper, a collection of sentences, 
 and an old man's talk of pleasures which he is 
 past, will have an effect upon him who could 
 go on in a series of falsehood ; let drop ambi- 
 guous sentences in her absence, to give her false 
 hope from the repetition of them by some friend 
 that heard them ; that could pass as much time 
 in the pursuit of her, as would have attained 
 some useful art or science j and that only to 
 
Cfi 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 4C, 
 
 attain a short revel of his 6enses, under a stupor 
 of fail h, honour, and conscience! No; the de- 
 struction of ■ well-educated young woman is 
 not accomplished hy the criminal who is guilty 
 of it, in a sudden start of desire ; he is not 
 surprised iirto it hy frailty ; hut arrives at it by 
 care, skill, and meditation. It is no small ag- 
 gravation of the guilt, that it is a thousand 
 times conquered and resisted, even while it is 
 prosecuted. He that waits for fairer occasions, 
 for riper wishes, for the removal of a particular 
 objection, or the conquest of any certain scru- 
 ple, has it in his power to obey his conscience, 
 which often calls him, during the intrigue, a 
 villain and a destroyer. There can be nothing 
 said for such an evil : but that the restraints 
 of shame and ignominy are broken down by 
 the prevalence of custom. I do not, indeed, 
 expect that my precautions will have any great 
 weight with men of mode ; but I know not but 
 they may be some way efficacious on those who 
 have not yet taken their party, as to vice and 
 virtue, for life ; but I know not how it is, but 
 our sex has usurped a certain authority to ex- 
 clude chastity out of the catalogue of masculine 
 virtues, by which means females adventure all 
 against those who have nothing to lose ; and 
 they have nothing but empty sighs, tears, and 
 reproaches, against those who reduced them to 
 real sorrow and infamy. But as I am now 
 talking to the world yet untainted, I will ven- 
 ture to recommend chastity as the noblest male 
 qualification. 
 
 It is, methinks, very unreasonable, that the 
 difficulty of attaining all other good habits is 
 what makes them honourable, but in this case 
 the very attempt is become ridiculous. But, 
 in spite of all the raillery of the world, truth 
 is still truth, and will have beauties inseparable 
 from it. I should upon this occasion bring 
 examples of heroic chastity, were I not afraid 
 of having my paper thrown away hy the modish 
 part of the town, who go no farther, at best, 
 than the mere absence of ill, and are contented 
 to be rather irreproachable than praiseworthy. 
 Jn this particular, a gentleman in the court of 
 Cyrus reported to his majesty the charms and 
 beauty of Panthea, and ended his panegyric by 
 telling him, that since he was at leisure he 
 would carry him to visit her: hut that prince, 
 who is a very great man to this cray, answered 
 the pimp, because he was a man of quality, 
 without roughness, and said with a smile, ' if 
 I should visit her upon your introduction now 
 I ha e leisure, I don't know but I might go 
 again upon ber own invitation when I ought 
 to be bitter employed.' But when I cast about 
 all the instance! which I have met with in all 
 my reading, I find not one so generous, so 
 bonett, and 10 noble, as that of Joseph in holy 
 writ. When bis matter bad trusted him so 
 unreservedly (to speak it in the emphatical 
 ■Manet of the scripture) * 11. knew not aught 
 
 he had, 6ave the bread which he did eat,' he was 
 so unhappy as to appear irresistibly beautiful 
 to his mistress ; but when this shameless woman 
 proceeds to solicit him, how gallant is his an- 
 swer ! ' Behold my master wotteth not what 
 is with me in the house, and hath committed 
 all that he hath to my hand, there is none 
 greater in the house than I, neither hath he 
 kept back any thing from me but thee, because 
 thou art his wife.' The same argument, which 
 a base mind would have made to itself for com- 
 mitting the evil, was to this brave man the 
 greatest motive for forbearing it, that he could 
 do it with impunity; the malice and falsehood 
 of the disappointed woman naturally arose on 
 that occasion, and there is but a short step 
 from the practice of virtue, to the hatred of it. 
 It would therefore be worth serious considera- 
 tion in both sexes, and the matter is of im- 
 portance enough to them, to ask themselves 
 whether they would change lightness of heart, 
 indolence of mind, cheerful meals, untroubled 
 slumbers, and gentle dispositions, for a constant 
 pruriency, which shuts out all things that are 
 great or indifferent, clouds the imagination 
 with insensibility and prejudice to all manner 
 of delight, but that which is common to all 
 creatures that extend their species. 
 
 A loose behaviour and an inattention to every 
 thing that is serious, flowing from some degree 
 of this petulancy, is observable in the generality 
 of the youth of both sexes in this age. It is 
 the one common face of most public meetings, 
 and breaks in upon the sobriety, I will not say 
 severity, that we ought to exercise in churches. 
 The pert boys and flippant girls are but faint 
 followers of those in the same inclinations, at 
 more advanced years. 1 know not who can oblige 
 them to mend their manners ; all that I pretend 
 to is, to enter my protest that they are neither 
 fine gentlemen nor fine ladies for this behaviour. 
 As for the portraitures which I would propose 
 as the images of agreeable men and women, if 
 they are not imitated or regarded, I can only 
 answer, as I remember Mr. Dryden did on the 
 like occasion, when a young fellow, just come 
 from the play of Cleomenes, told him in rail'- 
 lery against the continency of his principal 
 character, if I had been alone with a lady I 
 should not have passed my time like your 
 Spartan ; ' That may be,' answered the bard 
 with a very grave face, * but give me leave to 
 tell you, sir, you are no hero.' 
 
 No. 46.] Monday, May 4, 1713. 
 
 Sol;» est coelesU (ligna reperta toro. 
 
 Ovid, Lib. S. Ep. i. 118. 
 
 Alone found worthy a celestial bed. 
 
 Yesterdav, at my lady Lizard's tea-table, 
 the discourse happened to turn upon women of 
 renown ; such as have distinguished themselves 
 in the world by surprising actions, or by any 
 
No. 46.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 69 
 
 great and shining qualities, so as to draw upon 
 themselves the envy of their own sex, and the 
 admiration of ours. My lady has been curious 
 in collecting the lives o. the most famous, of 
 which she has a considerable number, both in 
 print and manuscript. This naturally led me 
 to speak of Madam Maintenon: and, at the 
 request of my lady and her daughters, I have 
 undertaken to put together such circumstances 
 of her life, as I had formerly gathered out of 
 books, and picked up from conversation in my 
 travels. 
 
 Madam Maintenon was born a gentlewo- 
 man, her name is Frances Daubigne\ Mon- 
 sieur Daubigne^ her grandfather, was not only 
 a person of condition, but likewise of great 
 merit. He was born in the year 1550, and 
 died in 1630, the eightieth year of his age. A 
 little before his death he writ his own epitaph, 
 which is engraven upon his tomb-stone in the 
 cloister of St. Peter's churcb at Geneva, and 
 may be seen in Spon's history of that republic. 
 Me was a leading man among the protestants 
 in France, and much courted to come over to 
 the opposite party. When he perceived there 
 was no safety for him any longer in his own 
 eountry, he fled for refuge to Geneva, about 
 the year 1619. The magistrates and the clergy 
 there, received him with great marks of honour 
 and distinction : and he passed the remaining 
 part of his life -amongst them in great esteem. 
 Mezeray (the French historian) says, that he 
 was a roan of great courage and boldness, of a 
 ready wit, and of a fine taste in polite learning, 
 as well as of good experience in matters of war. 
 
 The son of this Daubigne' was father to the 
 present madam Maintenon. This gentleman 
 was thrown into prison when he was but a youth, 
 for what reason I cannot learn ; but his life it 
 seems, was in question, if the keeper of the 
 prison's daughter (touched with his misfortunes 
 and his merit) had not determined with herself 
 to set him at liberty. Accordingly, a favourable 
 opportunity presenting itself, she set the pri- 
 soner at large, and accompanied him herself 
 in. his flight. The lovers finding themselves 
 now in no danger of being apprehended, mon- 
 sieur Daubigne" acquitted himself of the promise 
 he had given his fair deliverer, and married 
 her publicly. To provide against their imme- 
 diate want in a strange place, she had taken 
 with her what she found at home most valuable 
 and easy to be carried off. All this was con- 
 verted into money ; and while their little trea- 
 sure lasted, our new-married couple thought 
 themselves the happiest persons living. But 
 their provision now began to fail, and monsieur 
 Daubigne^ who plainly saw the straits to which 
 they must be in a little time reduced, notwith- 
 standing all his love and tenderness, thought 
 he should soon be in a far worse condition, than 
 that from which he had so lately escaped. But 
 Mfhat most afflicted him was to see that his 
 
 wife, whom he loved so tenderly, must be re- 
 duced to the utmost necessity, and that too at 
 a time when she was big with child. 
 
 Monsieur Daubigne - , pressed with these 
 difficulties, formed to himself a very hazardous 
 resolution ; and since the danger he saw in it 
 was only to his person, he put it in execution 
 without ever consulting his wife. The purpose 
 he entered upon, was to venture back into 
 France, and to endeavour there to get up some 
 of his effects, and in a short time to have the 
 pleasure of returning to his wife with some 
 little means of subsistence. He flattered him- 
 self, that he was now no longer thought of in 
 his own couutry, and that, by the help of a 
 friend, he might continue there unknown for 
 some time. But upon trial it happened quite 
 otherwise, for he was betrayed by those in whom 
 he confided ; so that he was a second time cast 
 into prison. I should have mentioned, that he 
 left his wife without ever taking leave: and 
 that the first notice she had of his design was 
 by a letter, which he sent her from the place 
 where he lay the first night. Upon the reading 
 of it, she was immediately alarmed for the life 
 of a husband so very dear to her ; but she fell 
 into the last affliction when she received the 
 news of his being imprisoned again, of which 
 she had been apprehensive from the beginning. 
 When her concern was a little abated, she con- 
 sidered that the afflicting of herself could give 
 him no relief; and despairing ever to be able 
 a second time to bring about the delivery of 
 her husband, and likewise finding it impossible 
 for her to live long separated from him, she 
 resolved to share in his misfortunes, and to live 
 and die with him in his prison. Therefore, 
 without the least regard to the danger of a 
 woman's travelling in her condition (for she 
 was now far gone with child) she entered upon 
 her journey, and having found out her husband, 
 voluntarily gave herself up to remain a prisoner 
 with him. And here it was that she was de- 
 livered of that daughter, who has since proved 
 the wonder of her age. 
 
 The relations of monsieur Daubigne^ dis- 
 satisfied with his conduct and his marriage, 
 had all of them abandoned him, excepting 
 madam Villete, his sister, who used to- visit him. 
 She could not but be touched with the condi- 
 tion in which she found him, entirely destitute 
 of all the conveniences, and almost the very 
 necessaries of life. But that which most moved 
 her compassion was, to see in the arms of a 
 disconsolate mother, the poor helpless infant 
 exposed amidst her cries, to cold, to nakedness, 
 and hunger. In this extremity madam Villete 
 took the child home with her, and gave her to 
 the care of her daughter's nurse, with whom 
 she was bred up for some time, as a foster-sister. 
 Besides this, she sent the two prisoners several 
 necessaries. Some time after, monsieur Dau- 
 bigu£ found means, by changing: his religion, 
 
70 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 47. 
 
 to g< t out i>f prison, upon condition he would 
 quit the kingdom ; to which he consented. 
 
 IfonsietlV Daublgtt£j knowing he was never 
 Rke to tee Frahce more, got together what little 
 iiicc he could, in order to make a long 
 lOjage; and so, with a small family, he em- 
 barked for America; where he and his wife 
 lived in quiet, and made it their principal care 
 to give their children (a son and a daughter) 
 good education. 
 
 These unfortunate parents died both in 
 their exile, leaving their children very young. 
 The daughter, who was elder than her brother, 
 as she grew up began to be very desirous of 
 seeing her native country ; this, together with 
 the hopes she had of recovering something of 
 that which once belonged to her father, made 
 her willing to take the first opportunity of re- 
 turning into France. Finding therefore a ship 
 that was ready to sail thither, she went on 
 board, and landed at Rochelle. From thence 
 she proceeded directly to Poitou, and there 
 made it her business first, to inquire out madam 
 Villete, her aunt, who she knew very well was 
 the person to whom she owed her life. Madam 
 Villete received her with great marks of affec- 
 tion ; and after informing her, that she must 
 not expect to recover any thing of what had 
 belonged to her father, since that was all ir- 
 reparably lost and dissipated by his banishment, 
 and the proceedings against him, she added, 
 that she should be welcome, if she thought fit, 
 to live with her, where at least she should 
 never be reduced to want a subsistence. 
 
 Mademoiselle Daubigne accepted the offer 
 which her aunt made her, and studied by all 
 means imaginable to render herself necessary 
 and agreeable to a person upon whom she saw 
 that she must entirely depend for every thing. 
 More especially she made it her business to 
 insinuate herself into the affections of her 
 cousin, with whom she had one common nurse. 
 And, to omit nothing that might please them, 
 she expressed a great desire to be instructed 
 in the religion of her ancestors; she was im- 
 patient to have some conversation with minis- 
 ters, and to frequent their sermons ; so that 
 in a short time she began to take a great liking 
 to the protestant religion. And it is not to be 
 doubled, but that she would have openly pro- 
 fessed this way of worship, if some of her fa- 
 ther'-, relations that were papists, and who 
 forsook him in his adversity, had not, to make 
 their Own court, been busy in advertising some 
 great nun of the danger" mademoiselle Dau- 
 bigne* was in as to her salvation, and in de- 
 manding thereupon an order to have her put 
 into the hind-, of catholics. This piece of zeal 
 was acceptable to the ruling party, and orders 
 were immediately given that she should be 
 taken from her aunt Villete, and put into the 
 hand-> of her officious relations. 'Ibis was soon 
 executed ; and mademoiselle Daubigne was in 
 
 J a manner forced by violence from madam Vil- 
 lete, who was the only relation that ever had 
 taken any care of her. She shed abundance 
 of tears at parting, and assured her aunt, and 
 her cousin (who was now married to monsieur 
 Saint Hermine) that she should always preserve, 
 with the remembrance of their kindness, the 
 good impressions she had received of their re- 
 ligion, and never fail to acknowledge both the 
 one and the other, when she found a time and 
 occasion proper for it. 
 
 No. 47.] Tuesday, May 5, 1713. 
 
 Mademoiselle Daubigne was conducted 
 from madam Villete's to a relation, who had 
 a law-suit then depending at Paris ; and being 
 for that reason obliged to go thither, she car- 
 ried mademoiselle Daubign6 with her. This 
 lady hired apartments in the same house where 
 the famous Scaron was lodged. She made an 
 acquaintance with him ; and one day, being 
 obliged to go abroad alone upon a visit, she 
 desired he would give her cousin leave, in the 
 mean time, to come and sit with him ; know- 
 ing very well that a young lady was in no dan- 
 ger from such a person, and that perhaps it 
 might turn to her advantage. Monsieur Scaron 
 was, of all men living, the most unhappy in 
 an untoward frame of body, being not only 
 deformed, but likewise very infirm. In consi- 
 deration of his wit and parts, he had a yearly 
 pension from the court of five hundred crowns. 
 Scaron was charmed with the conversation of 
 mademoiselle Daubigne; and her kinswoman 
 took frequent opportunities of leaving her with 
 him. This gave Scaron occasion to discover 
 still new beauties in her from time to time. 
 She would sometimes entertain him with the 
 story of her adventures and her misfortunes, 
 beginning even with what she suffered before 
 she was born ; all which she knew how to de- 
 scribe in so expressive and moving a manner, 
 that he found himself touched with a strong 
 compassion towards her ; and resolved with 
 himself, if not to make her happy, at least to 
 set her at ease, by placing her in a nunnery at 
 his own expense. But upon further delibera- 
 tion he found himself very much inclined to 
 lay before her an alternative, which, in all like- 
 lihood, she never expected. One day, therefore, 
 when she was left alone with him, as usual, he 
 opened his intentions to her (as it is said) much 
 after the following manner. * 1 am, made- 
 moiselle,' says he, " not a little moved with 
 your misfortunes, and the great sufferings you 
 have undergone. I am likewise very sensible 
 of the uneasy circumstances under which you 
 labour at present; and I have now for some 
 days been contriving with myself how to ex- 
 tricate you out of all your difficulties. At last 
 I have fallen upon two ways of doing what 
 I so much desire; I leave you to determine 
 
No. 47.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 71 
 
 according to your inclinations, in the choice of 
 the one or the other: or, if neither of them 
 please you, to refuse them both. My fortunes 
 are too narrow to enable me to make yours 
 answerable to your merit ; all that I am capa- 
 ble of doing is, either to make you a joint par- 
 taker with myself of the little I have, or to 
 place you, at my own expense, in any convent 
 you shall choose. I wish it were in my power 
 to do more for you. Consult your own incli- 
 nations, and do what you think will be most 
 agreeable to yourself. As for my person, I do 
 not pretend to recommend it to you ; I know 
 I make but an ungainly figure ; but I am not 
 able to new-mould it; I offer myself to you 
 such as I am ; and yet, such as you see me, 
 I do assure you that I would not bestow myself 
 upon another ; and that I must have a very 
 great esteem for you, ever to propose a mar- 
 riage, which, of all things in the world, I have 
 had the least in my thoughts hitherto. Consi- 
 der, therefore, and take your final resolutions, 
 either to turn nun, or to marry me, or to con- 
 tinue in your present condition, without re- 
 pining, since these do all of them depend upon 
 your own choice. 
 
 Mademoiselle Daubigne returned monsieur 
 Scaron the thanks he so well deserved. She 
 was too sensible of the disagreeableness of a 
 dependant state, not to be glad to accept of a 
 settlement that would place her at least above 
 want. Finding, therefore, in herself no call 
 towards a nunnery, she answered monsieur 
 Scaron without hesitation, that, ' she had too 
 great a sense of her obligations to him not to 
 be desirous of that way of life that would give 
 her the most frequent occasions of showing 
 her gratitude to him.' Scaron, who was pre- 
 possessed with the flattering hopes of passing 
 his life with a person he liked so well, was 
 charmed with her answer. They both came 
 to a resolution, that he should ask her rela- 
 tion's consent that very evening. She gave it 
 very frankly; and this marriage, so soon con- 
 cluded, was, as it were, the inlet to all the 
 future fortunes of madam Maintenon. She 
 made a good wife to Scaron, living happily 
 with him, and wanted no conveniencies during 
 his life ; but losing him, she lost all : his pen- 
 sion ceased upon his death ; and she found 
 herself again reduced to the same indigent 
 condition in which she had been before her 
 marriage. 
 
 Upon this she retired into the convent in 
 the Place Royale, founded for the relief of 
 necessitous persons ; where the friends of her 
 deceased husband took care of her. It was 
 here the friendship between her and madam 
 Saint Basile (a nun) had its beginning, which 
 has continued ever since, for she still goes to 
 visit her frequently in the convent de la Ra- 
 quette, where she new lives." And, to the ho- 
 nour of madam Maintenon, it must be allowed, 
 
 that she has always been of a grateful temper, 
 and mindful, in her high fortunes, of her 
 old friends, to whom she had formerly been 
 obliged. 
 
 Her husband's friends did all they could 
 to prevail upon the court to continue to her 
 the pension which monsieur Scaron had en- 
 joyed. In order to this, petitions were fre- 
 quently given in, which began always with, 
 ' The widow Scaron most humbly prays your 
 majesty,' &c. But all these petitions signified 
 nothing ; and the king was so weary of them 
 that he has been heard to say, ' Must I always 
 be pestered with the widow Scaron ?' Notwith- 
 standing which, her friends were resolved not 
 to be discouraged in their endeavours to serve 
 her. 
 
 After this, she quitted the convent, and 
 went to live in the hotel d'Albert, where her 
 husband had always been very much esteemed. 
 Here (it is said) something very remarkable 
 happened to her, which I shall relate, because 
 I find it so confidently affirmed upon the 
 knowledge of a certain author. There were 
 masons at work in the hotel d'Albert, not far 
 from the apartment of madam Scaron. One 
 of them came into her chamber, and, finding 
 two or three visitants of her own sex, desired 
 he might speak with her in private; she car- 
 ried him into her closet, where he took upon 
 him to tell her all the future events of her life. 
 But whence he drew this knowledge (continues 
 my author) which time has so wonderfully 
 verified, is a mystery still to me. As to madam 
 Scaron, she saw then so little appearance of 
 probability in his predictions, that she hardly 
 gave the least heed to them. Nevertheless, the 
 company, upon her return, remarked some 
 alteration in her countenance ; and one of the 
 ladies said, * Surely this man has brought you 
 some very pleasing news, for you look with a 
 more cheerful air than you did before he came 
 in.' * There would be sufficient reason-for my 
 doing so,' replied she, ' if I could give any 
 credit to what this fellow has promised me. 
 And I can tell you,' says she, smiling, * that if 
 there should be any thing in it, you will do 
 well to begin to make your court to me before- 
 hand.' These ladies could not prevail upon 
 her to satisfy their curiosity any farther ; but 
 she communicated the whole secret to a bosom 
 friend after they were gone ; and it is from 
 that lady it came to be known, when the events 
 foretold were come to pass, and so scrupulous 
 a secrecy in that point did no longer seem 
 necessary. 
 
 Some time after this, she was advised to 
 seek all occasions of insinuating herself into 
 the favour of madam Mountespan, who was 
 the king's mistress, and had an absolute in- 
 fluence over him. Madam Scaron, therefore, 
 found the means of being presented to madam 
 Mountespan, and at that time spoke to her 
 
n 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 4! 
 
 with BO food I grace, that madam Mountespan, 
 pitying her eircumstancea, and resulying to 
 
 make them more easy, took upon her to carry 
 ■ petition from her to the king, and to deliver 
 it with her own hands. The king, upon her 
 presenting it to him, said ' What ! the widow 
 Sc&ron again? Shall I never see any thing 
 else?' ' Indeed, sir,' says madam Mountespan, 
 1 it is now a long time since you ought not to 
 have had her name mentioned to you any 
 more; and it is something extraordinary that 
 your majesty has done nothing all this while 
 for a poor woman, who, without exception, 
 deserves a much hetter condition, as well upon 
 the account of her own merit, as of the repu- 
 tation of her late husband.' The king, who 
 was always glad of an opportunity to please 
 madam Mountespan, granted the petitioner 
 all that was desired. Madam Scaron came to 
 thank her patroness; and madam Mountespan 
 took such a liking to her, that she would by 
 all means present her to the king, and, after 
 that, proposed to him, that she might be made 
 governante to their children. His majesty con- 
 sented to it ; and madam Scaron, by her ad- 
 dress and good conduct, won so much upon 
 the affections and esteem of madam Moun- 
 tespan, that in a little time she became her 
 favourite and confidant. 
 
 It happened one night that madam Moun- 
 tespan sent for her, to tell her, that she was in 
 great perplexity. She had just then, it seems, 
 received a billet from the king, which required 
 an immediate answer; and though she did by 
 no means want wit, yet in that instant she 
 found herself incapable of writing any thing 
 with spirit. In the mean time the messenger 
 waited for an answer, while she racked her 
 invention to no purpose. Had there been no- 
 thing more requisite, but to say a few tender 
 things, she needed only to have copied the 
 dictates of her heart ; but she had, over and 
 above, the reputation of her style and manner 
 of writing to maintain, and her invention played 
 her false in so critical a juncture. This re- 
 duced her to the necessity of de'siring madam 
 Scaron to help her out; and giving her the 
 king's billet, she bid her make an answer to it 
 immediately. Madam Scaron would, out of 
 modesty, have excused herself; but madam 
 Mountespan laid her absolute commands upon 
 her: so that she obeyed, and writ a most 
 Agreeable billet, full of wit and tenderness. 
 Madam Mountespan was very much pleased 
 with it, she copied it, and sent it. The king 
 waa infinitely delighted with it. He thought 
 madam Mountespan had surpassed herself; 
 and he attributed her more than ordinary wit 
 upon this occasion to an increase of tenderness. 
 The principal part of his amusement that night, 
 was to read over and over again this letter, in 
 which he discovered new beauties upon every 
 reading. He thought himself the happiest 
 
 and the most extraordinary man living, to bt 
 able to inspire his mistress with such surpris- 
 ing sentiments and turns of wit. 
 
 Next morning, as soon as he was drest. he 
 went directly to make a visit to madam Moun- 
 tespan. ' What happy genius, madam,' sa_\^ 
 he, upon his first coming into her chamber, 
 
 influenced your thoughts last night? Never 
 certainly was there any thing so charming, 
 and so finely writ, as the billet you sent me ! 
 and if you truly feel the tenderness you have 
 so well described, my happiness is complete.' 
 Madam Mountespan was in confusion with 
 these praises, which properly belonged to an- 
 other; and she could not help betraying some- 
 thing of it by her blushes. The king perceived 
 the disorder she was in, and was earnest to 
 know the cause of it. She would fain have 
 put it off; but the king's curiosity still increas- 
 ing, in proportion to the excuses she made, 
 she was forced to tell him all that had passed, 
 lest he should of himself imagine something 
 worse. The king was extremely surprised, 
 though in civility he dissembled his thoughts 
 at that time, nevertheless he could not help 
 desiring to see the author of the letter that 
 had pleased him so much; to satisfy himself 
 whether her wit in conversation was equal to 
 what it appeared in writing.' Madam Scaron 
 now began to call to mind the predictions of 
 the mason ; and from the desire the king had 
 to see her, conceived no small hopes. Notwith- 
 standing she now had passed the flower of her 
 age, yet she flattered herself that her destiny 
 had reserved this one conquest in store for her, 
 and this mighty monarch to be her captive. 
 She was exactly shaped, had a noble air, fine 
 eyes, and a delicate mouth, with fresh ruddy 
 lips. She has, besides, the art of expressing 
 every thing with her eyes, and of adjusting 
 her looks to her thoughts in such a manner, 
 that all she says goes directly to the heart. 
 The king was already prepossest in her favour ; 
 and, after three or four times conversing with 
 her, began visibly to cool in his affectious to- 
 wards madam Mountespan. 
 
 The king in a little time purchased for madam 
 Scaron those lands which carry the name of 
 Main tenon, a title which she from that time 
 has taken. Never was there an instance of 
 any favourite having so great a power over a 
 prince, as what she has hitherto maintained. 
 None can obtain the least favour but by im- 
 mediate application to her. Some are of opi- 
 nion that she has been the occasion of all the 
 ill treatment which the protestants have met 
 with, and consequently of the damage the 
 whole kingdom has received from those pro- 
 ceedings. But it is more reasonable to think 
 that whole revolution was brought about by 
 the contrivances of the Jesuits ; and she has 
 always been known to be too little a favourer 
 of that order of men to promote their intrigues. 
 
No. 48.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 73 
 
 Besides, it is not natural to think that she, who 
 formerly had a good opinion of the reformed 
 religion, and was pretty well instructed in the 
 protestant faith and way of worship, should 
 ever be the author of a persecution against 
 those innocent people, who never had in any 
 thing offended her. 
 
 No. 48.] Wednesday, May 6, 1713. 
 
 It is the general opinion, that madam 
 Maintenon has of late years influenced all the 
 measures of the court of France. The king, 
 when he has taken the air after dinner, never 
 fails of going to sit with her till about ten 
 o'clock ; at which time he leaves her to go to 
 his supper. The comptroller general of the 
 finances likewise comes to her apartments to 
 meet the king. While they are in discourse 
 madam Maintenon sits at her wheel towards 
 the other end of the room, not seeming to give 
 the least attention to what is said. Never- 
 theless, the minister never makes a proposition 
 to the king, but his majesty turns towards her, 
 and says, ' What think you, madam, of this?' 
 She expresses her opinion after a modest man- 
 ner; and whatsoever she says is done. Madam 
 Maintenon never appears in public, except when 
 she goes with the king to take the air; and 
 then she sits on the same seat with the king, 
 with her spectacles on, working a piece of 
 embroidery, and does not seem to be so much 
 as sensible of the great fortunes and honours 
 to which she has raised herself. She is always 
 very modestly drest, and never appears with 
 any train of servants. Every morning she goes 
 to St. Cyr, to give her orders there, it being a 
 kind of a nursery founded by herself for the 
 education of young ladies of good families, but 
 no fortune. She returns from thence about 
 the time the king rises, who never fails to pay 
 her a morning visit. She goes to mass always 
 by break of day, to avoid the concourse of 
 people. She is rarely seen by any, and almost 
 inaccessible to every body, excepting three or 
 four particular acquaintance of her own sex. 
 Whether it be, that she would by this conduct 
 avoid envy, as some think ; or, as others would 
 have it, that she is afraid the rank which she 
 thinks due to her should be disputed in all 
 visits and public places, is doubtful. It is 
 certain, that upon all occasions she declines 
 the taking of any rank ; and the title of 
 Marquisse (which belongs to the lands the king 
 purchased for her) is suppressed before her 
 name ; neither will she accept of the title of 
 a duchess, aspiring in all probability at some- 
 thing still higher, as will appear by what follows. 
 From several particulars in the conduct of 
 the French king, as well as in that of madam 
 Maintenon, it has for some years been the pre- 
 vailing opinion of the court that they are mar- 
 
 ried. And it is said, that her ambition of 
 being declared queen broke out at last ; and 
 that she was resolved to give the king no quiet 
 till it was done. He for some time resisted 
 all her solicitations upon that head, but at 
 length, in a fit of tenderness and good nature, 
 he promised her, that he would consult his 
 confessor upon that point. Madam Maintenon 
 was pleased with this, not doubting but that 
 father La Chaise would be glad of this occasiou 
 of making his court to her ; but he was too 
 subtle a courtier not to perceive the danger of 
 engaging in so nice an affair ; and for that 
 reason evaded it, by telling the king, that he 
 did not think himself a casuist able enough to 
 decide a question of so great importance, and 
 for that reason desired he might consult with 
 some man of skill and learning, for whose 
 secrecy he would be responsible. The king 
 was apprehensive lest this might make the 
 matter too public ; but as soon as father La 
 Chaise named monsieur Fenelon, the arch- 
 bishop of Cambray, his fears were over ; and 
 he bid him go and find him out. As soon as 
 the confessor had communicated the business 
 he came upon to the bishop, he said, ' What 
 have I done, father, that you should ruin me! 
 But 'tis no matter ; let us go to the king.' His 
 majesty was in his closet expecting them. The 
 bishop was no sooner entered, but he threw 
 himself at the king's feet, and begged of him 
 not to sacrifice him. The king promised him 
 that he would not; and then proposed the 
 case to him. The bishop, with his usual sin- 
 cerity, represented to him the great prejudice 
 he would do himself by declaring his marriage, 
 together with the ill consequences that might 
 attend such a proceeding. The krng very 
 much approved his reasons, and resolved to go 
 no farther in this affair. Madam Maintenon 
 still pressed him to comply with her, but it 
 was now all to no purpose ; and he told her 
 it was not a thing to be done. She asked 
 him, if it was father La Chaise who dissuaded 
 him from it. He for some time refused to 
 give her any answer, but at last, overcome by 
 her importunities, he told her every thing as 
 it had passed. She upon this dissembled her 
 resentment, that she might be the more able 
 to make it prove effectual. She did by no 
 means think the Jesuit was to be forgiven; 
 but the first marks of her vengeance fell upon 
 the archbishop of Cambray. He and all his 
 relations were, in a little time, put out of all 
 their employments at court ; upon which he 
 retired to live quietly upon his bishopric ; and 
 there have no endeavours been spared to de- 
 prive him even of that. As a farther in- 
 stance of the incontrollable power of this great 
 favourite, and of her resenting even the most 
 trivial matters that she thinks might tend to 
 ber prejudice, or the diminution of her honour 
 it is remarkable, that the Italian comedians 
 K 
 
THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 N T o. 42. 
 
 were driven OOt of Faris for playing a comedy 
 Ollled U Fauna Frude, which was supposed 
 to r. Beet upon madam Maintenon in parti- 
 cular. 
 
 It is something very extraordinary, that 
 the has heen ahle to keep entire the affections 
 of the king so many years, after her youth and 
 beauty were gone, and never fall into the least 
 disgrace ; notwithstanding the number of ene- 
 mies she has had, and the intrigues that have 
 been formed against her from time to time. 
 This brings into my memory a saying of king 
 William's, that I have heard on this occasion; 
 That the king of France was in his conduct 
 quite opposite to other princes ; since he made 
 choice of young ministers, and an old mistress.' 
 Hut this lady's charms have not lain so much 
 in her person, as in her wit and good sense. 
 She has always had the address to flatter the 
 vanity of the king, and to mix always some- 
 thing solid and useful with the more agreeable 
 parts of her conversation. She has known how 
 to introduce the most serious affairs of state 
 into their hours of pleasure; by telling his 
 majesty, that a monarch should not love, nor 
 do any thing, like other men; and that he, 
 of all men living, knew best how to be always 
 a king, and always like himself, even in the 
 midst of his diversions. The king now con- 
 verses with her as a friend, and advises with 
 her upon his most secret affairs. He has a 
 true love and esteem for her; and has taken 
 care, in case he should die before her, that 
 she may pass the remainder of her life with 
 honour, in the abbey of St. Cyr. There are 
 apartments ready fitted up for her in this 
 place ; she and all her domestics are to be 
 maintained out of the rents of the house, and 
 she is to receive all the honours due to a 
 foundress. This abbey stands in the park of 
 Versailles ; it is a fine piece of building, and 
 the king has endowed it with large revenues. 
 The design of it, (as I have mentioned before) 
 is to maintain and educate young ladies, whose 
 fortunes do not answer to their birth. None 
 are accounted duly qualified for this place but 
 such as can give sufficient proofs of the nobility 
 of their family on the father's side for a hun- 
 dred and forty years; besides which, they must 
 have a certificate of their poverty under the 
 hand of their bishop. The age at which per- 
 sons are capable of being admitted here is from 
 seven years old till twelve. Lastly, it is re- 
 quired, that they should have no defect or 
 blemish of body or mind ; and for this reason 
 there are persons appointed to visit and exa- 
 mine them before they are received into the 
 college. When these young ladies are once 
 admitted, their parents and relations have no 
 need to put themselves to any farther expense 
 or trouble about them. They are provided 
 with all necessaries for maintenance and edu- 
 cation. They style themselves of the order of 
 
 St. Lewis. When they arrive to an age to be 
 able to choose a state of life for themselves, 
 they may either be placed as nuns in some 
 convent at the king's expense, or be married 
 to some gentleman, whom madam Maintenon 
 takes care, upon that condition, to provide 
 for, either in the army or in the finances ; and 
 the lady receives besides, a portion of four 
 hundred pistoles. Most of these marriages 
 have proved very successful ; and several gen- 
 tlemen have by them made great fortunes, 
 and been advanced to very considerable em- 
 ployments. 
 
 I must conclude this short account of ma- 
 dam Maintenon with advertising my readers, 
 that 1 do not pretend to vouch for the several 
 particulars that I have related. All I can say 
 is, that a great many of them are attested by 
 several writers; and that I thought this sketch 
 of a woman so remarkable all over Europe, 
 would be no ill entertainment to the curious, 
 till such a time as some pen, more fully in- 
 structed in her whole life and character, shall 
 undertake to give it to the public. 
 
 No. 49.] Thursday, May 7, 1713. 
 
 — quas possit facere et servare beatiim. 
 
 Uor. Lib. 1. Ep. vi. £." 
 
 To make men happy and to keep thein so. Creech. 
 
 It is of great use to consider the pleasures 
 which constitute human happiness, as they are 
 distinguished into natural and fantastical. Na- 
 tural pleasures I call those, which, not depend- 
 ing on the fashion and caprice of any particular 
 age or nation, are suited to human nature in 
 general, and were intended by Providence as 
 rewards for the using our faculties agreeably 
 to the ends for which they were given us. Fan- 
 tastical pleasures are those which, having no 
 natural fitness to delight our minds, pre-sup- 
 pose some particular whim or taste accidentally 
 prevailing in a set of people, to which it is 
 owing that they please. 
 
 Now I take it, that the tranquillity and 
 cheerfulness with which I have passed my life, 
 are the effect of having, ever since I came to 
 years of discretion, continued my inclinations 
 to the former sort of pleasures. But as my ex- 
 perience can be a rule only to my own actions, 
 it may probably be a stronger motive to induce 
 others to the same scheme of life, if they would 
 consider that we are prompted to natural plea- 
 sures by an instinct impressed on our minds 
 by the Author of our nature, who best under- 
 stands our frames, and consequently best knows 
 what those pleasures are which will give us 
 the least uneasiness in the pursuit, and the 
 greatest satisfaction in the enjoyment of them. 
 Hence it follows, that the objects of our natu- 
 ral desires are cheap, or easy to be obtained, 
 it being a maxim tint holds throughout the 
 
No. 49.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 73 
 
 whole system of created beings, * that nothing 
 is made in vain,' much less the instincts and 
 appetites of animals, which the benevolence as 
 well as wisdom of the Deity, is concerned to 
 provide for. Nor is the fruition of those ob- 
 jects less pleasing than the acquisition is easy ; 
 and the pleasure is heightened by the sense of 
 having answered some natural end, and the 
 consciousness of acting in concert with the 
 Supreme Governor of the universe. 
 
 Under natural pleasures 1 comprehend those 
 which are universally suited, as well to the 
 rational as the sensual part of our nature. And 
 of the pleasures which affect our senses, those 
 only are to be esteemed natural that are con- 
 tained within the rules of reason, which is 
 allowed to be as necessary an ingredient of 
 human nature as sense. And, indeed, excesses 
 of any kind are hardly to be esteemed pleasures, 
 much less natural pleasures. 
 
 It is evident, that a desire terminated in 
 money is fantastical ; so is the desire of outward 
 distinctions, which bring no delight of sense, 
 nor recommend us as useful to mankind ; and 
 the desire of things merely because they are 
 new or foreign. Men who are indisposed to 
 a due exertion of their higher parts are driven 
 to such pursuits as these from the restlessness 
 of the mind, and the sensitive appetites being 
 easily satisfied. It is, in some sort, owing to 
 the bounty of Providence, that disdaining a 
 cheap and vulgar happiness, they frame to 
 themselves imaginary goods, in which there is 
 nothing can raise desire, but the difficulty of 
 obtaining them. Thus men become the con- 
 trivers of their own misery, as a punishment 
 on themselves for departing from the measures 
 of nature. Having by an habitual reflection 
 on these truths made them familiar, the effect 
 is, that I, among a number of persons who 
 have debauched their natural taste, see things 
 in a peculiar light, which I have arrived at, 
 not by any uncommon force of genius, or ac- 
 quired knowledge, but only by unlearning the 
 false notions instilled by custom and education. 
 
 The various objects that compose the world 
 were by nature formed to delight our senses, 
 and as it is this alone that makes them de- 
 sirable to an uncorrupted taste, a man may be 
 said naturally to possess them, when he pos- 
 sesseth those enjoyments which they are fitted 
 by nature to yield. Hence it is usual with 
 me to consider myself as having a natural pro- 
 perty in every object that administers pleasure 
 to me. When I am in the country, all the fine 
 seats near the place of my residence, and to 
 which I have access, I regard as mine. The 
 same I think of the groves and fields where I 
 walk, and muse on the folly of the civil landlord 
 in London, who has the fantastical pleasure 
 of draining dry rent into his coffers, but is a 
 stranger to fresh air and rural enjoyments. 
 By these principles I am possessed of half a 
 
 dozen of the finest seats in England, which in 
 the eye of the law belong to certain of my ac- 
 quaintance, who being men of business choose 
 to live near the court. 
 
 In some great families, where I choose ta 
 pass my time, a stranger would be apt to rank 
 me with the other domestics; but in my own 
 thoughts, and natural judgment, I am master 
 of the house, and he who goes by that name is 
 my steward, who eases me of the care of pro- 
 viding for myself the conveniences and plea- 
 sures of life. 
 
 jWhen I walk the streets, I use the foregoing 
 natural maxim (viz. That he is the true pos- 
 sessor of a thing who enjoys it, and not he that 
 owns it without the enjoyment of it,) to con- 
 vince myself that I have a property in the gay 
 part of all the gilt chariots that I meet, which 
 I regard as amusements designed to delight 
 my eyes, and the imagination of those kind 
 people who sit in them gaily attired only to 
 please me. I have a real, and they only an 
 imaginary pleasure from their exterior embel- 
 lishments. Upon the same principle, I have 
 discovered that I am the natural proprietor of 
 all the diamond necklaces, the crosses, stars, 
 brocades, and embroidered clothes, which I see 
 at a play or birth-night, as giving more natural 
 delight to the spectator than to those that 
 wear them. And .1 look on the beaus ana 
 ladies as so many paroquets in an aviary, or 
 tulips in a garden, designed purely for my diver- 
 sion. A gallery of pictures, a cabinet, or library, 
 that I have free access to, I think my own. 
 In a word, all that I desire is the use of things, 
 let who will have the keeping of them. By 
 which maxim I am grown one of the richest 
 men in Great Britain ; with this difference, 
 that I am not a prey to my own cares, or the 
 envy of others. 
 
 The same principles I find of great use in 
 my private economy. As I cannot go to the 
 price of history-painting, I have purchased at 
 easy rates several beautifully designed pieces 
 of landscape and perspective, which are much 
 more pleasing to a natural taste than unknown 
 faces or Dutch gambols, though done by the 
 best masters ; my couches, beds, and window- 
 curtains are of Irish stuff, which those of that 
 nation work very fine, and with a delightful 
 mixture of colours. There is not a piece of 
 china in my house ; but I have glasses of all 
 sorts, and some tinged with the finest colours,, 
 which are not the less pleasing, because they 
 are domestic, and cheaper than foreign toys* 
 Every thing is neat, entire, and clean, and fittest 
 to the taste of one who had rather be happy 
 than be thought rich. 
 
 Every day, numberless innocent and natural 
 gratifications occur to me, while I behold my 
 fellow- creatures labouring in a toilsome and ab- 
 surd pursuit of trifles ; one that he may be called 
 by a particular appellation ; another, that he 
 
7« 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 50. 
 
 may wear a particular ornament, which I regard 
 as a bit of riband that has an agreeable effect on 
 my sight, but is so far from supplying the place 
 of merit where it is not, that it serves only to 
 make the want of it more conspicuous. Fair 
 weather is the joy of my soul; about noon 1 
 behold a blue sky with rapture, and receive 
 ffiftt consolation from the rosy dashes of light 
 which adorn the clouds of the morning and 
 evening. When I am lost among green trees 
 J do not envy a great man with a great crowd 
 at his levee. And 1 often lay aside thoughts 
 of going to an opera, that I may enjoy the 
 silent pleasure of walking by moonlight, or 
 viewing the stars sparkle in their azure ground ; 
 which 1 look upon as part of my possessions, 
 not without a secret indignation at the taste- 
 lessness of mortal men, who in their race 
 through life overlook the real enjoyments of it. 
 But the pleasure which naturally affects a 
 human mind with the most lively and trans- 
 porting touches, I take to be the sense that 
 we act in the eye of infinite wisdom, power, 
 and goodness, that will crown our virtuous 
 endeavours here, with a happiness hereafter, 
 large as our desires, and lasting as our immor- 
 tal souls. This is a perpetual spring of glad- 
 ness in the mind. This lessens our calamities, 
 and doubles our joys. Without this the highest 
 state of life is insipid, and with it the lowest 
 is a paradise. What unnatural wretches then 
 are those who can be so stupid as to imagine 
 a merit, in endeavouring to rob virtue of her 
 support, and a man of his present as well as 
 future bliss ? But as I have frequently taken 
 occasion to animadvert on that species of mor- 
 tals, so I propose to repeat my animadversions 
 on them till I see some symptoms of amend- 
 ment. 
 
 No. 50.] Friday, May 8, 1713. 
 
 O nw, qnando ego te aspiciam ? 
 
 Hot: Lib. 2. Sat. vi. 60. 
 O ! when Bhall I enjoy my country seat ? 
 
 The perplexities and diversions, recounted 
 in the following letter, are represented with 
 Borne pleasantry; I shall, therefore, make this 
 epistle the entertainment of the day. 
 
 4 To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. 
 
 • SIK, 
 
 The time of going into the country draw- 
 ing mar, I am extremely enlivened with the 
 agreeable memorial of every thing that con- 
 tributed to mv happiness when I was last there. 
 In tbt recounting of which, I shall not dwell 
 so much upon the verdure of the fields, the 
 ihftfta of wood-,, the trilling of rivulets, or me- 
 lody of birds, as upon some part icnlar satisfac- 
 tion!, which, though not merely rural, must 
 
 naturally create a desire of seeing that piace, 
 where only I have met with them. As to my 
 passage I shall make no other mention, than 
 of the pompous pleasure of being whirled along 
 with six horses, the easy grandeur of lolling in 
 a handsome chariot, the reciprocal satisfaction 
 the inhabitants of all towns and villages re- 
 ceived from, and returned to, passengers of 
 such distinction. The gentleman's seat (.with 
 whom, among others, I had the honour to go 
 down) is the remains of an ancient castle which 
 has suffered very much for the loyally of its 
 inhabitants. The ruins of the several turrets 
 and strong holds gave my imagination more 
 pleasant exercise than the most magnificent 
 structure could, as I look upon the honourable 
 wounds of a defaced soldier with more venera- 
 tion than the most exact proportion of a beau- 
 tiful woman. As this desolation renewed in 
 me a general remembrance of the calamities 
 of the late civil wars, I began to grow desirous 
 to know the history of the particular scene of 
 action in this place of my abode. I here must 
 beseech you not to think me tedious in men- 
 tioning a certain barber, who, for his general 
 knowledge of things and persons, may be had 
 in equal estimation with any of that order 
 among the Romans. This person was allowed 
 to be the best historian upon the spot; and 
 the sequel of my tale will discover that I did 
 not choose him so much for the soft touch of 
 his hand, as his abilities to entertain me with 
 an account of the Leaguer Time, as he calls 
 it, the most authentic relations of which, 
 through all parts of the town are derived from 
 this person. I found him, indeed, extremely 
 loquacious, but withal a man of as much vera- 
 city as an impetuous speaker could be. The 
 first time he came to shave me, before he ap- 
 plied his weapon to my chin, he gave a flourish 
 with it, very like the salutation the prize- 
 fighters give the company with theirs, which 
 made me apprehend incision would as certainly 
 ensue. The dexterity of this overture consists 
 in playing the razor, with a nimble wrist, 
 mighty near the nose without touching it: 
 convincing him, therefore, of the dangerous 
 consequence of such an unnecessary agility, 
 with much persuasion I suppressed it. During 
 the perusal of my face he gives me such ac- 
 counts of the families in the neighbourhood, 
 as tradition and his own observation have fur- 
 nished him with. Whenever the precipitation 
 of his account makes him blunder, his cruel 
 right-hand corresponds, and the razor discovers 
 on my face, at what part of it he was in the 
 peaceable, and at what part in the bloody in- 
 cidents of his narrative. But I had long be- 
 fore learned to expose my person to any diffi- 
 culties that might tend to the improvement of 
 my mind. His breath, I found, was very pes- 
 tilential, and being obliged to utter a great 
 deal of it, for the carrying on his narrations, 
 
No. 50.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 77 
 
 I heseeched him, before be came into my room, 
 to go into the kitchen and mollify it with a break- 
 fast. When he had taken off my beard, with 
 part of my face, and dressed my wounds in 
 the capacity of a barber-surgeon, we traversed 
 the outworks about the castle, where I received 
 particular information in what places any of 
 note among the besiegers, or the besieged, re- 
 ceived any wound, and I was carried always to 
 the very spot where the fact was done, howso- 
 ever dangerous (scaling part of the walls, or 
 stumbling over loose stones) my approach to 
 such a place might be ; it being conceived im- 
 possible to arrive at a true knowledge of those 
 matters without this hazardous explanation 
 upon them ; insomuch that I received more 
 contusions from these speculations, than I pro- 
 bably could have done, had I been the most 
 bold adventurer at the demolition of this castle. 
 This, as all other his informations, the barber 
 so lengthened and husbanded with digressions, 
 that he had always something new to offer, 
 wisely concluding that when he had finished 
 the part of a historian, I should have no oc- 
 casion for him as a barber. 
 
 * Whenever I looked at this ancient pile of 
 building, I thought it perfectly resembled any 
 of those castles, which in my infancy I had 
 met with in romances, where several unfor- 
 tunate knights and ladies, were, by certain 
 giants, made prisoners irrecoverably, till "the 
 knight of the burning pestle," or any other of 
 equal hardiness, should deliver them from a 
 long captivity. There is a park adjoining, 
 pleasant beyond the most poetical description, 
 one part of which is particularly private by 
 being inaccessible to those that have not great 
 resolution. This I have made sacred to love 
 and poetry, and after having regularly invoked 
 the goddess I adore, I here compose a tender 
 couplet or two, which, when I come home, I 
 venture to show my particular friends, who 
 love me so well as to conceal my follies. After 
 my poetry sinks upon me, I relieve the labour 
 of my brain by a little manuscript with my 
 pen-knife ; while, with Rochester, 
 
 ' Here on a beech, like amorous sot, 
 ' I sometime carve a true-love's knot ; 
 
 There a tall oak her name does bear, 
 In a large spreading character.' 
 
 ' I confess once whilst I was engraving one 
 of my most curious conceits upon a delicate 
 smooth bark, my feet, in the tree which I had 
 gained with much skill, deserted me ; and the 
 lover, with much amazement, came plump into 
 the river; I did not recover the true spirit of 
 amour under a week, and not without applying 
 myself to some of the softest passages in Cas- 
 sandra and Cleopatra. 
 
 ' These are the pleasures I met without 
 doors ; those within were as follow. J had the 
 happiness to lie in a room that had a large 
 
 hole opening from it, which, by unquestionable 
 tradition, had been formerly continued to an 
 abbey two miles from the castle, for a com- 
 munication betwixt the austere creatures of 
 that place, with others not altogether so con- 
 templative. And the keeper's brother assures 
 me that when he formerly lay in this room, he 
 had seen some of the spirits of this departed 
 brotherhood, enter from the hole into this 
 chamber, where they continued with the ut- 
 most civility to flesh and blood till they were 
 oppressed by the morning air. And if I do not 
 receive his account with a very serious and be- 
 lieving countenance, he ventures to laugh at 
 me as a most ridiculous infidel. The most 
 unaccountable pleasure I take is with a fine 
 white young owl, which strayed one night in 
 at my window, and which I was resolved to 
 make a prisoner, but withal to give all the 
 indulgence that its confinement could possibly 
 admit of. I so far insinuated myself into his 
 favour, by presents of fresh provisions, that we 
 could be very good company together. There 
 is something in the eye of that creature, of 
 such merry lustre, something of such human 
 cunning in the turn of his visage, that I found 
 vast delight in the survey of it. One objection 
 indeed I at first saw, that this bird being the 
 bird of Pallas, the choice of this favourite might 
 afford curious matter of raillery to the inge- 
 nious, especially when it shall be known, that 
 I am as much delighted with a cat as ever 
 Montaigne was. But, notwithstanding this, 
 I am so far from being ashamed of this parti- 
 cular humour, that I esteem myself very happy 
 in having my odd taste of pleasure provided 
 for upon such reasonable terms. What height- 
 ened all the pleasures I have spoke of, was the 
 agreeable freedom with which the gentleman of 
 the house entertained us ; and every one of us 
 came into, or left the company as he thought 
 fit ; dined in his chamber, or the parlour, as a 
 fitof spleen or study directed him ; nay, some- 
 times every man rode or walked a different 
 way, so that we never were together but when 
 we were perfectly pleased with ourselves and 
 each other. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 ' Your most obedient humble servant,' 
 
 ' R. B.' 
 
 P. S. I had just given my orders for the press, 
 when my friend Mrs. Bicknell made me a visit. 
 She came to desire 1 would show her the ward- 
 robe of the Lizards, (where the various habits 
 of the ancestors of that illustrious family are 
 preserved) in order to furnish her with a pro- 
 per dress for the Wife of Bath. Upon sight 
 of the little ruffs, she snatched one of them 
 from the pin, clapt it round her neck, and 
 turning briskly towards me repeated a speech 
 out of her part in the comedy of that name. 
 If the rest of the actors enter into their several 
 
7^ 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 7 . 
 
 [No. 51 
 
 pafti with the Mme spirit, (he humorous cha- 
 racter! Of this play cannot hut appear excellent 
 tin at re: for very good judges have in- 
 formed me, that the author has drawn them 
 with great propriety, and an exact observation 
 t-i" the manner*. nlsior ironside. 
 
 No. 5 J.] Saturday, May 9, 1713. 
 
 Ues antiqns laudis et artis 
 
 Iiij»redior, sauctos ausus recludcre fontes. 
 
 Virg. Georg. ii. 174. 
 Oi' arts disclos'd in ancient days, I sing, 
 And venture to unlock the sacred spring. 
 
 It is probahle the first poets were found at 
 the altar, that they employed their talents in 
 adorning and animating the worship of their 
 gods : the spirit of poetry and religion recipro- 
 cally warmed each other, devotion inspired 
 poetry, and poetry exalted devotion ; the most 
 sublime capacities were put to the most noble 
 use; purity of will, and fineness of under- 
 standing, were not such strangers as they have 
 been it) latter ages, but were most frequently 
 lodged in the same breast, and went, as it 
 were, hand in hand to the glory of the world's 
 great Ruler, and the benefit of mankind. To 
 reclaim our modern poetry, and turn it into 
 its due and primitive channel, is an endeavour 
 altogether worthy a far greater character than 
 the Guardian of a private family. Kingdoms 
 might be the better for the conversion of the 
 rouses from sensuality to natural religion, and 
 princes on their thrones might be obliged and 
 protected by its power. 
 
 Were it modest, I should profess myself a 
 great admirer of poesy, but that profession is 
 in effect telling the world that I have a heart 
 tender and generous, a heart that can swell 
 with the joys, or be depressed with the mis- 
 fortunes of others, nay more, even of imaginary 
 persons ; a heart large enough to receive the 
 greatest ideas nature can suggest, and delicate 
 enough to relish the most beautiful; it is de- 
 siring mankind to believe that I am capable 
 of entering into all those subtle graces, and 
 all that divine elegance, the enjoyment of 
 which is to be felt only, and not expressed. 
 
 All kinds of poesy are amiable; but sacred 
 poesy should be our most especial delight. 
 Other poetry leads us through flowery mea- 
 dows or beautiful gardens, refreshes us with 
 cooling breezes or delicious fruits, sooths us 
 with the murmur of waters or the melody of 
 birdl, or t Isc conveys us to the court or camp ; 
 llazzles our imagination with crowns and scep- 
 tn ^, embattled hosts, or heroes shining in hur- 
 Dbbed Iteelj but sacred numbers seem to ad- 
 mit u, into a solemn and magnificent temple, 
 
 th< >• encircle m arith every thing that is holy 
 
 ami divine, they luperadd an agreeable awe and 
 reverence to all those pleasing emotions we feci | 
 
 from other lay3, an awe and reverence that 
 exalts, while it chastises : its sweet authority 
 restrains each undue liberty of thought, word, 
 and action : it makes us think better and more 
 nobly of ourselves, from a consciousness of the 
 great presence we are in, where saints surround 
 us, and angels are our fellow worshippers : 
 
 let me glory, glory in my choice ! 
 
 Whom should I sing, but him who gave me voice! 
 Thil theme shall last, when Homer's shall decay, 
 When arts, arms, kings, and kingdoms melt away. 
 And can it, powers immortal, cm it be," 
 That this high province was reserved for me T 
 Whate'cr the new, the rash adventure cost, 
 In wide eternity I dare be lost. 
 
 1 dare launch out, and shew the muses more 
 Than e'er the learned sisters saw before. 
 
 In narrow limits they were wont to sing, 
 
 To teach the twain, or celebrate the king : 
 
 I grasp the whole, no more to parts contin'd, 
 
 I lift my voice, and sing to human-kind ; 
 
 I sing to men and angels : angels join 
 
 (While such the theme) their sacrtd hymns with mine.* 
 
 But besides the greater pleasure which we 
 receive from sacred poesy, it has another vast 
 advantage above all other: when it has placed 
 us in that imaginary temple (of which I just 
 now spoke) methinks the mighty genius of 
 the place covers us with an invisible baud, 
 secures us in the enjoyments we possess. We 
 find a kind of refuge in our pleasure, and our 
 diversion becomes our safety. Why then should 
 not every heart that is addicted to the muses, 
 cry out in the holy warmth of the best poet 
 that ever lived, ' I will magnify thee, O Lord, 
 my king, and 1 will praise thy name for ever, 
 and ever.' 
 
 That greater benefit may be reaped from 
 sacred poesy than from any other, is indisputa- 
 ble; but is it capable of yielding such exqui- 
 site delight? Has it a title only to the regard 
 of the serious and aged ? Is it only to be read 
 on Sundays, and to be bound in black ? Or 
 does it put in for the good esteem of the gay, 
 the fortunate, the young? Can it rival a ball 
 or a theatre, or give pleasure to those who are 
 conversant with beauty, and have their palates 
 set high with all the delicacies and poignancy 
 of human wit ? 
 
 That poetry gives us the greatest pleasure 
 which affects us most, and that affects us most 
 which is on a subject in which we have the 
 deepest concern ; for this reason it is a rule in 
 epic poetry that the tale should be taken from 
 the history of that country to which it is writ- 
 ten, or at farthest from their distant ancestors. 
 Thus Homer sung Achilles to the descendants 
 of Achilles ; aud Virgil to Augustus that hero's 
 voyage, 
 
 Genus trade Lathmm 
 
 A 1 1. aniline paties, atque allx intern, 1 Roma. 
 
 /F.n. 1. 6. 
 
 From whence the race of Alban fathers conic, 
 
 And the louy glories of majestic Koine. Drydcn. 
 
 • Dr. Young's Last Day Buok II. 7, &c. 
 
No. 5 1. J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 79 
 
 Had they changed subjects, they had certainly 
 been worse poets at Greece and Rome, whatever 
 they had been esteemed by the rest of man- 
 kind ; and in what suhjeots have we the greatest 
 concern, but in those at the very thought of 
 which ' This world grows less and less, and all 
 its glories fade away ?' 
 
 All other poesy must be dropt at the gate of 
 death, this alone can enter with us into im- 
 mortality ; it will admit of an improvement 
 only, not (strictly speaking) an entire altera- 
 tion, from the converse of cherubim and sera- 
 phim. It shall not be forgotten when the sun 
 and moon are remembered no more ; it shall 
 never die, but (if I may so express myself) be 
 the measure of eternity, and the laudable am- 
 bition of heaven. 
 
 How then can any other poesy come in com- 
 petition with it ? 
 
 Whatever great or dreadful has been done, 
 Within the view of conscious stars or sun, 
 Is far beneath my daring ! I look down 
 On all the splendours of the British crown ; 
 This globe is for my verse a narrow bound : 
 Attend me, all ye glorious worlds around ; 
 Oh all ye spirits, howsoe'er disjoin'd, 
 Of every various order, place, and kind, 
 Hear and assist a feeble mortal's lays: 
 'Xis your Eternal King 1 strive to praise. 
 
 These verses, and those quoted above, are 
 taken out of a manuscript poem on the Last 
 Day, which will shortly appear in public. 
 
 To the Guardian. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 ' When you speak of the good which would 
 Arise from the labours of ingenious men, if they 
 could be prevailed upon to turn their thoughts 
 upon the sublime subjects of religion, it should, 
 methinks, be an attractive to them, if you 
 would please to lay before them, that noble 
 ideas aggrandise the soul of him who writes 
 with a true taste of virtue. I was just now 
 reading David's lamentation over Saul and Jo- 
 nathan, and that divine piece was peculiarly 
 pleasing to me, in that there was such an ex- 
 quisite sorrow expressed in it without the least 
 allusion to the difficulties from whence David 
 was extricated by the fall of those great men 
 in his way to empire. When he received the 
 tidings of Saul's death, his generous mind has 
 in it no reflection upon the merit of the un- 
 happy man who was taken out of his way, but 
 what raises his sorrow, instead of giving him 
 consolation. 
 
 * The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high 
 places : how are the mighty fallen ! 
 
 " Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the 
 streets of Askelon : Lest the daughters of the 
 Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the 
 uncircumcised triumph. 
 
 " Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no 
 dew, neither let there be rain upon you, nor 
 fields of offerings : For there the shield of the 
 
 mighty is vilely cast away, the shield of Saul, 
 as though he had not been anointed with oil. 
 
 " Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant 
 in their lives, and in their deaths they were not 
 divided : they were swifter than eagles, they 
 were stronger than lions. 
 
 " Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, 
 who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights, 
 who put on ornaments of gold upon your ap-- 
 parel." 
 
 ' How beautiful is the more amiable and 
 noble parts of Saul's character, represented by 
 a man whom that very Saul pursued to death ! 
 But when he comes to mention Jonathan, the 
 sublimity ceases, and not able to mention his 
 generous friendship, and the most noble in- 
 stances ever given by man, he sinks into a fond- 
 ness that will not admit of high language or 
 allusions to the greater circumstances of their 
 life, and turns only upon their familiar con- 
 verse. 
 
 " I am distressed for thee, my brother Jona- 
 than ; very pleasant hast thou been unto me ; 
 thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love 
 of women." 
 
 ' In the mind of this admirable man, gran- 
 deur, majesty, and worldly power were despi- 
 cable considerations, when he cast his eye upon 
 the merit of him who was so suddenly snatched 
 from them : And when he began to think of 
 the great friendship of Jonathan, his panegeric 
 is uttered only in broken exclamations, and 
 tender expressions of how much they both loved, 
 not how much Jonathan deserved. 
 
 Pray pardon this, which was to hint only 
 that the virtue, not the elegance of fine wri- 
 ting, is the thing principally to be considered 
 by a Guardian. 
 
 ' I am Sir, 
 
 * Your humble servant, 
 
 ' C. F.' 
 
 No. 52.] Monday, May 11, 1713. 
 
 toto solus in orbe 
 
 Caesar liber erit Luc an. 
 
 Caesar alone, of all mankind, is free. 
 
 I shall not assume to myself the merit of 
 every thing in these papers. Wheresoever in 
 reading or conversation, I observe any thing 
 that is curious and uncommon, useful or en- 
 tertaining, I resolve to give it to the public. 
 The greatest part of this very paper is an ex- 
 tract from a French manuscript, which was 
 lent me by my good friend Mr. Charwell. He 
 tells me he has had it about these twenty years 
 in his possession j and he seems to me to have 
 taken from it very many.of the maxims he has 
 pursued in the new settlement, I have hereto- 
 fore spoken of, upon his lands. He has given 
 me full liberty to make what use of it I shall 
 think fit : either to publish it entire, or to re- 
 
80 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 [No. 52. 
 
 tad it out by pennyworths. I have determined 
 to r- t ul it, and for that end I have translated 
 ,l n en rendering the words livre, sous, 
 
 ami in uiv others of known signification in 
 France, into their equivalent sense, that I may 
 the better he understood hy my English readers. 
 The hook contains several memoirs concerning 
 monsieur Colbert, who had the honour to be 
 secretary of state to his most christian majesty, 
 and superiutendaut or chief director of the arts 
 and manufactures of his kingdom. The pas- 
 sage for to-day is as follows: 
 
 ' It happened that the king was one day ex- 
 pressing his wonder to this minister, that the 
 United Provinces should give him so much 
 trouble, that so great a monarch as he was 
 should not be able to reduce so small a state, 
 with half the power of his whole dominions. 
 To which monsieur Colbert is said to have made 
 the .following answer : 
 
 ' Sir, I presume upon your indulgence to 
 speak what I have thought upon this subject, 
 with that freedom which becomes a faithful 
 servant, and one who has nothing more at heart 
 than your majesty's glory and the prosperity 
 of your whole people. Your territories are 
 vastly greater than the United Netherlands ; 
 but, sir, it is not land that fights against land, 
 but the strength and riches of one nation, 
 against the strength and riches of another. I 
 should have said only riches, since it is money 
 that feeds and clothes the soldier, furnishes 
 the magazine, provides the train of artillery, 
 and answers the charge of all other military 
 preparations. Now the riches of a prince, or 
 state, are just so much as they can levy upon 
 their subjects, still leaving them sufficient for 
 their subsistence. If this 6hall not be left, they 
 will desert to other countries for better usage; 
 and I am sorry to say it, that too many of your 
 majesty's subjects are already among your 
 neighbours, in the condition of footmen and 
 valets for their daily bread ; many of your ar- 
 tisans too are fled from the severity of your 
 collectors, they are at this time improving the 
 manufactures of your enemies. France has 
 lost the benefit of their bands for ever, and 
 your majesty all hopes of any future excises 
 by their consumption. For the extraordinary 
 sums of one year, you have parted with an in- 
 heritance. I am never able, without the ut- 
 most indignation, to think of that minister, 
 who had the confidence to tell your father, his 
 subjects were but too happy, that they were 
 not yrt reduced to eat grass : as if starving his 
 people were the only way to free himself from 
 their seditions. Hut people will not starve in 
 I'r.»;i( ■<■, as long as bread is to be had in any 
 other COUOtry. How much more worthy of a 
 pi in. <• was that saying of your grandfather Of 
 
 glorious memory, that be hoped to see that 
 
 day, wheu every house-keeper in his dominions 
 
 should be able to allow his family a capon lor 
 
 their Sunday'3 supper? I lay down this there- 
 fore as my first principle, that your taxes upon 
 your subjects must leave them sufficient for 
 their subsistence, at least as comfortable a 
 subsistence as they will find among your neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 4 Upon this principle I shall be able to make 
 some comparison between the revenues of your 
 majesty, and those of the States-general. Your 
 territories are near thirty times as great, your 
 people more than four times as many, yet your 
 revenues are not thirty, no, nor four times as 
 great, nor indeed as great again, as those of 
 the United Netherlands. 
 
 ' In what one article are you able to raise 
 twice as much from your subjects as the states 
 can do from theirs? Can you take twice as much 
 from the rents of the lands and houses ? What 
 are the yearly rents of your whole kingdom ? and 
 how much of these will your majesty be able to 
 take without ruining the landed interest ? You 
 have, sir, above a hundred millions of acres, 
 and not above thirteen millions of subjects, 
 eight acres to every subject ; how inconsider- 
 able must be the value of laud, where so many 
 acres are to provide for a single person ! where 
 a single person is the whole market for the 
 product of so much land ! And what sort of 
 customers are your subjects to these lands ? 
 what clothes is it that they wear? what pro- 
 visions do they consume ? Black bread, onions, 
 and other roots, are the usual diet of the ge- 
 nerality of your people ; their common drink 
 the pure element ; they are dressed in canvass 
 and wooden shoes, I mean such of them as are 
 not bare-foot, and half- naked. How very mean 
 must be the eight acres which will afford no 
 better subsistence to a Bingle person ! Yet so 
 many of your people live in this despicable 
 manner, that four pounds will be easily believed 
 to exceed the annual expenses of every one of 
 them at a medium. And how little of this 
 expense will be coming to the land-owner for 
 his rent ? or, which is the same thing, for the 
 mere product of his land ? Of every thing that 
 is consumed, the greatest part of the value is 
 the price of labour that is bestowed upon it ; 
 and it is not a very small part of their price 
 that is paid to your majesty in your excises. 
 Of the four pounds expense of every subject, 
 it can hardly be thought that more than four- 
 and-twenty shillings are paid for the mere pro- 
 duct of the land. Then if there are eight acres 
 to every subject, and every subject for his con- 
 sumption pays no more than four and twenty 
 shillings to the land, three shillings at a medium 
 must be the full yearly value of every acre in 
 your kingdom. Your lands, separated from 
 the buildings, cannot be valued higher. 
 
 ' And what then shall be thought the yearly 
 value of the houses, or, which is the same thing, 
 of the lodgings of your thirteen millions of 
 subjects ? What numbers of these are begging 
 
No. 52.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 81 
 
 their bread throughout your kingdom ? If your 
 majesty were to walk incognito through the 
 very streets of your capital, and would give a 
 farthing to every beggar that asks you alms 
 in a walk of one hour, you would have nothing 
 left of a pistole. How miserable must be the 
 lodgings of these jwretches ! even those that 
 will not ask your charity, are huddled together, 
 four or five families in a house. Such is the 
 lodging in your capital. That of your other 
 towns is yet of less value ; but nothing can be 
 more ruinous than the cottages in the villages. 
 Six shillings for the lodging of every one of 
 your thirteen millions of subjects, at a medium, 
 must needs be the full yearly value of all the 
 houses. So that at four shillings for every acre, 
 and six shillings for the lodging of every subject, 
 the rents of your whole kingdom will be less 
 than twenty millions, and yet a great deal 
 more than they were ever yet found to be by 
 the most exact survey that has been taken. 
 
 ' The next question then is, how much of 
 these rents your majesty will think fit to take 
 to your own use ? Six of the twenty millions 
 are in the hands of the clergy; and little 
 enough for the support of three hundred thou- 
 sand ecclesiastics, with all their necessary at- 
 tendants ; it is no more than twenty pounds a 
 year for every one of the masters. These, sir, 
 are your best guards ; they keep your subjects 
 loyal in the midst of all their misery. Your 
 majesty will not think it your interest to take 
 any thing from the church. From that which 
 remains in the hands of your lay subjects, will 
 you be able to take more than five millions to 
 your own use ? This is more than seven shillings 
 in the. pound; and then, after necessary re- 
 parations, together with losses by the failing 
 of tenauts, how very little will be left to the 
 owners ! These are gentlemen who have never 
 been bred either to trade or manufactures, they 
 have no other way of living than by their rents ; 
 and when these shall be taken from them, 
 they must fly to your armies, as to an hospital, 
 for their daily bread. 
 
 ' Now sir, your majesty will give me leave 
 to examine what are the rents of the United 
 Netherlands, and how great a part of these 
 their governors may take to themselves, with- 
 out oppression of the owners. There are in 
 those provinces three millions of acres, and as 
 many millions of subjects, a subject for every 
 acre. Why should not then the single acre 
 there, be as valuable as the eight acres in 
 France, since it is to provide for as many 
 mouths ? Or if great part of the provisions of 
 the people are fetched in by their trade from 
 the sea or foreign countries, they will end at 
 last in the improvement of their lands. I have 
 often heard, and am ready to believe, that 
 thirty shillings, one with another, is less than 
 the yearly value of every acre in those pro- 
 vinces. 
 
 * And how much less than this will be the 
 yearly value of lodging for every one of their 
 subjects ? There are no beggars in their streets, 
 scarce a single one in a whole province. Their 
 families in great towns are lodged in palaces, 
 in comparison with those of Paris. Even the 
 houses in their villages are more sostly than 
 in many of your cities. If such is the value of 
 their three millions of acres, and of lodging for 
 as many millions of subjects, the yearly rents 
 of lands and houses are nine millions in those 
 provinces. 
 
 ' Then how much of this may the States 
 take without ruining the land-owners, for the 
 defence of their people ? Their lands there, 
 by the custom of descending in equal shares 
 to all the children, are distributed into so many 
 hands, that few or no persons are subsisted by 
 their rents ; land-owners, as well as others, are 
 chiefly subsisted by trade and manufactures ; 
 and they can therefore with as much ease part 
 with half of their whole rents, as your majesty's 
 subjects can a quarter. The States- general 
 may as well take four millions and a half from 
 their rents, as your majesty can five from those 
 of your subjects. 
 
 ' It remains now only to compare the excises 
 of both countries. And what excises can your 
 majesty hope to receive by the consumption of 
 the half-starved, and half-naked beggars in 
 your streets ? How great a part of the price of 
 all that is eat, or drunk, or consumed by those 
 wretched creatures? How great a part of the 
 price of canvas cloth and wooden shoes, that 
 are every where worn throughout the country? 
 How great a part of the price of their water, 
 or their black bread and onions, the general 
 diet of your people? If your majesty were to 
 receive the whole price of those things, your 
 exchequer would hardly run over. Vet so much 
 the greatest part of your subjects live in this 
 despicable manner, that the annual expense of 
 every one at a medium, can be no more than 
 I have mentioned. One would almost think 
 they starve themselves to defraud your majesty 
 of your revenues. It is impossible to conceive 
 that more than an eighth part can be excised 
 from the expenses of your subjects, who live so 
 very poorly, and then, for thirteen millions of 
 people, your whole revenue by excises will 
 amount to no more than six millions and a half. 
 
 ' And how much less than this sum will the 
 States be able to levy by the same tax upon 
 their subjects? There are no beggars in that 
 country. The people of their great towns live 
 at a vastly greater charge than yours. And 
 even those in their villages are better fed and 
 clothed than the people of your towns. At a 
 medium, every one of their subjects live at 
 twice the cost of those of France. Trade and 
 manufactures are the things that furnish them 
 with money for this expense. Therefore, if 
 thrice as much shall be excised from the ex- 
 L 
 
6-2 
 
 THE Gl ARDJAN. 
 
 [No. 53 
 
 ,,f the HoH ' mil theywill have 
 
 tfl of your majesty, 
 tld take nothing at all from 
 [ must believe therefore that it will be 
 . to levy thrice as much by excises upon 
 the Dutch subject as the French, thirty shillings 
 upon the former, Bfi easily as ten upon the latter, 
 and consequently four millions and a half of 
 pounds upon their three millions of subjects ; 
 to that in the whole, by rents and excises, they 
 will be able to raise nine millions within the 
 year. If of this sum, for the maintenance of 
 their clergy, which are not so numerous as in 
 France, the charge of their civil list, and the 
 preservation of their dikes, one million is to be 
 deducted ; yet still they will have eight for 
 their defence, a revenue equal to two thirds of 
 your majesty's. 
 
 ' Your majesty will now no longer wonder 
 i hat you have not been able to reduce these 
 provinces with half the power of your whole 
 dominions, yet half is as much as you will be 
 ever able to employ against them ; Spain and 
 Germany will be always ready to espouse their 
 quarrel, their forces will be sufficient to cutout 
 work for the other half; and I wish too you 
 could be quiet on the side of Italy and England. 
 What then is the advice I would presume 
 to give your majesty? To disband the greatest 
 part of your forces, and save so many taxes 
 to your people. Your very dominions make 
 vou too powerful to fear any insult from 
 your neighbours. To turn your thoughts from 
 war, and cultivate the arts of peace, the trade 
 and manufactures of your people ; this shall 
 make you the most powerful prince, and at 
 the same time your subjects the richest of all 
 other subjects. In the space of twenty years 
 they will be able to give your majesty greater 
 sums with ease, than you can now draw from 
 them with the greatest difficulty. You have 
 abundant materials in your kingdom to employ 
 your people, and they do not want capacity to 
 he employed. Peace and trade shall carry out 
 their labour to all the parts of Europe, and 
 bring back yearly treasures to your subjects. 
 There will be always fools enough to purchase 
 the manufactures of France, though France 
 should be prohibited to purchase those of other 
 countries. In the mean time your majesty 
 shall never want sufficient sums to buy now 
 and then an important fortress from one or 
 Other of your indigent neighbours. But, above 
 all, peace Shall ingratiate your majesty with 
 the Spanish nation, during the life of their 
 era*} king; and after his death a few season- 
 able presents among his courtiers shall pur- 
 m of Ins crowns, with all the 
 ti. e Indies, and then the world 
 
 must be your own.' 
 4 TM f wb a t W as then 
 
 said i... ing was not 
 
 *t all f trended with this libert) af hi minister. 
 
 He knew the value of the man, and soon after 
 made him the chief director of the trade and 
 manufactures of his people.' 
 
 No. .53.] Tuesday, May 12, 1713. 
 
 Desinant 
 
 Maledicere, malefacta ne noscant s>n. 
 
 To: Prol. act Andr. 
 Let them cease to speak ill of others, lest (hey hear of 
 their own misdeeds. 
 
 It happens that the letter, which was in one 
 of my papers concerning a lady ill treated by 
 the Examiner, and to which he replies by tax- 
 ing the Tatlerwith the like practice, was writ- 
 ten by one Steele, who put his name to the 
 collection of papers called Lucubrations. It 
 was a wrong thing in the Examiner to go any 
 farther than the Guardian for what is said in 
 the Guardian; but since Steele owns the letter, 
 it is the same thing. I apprehend, by reading 
 the Examiner over a second time, that he in- 
 sinuates, by the words close to the royal stamp, 
 he would have the man turned out of his office. 
 Considering he is so malicious, I cannot but 
 think Steele has treated him very mercifully 
 in his answer, which follows. This Steele is 
 certainly a very good sort of a man, and it is a 
 thousand pities he does not understand politics ; 
 but, if he is turned out, my lady Lizard will 
 invite him down to our country-house. I shall 
 be very glad of his company, and I'll certainly 
 leave something to one of his children. 
 
 To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 • SIB, 
 I am obliged to fly to you for refuge from 
 severe usage, which a very great author, the 
 Examiner, has been pleased to give me for what 
 you have lately published in defeuee of a young 
 lady.* He does not put his name to his wri- 
 tings, and therefore he ought not to reflect upon 
 the characters of those who publicly answer 
 for what they have produced. The Examiner 
 and the Guardian might have disputed upon 
 any particular they had thought fit, without 
 having introduced any third person, or making 
 any allusions to matters foreign to the subject 
 before them. ISnt since he has thought tit, in 
 his paper of May the eighth, to defend himself 
 by my example, I shall beg leave to say to the 
 town ( h\ your favour to me, Mr. Ironside) that 
 our conduct would still be very widely different, 
 though I should allow that there were particular 
 persons pointed at in the places which he 
 mentions in theTatlers. When a satirist feigns 
 a name, it must be the guilt of the person at- 
 tacked, or his being notoriously understood 
 guilty before the satire was written, that can 
 make him liable to come under the fictitious 
 appellation. But when the licence of printing 
 letters of people's real names is used, things 
 
 * See Guard. No. 41. 
 
No. 5S.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 83 
 
 may be affixed to men's characters which are 
 in the utmost degree remote from them. Thus 
 it happens in the case of the earl of Nottingham, 
 whom that gentleman asserts to have left the 
 church ; though nothing is more evident than 
 that he deserves better of all men in holy orders, 
 or those who have any respect for them, or re- 
 ligion itself, thau any man in England can 
 pretend to. But as to the instances he gives 
 against me : Old Downes is a fine piece of 
 raillery, of which I wish I had been author. 
 All I had to do in it, was to strike out what 
 related to a gentlewoman about the queen, 
 whom I thought a woman free from ambition, 
 and I did it out of regard to innocence. Powel 
 of the Bath is reconciled to me, and has made 
 me free of his show. Tun, Gun, and Pistol 
 from Wapping, laughed at the representation 
 which was made of them, and were observed to 
 be more regular in their conduct afterwards. 
 The character of Lord Timon is no odious one ; 
 and to tell you the truth, Mr. Ironside, when 
 I writ it, 1 thought it more like me myself, 
 than any other man ; and if I had in my eye any 
 illustrious person who had the same faults with 
 myself, it is no new, nor very criminal self-love 
 to flatter ourselves, that what weaknesses we 
 have, we have in common with great men. For 
 the exaltation of style, and embellishing the 
 character, I made Timon a lord, and he may 
 be a very worthy one for all that I have said of 
 him. I do not remember the mention of don 
 Diego ; nor do I remember that ever I thought 
 
 of lord N m, in any character drawn in 
 
 any one paper of Bickerstaff. Now as to Poly- 
 pragmon, I drew it as the most odious image 
 I could paint of ambition ; and Polypragnion 
 is to men of business what Sir Fopling Flutter 
 is to men of fashion. " He's knight of the shire, 
 and represents you all." Whosoever seeks 
 employment for his own private interest, vanity, 
 or pride, and not for the good of his prince and 
 country, has his share in the picture of Poly- 
 pragnion ; and let this be the rule in examining 
 that description, and I believe the Examiner 
 will find others to whom he would rather give 
 a part of it, than to the person on whom I be- 
 lieve be bestows it, because he thinks he is the 
 most capable of having his vengeance on me. 
 But I say not this from terrors of what any 
 man living can do to me : I speak it only to 
 show, that I have not, like him, fixed odious 
 images on persons, but on vices. Alas, what 
 occasion have I to draw people whom I think 
 ill of, under feigned names ? I have wanted 
 and abounded, and I neither fear poverty, nor 
 desire riches ; if that be true, why should I be 
 afraid, whenever I see occasion to examine the 
 conduct of any of my fellow-subjects ? I should 
 scorn to do it but from plain facts, and at my 
 own peril, and from instances as clear as the 
 day. Thus would I, and I will (whenever I 
 think it my duty) inquire into the behaviour of 
 
 any man in England, if he is so posted, as that 
 his errors may hurt my country. This kind 
 of zeal will expose him who is prompted by it 
 to a great deal of ill-will ; and I could carry 
 any points I aim at for the improvement of my 
 own little affairs, without making myself ob- 
 noxious to the resentment of any person or 
 party. But, alas ! what is there in all the 
 gratifications of sense, the accommodations of 
 vanity, or any thing that fortune can give to 
 please a human soul, when they are put in 
 competition with the interests of truth and 
 liberty ? Mr. Ironside, I confess f writ to you 
 that letter concerning the young lady of quality, 
 and am glad that my awkward apology (as the 
 Examiner calls it) has produced in him so much 
 remorse as to make " any reparation to offended 
 beauty." Though, by the way, the phrase of 
 " offended beauty" is romantic, and has little 
 of the compunction which should arise in a 
 man that is begging pardon of a woman for say- 
 ing of her unjustly, that she had affronted " her 
 God and her sovereign." However, I will not 
 bear hard upon his contrition ; but am now 
 heartily sorry I called him a miscreant, that 
 word I think signifies an unbeliever. Mescroy- 
 ant, I take it, is the old French word. I will 
 give myself no manner of liberty to make 
 guesses at him, if I may say him: for though 
 sometimes I have been told by familiar friends, 
 that they saw me such a time talking to the 
 Examiner ; others, who have rallied me upon 
 the sins of my youth, tell me it is credibly re- 
 ported that I have formerly lain with the Ex- 
 aminer. I have carried my point, and rescued 
 innocence from calumny; and it is nothing to 
 me, whether the examiner writes against me 
 in the character of an estranged friend* or an 
 exasperated mistress.-f- 
 
 He is welcome from henceforward to treat 
 me as he pleases : but as you have begun to 
 oppose him, never let innocence or merit be 
 traduced by him. In particular, I beg of you, 
 never let the glory of our nation, J who made 
 France tremble, and yet has that gentleness 
 to be able to bear opposition from the meanes* 
 of his own countrymen, be calumniated in so 
 impudent a manner, as in the insinuation that 
 he affected a perpetual dictatorship. Let not 
 a set of brave, wise, and honest men, who did 
 all that has been done to place their queen in 
 so great a figure, as to show mercy to the 
 highest potentate in Europe, he treated by un- 
 generous men as traitors and betrayers. To 
 prevent such evils is a care worthy a Guardian. 
 These are exercises worthy the spirit of a man, 
 and you ought to contemn all the wit in the 
 world against you, when you have the conso- 
 lation that you act upon these honest motives. 
 If you ever shrink from them, get Bat Pigeon 
 to comb your noddle, and write sonnets on the 
 
 r. Swift. + Mrs. Manley. J The duke of Marlbcc on/>h. 
 
u 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 54, 
 
 nllel oltlw Sparkler ; bot never call yourself 
 Guardian iDore, in a nation full of the senti- 
 
 4 honour and liberty. 
 1 I am, Sir, 
 
 * Your most humble servant. 
 
 ' RICHARD STEELE. 
 
 1 p. s. 
 
 pbew*s.' 
 
 1 kuow nothing of the letter at Mor- 
 
 No. 54.] Wednesday, May 13, 1713. 
 
 Neqne ita porr6 aut adulates ant artmkratns sum fortuuam 
 
 alterins, ut me mcae paenitcret. TulL 
 
 I never flattered, or admired, another min's fottune, so 
 as to be dissatisfied with my own. 
 
 It has been observed very often, in authors 
 divine and profane, that we are all equal after 
 death, and this by way of consolation for that 
 deplorable superiority which some among us 
 seem to have over others ; but it would be a 
 doctrine of much more comfortable import, to 
 establish an equality among the living ; for the 
 propagation of which paradox I shall hazard 
 the following conceits. 
 
 I must here lay it down, that I do not pre- 
 tend to satisfy every barren reader, that all 
 persons that have hitherto apprehended them- 
 selves extremely miserable shall have imme- 
 diate succour from the publication of this 
 paper ; but shall endeavour to show that the 
 discerning shall be fully convinced of the truth 
 of this assertion, and thereby obviate all the 
 impertinent accusations of Providence for the 
 unequal distribution of good and evil. 
 
 If all men had reflection enough to be sen- 
 sible of this equality of happiness ; if they were 
 not made uneasy by appearances of superiority ; 
 there would be none of that subordination and 
 subjection, of those that think themselves less 
 happy, to those they think more so, which is 
 so very necessary for the support of business 
 and pleasure. 
 
 The common turn of human application may 
 be divided into love, ambition, and avarice, 
 and whatever victories we gain in these our 
 particular pursuits, there will always be some 
 one or other in the paths we tread, whose su- 
 perior happiness will create new uneasiness, 
 and employ ns in new contrivances ; and so 
 through all degrees there will still remain the 
 insatiable desire of some seeming unacquired 
 good, to imbitter the possession of whatever 
 re accommodated with. And if we 
 suppose a man perfectly accommodated, and 
 
 Wim through all the gradations betwixt 
 it) and superfluity, we shall find that 
 
 the ilavery which occasioned his first activity, 
 
 (bated, but only diversified. 
 
 Those tli.it arc distressed upon such causes 
 
 .is the world alloWl to warrant the keenest 
 affliction, are tOO apt. iu tin- comparison of 
 lli. ni» IveS with others, to conclude, that where 
 
 there is not a similitude of causes, there cannot 
 be of affliction, and forget to relieve themselves 
 with this consideration, that the little disap- 
 pointments in a life cf pleasure are as terrible 
 as those in a life of business ; and if the end of 
 one man is to spend his time and money as 
 agreeably as he can, that of the other to save 
 both, an interruption in either of these pursuits 
 is of equal consequence to the pursuers. Be- 
 sides, as every trifle raiset h the mirth and gaiety 
 of the men of good circumstances, so do others 
 as inconsiderable expose them to spleen and 
 passion, and as Solomon says, ' according to 
 their riches, their anger riseth.' 
 
 One of the most bitter circumstances of 
 poverty has been observed to be, that it makes 
 men appear ridiculous ; but I believe this affir- 
 mation may with more justice be appropriated 
 to riches, since more qualifications are re- 
 quired to become a great fortune, than even 
 to make one ; and there are several pretty 
 persons about town, ten times more ridiculous 
 upon the very account of a good estate, than 
 they possibly could have been with the want 
 of it. 
 
 I confess, having a mind to pay my court to 
 fortune, I became an adventurer in one of the 
 late lotteries ; in which, though I got none of 
 the great prizes, I found no occasion to envy 
 some of those that did ; comforting myself 
 with this contemplation, that nature and edu- 
 cation having disappointed all the favours for- 
 tune could bestow upon them, they had gained 
 no superiority by an unenvied affluence. 
 
 It is pleasant to consider, that whilst we are 
 lamenting our particular afflictions to each 
 other, and repining at the inequality of con- 
 dition, were it possible to throw off our present 
 miserable state, we cannot name the person 
 whose condition in every particular we would 
 embrace and prefer; and an impartial inquiry 
 into the pride, ill-nature, ill-health, guilt, 
 spleen, or particularity of behaviour of others, 
 generally ends in a reconciliation to our dear 
 selves. 
 
 This my way of thinking is warranted by 
 Shakspeare in a very extraordinary manner, 
 where he makes Richard the Second, when 
 deposed and imprisoned, debating a matter, 
 which would soon have been discussed by a 
 common capacity, Whether his prison or palace 
 was most eligible, and with very philosophical 
 hesitation leaving the preference undetermined, 
 in the following lines : 
 
 Sometimes am [ a kins, 
 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar. 
 Ami to Indeed I am. Then crushing penury 
 Persuades mo I was belter when a king* 
 Then ain 1 klng'd again. 
 
 Prior says very prettily : 
 
 Against our ncacc we arm out will : 
 Amidst our plenty something •''till 
 For hnrsi B, houses, pictures, planting, 
 I '.. ihee, to me, to him ^ wanting. 
 
No. 54. j 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 85 
 
 That cruel something nnpossest 
 Corrodes and leavens all the rest. 
 That something if we could obtain, 
 Would soon create a future pain. 
 
 Give me leave to fortify my unlearned reader 
 with another bit of wisdom from Juvenal, by 
 Dry den: 
 
 Look round the habitable world, how few 
 
 Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue! 
 
 How void of reason are our hopes and fears f 
 
 What in the conduct of our life appears 
 
 So well designed, so luckily begun 
 
 But, when we have our wish, we wish undone ! 
 
 Even the men that are distinguished by, and 
 envied for their superior good sense and deli- 
 cacy of taste, are subject to several uneasinesses 
 upon this account, that the men of less pene- 
 tration are utter strangers to ; and every little 
 absurdity ruffles these fine judgments, which 
 would never disturb the peaceful state of the 
 less discerning. 
 
 I shall end this essay with the following 
 story. There is a gentleman of my acquaint- 
 ance, of a fortune which may not on'y be 
 called easy, but superfluous; yet this person 
 has, by a great deal of reflection, found out a 
 method to be as uneasy as the worst circum- 
 stances could have made him. By a free life 
 he had swelled himself above his natural pro- 
 portion, and by a restrained life had shrunk 
 below it, and being by nature splenetic, and 
 by leisure more so, he began to bewail this his 
 loss of flesh (though otherwise in perfect 
 health) as a very melancholy diminution. He 
 became, therefore, the reverse of Ctesar, and 
 as a lean hungry-looked rascal was the delight 
 of his eyes, a fat sleek- headed fellow was his 
 abomination. To support himself as well as 
 he could, he took a servant, for the very rea- 
 son every one else would have refused him, for 
 being in a deep consumption ; and whilst he 
 has compared himself to this creature, and 
 with a face of infinite humour contemplated 
 the decay of his body, I have seen the master's 
 features proportionably rise into a boldness, as 
 those of his slave sunk and grew languid. It 
 was his interest, therefore, not to suffer the 
 too hasty dissolution of a being, upon which 
 bis own, in some measure depended. In short, 
 the fellow, by a little too much indulgence, 
 began to look gay and plump upon his master, 
 who, according to Horace, 
 
 Inviuus altcrius tnacrescit 
 
 < opinus, 
 Lib. 1. Ep. C. 57, 
 
 Sickens thro' envy at another's good : 
 
 and as he took him only for being in a con- 
 sumption, by the same way of thinking, he 
 found it absolutely necessary to dismiss him 
 for not being in one ; and has told me since, 
 that he looks upon it as a very difficult matter, 
 to furnish himself with a footman that is not 
 altogether as happy as himself. 
 
 No. 55] Thursday, May 14, 1713. 
 
 rtnis enim virtutem amplectitur ipsam, 
 
 Prcemia si tollas? Juv. Sat. x. 141. 
 
 For who would virtue for herself regard, 
 
 Or wed, without the portion of reward ? Dry den. 
 
 It is usual with polemical writers to object 
 ill designs to their adversaries. This turns 
 their argument into satire, which, instead of 
 showing an error in the understanding, tends 
 only to expose the morals of those they write 
 against. I shall not act after this manner with 
 respect to the free-thinkers. Virtue, and the 
 happiness of society, are the great ends which 
 all men ought to promote; and some of that 
 sect would be thought to have at heart above 
 the rest of mankind. But supposing those who 
 make that profession, to carry on a good design 
 in the simplicity of their hearts, and according 
 to their best knowledge, yet it is much to be 
 feared, those well-meaning souls, while they 
 endeavoured to recommend virtue, have in 
 reality been advancing the interests of vice; 
 which, as I take to proceed from their igno- 
 rance of human nature, we may hope, when 
 they become sensible of their mistake, they 
 will, in consequence of that beneficent principle 
 they pretend to act upon, reform their practice 
 for the future. 
 
 The sages whom I have in my eye, speak of 
 virtue as the most amiable thing in the world; 
 but at the same time that they extol her 
 beauty, they take care to lessen her portion. 
 Such innocent creatures are they, and so great 
 strangers to the world, that they think this a 
 likely method to increase the number of her 
 admirers. 
 
 Virtue has in herself the most engaging 
 charms ; and Christianity, as it places her in 
 the strongest light, and adorned with all her 
 native attractions, so it kindles a new fire in 
 the soul, by adding to them the unutterable 
 rewards which attend her votaries in an eternal 
 state. Or, if there are men of a saturnine and 
 heavy complexion, who are not easily lifted up 
 by hope, there is the prospect of everlasting 
 punishments to agitate their souls, and frighten 
 them into the practice of virtue, and an aver- 
 sion from vice. 
 
 Whereas your sober free-thinkers tell you, 
 that virtue indeed is beautiful, and vice de- 
 formed ; the former deserves your love, and 
 the latter your abhorrence ; but then it is for 
 their own sake, or on account of the good and 
 evil which immediately attend them, and are 
 inseparable from their respective natures. As 
 for the immortality of the soul, or eternal 
 punishments and rewards, those are openly ri- 
 diculed, or rendered suspicious by the most 
 sly and laboured artifice. 
 
 I will not say these men act treacherously 
 in the cause of virtue ; but will any one deny, 
 that they act foolishly, who pretend to advance 
 

 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 56. 
 
 the interest of it by destroying or weakening 
 the Strongest motives to it, which are accom- 
 tll capacities, and fitted to work 
 on all dispositions, and enforcing those alone 
 which can affect only a generous and exalted 
 mind ! 
 
 Surely they must be destitute of passion 
 themselves, and unacquainted with the force 
 it hath on the minds of others, who can ima- 
 gine that the mere beauty of fortitude, tem- 
 perance, and justice, is sufficient to sustain the 
 mind of man in a severe course of self-c! nial 
 against all the temptations of present profit 
 and sensuality. 
 
 It is my opinion that free-thinkers should 
 be treated as a set of poor ignorant creatures, 
 that have not sense to discover the excellency 
 of religion ; it being evident those men are no 
 witches, nor likely to be guilty of any deep 
 design, who proclaim aloud to the world, that 
 they have less motives to honesty than the 
 rest of their fellow-suhjects, who have all the 
 inducements to the exercise of any virtue which 
 a free-thinker can possibly have, and besides, 
 the expectation of never-ending happiness or 
 misery, as the consequence of their choice. 
 
 Are not men actuated by their passions ? 
 and are not hope and fear the most powerful 
 of our passions ? and are there any objects 
 which can rouse and awaken our hopes and 
 fears, like those prospects that warm and pe- 
 netrate the heart of a Christian, but are not 
 regarded by a free-thinker ? 
 
 It is not only a clear point, that a Christian 
 breaks through stronger engagements when- 
 ever be surrenders himself to commit a criminal 
 action, and is stung with a sharper remorse 
 after it than a free-thinker ; but it should even 
 seem that a man who believes no future state, 
 would act a foolish part in being thoroughly 
 honest. For what reason is there why such a 
 one should postpone his own private interest, 
 or pleasure, to the doing his duty ? If a Chris- 
 tian foregoes some present advantage for the 
 sake of his conscience, he acts accountably, 
 because it is with the view of gaining some 
 greater future good: but he that, having no 
 such view, should >et conscientiously deny 
 himself B present good in any incident where 
 
 ben avt appearances, is altogether as stupid 
 
 BJ be that would trust him at such a juncture. 
 It will, perhaps, be said, that virtue is her 
 OWn reward, that B natural gratification at- 
 tends good actions, which is alone sufficient to 
 excite men to tin performance of them. But 
 
 although there is nothing more lovely than 
 
 . and the practice of it is the suresl way 
 to sohd natural bappini is, even in this lil , 
 mi titles, estates, and fantastical pleasures, 
 arc more ardentlj mghl after by most men, 
 than the natural gratifications of a reasonable 
 
 mind; and it r.iuuot he denied, that virtue 
 
 and innocence are not always the readiest me- 
 
 thods to attain that sort of happiness. Besides, 
 the fumes of passion must be allayed, and rea- 
 son must burn brighter than ordinary, to enable 
 men to see and relish all the native beauties 
 and delights of a virtuous life. And though we 
 should grant our free-thinkers to be a set of 
 refined spirits, capable only of beingenamoured 
 of virtue, yet what would become of the bulk 
 of mankind who have gross understandings, 
 but lively senses, and strong passions? What 
 a deluge of lust, and fraud, and violence, would 
 in a little time overflow the whole nation, if 
 these wise advocates for morality were univer- 
 sally hearkened to ! Lastly, opportunities do 
 sometimes offer, in which a man may wickedly 
 make his fortune, or indulge a pleasure, with- 
 out fear of temporal damage, either in repu- 
 tation, health, or fortune. In such cases what 
 restraint do they lie under who have no re- 
 gards beyond the grave ; the inward compunc- 
 tions of a wicked, as well as the joys of an up- 
 right mind, being grafted on the sense of an- 
 other state ? 
 
 The thought, ' that our existence terminates 
 with this life,' doth naturally check the soul in 
 any generous pursuit, contract her vitws, and 
 fix them on temporary and selfish ends. It de- 
 thrones the reason, extinguishes all noble and 
 heroic sentiments, and subjects the mind to 
 the slavery of every present passion. The wise 
 heathens of antiquity were not ignorant of this : 
 hence they endeavoured by fables, and conjec- 
 tures, and the glimmerings of nature, to possess 
 the minds of men with the belief of a future 
 state, which has been since brought to light 
 by the gospel, and is now most inconsistently 
 decried by a few weak men, who would have 
 us believe that they promote virtue, by turn- 
 ing religion into ridicule. 
 
 No. 56.] Friday, May 15, 1713. 
 
 Quid mentnm traxinse polo, quid proAiit altum 
 Erexisse caput 1 pecudum si more pcrcrrant. 
 
 Claud. 
 What profits us, that we from heaven derive 
 A soul [mm< it. and wiih looks erect 
 Snivel the si. us; If, like the brutal kind, 
 We follow where our passions lead the way? 
 
 I was considering last night, when I could 
 not sleep, how noble a part of the creation 
 is designed to be, and how distinguished 
 in all bis actions above other earthly creatures, 
 from w hence 1 fell to take a view of the change 
 and corruption which he has introduced into 
 his own condition, the groveling appetites, the 
 mean characters of sense, and wild courses of 
 passions, that cast him from the degree in 
 which Providence had placed him ; the debas- 
 ing himself with qualifications not his own; 
 and his degenerating into a lower sphere of 
 action. This inspired me with a mixture of 
 contempt and anger; which, however, was 
 
No. 56.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 S7 
 
 not so violent as to hinder the return of sleep, 
 but grew confused as that came upon me, and 
 made me end my reflections with giving man- 
 kind the opprobrious names of inconsiderate, 
 mad, and foolish. 
 
 Here, methought, where my waking reason 
 left the subject, my fancy pursued it in a dream ; 
 and I imagined myself in a loud soliloquy of 
 passion, railing at my species, and walking 
 hard to get rid of the company I despised ; 
 when two men who had overheard me, made up 
 on either hand. These I observed had many 
 features in common which might occasion the 
 mistake of one for the other in those to whom 
 they appear single ; but I, who saw them to- 
 gether, could easily perceive, that though there 
 was an air of severity in each, it was tempered 
 with a natural sweetness in the one, and by 
 turns constrained or ruffled by the designs of 
 malice in the other. 
 
 I was at a loss to know the reason of their 
 joining, me so briskly ; when he, whose appear- 
 ance displeased me most, thus addressed his 
 companion : ' Pray, brother, let him alone, and 
 we shall immediately see him transformed into 
 a tiger.' This struck me with horror, which 
 the other perceived, and, pitying my disorder, 
 bid me be of good courage, for though I had 
 been savage in my treatment of mankind, 
 (whom I should rather reform than rail against) 
 he would, however, endeavour to rescue me 
 from my danger. At this I looked a little 
 more cheerful, and while I testified my resig- 
 nation to him, we saw the angry brother fling 
 away from us in a passion for his disappoint- 
 ment. Being now left to my friend, I went 
 back with him at his desire, that I might know 
 the meaning of those words which had so af- 
 frighted me. 
 
 As we went along, ' To inform you,' says 
 he, ' with whom you have this adventure, my 
 name is Reproof, and his Reproach, both born 
 of the same mother ; but of different fathers. 
 Truth is our common parent. Friendship, 
 who saw her, fell in love with her, and she 
 being pleased with him, he begat me upon her ; 
 but, a while after, Enmity lying in ambush 
 for her, became the father of him whom you 
 saw along with me. The temper of our mother 
 inclines us to the same sort of business, the 
 informing mankind of their faults ; but the 
 different complexions of our fathers make us 
 differ in our designs and company. I have a 
 natural benevolence in my mind which engages 
 me with friends ; and he a natural impetuosity 
 in his, which casts him among enemies.' 
 
 As he thus discoursed, we came to a place 
 where there were three entrances into as many 
 several walks, which lay aside of one another. 
 We passed into the middlemost, a plain straight 
 regular walk, set with trees, which added to 
 the beauty of the place, but did not so close 
 their boughs over head as to exclude the light 
 
 from it. Here, as we walked, I was made to 
 observe, how the road on one hand was full of 
 rocks and precipices, over which Reproach 
 (who had already gotten thither) was furiously 
 driving unhappy wretches : the other side was 
 all laid out in gardens of gaudy tulips, amongst 
 whose leaves the serpents wreathed, and at the 
 end of every grassy walk the enchantress Flat- 
 tery was weaving bowers to lull souls asleep in. 
 We continued still walking on the middle way, 
 till we arrived at a building in which it ter- 
 minated. This was formerly erected by Truth 
 for a watch-tower, from whence she took a 
 view of the earth, and, as she saw occasion, 
 sent out Reproof, or even Reproach, for our 
 reformation. Over the door I took notice that 
 a face was carved with a heart upon the lips 
 of it, and presently called to mind that this 
 was the ancients' emblem of sincerity. Jn the 
 entrance I met with Freedom of Speech and 
 Complaisance, who had for a long time looked 
 upon one another as enemies ; but Reproof 
 has so happily brought them together, that 
 they now act as friends and fellow agents in 
 the same family. Before I ascended the stairs, 
 I had my eyes purified by a water which made 
 me see extremely clear ; and I think they said 
 it sprung in a pit, from whence (as Demo- 
 eritus had reported) they formerly brought up 
 Truth, who had hid herself in it. I was then 
 admitted to the upper chamber of prospect, 
 which was called the Knowledge of Mankind: 
 here the window was no sooner opened, but I 
 perceived the clouds to roll off and part before 
 me, and a scene of all the variety of the world 
 presented itself. 
 
 But how different was mankind in this view 
 from what it used to appear ! Methought the 
 very shape of most of them was lost; some had 
 the heads of dogs, others of apes or parrots, and, 
 in short, wherever anyone took upon him the 
 inferior and unworthy qualities of other crea- 
 tures, the change of his soul became visible in 
 his countenance. The strutting pride of him 
 who is endued with brutality instead of cou- 
 rage, made his face shoot out into the form of 
 a horse's; his eyes became prominent, his 
 nostrils widened, and his wig untying, flowed 
 down on one side of his neck in a waving 
 mane. The talkativeness of those who love 
 the ill-nature of conversation made them turn 
 into assemblies of geese, their lips hardened 
 to bills by eternal using, they gabbled for 
 diversion, they hissed in scandal, and their 
 ruffles falling back on their arms, a succession 
 of little feathers appeared, which formed wings 
 for them to flutter with from one visit to an- 
 other. The envious and malicious lay on the 
 ground with the heads of different sorts of ser- 
 pents ; and not endeavouring to erect them- 
 selves, but meditating mischief to others, the} 
 sucked the poison of the earth, sharpened their 
 tongues to stings upon the stones, and rolled 
 
88 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 [No. 56. 
 
 their trains unperceivably beneath their habits. 
 The hypocritical oppressors wore the face cf 
 their months were instruments of 
 Cruelty, their eyes of deceit; they committed 
 wickedness, and bemoaned that there should 
 be 10 much of it in the world ; they devoured 
 the unwary and wept over the remains of them. 
 The covetous had so hooked and worn their 
 fingers by counting interest upon interest, 
 tli it they were converted to the claws of har- 
 pies, and these they still were stretching out 
 for more, yet still seemed unsatisfied with their 
 acquisitions. The sharpers had the looks of 
 eamelions; they every minute changed their 
 appearance, and fed on swarms of flies which 
 fell as so many cullies amongst them. The 
 bully seemed a dunghill cock : he crested well, 
 and bore his comb aloft; he was beaten by 
 almost every one, yet still sung for triumph; 
 and only the mean coward pricked up the ears 
 of a hare to fly before him. Critics were turned 
 into cats, whose pleasure and grumbling go 
 together. Fops were apes in embroidered 
 jackets. Flatterers were curled spaniels, fawn- 
 ing and crouching. The crafty had the face 
 of a fox, the slothful of an ass, the cruel of a 
 wolf, the ill-bred of a bear, the lechers were 
 goats, and the gluttons swine. Drunkenness 
 was the only vice that did not change the face 
 of its professors into that of another creature ; 
 but this I took to be far from a privilege, for 
 these two reasons : — because it sufficiently de- 
 forms them of itself, and because none of the 
 lower rank of beings is guilty of so foolish an 
 intemperance. 
 
 As I was taking a view of these representa- 
 tions of things without any more order than is 
 usual in a dream, or in the confusion of the 
 world itself, I perceived a concern within me 
 for what I saw. My eyes began to moisten, 
 as if the virtue of that water with which they 
 were purified was lost for a time, by their being 
 touched with that which arose from a passion. 
 The clouds immediately began to gather again, 
 and close from either hand upon the prospect. 
 
 I then turned towards my guide, who ad- 
 dressed himself to me after this manner : ' You 
 have seen the condition of mankind when it 
 descends from iis dignity; now, therefore, 
 guard yourself from that degeneracy by a 
 modest greatness of spirit on one side, and a 
 conscious shame on the other. Endeavour also 
 with a generosity of goodness to make your 
 friends aware of it; let them know what de- 
 fects you perceive are glowing upon them; 
 handle the matter as you see reason, either 
 with the airs of severe or humorous affection; 
 MM.,, tunc, plaint) desci ibing the degeneracy in 
 us lull proper colours, or at other times letting 
 
 them know, that, if tiny proceed as they have 
 begun, you give I hem to such a day, or so 
 many months, to turn bean, wolves, or foxes, 
 &.c. Neither neglect your more n mote ac 
 
 quaintance, where you see any worthy and 
 susceptible of admonition. Expose the beasts 
 whose qualities you see them putting on, where 
 you have no mind to engage with their per- 
 sons. The possibility of their applying this is 
 very obvious. The Egyptians saw it so clearly, 
 that they made the pictures of animals explain 
 their minds to one another instead of writing ; 
 and, indeed, it is hardly to be missed, since 
 yEsop took them out of their mute condition, 
 and taught them to speak for themselves with 
 relation to the actions of mankind.' 
 
 My guide had thus concluded, and I was 
 promising to write down what was shown me 
 for the service of the world, when I was awak- 
 ened by a zealous old servant of mine, who 
 brought me the Examiner, and told me with 
 looks full of concern, he was afraid I was in it 
 again. 
 
 No. 57.] Saturday, May 16, 1713. 
 
 Quam mult.i injusta ac prava fiunt moribus! 
 
 Ter. lleaut. Act. iv. Se. 6. 
 
 How many unjust and wrong tilings are authorised by 
 custom .' 
 
 It is of no small concern to me that the in- 
 terests of virtue are supplanted by common cus- 
 tom and regard for indifferent things. Thus 
 mode and fashion defend the most absurd and 
 unjust proceedings, and nobody is out of coun- 
 tenance for doing what every body practises, 
 though at the same time there is no one who 
 is not convinced in his own judgment of the 
 errors in which he goes on with the multitude. 
 My correspondent, who writes me the follow- 
 ing letter, has put together a great many points 
 which would deserve serious consideration, as 
 much as things which at first appearance bear 
 a weightier aspect. He recites almost all the 
 little arts that are used in the way to matri- 
 mony, by the parents of young women. There 
 is nothing more common than for people, who 
 have good and worthy characters, to run with- 
 out respect to the laws of gratitude, into the 
 most exorbitant demands for their children, 
 upon no other foundation than that which 
 should incline them to the quite contrary, the 
 unreserved affection of the lover. I shall at 
 this time, by inserting my correspondent's let- 
 ter, lay such offences before all parents and 
 daughters respectively, and reserve the parti- 
 cular instances to be considered in future pre- 
 cautions. 
 
 1 To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. 
 • sin. 
 1 I have for some time retired myself from 
 the town and business to a little seat, where a 
 pleasant campaign country, good roads, and 
 healthful air, tempt me often abroad ; and being 
 a single man, have contracted more acquaint- 
 
No. 57.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 m 
 
 ance than is suitable to my years, or agreeable 
 to the intentions of retirement I brought down 
 with me hither. Among others, I have a young 
 neighbour, who yesterday, imparted to me the 
 history of an honourable amour, which has 
 been carried on a considerable time with a 
 great deal of love on his side, and (as he says 
 he has been made to believe) with something 
 very unlike aversion on the young lady's. But 
 so matters have been contrived, that he could 
 never get to know her mind thoroughly. When 
 he was first acquainted with her, he might be 
 as intimate with her as other people ; but since 
 he first declared his passion, he has never beeu 
 admitted to wait upon her, or to see her, other 
 than in public. If he went to her father's house, 
 and desired to visit her, she was either to be 
 sick or out of the way, and nobody would come 
 near him in two hours, and then he should be 
 received as if he had committed some strange 
 offence. If he asked her father's leave to visit 
 her, the old gentleman was mute. If he put 
 it negatively, and asked if he refused it, the 
 father would answer with a smile, No, I don't 
 say so, neither." If they talked of the for- 
 tune, he had considered his circumstances, and 
 it every day diminished. If the settlements 
 came into debate, he had considered the young 
 gentleman's estate, and daily increased his 
 expectations. If the mother was consulted, 
 she was mightily for the match, but affected 
 strangely the showing her cunning in perplexing 
 matters. It went off seemingly several times, 
 but my young neighbour's passion was such 
 that it easily revived upon the least encourage- 
 ment given him ; but tired out with writing 
 (the only liberty allowed him,) and receiving 
 answers at cross purposes, destitute of all 
 hopes, he at length wrote a formal adieu ; but 
 it was very unfortunately timed, for soon after 
 he had the long wished- for opportunity of 
 finding her at a distance from her parents. 
 Struck with the joyful news, in heat of passion, 
 resolute to do any thing rather than leave her, 
 down he comes post, directly to the house 
 where she was, without any preparatory inter- 
 cession after the provocation of an adieu. She, 
 in a premeditated anger to show her resent- 
 ment, refused to see him. He in a kind of 
 fond frenzy, absent from himself, and exas- 
 perated into rage, cursed her heartily; but 
 returning to himself, was all confusion, repent- 
 ance, and submission. But in vain ; the lady 
 continued inexorable, and so the affair ended 
 in a manner that renders them very unlikely 
 ever to meet again. Through the pursuit of 
 the whole story (whereof I give but a short 
 abstract) my young neighbour appeared so 
 touched, and discovered such certain marks of 
 unfeigned love, that I cannot but be heartily 
 6orry for them both. When he was gone, I 
 6at down immediately to my scrutoire, to give 
 you the account, whose business, as a Guardian, 
 
 it is to tell your wards what is to be avoided, 
 as well as what is fit to be done. And I hum- 
 bly propose, that you will, upon this occasion, 
 extend your instructions to all sorts of people 
 concerned in treaties of this nature, (which of 
 all others do most nearly concern human life) 
 such as parents, daughters, lovers, and confi- 
 dants of both sexes. I desire leave to observe, 
 that the mistakes in this courtship (which 
 might otherwise probably have succeeded hap- 
 pily) seem chiefly these four, viz. 
 
 ' 1. The father's close equivocal management, 
 so as always to keep a reservation to use upon 
 occasion, when he found himself pressed. 
 
 ' 2. The mother's affecting to appear ex- 
 tremely artful. 
 
 * 3. A notion in the daughter (who is a ladV 
 of singular good sense and virtue) that no man 
 can love her as he ought, who can deny any 
 thing her parents demand. 
 
 ' 4. Carrying on the affair by letters and 
 confidants, without sufficient interviews. 
 
 ' I think you cannot fail obliging many in 
 the world, besides my young neighbour and 
 me, if you please to give your thoughts upon 
 treaties of this nature, wherein all the nobility 
 and gentry of this nation (in the unfortunate 
 methods marriages are at present in) come at 
 one time or other unavoidably to be engaged ; 
 especially it is my humble request, you will be 
 particular in speaking to the following points, 
 to wit, 
 
 ' I. Whether honourable love ought to be 
 mentioned first to the young lady, or her 
 parents ? 
 
 ' 2. If to the young lady first, whether a man 
 is obliged to comply with all the parents de- 
 mand afterwards, under pain of breaking off 
 dishonourably ? 
 
 * 3. If to the parents first, whether the lover 
 may insist upon what the father pretends to 
 give, and refuse to make such settlement as 
 must incapacitate him for any thing afterwards, 
 without just imputation ef being mercenary, 
 or putting a slight upon the lady, by enter- 
 taining views upon the contingency of her 
 death ? 
 
 ' 4. What instructions a mother ought to 
 give her daughter upon such occasions, and 
 what the old lady's part properly is in such 
 treaties, her husband being alive ? 
 
 ' 5. How far a young lady is in duty obliged 
 to observe her mother's directions, and not to 
 receive any letters or messages without her 
 knowledge ? 
 
 • 6. How far a daughter is obliged to exert 
 the power she has over her lover, for the ease 
 and advantage of her father and his family ; 
 and how far she may consult and endeavour 
 the interest of the family she is to marry into ? 
 ' 7. How far letters and confidants of both 
 sexes may regularly be employed, and whereia 
 they are improper ? 
 
 M 
 
90 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 58. 
 
 ' 8. Wben ■ young lady's pen is employed 
 about settlements, fortunes, or the like, whe- 
 ther it be an affront to give the same answers 
 U it it had been in the hand- writing of those 
 that instructed her. 
 
 ' Lastly, be pleased at your leisure to correct 
 that too common way among 1 fathers, of pub- 
 lishing in the world, that they will give their 
 daughters twice the fortune they really intend, 
 and thereby draw young gentlemen, whose 
 estates are often in debt, into a dilemma, either 
 of crossing a fixed inclination, contracted by a 
 long habit of thinking upon the same person, 
 and so being miserable that way ; or else be- 
 ginning the world under a burden they can 
 never get quit of. 
 
 ' Thus, sage sir, have I laid before you all 
 that does at present occur to me on the im- 
 portant subject of marriage ; but before I seal 
 up my epistle, I must desire you farther to 
 consider, how far treaties of this sort come 
 under the head of bargain and sale; whether 
 you cannot find out measures to have the whole 
 transacted in fairer and more open market 
 than at present. How would it become you 
 to put the laws in execution against fore- 
 stalled, who take up the young things of each 
 sex oefore they are exposed to an honest sale, 
 or the worth or imperfection of the purchase 
 is thoroughly considered ? 
 
 * We mightily want a demand for women in 
 these parts. 
 
 ' I am, sagacious Sir, 
 
 ' Your most obedient and 
 
 1 most humble servant, 
 
 ' T. L.' 
 
 No. 58.] Monday, May 18, 1713. 
 
 Ncc ?ibi, scd toll genitnm se credere niunilo. 
 
 Lucan. 
 
 Not for himself, but for the world, he lives. 
 
 A public spirit is so great and amiable a 
 character, that most people pretend to it, and 
 perhaps think they have it in the most ordinary 
 occurrences of life. Mrs. Cornelia Lizard buys 
 abundance of romances for the encouragement 
 of learning; and Mrs. Annabella squanders 
 away her money in buying fine clothes, because 
 it sets a great many poor people at work. I 
 know a gentleman, who drinks vast quantities 
 ol ale and October to encourage our own ma- 
 nufactures; and another who takes his three 
 bottles of Preneh claret every night, because it 
 brings a great Custom to the crown. 
 
 1 have been led into this chat, by reading 
 some htters upon my paper of Thursday was 
 
 le'nnifbt. Having there acquainted the world, 
 
 that I have, by long contemplation and philo- 
 sophy, attained to so great B strength of fancy, 
 as to believe every thing to be my own, which 
 
 other people possess only for ostentation ; it 
 seems that some persons have taken it in their 
 heads, that they are public benefactors to the 
 world, while they are only indulging their own 
 ambition, or infirmities. My first letter is from 
 an ingenious author, who is a great friend to 
 his country, because he can get neither victuals 
 nor clothes any other way. 
 
 1 To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' Of all the precautions with which you have 
 instructed the world, 1 like that best, which is 
 upon natural and fantastical pleasure, because 
 it falls in very much with my own way of 
 thinking. As you receive real delight from 
 what creates only imaginary satisfactions in 
 others ; so do 1 raise to myself all the conve- 
 niences of life by amusing the fancy of the 
 world. I am, in a word, a member of that 
 numerous tribe, who write for their daily bread. 
 1 flourish in a dearth of foreign news ; and 
 though I do not pretend to the spleen, I am 
 never so well as in the time of a westerly wind. 
 When it blows from that auspicious point, I 
 raise to myself contributions from the British 
 isle, by affrighting my superstitious countrymen 
 with printed relations of murders, spirits, pro- 
 digies, or monsters. According as my neces- 
 sities suggest to me, I hereby provide for my 
 being. The last summer I paid a large debt 
 for brandy and tobacco, by a wonderful de- 
 scription of a fiery dragon, and lived for ten 
 days together upon a whale and a mermaid. 
 When winter draws near, I generally conjure 
 up my spirits, and have my apparitions ready 
 against long dark evenings. From November 
 last to January, I lived solely upon murders ; 
 and have, since that time, had a comfortable 
 subsistence from a plague and a famine. I made 
 the pope pay for my beef and mutton last Lent, 
 out of pure spite to the Romish religion ; and 
 at present my good friend the king of Sweden 
 finds me in clean linen, and the mufti gets me 
 credit at the tavern. 
 
 * The astonishing accounts that I record, I 
 usually enliven with wooden cuts, and the like 
 paltry embellishments. They administer to the 
 curiosity of my fellow-subjects, and not only 
 advance religiou and virtue, but take restless 
 spirits off from meddling with the public affairs. 
 I therefore cannot think myself a useless bur- 
 den upon earth; and that I may still do the 
 more good in my generation, I shall give the 
 world, in a short time, a history of my life, 
 studies, maxims, and achievements, provided 
 my bookseller advances a round sum for my 
 copy. ' I am, Sir, yours.' 
 
 The second is from an old friend of mine in 
 the country, who fancies that he is perpetually 
 doing good, because he cannot live without 
 drinking. 
 
No. 58J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 91 
 
 ' OLD IRON, 
 
 * We take thy papers in at the bowling- 
 green, where the country gentlemen meet 
 every Tuesday, and we look upon thee as a 
 comical dog. Sir Harry was hugely pleased at 
 thy fancy of growing rich at other folks cost ; 
 and for my own part I like my own way of life 
 the better since I find I do my neighbours as 
 much good as myself. I now smoke my pipe 
 with the greater pleasure, because my wife 
 says, she likes it well enough at second hand ? 
 and drink stale beer the more hardly, because 
 unless I will, nobody else does. I design to 
 stand for our borough the next election, on 
 purpose to make the squire on t'other side, 
 tap lustily for the good of our town ; and have 
 some thoughts of trying to get knighted, be- 
 cause our neighbours take a pride in saying, 
 they have been with Sir such, a one. 
 
 * I have a pack of pure slow hounds against 
 thou comest into the country, and Nanny, my 
 fat doe, shall bleed when we have thee at Haw- 
 thorn-hall. Pr'ythee do not keep staring at giljt 
 coaches, and stealing necklaces and trinkets 
 from people with thy looks. Take my word 
 for it, a gallon of my October will do thee more 
 good than all thou canst get by fine sights at 
 London, which, I'll engage, thou may'st putin 
 the shine of thine eye. 
 
 ' 1 am, old Iron, 
 
 ' thine to command, 
 
 « NIC. HAWTHORN.' 
 
 The third is from a lady who is going to 
 ruin her family by coaches and liveries, purely 
 out of compassion to us poor people that cannot 
 go to the price of them. 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' I am a lady of birth and fortune, but never 
 knew, till last Thursday, that the splendour 
 of my equipage was so beneficial to my country. 
 I will not deny that I have drest for some years 
 out of the pride of my heart ; but am very glad 
 that you have so far settled my conscience in 
 that particular, that I can now look upon my 
 vanities as so many virtues. Since I am satis- 
 fied that my person and garb give pleasure to 
 my fellow- creatures, I shall not think the three 
 hours business I usually attend at my toilette, 
 below the dignity of a rational soul. I am 
 content to suffer great torment from my stays, 
 that my shape may appear graceful to the 
 eyes of others ; and often mortify myself with 
 fasting, rather than my fatness should give 
 distaste to any man in England. 
 
 ' I am making up a rich brocade for the 
 benefit of mankind, and design, in a little time, 
 to treat the town with a thousand pounds worth 
 of jewels. I have ordered my chariot to be 
 new painted for your use, and the world's ; and 
 have prevailed upon my husband to present 
 vou with a pair of fine Flanders mares, by 
 driving them every evening round the ring. 
 
 Gay pendants for my ears, a costly cross for 
 my neck, a diamond of the best water for my 
 finger, shall be purchased at any rate to enrich 
 you ; and I am resolved to be a patriot in every 
 limb. My husband will not scruple to oblige 
 me in these trifles, since I have persuaded him 
 from your scheme, that pin money is only so 
 much set apart for charitable uses. You see, 
 sir, how expensive you are to me, and I hope 
 you will esteem me accordingly ; especially 
 when I assure you that I am, as far as you can 
 see me, ' Entirely yours, 
 
 No. 59.] Tuesday, May 19, 1713. 
 
 Sic honor et nomen divinis vatibus atque 
 
 Carminibus venit ■ 
 
 Hor. Ars Poet. ver. 400. 
 So ancient is the pedigree of verse, 
 And so divine a poet's function. Roscommon. 
 
 The tragedy of Cato has increased the num- 
 ber of my correspondents, but none of them 
 can take it ill, that J give the preference to 
 the letters which come from a learned body, 
 and which on this occasion may not improperly 
 be termed the Plausus Academici. The first 
 is from my lady Lizard's youngest son, who, 
 (as I mentioned in a former precaution) is fel- 
 low of All-souls, and applies himself to the study 
 of divinity. 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' I return you thanks for your present of 
 Cato : I have read it over several times with 
 the greatest attention and pleasure imaginable. 
 You desire to know my thoughts of it, and at 
 the same time compliment me upon my know- 
 ledge of the ancient poets. Perhaps you may 
 not allow me to be a good judge of them, when 
 1 tell you, that the tragedy of Cato exceeds, 
 in my opinion, any of the dramatic pieces of 
 the ancients. But these are books I have some 
 time since laid by ; being, as you know, engaged 
 in the reading of divinity, and conversant 
 chiefly in the poetry "of the truly inspired wri- 
 ters." I scarce thought any modern tragedy 
 could have mixed suitably with such serious 
 studies, and little imagined to have found such 
 exquisite poetry, much less such exalted sen- 
 timents of virtue, in the dramatic performance 
 of a eotemporary. 
 
 ' How elegant, just, and virtuous is that re- 
 flection of Portius ? 
 
 ' The ways of heaven are dark and intricate, 
 Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors ; 
 Oar understanding traces 'em in vaiu, 
 Lost and bevvilder'd in the fruitless search ; 
 Nor sees with how much art the windings run, 
 Nor where the regular confusion ends. 
 
 * Cato's soliloquy at the beginning of the fifth 
 act is inimitable, as indeed is almost every thing 
 in the whole play : but what I would observe, 
 by particularly pointing at these places is, that 
 
92 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 59. 
 
 Mich virtuous and moral sentiments were never 
 
 before put into die mouth of a British actor; 
 
 and I jcongratolate my countrymen on the 
 
 thi y bave shown in giving them [as you 
 
 tell mi) such loud and repeated applauses. 
 They bare now cleared themselves of the im- 
 BOtation which a lale writer had thrown upon 
 them in his 502d speculation. Give me leave 
 to transcribe his words: — 
 
 '* In the first scene of Terence's p.ay, the 
 Self-Tormentor, when one of the old men ac- 
 cuses the other of impertinence for interposing 
 in his affairs, he answers, ' I am a man and 
 cannot help feeling any sorrow that can arrive 
 at man.' It is said this sentence was received 
 with universal applause. There cannot be a 
 greater argument of the general good under- 
 standing of a people, than a sudden consent to 
 give their approbation of a sentiment which 
 has no emotion in it. 
 
 " If it were spoken with never so great skill in 
 the actor, the manner of uttering that sentence 
 could have nothing in it which could strike any 
 but people of the greatest humanity, nay people 
 elegant and skilful in observations upon it. It 
 is possible he might have laid his hand on his 
 breast, and with a winning insinuation in his 
 countenance, expressed to his neighbour, that 
 he was a man who made his case his own ; yet 
 I will engage a player in Covent-garden might 
 hit such an attitude a thousand times before 
 he would have been regarded.'' * These obser- 
 vation; in favour of the Roman people, may 
 now be very justly applied to our own nation. 
 
 * Here will I hold. If there's a power above m 
 
 ( \ml (li.it there is, nil natnre cries aloud 
 XhroHgh all her works) lie most delight in virtue; 
 And that which He deligliis in must be happy. 
 
 This will be allowed, I hope, to be as vir- 
 tuous a sentiment as that which he quotes out 
 of Terence ; and the general applause with 
 which (you say) it was received, must certainly 
 make this writer (notwithstanding his great 
 assurance in pronouncing upon our ill taste) 
 alter his opinion of his countrymen. 
 
 Our poetry, I believe, and not our morals, 
 has been generally worse than that of the Ro- 
 mans ; for it is plain, when we can equal the 
 best dramatic performance of that polite age, 
 a British audience may vie with the Roman 
 theatre in the virtue of their applauses. 
 
 * However different in other things our opi- 
 nions may be, all parties agree in doing honour 
 to a man, who is an honour to our country. 
 
 How arc OUr hi arts wanned by this excellent 
 ly, with tin' love of liberty, and our con- 
 
 v itution '. llow irresistible is virtue in the cha- 
 racter of ( it--! Who would not say with the 
 
 Numidian prince to Marcia, 
 
 • I'll pase tor < v i "ii iiis godlike lather, 
 1 1 implanting, one bj < -i •• - . Into mj lift 
 
 bi 'iii I- 1 ■ • lions, nil i tbfcia like him. 
 
 Rome herself received not so great advantages 
 from her patriot, as Britain will from this ad- 
 mirable representation of him. Our British 
 Cato improves our language, as well as our 
 morals, nor will it be in the power of tyrants 
 to rob us of him, (or to use the last line of an 
 epigram to the author) 
 
 " In vain your Cato stabs, he cannot die." 
 
 ' 1 am, Sir, 
 
 1 your most obliged 
 
 ' humble servant, 
 Oxon. All-souls Col. May 6. * WILLIAM LIZARD.' 
 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, Oxon. Christ Church, May 7. 
 1 You are, I perceive, a very wary old fellow, 
 more cautious than a late brother-writer of 
 yours, who at the rehearsal of a new play, 
 would at the hazard of his judgment, endeavour 
 to prepossess the town in its favour: whereas 
 you very prudently waited till the tragedy of 
 Cato had gained a universal aud irresistible 
 applause, and then with great boldness venture 
 to pronounce your opinion of it to be the same 
 with that of all mankind. I will leave you to 
 consider whether such a conduct becomes a 
 Guardian, who ought to point out to us proper 
 entertainments, and instruct us when to be- 
 stow our applause. However, in so plain a case 
 we did not wait for your directions ; and 1 must 
 tell you, that none here were earlier or louder 
 in their praises of Cato, than we at Christ- 
 church. This may, I hope, convince you, that 
 we don't deserve the character (which envious 
 dull fellows give us) of allowing nobody to have 
 wit or parts but those of our own body, espe- 
 cially when I let you know that we are many 
 of us, Your affectionate 
 
 ' humble servants.' 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, Oxon. Wad. Coll. May 7 
 
 * Were the seat of the muses silent while 
 London is so loud in their applause of Cato, 
 the university's title to that name might very 
 well be suspected ; — in justice therefore to your 
 alma mater, let the world know our opinion of 
 that tragedy here. 
 
 1 The author's other works had raised our 
 expectation of it to a very great height, yet it 
 exceeds whatever we could promise ourselves 
 from so great a genius. 
 
 1 Caesar will no longer be a hero in our de- 
 clamations. This tragedy has at once stripped 
 him of all the flattery and false colours, which 
 historians and the^ classic authors had thrown 
 upon bim, and we shall for the future treat 
 him as a murderer of the best patriot of his age, 
 and a destroyer of the liberties of his country. 
 Cato, as represented in these scenes, will cast a 
 blacker shade on the memory of that usurper, 
 than the picture of him did upon his triumph. 
 Had this finished dramatic p ece appeared some 
 hundred vcars ago, Caesar whculd have lost so 
 
 
No. 60.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 93 
 
 many centuries of fame, and monarchs had 
 disdained to let themselves be called by his 
 name. However it will be an honour to the 
 times we live in, to have had such a work pro- 
 duced in them, and a pretty speculation for 
 posterity to observe, that the tragedy of Cato 
 was acted with general applause in 1713. 
 [ I am, Sir, 
 * your most humble servant, &c. 
 
 'AB.' 
 
 1 P. S. The French translation of Cato now 
 in the press, will, I hope, be in usum Delphini. 
 
 No. 60.] Wednesday, May 20, 1713. 
 
 Nihil legebat quod non excerperet. Plin. Epist. 
 
 He pick'd something out of every thing he read. 
 
 1 To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 
 * SIR, 
 * There is nothing in which men deceive 
 themselves more ridiculously than in the point 
 of reading, and which, as it is commonly prac- 
 tised under the notion of improvement, has less 
 advantage. The generality of readers who are 
 pleased with wandering over a number of books, 
 almost atthesame instant, or if confined to one, 
 who pursue the author with much hurry and 
 impatience to his last page, must without doubt 
 be allowed to be notable digesters. This un- 
 settled way of reading naturally seduces us into 
 as undetermined a manner of thinking, which 
 unprofitably fatigues the imagination, when a 
 continued chain of thought would probably 
 produce inestimable conclusions. Ail authors 
 are eligible either for their matter, or style ; if 
 for the first, the elucidation and disposition of 
 it into proper lights ought to employ a judicious 
 reader : if for the last, he ought to observe how 
 some common words are started into a new 
 signification, how such epithets are beautifully 
 reconciled to things that seemed incompatible, 
 and must often remember the whole structure 
 of a period, because by the least transposition, 
 that assemblage of words which is called a style 
 becomes utterly annihilated. The swift des- 
 patch of common readers not only eludes their 
 memory, but betrays their apprehension, when 
 the turn of thought and expression would in- 
 sensibly grow natural to them, would they but 
 give themselves time to receive the impression. 
 Suppose we fix one of these readers in his easy 
 chair, and observe him passing through a book 
 with a grave ruminating face, how ridiculously 
 must he look, if we desire him to give an ac- 
 count of an author he has just read over ! and 
 how unheeded must the general character of it 
 be, when given by one of these serene unob- 
 servers ! The common defence of these people 
 is, that they have no design in reading but for 
 pleasure, which I think should rather arise from 
 
 the reflection and remembrance of what one 
 has read, than from the transient satisfaction 
 of what one does, and we should be pleased 
 proportionably as we are profited. It is pro- 
 digious arrogance in any one to imagine, that 
 by one hasty course through a book he can 
 fully enter into the soul and secrets of a writer, 
 whose life perhaps has been busied in the birth 
 of such production. Books that do not imme- 
 diately concern some profession or science, are 
 generally run over as mere empty entertain- 
 ments, rather than as matter of improvement ; 
 though, in my opinion, a refined speculation 
 upon morality, or history, requires as much 
 time and capacity to collect and digest, as the 
 most abstruse treatise of any profession ; and 
 I think, besides, there can be no book well 
 written, but what must necessarily improve 
 the understanding of the reader, even in the 
 very profession to which he applies himself. 
 For to reason with strength, and express himself 
 with propriety, must equally concern the di- 
 vine, the physician, and the lawyer. My own 
 course of looking into books has occasioned 
 these reflections, and the following account 
 may suggest more. 
 
 ' Having been bred up under a relation that 
 had a pretty large study of books, it became 
 my province once a week to dust them, In 
 the performance of this my duty, as I was 
 obliged to take down every particular book, I 
 thought there was no way to deceive the toil of 
 my journey through the different abodes and 
 habitations of these authors but by reading 
 something in every one of them ; and in this 
 manner to make my passage easy from the 
 comely folio in the upper shelf or region, even 
 through the crowd of duodecimos in the lower. 
 By frequent exercise I became so great a pro- 
 ficient in this transitory application to books, 
 that I could hold open half a dozen small au- 
 thors in a hand, grasping them with as secure 
 a dexterity as a drawer doth his glasses, and 
 feasting my curious eye with all of them at the 
 same instant. Through these methods the 
 natural irresolution of my youth was much 
 strengthened, and having no leisure, if I had 
 had inclination, to make pertinent observa- 
 tions in writing, I was thus confirmed a very 
 early wanderer. When I was sent to Oxford, 
 my chiefest expense run upon books, and my 
 only consideration in such expense upon num- 
 bers, so that you may be sure I had what they 
 call a choice collection, sometimes buying by 
 the pound, sometimes by the dozen, at other 
 times by the hundred. For the more pleasant 
 Use of a multitude of books, I had by frequent 
 conferences with an ingenious joiner, contrived 
 a machine of an orbicular structure, that had 
 its particular receptions for a dozen authors, 
 and which, with the least touch of the finger, 
 would whirl round, and present the reader at 
 once with a delicious view of its full furniture. 
 
94 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 61. 
 
 Thrice a day did I change, not only the books, 
 bat the languages ; and had used my eye to 
 sucli a quick succession of objects, that in the 
 nod precipitate twirl I could catch a sentence 
 out of each author, as it passed fleeting by me. 
 Thus my hours, days, and years, flew unpro- 
 fitablvaway, but yet were agreeably lengthened 
 by being distinguished with this endearing va- 
 riety ; and I cannot but think myself very for- 
 tunate in my contrivance of this engine, with 
 its several new editions and amendments, which 
 have contributed so much to the delight of all 
 studious vagabonds. When I had been resident 
 the usual time at Oxford that gains one ad- 
 mission into the public library, I was the hap- 
 piest creature on earth, promising to myself 
 most delightful travels through this new world 
 of literature. Sometimes you might see me 
 mounted upon a ladder, in search of some Ara- 
 bian manuscripts, which had slept in a certain 
 corner undisturbed for many years. Once J 
 had the misfortune to fall from this eminence, 
 and catching at the chains of the books, was 
 seen hanging in a very merry posture, with two 
 or three large folios rattling about my neck, 
 till the humanity of Mr. Crab* the librarian 
 disentangled us. 
 
 ' As I always held it necessary to read "in 
 public places, by way of ostentation, but could 
 cot possibly travel with a library in my pockets, 
 I took the following method to gratify this er- 
 rantry of mine. I contrived a little pocket- 
 book, each leaf of which was a different author, 
 so that my wandering was indulged and con- 
 cealed within the same inclosure. 
 
 'This extravagant humour, which should 
 seem to pronounce me irrecoverable, had the 
 contrary effect ; and my hand and eye being 
 thus confined to a single book, in a little time 
 reconciled me to the perusal of a single author. 
 However, I chose such a one as had as little 
 connexion as possible, turning to the Proverbs 
 of Solomon, where the best instructions are 
 thrown together in the most beautiful range 
 imaginable, and where I found all that variety 
 which I had before sought in so many different 
 authors, and which was so necessary to beguile 
 my attention. By these proper degrees, I have 
 made so glorious a reformation in my studies, 
 that I cau keep company with Tully in his most 
 extended periods, and work through the con- 
 tinned narrations of the most prolix historian. 
 I now read nothing without making exact col- 
 lections, and shall shortly give the world an 
 instance of this in the publication of the fol- 
 lowing discourses. The first is a learned con- 
 trovci -y about the existence of griffins, in which 
 I hope to convince the world, that notwith- 
 itandingtuch a mixt creature has been allowed 
 by JElian, SolinuSj Mela, and Herodotus, that 
 they have been perfectly mistaken in that 
 
 • Fhb i.« nppOMd to bo ;in oblique stroke at Dr. lanticy. 
 
 matter, and shall support myself by the au- 
 thority of Albertus, Pliny, Aldrovandus, and 
 Matthias Michovius, which two last have clearly 
 argued that animal out of the creation. 
 
 ' The second is a treatise of sternutation or 
 sneezing, with the original custom of saluting 
 or blessing upon that motion ; as also with a 
 problem from Aristotle, showing why sneezing 
 from noon to night was innocent enough, from 
 night to noon, extremely unfortunate. 
 
 ' The third and most curious is my discourse 
 upon the nature of the lake Asphaltites, or 
 the lake of Sodom, being a very careful en- 
 quiry whether brickbats and iron will swim in 
 that lake, and feathers sink ; as Pliny and 
 Mandeville have averred. 
 
 ' The discussing these difficulties without per 
 plexity or prejudice, the labour in collecting 
 and collating matters of this nature, will, I 
 hope, in a great measure atone for the idle 
 hours I have trifled away in matters of less 
 importance. I am, Sir, 
 
 ' Your humble servant.' 
 
 No . 6 1 .] Thursday , May 21,1713. 
 
 Primaqtie e catde fcrarum 
 
 Incalubse ptUem maculatum sanguine ferrum. 
 
 Ovid. Met. Lib. xv. 106. 
 TV essay of bloody feasts on brutes began, 
 And alter forg'd the sword to murder man. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 I cannot think it extravagant to imagine, 
 that mankind are no less in porportion ac- 
 countable for the ill use of their dominion over 
 creatures of the lower rank of beings, than for 
 the exercise of tyranny over their own species. 
 The more entirely the inferior creation is sub- 
 mitted to our power, the more answerable we 
 should seem ror our mismanagement of it; 
 and the rather, as the very condition of nature 
 renders these creatures incapable of receiving 
 any recompense in another life for their ill 
 treatment in this. 
 
 It is observable of those noxious animals, 
 which have qualities most powerful to injure 
 us, that they naturally avoid mankind, and 
 never hurt us unless provoked or necessitated 
 by hunger. Man, on the other hand, seeks 
 out and pursues even the most inoffensive ani- 
 mals, on purpose to persecute and destroy them. 
 
 Montaigne thinks it some reflection upon 
 human nature itself, that few people take de- 
 light in seeing beasts caress or play together, 
 but almost every one is pleased to see them 
 lacerate and worry one another. I am sorry 
 this temper is become almost a distinguishing 
 character of our own nation, from the obser- 
 vation which is made by foreigners of our be- 
 loved pastimes, bear-baiting, cock-fighting, and 
 the like. We should find it hard to vindicate 
 the destroying of any thing that has life, merely 
 out of wantonness ; yet in this principle our 
 
No. 61 .J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 95 
 
 children are bred up, and one of the first plea- 
 sures we allow them is the licence of inflicting 
 pain upon poor animals; almost as soon as we 
 are sensible what life is ourselves, we make it 
 our sport to take it from other creatures. I 
 cannot but believe a very good use might be 
 made of the fancy which children have for 
 birds and insects. Mr. Locke takes notice of 
 a mother who permitted them to her children, 
 but rewarded or punished them as they treated 
 them well or ill. This was no other than en- 
 tering them betimes into a daily exercise of 
 humanity, and improving their very diversion 
 to a virtue. 
 
 I fancy too, some advantage might be taken 
 of the common notion, that it is ominous or 
 unlucky to destroy some sorts of birds, as swal- 
 lows or martins ; this opinion might possibly 
 arise from the confidence these birds seem to 
 put in us by building under our roofs, so that 
 it is a kind of violation of the laws of hospi- 
 tality to murder them. As for robin-red- 
 breasts in particular, it is not improbable they 
 owe their security to the old ballad of the 
 Children in the Wood. However it be, I do 
 not know, I say, why this prejudice, well im- 
 proved and carried as far as it would go, might 
 not be made to conduce to the preservation of 
 many innocent creatures, which are now ex- 
 posed to all the wantonness of an ignorant 
 barbarity. 
 
 There are other animals that have the mis- 
 fortune, for no manner of reason, to be treated 
 as common enemies wherever found. The con- 
 ceit that a cat has nine lives, has cost at least 
 nine lives in ten of the whole race of them. 
 Scarce a boy in the streets but has in this 
 point outdone Hercules himself, who was 
 famous for killing a monster that had but 
 three lives. Whether the unaccountable ani- 
 mosity against this useful domestic may be 
 any cause of the general persecution of owls, 
 (who are a sort of feathered cats,) or whether 
 it be only an unreasonable pique the moderns 
 have taken to a serious countenance, I shall 
 not determine, though [ am inclined to be- 
 lieve the former ; since I observe the sole rea- 
 son alleged for the destruction of frogs, is 
 because they are like toads. Vet amidst all 
 the misfortunes of these unfriended creatures, 
 it is some happiness that we have not yet taken 
 a fancy to eat them : for should our country- 
 men refine upon the French never so little, it 
 is not to be conceived to what unheard-of 
 torments owls, cats, and frogs may be yet 
 reserved. 
 
 When we grow up to men, we have another 
 succession of sanguinary sports ; in particular 
 hunting. I dare not attack a diversion which 
 has such authority and custom to support it ; 
 but must have leave to be of opinion, that the 
 agitation of that exercise, with the example 
 and number of the chasers, not a little contri- 
 
 bute to resist those checks, which compassion 
 would naturally suggest in behalf of the animal 
 pursued. Nor shall I say with monsieur Fleury, 
 that this sport is a remain of the Gothic bar- 
 barity. But I must animadvert upon a certain 
 custom yet in use with us, and barbarous 
 enough to be derived from the Goths, or even 
 the Scythians ; I mean that savage compli- 
 ment our huntsmen pass upon ladies of quality, 
 who are present at the death of a stag, when 
 they put the knife in their hands to cut the 
 throat of a helpless, trembling, and weeping 
 creature. 
 
 ' Questuque cruentus, 
 
 Atque imploranti similis. 
 
 ' That lies beneath the knife, 
 
 Looks up, and from her butcher begs her life.' 
 
 But if our sports are destructive, our glut- 
 tony is more so, and in a more inhuman man- 
 ner. Lobsters roasted alive, pigs whipt to 
 death, fowls sewed up, are testimonies of our 
 outrageous luxury. Those who (as Seneca ex- 
 presses it) divide their lives betwixt an anxious 
 conscience and a nauseated stomach, have a 
 just reward of their gluttony in the diseases it 
 ^brings with it; for human savages, like other 
 wild beasts, find snares and poison in the pro- 
 visions of life, and are allured by their appetite 
 to their destruction. I know nothing more 
 shocking or horrid than the prospect of one 
 of their kitchens covered with blood, and filled 
 with the cries of creatures expiring in tortures. 
 It gives one an image of a giant's den in a 
 romance, bestrewed with the scattered heads 
 and mangled limbs of those who were slain by 
 his cruelty. 
 
 The excellent Plutarch (who has more strokes 
 of good-nature in his writings than I remember 
 in any author) cites a saying of Cato to this 
 effect, '■' That it is no easy task to preach to 
 the belly, which has no ears." * Yet if,' says 
 he, 4 we are ashamed to be so out of fashion 
 as not to offend, let us at least offend with 
 some discretion and measure. If we kill an 
 animal for our provision, let us do it with the 
 meltings of compassion, and without torment- 
 ing it. Let us consider, that it is in its own 
 nature cruelty to put a living creature to death ; 
 we at least destroy a soul that has sense and 
 perception.' — In the life of Cato the Censor, 
 he takes occasion, from the severe disposition 
 of that man, to discourse in this manner: * It 
 ought to be esteemed a happiness to mankind, 
 that our humanity has a wider sphere to exert 
 itself in than bare justice. It is no more than 
 the obligation of our very birth to practise 
 equity to our own kind ; but humanity may 
 be extended through the whole order of crea- 
 tures, even to the meanest. Such actions of 
 charity are the overflowings of a mild good- 
 nature on all below us. It is certainly the 
 part of a well-natured man to take care of his 
 horses and dogs, not only in expectation of 
 
96 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 61 
 
 their labour while they are foals and whelps, 
 but even when their old age has made them 
 JQpayMt of service.' 
 
 History tells UM of a wise and polite nation, 
 that rejected ■ person of the first quality, who 
 stood for a judiciary office, only because he 
 had been observed in his youth to take plea- 
 sure in tearing and murdering of birds. And 
 of another that expelled a man out of the 
 senate, for dashing a bird against the ground 
 which had taken shelter in his bosom. Every 
 one knows how remarkable the Turks are for 
 their humanity in this kind I remember an 
 Arabian author, who has written a treatise to 
 show, how far a man, supposed to have subsisted 
 in a desert island, without any instruction, or 
 so much as the sight of any other man, may, 
 by the pure light of nature, attain the know- 
 ledge of philosophy and virtue. One of the 
 first things he makes him observe is, that uni- 
 versal benevolence of nature in the protection 
 and preservation of its creatures. In imitation 
 of which the first act of virtue he thinks his 
 self-taught philosopher would of course fall 
 into is, to relieve and assist all the animals 
 about him in their wants and distresses. 
 
 Ovid has some very tender and pathetic lines 
 applicable to this occasion : 
 
 Quid mcruistfe, oves y placidum pecus, inque tegendos 
 Natum homines, pleno quae fertis in uberc nectar ? 
 Mollia quas nobis vestras velamina lanas 
 Praebctis ; vitaque magis quart) morte juvatis. 
 Quid meruere boves, animal sine fraude dolisque, 
 Innocnnm, simplex, natum tolcrare labores? 
 Immemor est demum, nee frugum muncre digitus, 
 Qui potuit, curvi dempto modo pondere aratri, 
 Ruricolam mactare suum Met. Lib. xv. 116. 
 
 Quam maid consnevit, quam se parat illc cruori 
 Impius liumano, vituli qui gutttna cultro 
 Rumpit, et immotas ptrcbet mugitibus ames! 
 Aut qui vagitus similes puerilibus ltccdum 
 1 '.<!> ntcm jugulare potest .' lb. ver. 463. 
 
 The sheep was sacrifie'd on no pretence, 
 
 Bttl meek and unresisting innocence. 
 
 A patient, useful craatare, bom to beat 
 
 The warm and woolly fleece, that cloth'd her murderer ; 
 
 And daily to give down the milk she bred, 
 
 A tribute for the grass on which she led. 
 
 Living, both food and raiment she supplies, 
 
 And is of least advantage when she dies. 
 
 How did the toiling ox his death deserve J 
 
 A downright simple drudge, and born to serve? 
 tyrant ! with what justice canst thou hope 
 
 The promise of the year, a plenteous crop; 
 w in ii thou destroy'st thy lab'riug steer, who tiird, 
 And plongh'd with pains, thy else ungrateful field .' 
 From in* \< t re< king neck to draw tin- yoke, 
 
 3 li.il neck, with which the surly clods he broke : 
 And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman, 
 
 win. iiiii-h'd aotamn, and the spring began f 
 
 NSh.it more advance r,<n mortals nuke in sin 
 • s " M ii 1" i fo lion, who with blood hi '^in { 
 
 the calf thai lies beneath the Itnife, 
 
 up, in i ii .in her batcher begs bei life : 
 i 'i ii to the harmless kni, thai ere he dies, 
 Ail Di ire thy mere; tries, 
 
 And mill ites In v.iiu the children's cries; Drytleiu 
 
 Perhaps t ■ . 1 1 \ \ or civ so nearly resem- 
 bling the li'imaii, w.th which Providence has 
 
 endued so many different animals, might pur- 
 posely be given them to move our pity, and 
 prevent those cruelties we are too apt to inflict 
 on our fellow-creatures. 
 
 There is a passage in the book of Jonas, 
 when God declares his unwillingness to destroy 
 Nineveh, where methinks that compassion of 
 the Creator, which extends to the meanest rank 
 of his creatures, is expressed with wonderful 
 
 tenderness. ' Should 1 not spare Nineveh, 
 
 that great city, wherein are more than six 
 
 score thousand persons and also much 
 
 cattle?' And we have in Deuteronomy a pre- 
 cept of great good-nature of this sort, with a 
 blessing in form annexed to it, in those words ; 
 
 If thou shalt find a bird's nest in the way, 
 thou shalt not take the dam with the young 
 But thou shalt in anywise let the dam go ; 
 that it may be well with thee, and that thou 
 may'st prolong thy days.' 
 
 To conclude, there is certainly a degree of 
 gratitude owing to those animals that serve us. 
 As for such as are mortal or noxious, we have 
 a right to destroy them ; and for those that 
 are neither of advantage or prejudice to us, 
 the common enjoyment of life is what 1 cannot 
 think we ought to deprive them of. 
 
 This whole matter with regard to each of 
 these considerations, is set in a very agreeable 
 light in one of the Persian fables of Pilpay, 
 with which I shall end this paper. 
 
 A traveller passing through a thicket, and 
 seeing a few sparks of a fire, which some pas- 
 sengers had kindled as they went that way 
 before, made up to it. On a sudden the sparks 
 caught hold of a bush in the midst of which 
 lay an adder, and set it in flames. The adder 
 entreated the traveller's assistance, who tying 
 a bag to the end of his staff, reached it, and 
 drew him out : he then bid him go where he 
 pleased, but never more be hurtful to men, 
 since he owed his life to a man's compassion. 
 The adder, however, prepared to sting him, 
 and when he expostulated how unjust it was to 
 retaliate good with evil, * I shall do no more,' 
 said the adder, ' than what you men practise 
 every day, whose custom it is to requite bene- 
 fits with ingratitude. If you cannot deny this 
 truth, let us refer it to the first we meet.' The 
 man consented, and seeing a tree, put the 
 question to it, in what manner a good turn 
 was to be recompensed? ' If you mean ac- 
 cording to the usage of men,' replied the tree, 
 
 by its contrary : I have been standing here 
 these hundred years to protect them from the 
 scorching sun, and in requital they have cut 
 down my branches, and are going to saw my 
 body into planks.' Upon this, the adder in- 
 sulting the man, he appealed to a second evi- 
 dence, which was granted, and immediately 
 they met a cow. The same demand was made, 
 and much the same answer given, that among 
 men it was certainly so. * I know it,' snid 
 
No. 62.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 97 
 
 the cow, ' by woful experience; for I have 
 served a man this long time with milk, butter, 
 and cheese, and brought him besides a calf 
 every year ; but now I am old, he turns me 
 into this pasture with design to sell me to a 
 butcher, who will shortly make an end of me.' 
 The traveller upon this stood confounded, but 
 desired, of courtesy, one trial more, to be 
 finally judged by the next beast they should 
 meet. This happened to be the fox, who, 
 upon hearing the story in all its circumstances, 
 could not be persuaded it was possible for the 
 adder to enter in so narrow a bag. The 
 adder, to convince him, went in again ; when 
 the fox told the man he had now his enemy in 
 his power, and with that he fastened the bag, 
 and crushed him to pieces. 
 
 No. 62.] Friday, May 22, 1713. 
 
 O forfnnatos mmium, sua si bona n&rint ! 
 
 Firg. Georg. ii. 458.» 
 
 Too happy, if they knew their happy state. 
 
 Upon the late election of king's scholars, 
 my curiosity drew me to Westminster school. 
 The sight of a place where I had not been for 
 many years, revived in my thoughts the tender 
 images of my childhood, which by a great 
 length of time had contracted a softness that 
 rendered them inexpressibly agreeable. As it 
 is usual with me to draw a secret unenvied 
 pleasure from a thousand incidents overlooked 
 by other men, 1 threw myself into a short 
 transport, forgetting my age, and fancying 
 mjself a school-boy. 
 
 This imagination was strongly favoured by 
 the presence of so many young boys, in whose 
 looks were legible the sprightly passions of 
 that age, which raised in me a sort of sympathy. 
 Warm blood thrilled through every vein ; the 
 faded memory of those enjoyments that once 
 gave me pleasure put on more lively colours, 
 and a thousand gay amusements filled my 
 mind. 
 
 It was not without regret, that I was for- 
 saken by this waking dream. The cheapness 
 of puerile delights, the guiltless joy they leave 
 upon the mind, the blooming hopes that lift 
 up the soul in the ascent of life, the pleasure 
 that attends the gradual opening of the ima- 
 gination, and the dawn of reason, made me 
 think most men found that stage the most 
 agreeable part of their journey. 
 
 When men come to riper years, the inno- 
 cent diversions which exalted the spirits and 
 produced health of body, indolence of mind, 
 and refreshing slumbers, are too often ex- 
 changed for criminal delights, which fill the 
 soul with anguish, and the body with disease. 
 The grateful employment of admiring and 
 raising themselves to an imitation of the polite 
 style, beautiful images, and noble sentiments 
 
 of ancient authors, is abandoned for law-latin, 
 the lucubrations of our paltry news-mongers, 
 and that swarm of vile pamphlets, which cor- 
 rupt our taste, and infest the public. The 
 ideas of virtue which the characters of heroes 
 had imprinted on their minds, insensibly wear 
 out, and they come to be influenced by the 
 nearer examples of a degenerate age. 
 
 In the morning of life, when the soul first 
 makes her entrance into the world, all things 
 look fresh and gay; their novelty surprises, 
 and every little glitter or gaudy colour trans- 
 ports the stranger. But by degrees the sense 
 grows callous, and we lose that exquisite relish 
 of trifles by the time our minds should be 
 supposed ripe for rational entertainments. I 
 cannot make this reflection without being 
 touched with a commiseration of that species 
 called beaus, the happiness of those men neces- 
 sarily terminating with their childhood; who, 
 from a want of knowing other pursuits, con- 
 tinue a fondness for the delights of that age, 
 after the relish of them is decayed. 
 
 Providence hath with a bountiful hand pre- 
 pared variety of pleasures for the various stages 
 of life. It behoves us not to be wanting to 
 ourselves, in forwarding the intention of na- 
 ture, by the culture of our minds, and a due 
 preparation of each faculty for the enjoyment 
 of those objects it is capable of being affected 
 with. 
 
 As our parts open and display by gentle de- 
 grees, we rise from the gratifications of sense, 
 to relish those of the mind. In the scale of 
 pleasure, the lowest are sensual delights, which 
 are succeeded by the more enlarged views and 
 gay portraitures of a lively imagination ; and 
 these give way to the sublimer pleasures of 
 reason, which discover the causes and designs, 
 the frame, connexion, and symmetry of things, 
 and fills the mind with the contemplation of 
 intellectual beauty, order, and truth. 
 
 Hence I regard our public schools and uni- 
 versities, not only as nurseries of men for the 
 service of the church and state, but also as 
 places designed to teach mankind the most 
 refined luxury, to raise the mind to its due 
 perfection, and give it a taste for those en- 
 tertainments which afford the highest trans- 
 port, without the grossness or remorse that 
 attend vulgar enjoyments. 
 
 In those blessed retreats men enjoy the 
 sweets of solitude, and yet converse with the 
 greatest genii that have appeared in every age, 
 wander through the delightful mazes of every 
 art and science, and as they gradually enlarge 
 their sphere of knowledge, at once rejoice in 
 their present possessions, and are animated by 
 the boundless prospect of future discoveries. 
 There, a generous emulation, a noble thirst of 
 fame, a love of truth and honourable regards, 
 reign in minds as yet untainted from the world. 
 There, the stock of learning transmitted down 
 N 
 
98 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 6$. 
 
 from the indents, il preserved, and receives a 
 dail) increase j sod it is thence propagated by 
 men, who, having finished their studies, go 
 uit.i the world, and spread that general know- 
 and good taste throughout the land, 
 which is so distant from the barbarism of its 
 ancient inhabitants, or the fierce genius of its 
 invaders. And as it is evident that our lite- 
 rature is owing to the schools and universities, 
 so it cannot be denied that these are owing to 
 our religion. 
 
 Jt was chiefly, if not altogether, upon reli- 
 gious considerations that princes, as well as 
 private persons, have erected colleges, and 
 assigned liberal endowments to students and 
 professors. Upon the same account they meet 
 with encouragement and protection from all 
 Christiau states, as being esteemed a necessary 
 means to have the sacred oracles and primitive 
 traditions of Christianity preserved and under- 
 stood. And it is well known, that after a long 
 night of ignorance and superstition, the re- 
 formation of the church and that of learning 
 began together, and made proportionable ad- 
 vances, the latter having been the effect of the 
 former, which of course engaged men in the 
 study of the learned languages, and of anti- 
 quity. 
 
 Or, if a free-thinker is ignorant of these facts, 
 he may be convinced from the manifest reason 
 of the thing. Is it not plain that our skill in 
 literature is owing to the knowledge of Greek 
 and Latin, which, that they are still preserved 
 among us, can be ascribed only to a religious 
 regard ? What else should be the cause why 
 the youth of Christendom, a,bove the rest of 
 mankind, are educated in the painful study of 
 those dead languages; and that religious so- 
 cieties should peculiarly be employed in acquir- 
 ing that sort of knowledge, and teaching it to 
 others ? 
 
 And it is more than probable, that in case 
 our free-thinkers could once achieve their 
 glorious design of sinking the credit of the 
 Christian religion, and causing those revenues 
 to be withdrawn which their wiser forefathers 
 had appointed to the support and encourage- 
 ment of its teachers, in a little time the Shaster 
 would be as intelligible as the Greek Testa- 
 ment ; and we, who want that spirit and curio- 
 sity which distinguished the ancient Grecians, 
 would by degrees relapse into the same state 
 of barbarism which overspread the northern 
 nations, before they were enlightened by Chris- 
 tianity. 
 
 Some perhaps, from the ill-tendency and vile 
 
 which appear in their writings, may sus- 
 
 that the free-thinkers are carrying on a 
 
 malwiou-; design against the belles lettres: for 
 
 my part, I rather con, civ,, them BJ unthinking 
 
 Wretches, Of short riewi and narrow capacities, 
 
 who an not able to penetrate into the causes 
 or consequence! of things. 
 
 No. 6;-. J Saturday, May '.'J, 1713. 
 
 Ztu iruTsz, «*Mi c~j fS<ro(( tir' r\i(o; via; 'A^suwu, 
 
 Tloir\TW, $' ati&fYpi, Joy 6' o<f>6a>.juo»(riv Uicicu, 
 
 'Ev Si <paet xao oXe<r<rov. Horn. II. xvii. G45. 
 
 O King ! O Fathei ! hear my humble prayi I : 
 
 Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven rest 
 
 Give me t<> see, and Ajas asks no more : 
 
 If Greece must perish, we thy will obey. 
 
 But let in polish in the face of da] .' Pope. 
 
 I am obliged, for many reasons, to insert 
 this first letter, though it takes me out of my 
 way, especially on a Saturday ; but the ribaldrv 
 of some part of that will be abundantly made 
 up by the quotation in the second. 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. 
 
 « SIR, Friday, May 28, 1713. 
 
 ' The Examiner of this day consists of reflec- 
 tions upon the letter I writ to you, published 
 in yours of the twelfth instant. The sentence 
 upon which he spends most of his invectives, 
 is this, " I will give myself no manner of liberty 
 to make guesses at him, if I may say him, 
 for though sometimes I have been told by fami- 
 liar friends, that they saw me such a time 
 taking to the Examiner: others who have 
 rallied me upon the sins of my youth, tell me 
 it is credibly reported that I have formerly lain 
 with the Examiner." 
 
 * Now, Mr. Ironside, what was there in all 
 this but saying, " I cannot tell what to do in 
 this case. There has been named for this 
 paper, one for whom 1 have a value, and another 
 whom I cannot but neglect?" I have named 
 no man, but if there be any gentleman who 
 wrongfully lies under the imputation of being 
 or assisting the Examiner, he would do well 
 to do himself justice, under his own hand, in 
 the eye of the world. As to the exasperated 
 mistress, the Examiner demands in her behalf, 
 a " reparation for offended innocence." This 
 is pleasant language, when spoken of this per- 
 son ; he wants to have me unsay what he 
 makes me to have said before. I declare then 
 it was a false report, which was spread con- 
 cerning me and a lady, sometimes reputed the 
 author of the Examiner ; and I can now make 
 her no reparation, but in begging her pardon, 
 that I never lay with her. 
 
 ' I speak all this only in regard to the Exa- 
 miner's offended innocence, and will make no 
 reply as to what relates merely to myself. 
 I have said before, " he is welcome from hence- 
 forward, to treat me as he pleases." But the 
 bit of Greek, which I intreat you to put at 
 the front of to-morrow's paper, speaks all my 
 sense on this occasion. It is a speech put in 
 the mouth of Ajax, who is engaged in the dark : 
 He cries out to Jupiter, " Give me but day- 
 light, let me but see my foe, and let him de- 
 stroy me if he can." 
 
 ' But when he repeats his story of the " ge- 
 neral for life," I cannot hear him with so much 
 
No. 6S.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 99 
 
 patience. He may insinuate what he pleases 
 to the ministry of me; but I am sure I could 
 not, if I would, by detraction, do them more 
 injury, than he does by his ill-placed, ignorant, 
 nauseous flattery. One of them, whose talent 
 is address, and skill in the world, he calls Cato ; 
 another, whose praise is conversation-wit and 
 a taste of pleasures, is also Cato. Can any 
 thing in nature be more out of character, or 
 more expose those whom he would recommend 
 to the raillery of his adversaries, than compar- 
 ing these to Cato ? But gentlemen of their 
 eminence are to be treated with respect, and 
 not to suffer because a sycophant has applaud- 
 ed them in a wrong place. 
 
 ' As much as he says I am in defiance with 
 those in present power, I will lay before them 
 one point that would do them more honour 
 than any one circumstance in their whole ad- 
 ministration ; which is, to show their resent- 
 ment of the Examiner's nauseous applause of 
 themselves, and licentious calumny of their 
 predecessors. Till they do themselves that 
 justice, men of sense will believe they are 
 pleased with the adulation of a prostitute, who 
 heaps upon them injudicious applauses, for 
 which he makes way by random abuses upon 
 those who are in present possession of all that 
 is laudable. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 
 * your most humble servant, 
 
 ' RICHARD STEELE.' 
 
 SIR, 
 
 To Mr. Ironside. 
 
 ' A mind so well qualified as yours, must re- 
 ceive every day large improvements, when 
 exercised upon such truths which are the glory 
 of our natures ; such as those which lead us 
 to an endless happiness in our life succeeding 
 this. I herewith send you Dr. Lucas's Practi- 
 cal Christianity, for your serious perusal. If 
 you have already read it, I desire you would 
 give it to one of your friends who has not. 
 I think you cannot recommend it better than 
 in inserting by way of specimen these passages 
 which I point to you, as follows: — 
 
 " That I have, in this state I am now in, a 
 soul as well as a body, whose interest concerns 
 me, is a truth my sense sufficiently discovers : 
 For I feel joys and sorrows, which do not make 
 their abode in the organs of the body, but in 
 the inmost recesses of the mind ; pains and 
 pleasures which sense is too gross and heavy to 
 partake of, as the peace or trouble of conscience 
 in the reflection upon good or evil actions, the 
 delight or vexation of the mind, in the contem- 
 plation of, or a fruitless enquiry after, excellent 
 and important truths. 
 
 '* And since I have such a soul capable of 
 happiness or misery, it naturally follows, that 
 it were sottish and unreasonable to lose this 
 soul for the gain of the whole world. For my 
 soul is I myself, and if that be miserable, I 
 
 must needs be so. Outward circumstances of 
 fortune may give the world occasion to think 
 me happy, but they can never make me so. 
 Shall I call myself happy, if discontent and 
 sorrow eat out the life and spirit of my soul ? 
 if lusts and passions riot and mutiny in my 
 bosom ? if my sins scatter an uneasy shame all 
 over me, and my guilt appals and frights me ? 
 What avails it me, that my rooms are stately, 
 my tables full, my attendants numerous, and 
 my attire gaudy, if all this while my very being 
 pines and languishes away ? These indeed are 
 rich and pleasant things, but I nevertheless 
 am a poor and miserable man. Therefore I 
 conclude, that whatever this thing be I call a 
 soul, though it were a perishing, dying thing, 
 and would not outlive the body, yet it were 
 my wisdom and interest to prefer its content 
 and satisfaction before all the world, unless I 
 could choose to be miserable, and delight to be 
 unhappy. 
 
 " This very consideration, supposing the un- 
 certainty of another world, would yet strongly 
 engage me to the service of religion ; for all it 
 aims at, is to banish sin out of the world, which 
 is the source and original of all the troubles 
 that disquiet the mind; 1st. Sin in its very es- 
 sence, is nothing else but disordered, distem- 
 pered passions, affections foolish and prepos- 
 terous in their choice, or wild and extravagant 
 in their proportion, which our own experience 
 sufficiently convinces us to be painful and un- 
 easy. 2d. It engages us in desperate hazards, 
 wearies us with daily toils, and often buries us 
 in the ruins we bring upon ourselves ; and 
 lastly, it fills our hearts with distrust, and fear, 
 and shame ; for we shall never be able to per- 
 suade ourselves fully, that there is no difference 
 between good and evil ; that there is no God, 
 or none that concerns himself at the actions 
 of this life : and if we cannot, we can never 
 rid ourselves of the pangs and stings of a trou- 
 bled conscience ; we shall never be able to es- 
 tablish a peace and calm in our bosoms ; and 
 so enjoy our pleasure with a clear and unin- 
 terrupted freedom. But if we could persuade 
 ourselves into the utmost height of atheism, 
 yet still we shall be under these two strange 
 inconveniences : 1st. That a life of sin will be 
 still irregular and disorderly, and therefore 
 troublesome : 2d. That we shall have dismantled 
 our souls of their greatest strength, dis- 
 armed them of that faith which only can sup- 
 port them under the afflictions of this present 
 life.' 
 
 No. 64.] Monday, May 25, 1713. 
 
 -Levium spectacula rerr. 
 
 Viva. Georg. iv. 3. 
 
 Trifles set out to shew. 
 
 I am told by several persons whom I have 
 taken into my ward, that it is to their great 
 
100 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 64. 
 
 damage I bave digressed so much of late from 
 the- Datura! course of my precautious. They 
 1mm addressed and petitioned me with appel- 
 lations and titles, which admonish me to he 
 that sort of patron which they want me to be, 
 Hows. 
 
 1 To Nestor Ironside, Esq. Patron of the 
 industrious. 
 
 * The bumble petition of John Longbottom, 
 Charles Lilly, Bat. Pidgeon, and J. Nor- 
 wood, capital artificers, most humbly 
 sheweth, 
 
 ' That your petitioners behold with great 
 sorrow, your honour employing 1 your important 
 moments in remedying matters which nothing 
 but time can cure, and which do not so imme- 
 diately, or at least so professedly, appertain to 
 your office, as do the concerns of us your peti- 
 tioners, and other handicraft persons, who excel 
 in their different and respective dexterities. 
 
 That as all mechanics are employed in ac- 
 commodating the dwellings, clothing the per- 
 sons, or preparing the diet of mankind, your 
 petitioners ought to be placed first in your 
 guardianship, as being useful in a degree su- 
 perior to all other workmen, and as being wholly 
 conversant in clearing and adorning the head 
 of man. 
 
 ' That the said Longbottom, above all the 
 rest of mankind, is skilful in taking off that 
 horrid excrescence on the chins of all males, 
 and casting, by the touch of his hand, a cheer- 
 fulness where that excrescence grew ; an art 
 known only to this your artificer. 
 
 ' That Charles Lilly prepares snuff and per- 
 fumes which refreshes the brain in those that 
 have too much for their quiet, and gladdens it 
 in those who have too little to know their want 
 of it. 
 
 'That Bat. Pidgeon cuts the luxuriant locks 
 growing from the upper part of the head, in 
 so artful a manner, with regard to the visage, 
 that he makes the ringlets, falling by the tem- 
 ple-,, conspire with the brows and lashes of the 
 eye, to heighten the expressions of modesty 
 and intimations of goodwill, which are most 
 infallibly communicated by ocular glances. 
 
 That J. Norwood forms periw igs with respect 
 iu particular persons and visages, on the same 
 plan that Bat. Pidgeon corrects natural hair; 
 that lie ha- ard to the climate under 
 
 which his customer was born, before he pre- 
 tend, to COVer his head; that no part of his 
 COmp jed of hair which grew above 
 i he buyer's place of nativity ; 
 • k lock grew in the same 
 eOUOty, and nil the hair to tb ' face in the very 
 
 where be was born. 
 1 Thai operators humbly 
 
 'ntrc it pour more Frequent attention to (the 
 
 ■ irti, and th.it you Would place your 
 
 petitioners at the head of the family of the cos- 
 metics, and your petitioners shall ever pray, &c.' 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esq. Guardian of Good 
 Fame, 
 
 'The memorial of Esau Ringwood, sheweth, 
 ' That though nymphs and shepherds, son- 
 nets and complaints, are no more to be seen 
 or heard in the forests and chases of Great 
 Britain, yet are not the huntsmen who now 
 frequent the woods so barbarous as represented 
 in the Guardian of the twenty-first instant •, 
 that the knife is not presented to the lady of 
 quality by the huntsman to cut the throat of 
 the deer; hut after he is killed, that instru 
 ment is given her, as the animal is now become 
 food, in token that all our labour, joy, and ex 
 ultation in the pursuit, were excited from the 
 sole hope of making the stag an offering to her 
 table ; that your honour has detracted from 
 the humanity of sportsmen in this representa- 
 tion ; that they demand you would retract your 
 error, and distinguish Britons from Scythians. 
 
 ' P. S. Repent, and eat venison.' 
 
 To Nestor Ironside, Esquire, Avenger of 
 Detraction. 
 
 ' The humble petition of Susan How-d'ye-call, 
 most humbly sheweth, 
 ' That your petitioner is mentioned at all 
 visits, with an account of facts done by her, of 
 speeches she has made, and of journeys she has 
 taken, to all which circumstances your peti- 
 tioner is wholly a stranger ; that in every family 
 in Great Britain, glasses and cups are broken, 
 and utensils displaced, and all these faults laid 
 upon Mrs. How-d'ye-call ; that your petitioner 
 has applied to counsel, upon these grievances ; 
 that your petitioner is advised, that her case 
 is the same with that of John-a-Styles, and 
 that she is abused only by way of form ; your 
 petitioner therefore most humbly prays, that 
 in behalf of herself, and all others defamed 
 under the term of Mr. or Mrs. How-d'ye-call, 
 you will grant her and them the following con- 
 cessions : that no reproach shall take place 
 where the person has not an opportunity of 
 defending himself; that the phrase of a ' cer- 
 tain person,' means ' no certain person :' that 
 the ' How-d'ye-calls,' ' some people,' ' a cer- 
 tain set of men,' ' there are folks now-a-days,' 
 and ' things are come to that pass,' are words 
 that shall concern nobody after the present 
 Monday in Whitsun-week, 1/13. 
 
 ' That it is baseness to offend any person, 
 except the offender exposes himself to that 
 person's examination j that no woman is de- 
 famed by any man, without he names her 
 name; that ' exasperated mistress,' ' false fair,' 
 and the like, shall from the said Whitsun- 
 , signify no more than Cloe, Corinua, oj 
 
No. 64.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 101 
 
 Mrs. How d 'ye-call ; that your petitioner, being 
 an old maid, may be joined in marriage to John- 
 a-Nokes, or, in case of his being* resolved upon 
 celibacy, to Tom Long the carrier, and your 
 petitioner shall ever pray, &c.' 
 
 1 To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 
 " The humble petition of Hugh Pounce, of 
 Grub-street, sheweth, 
 
 ' That in your first paper you have touched 
 upon the affinity between all arts which concern 
 the good of society, and professed that you 
 should promote a good understanding between 
 them. 
 
 ' That your petitioner is skilful in the art 
 and mystery of writing verses or distichs. 
 
 * That your petitioner does not write for 
 vain-glory, but for the use of society. 
 
 * That, like the art, of painting upon glass, 
 the more durable work of writing upon iron is 
 almost lost. 
 
 ' That your petitioner is retained as poet to 
 the Ironmongers company. 
 
 ' Your petitioner therefore humbly desires 
 you would protect him in the sole making of 
 posies for knives, and all manner of learning 
 to be wrought on iron, and your petitioner shall 
 ever pray.' 
 
 SIR, 
 
 ' To the Guardian. 
 
 * Though every body has been talking or 
 writing on the subject of Cato, ever since the 
 world was obliged with that tragedy, there has 
 not, methinks, been an examination of it, 
 which sufficiently shows the skill of the author 
 merely as a poet. There are peculiar graces 
 which ordinary readers ought to be instructed 
 how to admire; among others, I am charmed 
 with his artificial expressions in well adapted 
 siruilies: there is no part of writing in which it 
 is more difficult to succeed, for on sublime oc- 
 casions it requires at once the utmost strength 
 of the imagination, and the severest correction 
 of the judgment. Thus Syphax, when he is 
 forming to himself the sudden and unexpected 
 destruction which is to befall the man he hates, 
 expresses himself in an image which none but 
 a Numidian could have a lively sense of; but 
 yet, if the author had ranged over all the ob- 
 jects upon the face of the earth, he could not 
 have found a representation of a disaster so 
 great, so sudden, and so dreadful as this : 
 
 ' So where our wide Numidian wastes extend, 
 Sudden th' impetuous hurricanes descend, 
 Wheel through the air, in circling eddies play, 
 Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains away. 
 The helpless traveller, with wild surprise, j 
 Sees the dry desert all around him rise, > 
 
 And smother'd in the dusty whirlwind, dies. J 
 
 * When Sempronius promises himself the pos- 
 session of Marcia by a rape, he triumphs in the 
 prospect, and exults in his villany, by repre- 
 
 senting it to himself in a manner wonderfully 
 suited to the vanity and impiety of his character. 
 
 So Pluto, seiz'd of Proserpine, conveyed 
 To hell's tremendous gloom th' affrighted maid ; 
 There grimly smil'd, pleas'd with the beauteous prize, 
 Nor envy'd Jove his sunshine and his skies. 
 
 ' Pray old Nestor, trouble thyself no more with 
 the squabbles of old lovers ; tell them from me 
 now they are past the sins of the flesh, they 
 are got into those of the spirit ; desire hurts 
 the soul less than malice ; it is not now, as 
 when they were Sappho and Phaon. 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 ' Your affectionate humble servant, 
 
 « A. B.' 
 
 No. 65.~\ Tuesday, Maij 26, 1713. 
 
 Inter scabiem tantam et contagin. 
 
 Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. xii. 13. 
 
 Amidst the poison of such infectious times. 
 
 There is not any where, I believe, so much 
 talk about religion, as among us in England ; 
 nor do I think it possible for the wit of man to 
 devise forms of address to the Almighty, in 
 more ardent and forcible terms than are every 
 where to be found in our book of common 
 prayer ; and yet I have heard it read with such 
 a negligence, affectation, and impatience, that 
 the efficacy of it has been apparently lost to 
 all the congregation. For my part, I make no 
 scruple to own it, that I go sometimes to a 
 particular place in the city, far distant from 
 mine own home, to hear a gentleman, whose 
 manner I admire, read the liturgy. I am per- 
 suaded devotion is the greatest pleasure of his 
 soul, and there is none hears him read without 
 the utmost reverence. I have seen the young 
 people, who have been interchanging glances 
 of passion to each other's person, checked into 
 an attention to the service at the interruption 
 which the authority of his voice has given them. 
 But the other morning I happened to rise 
 earlier than ordinary, and thought I could not 
 pass my time better, than to go upon the ad- 
 monition of the morning bell, to the church 
 prayers at six of the clock. I was there the 
 first of any in the congregation, and had the 
 opportunity, however I made use of it, to look 
 back on all my life, and contemplate the bles- 
 sing and advantage of such stated early hours 
 for offering ourselves to our Creator, and pre-, 
 possess ourselves with the love of Him, and 
 the hopes we have from Him, against the snares 
 of business and pleasure in the ensuing day. 
 But whether it be that people think fit to in- 
 dulge their own ease in some secret, pleasing 
 fault, or whatever it was, there was none at the 
 confession but a set of poor scrubs of us, who 
 could sin only in our wills, whose persons could 
 be no temptation to one another, and might 
 have, without interruption from any body else, 
 
10J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 65. 
 
 humble, lowly hearts, in frightful looks and 
 dirty dresses, at our leisure. When we poor 
 •,ou!> had presented ourselves with a contrition 
 suitable to our worthlessness, some pretty 
 ladies in mobs, popped in here and there 
 about tbe church, cl tttering the pew-door after 
 them, and squatting into a whisper behind their 
 Fans. Among others, one of lady Lizard's 
 daughters, and her hopeful maid, made their 
 entrance : the young lady did not omit the ar- 
 dent form behind the fan, while the maid im- 
 mediately gaped round her to look for some 
 other devout person, whom I saw at a distance 
 very well dressed ; his air and habit a little 
 military, but in the pertness, not the true pos- 
 session, of the martial character. This jacka- 
 napes was fixed at the end of a pew, with the 
 utmost impudence, declaring 1 , by a fixed eye on 
 that seat (where our beauty was placed) the 
 object of his devotion. This obscene sight gave 
 me all the indignation imaginable, and I could 
 attend to nothing but the reflection, that the 
 greatest affronts imaginable are such as no one 
 can take notice of. Before I was out of such 
 vexatious inadvertencies to the business of the 
 place, there was a great deal of good company 
 now come in. There was a good number of 
 very janty slatterns, who gave us to understand, 
 that it is neither dress nor art to which they 
 were beholden for the town's admiration. Be- 
 sides these, there were also by this time arrived 
 two or three sets of whisperers, who carry on 
 most of their calumnies by what they entertain 
 one another w ith in that place, and we were now 
 altogether very good company. There were in- 
 deed a few, in whose looks there appeared a 
 heavenly joy and gladness upon the entrance 
 of a new day, as if they had gone to sleep with 
 expectation of it. For the sake of these it is 
 worth while that the church keeps up such early 
 matins throughout the cities of London and 
 Westminster; but the generality of those who 
 observe that hour, perform it with so tasteless 
 a behaviour, that it appears a task rather than 
 a voluntary act. But of all the world, those 
 familiar ducks who are, as it were, at home at 
 tbe church, and by frequently meeting there 
 throw the time of prayer very negligently into 
 their common life, and make their coining to- 
 getherin that place as ordinary as any other 
 action, and do not turn their conversation upon 
 any improvements suitable to the true design 
 ol that house, but on trifles below even their 
 worldly concerns and characters. These are 
 httlc groups of acquaintance dispersed in all 
 
 parts of the town, who are, forsooth, the only 
 people of unspotted characters, and throw all 
 the spots thai Stick on those of other people. 
 
 M due i^ the ordinary vice of those who live 
 in the mode of religion, without the spirit of 
 
 it. The pleasurable world are hurried by their 
 
 passions above the consideration af what others 
 
 think of them, into a pursuit vf irregular en- 
 
 joyments; while these, who forbear the grati- 
 fications of flesh and blood, without having 
 won over the spirit to the interests of virtue, 
 are implacable in defamations on the errors of 
 such who offend without respect to fame. But 
 the consideration of persons whom one cannot 
 but take notice of, when one sees them in that 
 place, has drawn me out of my intended talk, 
 which was to bewail that people do not know 
 the pleasure of early hours, and of dedicating 
 their first moments of the day, with joy and 
 singleness of heart, to their Creator. Expe- 
 rience would convince us, that the earlier we 
 left our beds, the seldomer should we be con- 
 fined to them. 
 
 One great good which would also accrue from 
 this, were it become a fashion, would be, that 
 it is possible our chief divines would condescend 
 to pray themselves, or at least those whom they 
 substitute would be better supplied, than to be 
 forced to appear at those oraisons in a garb and 
 attire which makes them appear mortified with 
 worldly want, and not abstracted from the 
 world by the contempt of it. How is it possi- 
 ble for a gentleman, under the income of fifty 
 pounds a year, to be attentive to sublime 
 things ? He must rise and dress like a labourer 
 for sordid hire, instead of approaching his place 
 of service with the utmost pleasure and satis- 
 faction, that now he is going to be mouth of a 
 crowd of people who have laid aside all the dis- 
 tinctions of this contemptible being, to beseech 
 a protection under its manifold pains and dis- 
 advantages, or a release from it, by his favour 
 who sent them into it. He would, with decent 
 superiority, look upon himself as orator before 
 the throne of grace, for a crowd, who hang 
 upon his words, while he asks for them all that 
 is necessary in a transitory life ; from the as- 
 surance that a good behaviour, for a few mo- 
 ments in it, will purchase endless joy and 
 happy immortality. 
 
 But who can place himself in this view, who, 
 though not pinched with want, is distracted 
 with care from the fear of it ? No ; a man, in 
 the least degree below the spirit of a saint or a 
 martyr, will loll, huddle over his duty, look 
 confused, or assume a resolution in his beha- 
 viour which will be quite as ungraceful, except 
 he is supported above the necessities of life. 
 
 Power and commandment to his minister 
 to declare and pronounce to his people,' is 
 mentioned with a very unguarded air, when the 
 speaker is known in his own private condition 
 to be almost an object of their pity and charity. 
 This last circumstance, with many others here 
 loosely suggested, are the occasion that one 
 knows not how to recommend, to such as have 
 not already a fixed sense of devotion, the plea- 
 sure of passing the earliest hours of the day in 
 a public congregation. But were this morning 
 solemnity as much in vogue, even as it is now 
 at more advanced hours of the day, it would 
 
No. 66.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 103 
 
 necessarily have so good an effect upon us, as 
 to make us more disengaged and cheerful in 
 conversation, and less artful and insincere in 
 business. The world would be quite another 
 place than it is now, the rest of the day ; and 
 every face would have an alacrity in it, which 
 can be borrowed from no other reflections, 
 but those which give us the assured protection 
 of Omnipotence. 
 
 No. 66.] Wednesday, May 27, 1713. 
 
 Saepe tribus lectis videas ccenare quaternos : 
 E quibus nuns avet quavis aspergere cunctos, 
 Prater euni qui prasbtt aquara ; p6st, Ininc quoque— 
 Hor. Lib. 1. Sat. iv. 86. 
 
 Set twelve at supper ; one above the rest 
 Takes all the talk, and breaks a scurvy jest 
 (hi all, ex ept the master o'f the feast : 
 At last on him 
 
 The following letter is full of imagination, 
 and in a fabulous manner sets forth a connec- 
 tion between things, and an alliance between 
 persons, that are very distant and remote to 
 common eyes. I think I know the hand to be 
 that of a very ingenious man, and shall there- 
 fore give it the reader without farther preface. 
 
 To the Guardian. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 * There is a set of mankind, who are wholly 
 employed in the ill-natured office of gathering 
 up a collection of stories that lessen the repu- 
 tation of others, and spreading them abroad 
 with a certain air of satisfaction. Perhaps 
 indeed, an innocent unmeaning curiosity, a 
 desire of being informed concerning those we 
 live with, or a willingness to profit by reflection 
 upon the actions of others, may sometimes 
 afford an excuse, or sometimes a defence for 
 inquisitiveness; but certainly it is beyond all 
 excuse a transgression against humanity, to 
 carry the matter farther, to tear off the dress- 
 ings as I may say, from the wounds of a friend, 
 and expose them to the air in cruel fits of diver- 
 sion ; and yet we have something more to be- 
 moan, an outrage of a higher nature, which 
 mankind is guilty of when they are not con- 
 tent to spread the stories of folly, frailty, and 
 vire, but even enlarge them, or invent new 
 ones, and blacken characters, that we may 
 appear ridiculous or hateful to one another. 
 From such practices as these it happens, that 
 some feel a sorrow, and others are agitated 
 with a spirit of revenge ; that scandals or lies 
 are told, because another has told such before ; 
 that resentments and quarrels arise, and af- 
 fronts and injuries are given, received, and 
 multiplied, in a scene of vengeance. 
 
 ' All this I have often observed with abund- 
 ance of concern, and having a perfect desire 
 to further the happiness of mankind, I lately 
 set myself to consider the causes from whence 
 such evils arise, and the remedies which may 
 
 be applied. Whereupon I shut my eyes to 
 prevent a distraction from outward objects, 
 and a while after shot away, upon an impulse 
 of thought, into the world of ideas, where ab- 
 stracted qualities became visible in such ap- 
 pearances as were agreeable to each of their 
 natures. 
 
 ' That part of the country where I happened 
 to light, was the most noisy that I had ever 
 known. The winds whistled, the leaves rustled, 
 the brooks rumbled, the birds chattered, the 
 tongues of men were heard, and the echo 
 mingled something of every sound in its repe- 
 tition, so that there was a strange confusion 
 and uproar of sounds about me. At length, 
 as the noise still increased, 1 could discern a 
 man habited like a herald, (and as I afterwards 
 understood) called Novelty, that came forward* 
 proclaiming a solemn day to be kept at the 
 house of Common Fame. Immediately behind 
 him advanced three nymphs, who had mon- 
 strous appearances. The first of these was 
 Curiosity, habited like a virgin, and having a 
 hundred ears upon her head to serve in her 
 enquiries. The second of these was Talkative- 
 ness, a little better grown ; she seemed to be 
 like a young wife, and had a hundred tongues 
 to spread her stories. The third was Censori- 
 ousness, habited like a widow, and surrounded 
 with a hundred squinting eyes of a malignant 
 influence, which so obliquely darted on all 
 around, that it was impossible to say which 
 of them had brought in the information she 
 boasted of. Tbese, as I was informed, had 
 been very instrumental in preserving and rear* 
 ing Common Fame, when upon her birth-day 
 she was shuffled into a crowd, to escape the 
 search which Truth might have made after her 
 and her parents. Curiosity found her there, 
 Talkativeness conveyed her away, and Cen- 
 soriousness so nursed her up, that in a short 
 time she grew to a prodigious size, and ob- 
 tained an empire over the universe; wherefore 
 the power, in gratitude for these services, has 
 since advanced them to her -highest employ- 
 ments. The next who came forward in the 
 procession was a light damsel, called Credulity, 
 who carried behind them the lamp, the silver 
 vessel with a spout, and other instruments 
 proper for this solemn occasion. 
 
 * She had formerly seen these three together, 
 and conjecturing from the number of their 
 ears, tongues, and eyes, that they might be 
 the proper genii of Attention, Familiar Con- 
 verse, and Ocular Demonstration, she from 
 that time gave herself up to attend them. The 
 last who followed were some who had closely 
 muffled themselves in upper garments, so that 
 I could not discern who they were ; but just 
 as the foremost of them was come up, I am 
 glad, says she, calling me by my name, to 
 meet you at this time ; stay close by me, and 
 take a strict observation of all that passes: 
 
104 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 67. 
 
 Iiorvo! ' M»d commanding, I thought 
 
 In anl it ; and from her, as 
 I went along, 1 learned the meaning of every 
 thing wbieh offered. 
 
 4 We now marched forward through the 
 Rookery of Rumours, which flew thick, and 
 with a terrible din, all around us. At length 
 we arrived at the house of Common Fame, 
 where a hecatomb of reputations was that day 
 to fall for her pleasure. The house stood upon 
 au eminence, having a thousand passages to it, 
 and a thousand whispering holes for the con- 
 veyance of sound. The hall we entered was 
 formed with the art of a music-chamber for 
 the improvement of noises. Rest and silence 
 are banished the place. Stories of different 
 natures wander in light flocks all about, some- 
 times truths and lies, or sometimes lies them- 
 selves clashing against one another. In the 
 middle stood a table painted after the manner 
 of the remotest Asiatic countries, upon which 
 the lamp, the silver vessel, and cups of a white 
 earth, were planted in order. Then dried herbs 
 were brought, collected for the solemnity in 
 moon-shine, and water being put to them, 
 there was a greenish liquor made, to which 
 they added the flower of milk, and an extrac- 
 tion from the canes of America, for performing 
 a libation to the infernal powers of Mischief. 
 After this, Curiosity, retiring to a withdrawing 
 room, brought forth the victims, being to ap- 
 pearance a set of small waxen images, which 
 she laid upon the table one after another. 
 Immediately then Talkativeness gave each of 
 them the name of some one, whom for that 
 time they were to represent; and Censorious- 
 ness stuck them all about with black pins, still 
 pronouncing at every one she stuck, something 
 to the prejudice of the persons represented. 
 No sooner were these rites performed, and in- 
 cantations uttered, but the sound of a speaking 
 trumpet was heard in the air, by which they 
 knew the deity of the place was propitiated 
 and assisting. Upon this the sky grew darker, 
 a storm arose, and murmurs, sighs, groans, 
 cries, and the words of grief, or resentment, 
 were heard within it. Thus the three sor- 
 ceresses discovered, that they whose names 
 they had given to the images, were already 
 affected with what was done to them in effigy. 
 The knowledge of this was received with the 
 loudesl laughter, and in many congratulatory 
 ITOrdl they applauded one another's wit and 
 power. 
 
 As matter, were at this high point of dis- 
 order, the muffled lady, whom I attended on, 
 being no longer aide to endure such barbarous 
 proceedings, threw off her upper garment of 
 
 Reserve, and appeared to he Truth. As 
 
 soon as she had OMlfeSSed herself present, the 
 
 ipeaking-trumpet ceased to Bound, the sky 
 
 ( lean d lip, the <-torm abated, the noises which 
 were heard in it ended, the laughter of the 
 
 company was over, and a serene light, till 
 then unknown to the place, diffused around 
 it. At this the detected sorceresses endea- 
 voured to escape in a cloud which I saw began 
 to thicken round them; but it was soon dis- 
 persed, their charms being controlled, and pre- 
 vailed over by the superior divinity. For my 
 part I was exceedingly glad to see it so, and 
 began to consider what punishment she would 
 inflict upon them. I fancied it would be pro- 
 per to cut off Curiosity's ears, and fix them to 
 the eaves of the houses : to nail the tongues of 
 Talkativeness to Indian tables ; and to put 
 out the eyes of Ceusoriousness with a flash of 
 her light. In respect of Credulity, I had in- 
 deed some little pity, and had I been judge she 
 might, perhaps, have escaped with a hearty 
 reproof. 
 
 1 But I soon found that the discerning judge 
 had other designs. She knew them for such 
 as will not be destroyed entirely while mankind 
 is in being, and yet ought to have a brand and 
 punishment affixed to them that they may be 
 avoided. Wherefore she took a seat for judg- 
 ment, and had the criminals brought forward 
 by Shame ever blushing, and Trouble with a 
 whip of many lashes ; two phantoms who had 
 dogged the procession in disguise, and waited 
 till they had an authority from Truth to lay 
 hands upon them. Immediately then she or- 
 dered Curiosity and Talkativenes-s to be fettered 
 together, that the one should never suffer the 
 other to rest, nor the other ever let her remain 
 undiscovered. Light Credulity she liuked to 
 Shame at the tormentor's own request, who 
 was pleased to be thus secure that her pn.v>ner 
 could not escape ; and this was done partly 
 for her punishment, and partly for her amend- 
 ment. Ceusoriousness was also in like manner 
 begged by Trouble, and had her assigned fir* 
 an eternal companion. After they were thus 
 chained with one another, by the judge's order, 
 she drovt> them from the presence to wander 
 for ever through the world, w ith Novelty stalk- 
 ing before them. 
 
 1 The cause being now over, she retreated 
 from sight within the splendour of her own 
 glory ; which leaving the house it had bright- 
 ened, the B mndl that were proper to the place 
 began to be as loud and confused as when we 
 entered ; and there being no longer a olear 
 distinguished appearance of any objects repre- 
 sented to me, I returned from the excursion 
 I had made in fancy.' 
 
 No. 67.] Thursday, May 28, 1?K>. 
 
 ne fortd pudori 
 
 Sic tilii mosa h rae solers, ei canter Apollo. 
 
 Hor. Ara Poet. ver. 40G. 
 Blush Dot to patronize the muse's skill. 
 
 It has been remarked, by curious observers, 
 that poets are generally long-lived, and run 
 
No. G7.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 105 
 
 beyond the usual age of man, if not cut off by 
 some accident or excess, as Anacreon, in the 
 midst of a very merry old age, was choaked 
 with a grape-stone. The same redundancy of 
 spirits that produces the poetical flame, keeps 
 up the vital warmth, and administers uncom- 
 mon fuel to life. I question not but several 
 instances will occur to my reader's memory, 
 from Homer down to Mr. Dryden. I shall 
 only take notice of two who have excelled in 
 lyrios ; the one an ancient, and the other a 
 modern. The first gained an immortal repu- 
 tation by celebrating several jockeys in the 
 Olympic games, the last has signalized himself 
 on the same occasion by the ode that begins 
 with — ■ To horse, brave boys, to Newmarket, 
 to horse.' My reader will, by this time, know 
 that the two poets I have mentioned, are Pindar 
 and Mr. d'Urfey. The former of these is long 
 since laid in his urn, after having, many years 
 together, endeared himself to all Greece by 
 his tuneful compositions. Our countryman is 
 still living, and in a blooming old age, that 
 still promises many musical productions ; for 
 if I am not mistaken, our British swan will 
 sing to the last. The best judges who have 
 perused his last song on The moderate Man, 
 do not discover any decay in his parts, but 
 think it deserves a place amongst the finest of 
 those works with which he obliged the world 
 in his more early years. 
 
 1 am led into this subject by a visit which 
 I lately received from my good old friend and 
 contemporary. As we both flourished together 
 in king Charles the Second's reign, we diverted 
 ourselves with the remembrance of several 
 particulars that passed in the world before the 
 greatest part of my readers were born, and 
 could not but smile to think how insensibly 
 we were grown into a couple of venerable old 
 gentlemen. Tom observed to me, that after 
 having written more odes than Horace, and 
 about four times as many comedies as Terence, 
 he was reduced to great difficulties by the im- 
 portunities of a set of men, who, of late years, 
 had furnished him with the accommodations 
 of life, and would not, as we say, be paid with 
 a song. In order to extricate my old friend, 
 I immediately sent for the three directors of 
 the playhouse, and desired them that they 
 would in their turn do a good office for a man, 
 who, in Shakspeare's phrase, had often filled 
 their mouths, I mean with pleasantry, and 
 popular conceits. They very generously lis- 
 tened to my proposal, and agreed to act the 
 Plotting Sisters, (a very taking play of my old 
 friend's composing) on the fifteenth of the 
 next month, for the benefit of the author. 
 
 My kindness to the agreeable Mr. d'Urfey 
 will be imperfect, if after having engaged the 
 players in his favour, I do not get the town to 
 come into it. I must therefore heartily recom- 
 mend tc all the young ladies, my disciples, the 
 
 case of my old friend, who has often made their 
 grandmothers merry, and whose sonnets have 
 perhaps lulled asleep many a present toast, 
 when she lay in her cradle. 
 
 I have already prevailed on my lady Lizard 
 to be at the house in one of the front boxes, 
 and design, if I am in town, to lead her in 
 myself at the head of her daughters. The 
 gentleman I am speaking of has laid obliga- 
 tions on so many of his countrymen, that I 
 hope they will think this but a just return to 
 the good service of a veteran poet. 
 
 I myself remember king Charles the Second 
 leaning on Tom d'Urfey 's shoulder more than 
 once, and humming over a song with him. It 
 is certain that monarch was not a little sup- 
 ported by ' Joy to great Casar,' which gave 
 the whigs such a blow as they were not able 
 to recover that whole reign. My friend after- 
 wards attacked popery with the same success, 
 having exposed Bellannine and Porto-Carrerc 
 more than once in short satirical compositions, 
 which have been in every body's mouth. He 
 has made use of Italian tunes and sonatas for 
 promoting the protestant interest, and turned 
 a considerable part of the pope's music against 
 himself. In short, he has obliged the court 
 with political sonnets, the country with dia- 
 logues and pastorals, the city with descriptions 
 of a lord-mayor's feast, not to mention his 
 little ode upon Stool-Ball, with many other of 
 the like nature. 
 
 Should the very individuals he has celebrated 
 make their appearance together, they would 
 be sufficient to fill the play-house. Pretty Peg 
 of Windsor, Gillian of Croydon, with Dolly 
 and Molly, and Tommy and Johny, with many 
 others to be met with in the Musical Miscel- 
 lanies, entitled, Pills to purge Melancholy, 
 would make a good benefit night. 
 
 As my friend, after the manner of the old 
 lyrics, accompanies his works with his own 
 voice, he has been the delight of the most 
 polite companies and conversations, from the 
 beginning of king Charles the Second's reign 
 to our present times. Many an honest gentle- 
 man has got a reputation in his country, by 
 pretending to have been in company with Tom 
 d'Urfey. 
 
 1 might here mention several other merits 
 in my friend ; as his enriching our language 
 with a multitude of rhimes, and bringing words 
 together, that without his good offices, would 
 never have been acquainted with one another, 
 so long as it had been a tongue. But I must 
 not omit that my old friend angles for a trout, 
 the best of any man in England. May-flies 
 come in late this season, or I myself should 
 before now, have had a trout of his hooking. 
 
 After what I have said, and much more that 
 
 I might say, on this subject, I question not 
 
 but the world will think that my old friend 
 
 ought not to pass the remainder of his life in 
 
 O 
 
\0G 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 6$, 
 
 like a ringing bird, but enjoy all that 
 pindaric liberty which is suitable to a man of 
 his genius. He bafl made the world merry, 
 and I hope they will make him easy, so long 
 as he stays among" us. This I will take upon 
 me to say, they cannot do a kindness to a more 
 diverting companion, or a more cheerful, bo- 
 nest, and good-natured man. C3- 
 
 No. CO.] Friday, May 29, 1713. 
 
 Inspireie, tanquam in speculum, in vitas omnium 
 Jubeo, atquc ex aliis sumerc exemplum sibi. 
 
 Tcr. Adclph. Act. iii. Sc. 4. 
 
 My advice to him i=, to consult the lives of other men 
 r.s lie would a looking-glass, and from thence letch ex- 
 amples for his own imitation. 
 
 The paper of to-day shall consist of a letter 
 from my friend sir Harry Lizard, which, with 
 roy answer, may be worth the perusal of young 
 men of estates, and young women without for- 
 tunes. It is absolutely necessary, that in our 
 first vigorous years we lay down some law to 
 ourselves for the conduct of future life, which 
 may at least prevent essential misfortunes. 
 The cutting cares which attend such an affec- 
 tion as that against which I forewarn my friend 
 sir Harry, are very well known to all who 
 are called the men of pleasure ; but when 
 they have opposed their satisfactions to their 
 anxieties in an impartial examination, they 
 will find their life not only a dream, but a 
 troubled and vexatious one. 
 
 • DEAR OLD MAN, 
 * I believe you are very much surprised, 
 that in the several letters I have written to 
 you, since the receipt of that wherein you re- 
 commend a young lady for a wife to your hum- 
 ble servant, I have not made the least mention 
 of that matter. It happens at this time that 
 I am not much inclined to marry ; there are 
 very many matches in our country, wherein 
 the parties live so insipidly, or so vexatiously, 
 that I am afraid to venture from their example. 
 Besides, to tell you the truth, good Nestor, I 
 am informed your fine young woman is soon 
 to be disposed of elsewhere. As to the young 
 ladies of my acquaintance in your great town, 
 I do not know one whom 1 could think of as a 
 wife, who is not either prepossessed wjth some 
 inclination for some other man, or affects plea- 
 sures and entertainments) which she prefers to 
 tin' conversation of any man living. Women 
 Of thil kind are the most frequently met with 
 of any K>rt whatsoever; I mean they are the 
 most frequent among people of condition, that 
 is !j , iv, sui h are easily to be had as would sit 
 at the head uf your estate and tahle, lie-in by 
 ynu tnr the sake el receiving visits in pomp at 
 the end () f tlu- month, and enjoy the like gra- 
 tifications from the BUpport of your fortune ; 
 but you yourself would signify no more to one 
 
 of them, than a name in trust in a settlement 
 which conveys land and goods, but has no right 
 for its own use. A woman of this turn can no 
 more make a wife, than an ambitious man 
 can be a friend ; they both sacrifice all the 
 true ,'tastes of being, and motives of life, foi 
 the ostentation, the noise, and the appearance 
 of it. Their hearts are turned to unnatural 
 objects, and as the men of design can carry 
 them on with an exclusion of their daily com- 
 panions, so women of this kind of gayety, can 
 Hve at bed and board with a man, without any 
 affection to his person. As to any woman that 
 you examine hereafter for my sake, if you can 
 possibly, find a means to converse with her at 
 some country seat. If she has no relish for 
 rural views, but is undelighted with streams, 
 fields, and groves, I desire to hear no more of 
 her ; she has departed from nature, and is 
 irrecoverably engaged in vanity. 
 
 1 I have ever been curious to observe the 
 arrogance of a town lady when she first comes 
 down to her husband's seat, and, beholding her 
 country neighbours, wants somebody to laugh 
 with her, at the frightful things, to whom she 
 herself is equally ridiculous. The pretty pitty- 
 pat step, the playing head, and the fall-hack 
 in the curtesy, she does not imagine, make 
 her as unconversable, and inaccessible to our 
 plain people, as the loud voice and ungainly 
 stride render one of our huntresses to her. In 
 a word, dear Nestor, I beg you to suspend all 
 enquiries towards my matrimony until you hear 
 further from, 
 
 * Sir, your most obliged, 
 
 ' and most humble servant, 
 
 ' HARRY LIZARD, 
 
 A certain loose turn in this letter, mixed 
 indeed with some real exceptions to the t'»o 
 frequent silly choice made by country gentle- 
 men, has given me no small anxiety: and I 
 have sent sir Harry an account of my suspi 
 cions, as follows. 
 
 * To Sir Harry Lizard. 
 
 •SIR, 
 
 ' Your letter 1 have read over two or three 
 times, and must be so free with you as to tell 
 you, it has in it something which betrays you 
 have lost that simplicity of heart with relation 
 to love, which 1 promised myself would crown 
 your days with happiness and honour. The 
 alteration of your mind towards marriage is 
 not represented as flowing from discretion and 
 wariness in the choice, but a disinclination to 
 that state in general; yon seem secretly to 
 propose to yourself (for I will think no other- 
 wise of a man of your age and temper) all its 
 satisfactions out of it, and to avoid the care 
 and inconveniencies that attend those who 
 enter into it. I will not urge at this time the 
 greatest consideration of all, to wit, regard of 
 innocence : but having, I think, in my eye, 
 
No. 68.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 107 
 
 what you aim at, I must, as I am your friend, 
 acquaint you, that you are going 1 into a wilder- 
 ness of cares and distractions, from which you 
 will never be able to extricate yourself, while 
 the compunctions of honour and pity are yet 
 alive in you. 
 
 1 Without naming- names, I have long sus- 
 pected your designs upon a young gentlewoman 
 in your neigbourhood : but give me leave to 
 tell you with all the earnestness of a faithful 
 friend, .bat to enter into a criminal commerce 
 with a woman of merit, whom you find inno- 
 cent, is of all the follies in this life, the most 
 fruitful of sorrow. You must make your ap- 
 proaches to her with the benevolence and lan- 
 guage of a good angel, in order to bring upon 
 her pollution and shame, which is the work of 
 a demon. The fashion of the world, the warmth 
 of youth, and the affluence of fortune, may, 
 perhaps, make you look upon me in this talk, 
 like a poor well-meaning old man, who is past 
 those ardencies in which you at present triumph; 
 but believe me, sir, if you succeed in what I 
 fear you design, you will find the sacrifice of 
 beauty and innocence so strong an obligation 
 upon you, that your whole life will pass away 
 in the worst condition imaginable, that of doubt 
 and irresolution; you will ever be designing to 
 leave her, and never do it ; or else leave her 
 for another, with a constant longing after her. 
 He is a very unhappy man who does not re- 
 serve the most pure and kind affections of his 
 heart for his marriage-bed, he will otherwise 
 be reduced to this melancholy circumstance, 
 that he gave his mistress that kind of affection 
 whloh was proper for his wife, and has not for 
 his wife either that, or the usual inclination 
 which men bestow upon their mistresses. After 
 such an affair as this, you are a very lucky 
 man if you find a prudential marriage is only 
 insipid, and not actually miserable ; a woman 
 of as ancient a family as your own, may come 
 into the house of the Lizards, murmur in your 
 bed, growl at your table, rate your servants, 
 and insult yourself, while you bear all this 
 with this unhappy reflection at the bottom of 
 
 your heart, " This is all for the injured " 
 
 The heart is ungovernable enough, without 
 being biassed by prepossessions; how empha- 
 tically unhappy therefore is he, who besides 
 the natural vagrancy of affection, has a passion 
 to one particular object, in which he sees no- 
 thing but what is lovely, except what proceeds 
 from his own guilt against it ! I speak to you, 
 my dear friend, as one who tenderly regards 
 your welfare, and beg of you to avoid this great 
 error, which has rendered so many agreeable 
 men unhappy before you. When a man is 
 engaged among the dissolute, gay, and artful 
 of the fair sex, a knowledge of their manners 
 and designs, their favours unendeared by truth, 
 their feigned sorrows and gross flatteries, must 
 in time rescue a reasonable man from the in- 
 
 chantment ; but in a case wherein you have 
 none but yourself to accuse, you will find the 
 best part of a generous mind torn away with 
 her, whenever you take your leave of an in- 
 jured, deserving woman. Come to town, fly 
 from Oliuda, to your 
 
 ' Obedient humble servant, 
 
 ' NESTOR IRONSIDE.' 
 
 No. 69.] Saturday, May 30, 1713. 
 
 Jupiter est quodcunque vides Lucan. 
 
 Where'er you turn your eyes, 'tis God you see. 
 
 I HAD this morning a very valuable and kind 
 present sent me of a translated work of a most 
 excellent foreign writer, who makes a very 
 considerable figure in the learned and Chris- 
 tian world. It is entitled, A Demonstration 
 of the Existence, Wisdom, and Omnipotence 
 of God, drawn from the knowledge of nature, 
 particularly of man, and fitted to the meanest 
 capacity, by the archbishop of Cambray, author 
 of Telemachus, and translated from the French 
 by the same hand that englished that excellent 
 piece. This great author, in the writings which 
 he has before produced, has manifested a heart 
 full of virtuous sentiments, great benevolence 
 to mankind, as well as a sincere and fervent 
 piety towards his Creator. His talents and 
 parts are a very great good to the world, and 
 it is a pleasing thing to behold the poiite arts 
 subservient to religion, and recommending it 
 from its natural beauty. Looking over the 
 letters of my correspondents, I find one which 
 celebrates this treatise, and recommends it to 
 my readers. 
 
 * To the Guardian. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 ' I think I have somewhere read, in the 
 writings of one whom I take to be a friend of 
 yours, a saying which struck me very much, 
 and as I remember, it was to this purpose 
 " The existence of a God is so far from being 
 a thing that wants to be proved, that I think 
 it is the only thing of which we are certain." 
 This is a sprightly and just expression ; how- 
 ever, I dare say, you will not be displeased that 
 I put you in mind of saying something on the 
 Demonstration of the bishop of Cambray. A 
 man of his talents views all things in a light 
 different from that in which ordinary men see 
 them, and the devout disposition of his soul 
 turns all those talents to the improvement of 
 the pleasures of a good life. His style clothes 
 philosophy in a dress almost poetic ; and his 
 readers enjoy in full perfection the advantage, 
 while they are reading him, of being what he 
 is. The pleasing representation of the animal 
 powers in the beginning of his work, and his 
 consideration of the nature of man with the 
 addition of reason in the subsequent discourse, 
 
MJS 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. y. 
 
 impfMMI upon the mind a strong satifaction 
 in itself, and gratitude towards Him who be<- 
 ! that superiority over the brute-world. 
 Tbese thoughts had such an effect upon the 
 author himself, that lie has ended his discourse 
 with ■ prayer. This adoration has a sublimity 
 in it befitting his character, and the emotions 
 of his heart flow from wisdom and knowledge. 
 I thought it would be proper for a Saturday's 
 paper, and have translated it to make you a 
 present of it. I have not, as the translator 
 was obliged to do, confined myself to an exact 
 version from the original, but have endeavoured 
 to express the spirit of it, by taking the liberty 
 to render his thoughts in such a way as I should 
 have uttered them if they had been my own. 
 It has been observed, that the private letters 
 of great men are the best pictures of their 
 souls ; but certainly their private devotions 
 would be still more instructive, and I know 
 not why they should not be as curious and en- 
 tertaining. 
 
 ' If you insert this prayer, I know not but I 
 may send you, for another occasion, one used 
 by a very great wit of the last age, which has 
 allusions to the errors of a very wild life ; and, 
 1 believe you will think is written with an 
 uncommon spirit. The person whom I mean 
 was an excellent writer, and the publication of 
 this prayer of his may be, perhaps, some kind 
 of antidote against the infection in his other 
 writings. But this supplication of the bishop 
 has in it a more happy and untroubled spirit; 
 it is (if that is not saying something too fond) 
 the worship of an angel concerned for those 
 who had fallen, but himself still in the state of 
 glory and innocence. The book ends with an 
 act of devotion, to this effect. 
 
 ' O my God, if the greater number of man- 
 kind do not discover thee in that glorious show 
 of nature which thou hast placed before our 
 eyes, it is not because thou art far from every 
 one of us. Thou art present to us more than 
 any object which we touch with our hands; 
 but our senses, and the passions which they 
 produce in us, turn our attention from thee. 
 Thy light shines in the midst of darkness, but 
 the darkness comprehends it not. Thou, O 
 Lord, dost every way display thyself. Thou 
 shinest in all thy works, but art not regarded 
 by heedless and unthinking man. The whole 
 creation talks aloud of thee, and echos with 
 tin- repetition* of thy holy name. But such is 
 our insensibility* that we are deaf to the great 
 and aniversal voice of nature* Thou art every 
 
 \\ lure- about us, and w ithin us ; but we wander 
 
 from ourselves, become strangers to our own 
 
 soul--, and do not apprehend thy presence. 
 () thou, who art the eternal fountain of light 
 and beauty, who art the ancient of days, with- 
 out beginning and without end 5 () thou, who 
 ail the life Of all thai truly live, those can never 
 hid to find tine, who seek for thee within 
 
 themselves. But alas! the very gifts which 
 thou bestowest upon us do so employ our 
 thoughts, that they hinder us from perceiving 
 the hand which conveys them to us. We live 
 by thee, and yet we live without thinking on 
 tbee ; but, O Lord, what is life in the igno- 
 rance of thee" ! A dead unactive piece of mat- 
 ter ; a flower that withers ; a river that glides 
 away ; a palace that hastens to its ruin ; a 
 picture made up of fading colours ; a mass of 
 shining ore : strike our imaginations and make 
 us sensible of their existence. We regard them 
 as objects capable of giving us pleasure, not 
 considering that thou conveyest, through them, 
 all the pleasure which we imagine they give us. 
 Such vain empty objects that are only the sha- 
 dows of being, are proportioned to our low and 
 groveling thoughts. That beauty which thou 
 hast poured out on thy creation, is as a veil 
 which hides thee from our eyes. As thou art 
 a being too pure and exalted to pass through 
 our senses, thou art not regarded by men, who 
 have debased their nature, and have made 
 themselves like the beasts that perish. So in- 
 fatuated are they, that notwithstanding they 
 know what is wisdom and virtue, which have 
 neither sound, nor colour, nor smell, nor taste, 
 nor figure, nor any other sensible quality, they 
 can doubt of thy existence, because thou art 
 not apprehended by the grosser organs of sense. 
 Wretches that we are are ! we consider shadows 
 as realities, and truth as a phantom. That 
 which is nothing, is all to us ; and that which 
 is all, appears to us nothing. What do we see 
 in all nature but thee, O my God ! Thou and 
 only thou, appearest in every thing. When I 
 consider thee, O Lord, I am swallowed up, 
 and lost in contemplation of thee. Every thing 
 besides thee, even my own existence, vanishes 
 and disappears in the contemplation of thee. 
 I am lost to myself, and fall into nothing, when 
 I think on thee. The man who does not see 
 thee, has beheld nothing; he who does not 
 taste thee, has a relish of nothing; his being 
 is vain, and his life but a dream. Set up thy- 
 self, O Lord, set up thyself, that we may be- 
 hold thee. As wax consumes before the fire, 
 and as the smoke is driven away, so let thine 
 enemies vanish out of thy presence. How un- 
 happy is that soul who, without the sense of 
 thee, has no God, no hope, no comfort to 
 support him ! But how happy the man who 
 searches, sighs, and thirsts after thee ! But he 
 only is fully happy, on whom thou liftest up 
 the light of thy countenance, whose tears thou 
 hast wiped away, and who enjoys in thy loving- 
 kindness the completion of all his desires. How 
 long, how long, O Lord, shall I wait for that 
 day when I shall possess, in thy presence, full- 
 ness of joy and pleasures for evermore ? O my 
 God, in this pleasing hope, my bones rejoice 
 and cry out, Who is like unto thee ! My heart 
 melts away, and my soul faints within me when 
 
No. 70. 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 109 
 
 I look up to Thee, who art the God of my life, 
 and my portion to all eternity.' 
 
 No. 70.] Monday, June 1, 1713. 
 
 mentisque capacius altre. Ovid. Met. Lib. i. 76. 
 
 Of thoughts enlarg'd, and more exalted mind. 
 
 As I was the other day taking a solitary walk 
 in St. Paul's, I indulged my thoughts in the 
 pursuit of a certain analogy between that fabric 
 and the Christian church in the largest sense. 
 The divine order and economy of the one 
 seemed to be emblematically set forth by the 
 'ust, plain, and majestic architecture of the 
 other. And as the one consists of a great va- 
 riety of parts united in the same regular design, 
 according to the truest art, and most exact 
 proportion ; so the other contains a decent sub- 
 ordination of members, various sacred institu- 
 tions, sublime doctrines, and solid precepts of 
 morality digested into the same design, and 
 with an admirable concurrence tending to one 
 view, the happiness and exaltation of human 
 nature. 
 
 In the midst of my contemplation, I beheld 
 a fly upon one of the pillars ; and it straight- 
 way came into my head, that this same fly was 
 a free-thinker. For it required some compre- 
 hension .in the eye of the spectator, to take in 
 at one view the various parts of the building, 
 in order to observe their symmetry and design. 
 But to the fly, whose prospect was confined to 
 a little part of one of the stones of a single 
 pillar, the joint beauty of the whole, or the 
 distinct use of its parts, were inconspicuous, 
 and nothing could appear but small inequalities 
 in the surface of the hewn stone, which in the 
 view of that insect seemed so many deformed 
 rocks and precipices. 
 
 The thoughts of a free-thinker are employed 
 on certain minute particularities of religion, 
 the difficulty of a single text, or the unaccount- 
 ableness of some step of Providence or point 
 of doctrine to his narrow faculties, without 
 comprehending the scope and design of Chris- 
 tianity, the perfection to which it raiseth hu- 
 man nature, the light it hath shed abroad in 
 the world, and the close connexion it hath as 
 well with the good of public societies, as with 
 that of particular persons. 
 
 This raised in me some reflections on that 
 fcame or disposition which is called ' largeness 
 of mind,' its necessity towards forming a true 
 judgment of things, and where the soul is not 
 incurably stinted by nature, what are the like- 
 liest methods to give it enlargement. 
 
 It is evident that philosophy doth open and 
 enlarge the mind, by the general views to which 
 men are habituated in that study, and by the 
 contemplation of more numerous and distant 
 objects, than fall within the sphere of mankind 
 in the ordinary pursuits of life. Hence it comes 
 
 to pass, that philosophers Judge of most things 
 very differently from the vulgar. Some in- 
 stances of this may be seen in the Theretetus 
 of Plato, where Socrates makes the following 
 remarks, among others of the like nature. 
 
 * When a philosopher hears ten thousand 
 acres mentioned as a great estate, he looks 
 upon it as an inconsiderable spot, having been 
 used to contemplate the whole globe of earth. 
 Or when he beholds a man elated with the no- 
 bility of his race, because he can reckon a series 
 of seven rich ancestors ; the philosopher thinks 
 him a stupid ignorant fellow, whose mind can- 
 not reach to a general view of human nature, 
 which would show him that we have all innu- 
 merable ancestors, among whom are crowds of 
 rich and poor, kings and slaves, Greeks and 
 barbarians/ Thus far Socrates, who was ac- 
 counted wiser than the rest of the heathens, 
 for notions which approach the nearest to 
 Christianity. 
 
 As all parts and branches of philosophy, or 
 speculative knowledge, are useful in that re- 
 spect, astronomy is peculiarly adapted to re- 
 medy a little and narrow spirit. In that science 
 there are good reasons assigned to prove the 
 sun a hundred thousand times bigger than our 
 earth, and the distance of the stars so prodigious, 
 that a cannon-bullet continuing in its ordinary 
 rapid motion, would not arrive from hence at 
 the nearest of them in the space of a hundred 
 and fifty thousand years. These ideas wonder- 
 fully dilate and expand the mind. There is 
 something in the immensity of this distance 
 that shocks and overwhelms the imagination ; 
 it is too big for the grasp of a human intellect : 
 estates, provinces, and kingdoms, vanish at its 
 presence. It were to be wished a certain 
 prince,* who hath encouraged the study of it 
 in his subjects, had been himself a proficient 
 in astronomy. This might have showed him 
 how mean an ambition that was, which ter- 
 minated in a small part of what is itself but a 
 point, in respect to that part of the universe 
 which lies within our view. 
 
 But the Christian religion ennobleth and en- 
 largeth the mind beyond any other profession 
 or science whatsoever. Upon that scheme, while 
 the earth, and the transient enjoyments of this 
 life, shrink into the narrowest dimensions, and 
 are accounted as ' the dust of a balance, the 
 drop of a bucket, yea, less than nothing,' the 
 intellectual world opens wider to our view. 
 The perfections of the Deity, the nature and 
 excellence of virtue, the dignity of the human 
 soul, are displayed in the largest characters. 
 The mind of man seems to adapt itself to the 
 different nature of its objects ; it is contracted 
 and debased by being conversant in little and 
 low things, and feels a proportionable enlarge- 
 ment arising from the contemplation of these 
 {Treat and sublime ideas. 
 
 * Lewis Xiy 
 
110 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 No. 71 
 
 The greatness of things is comparative ; ami 
 this dors not only hold in respect of extension, 
 but likewise in respect of dignity, duration, 
 and all kimls of perfection. Astronomy opens 
 [he mind, and alters our judgment, with re- 
 gard to the magnitude of extended beings ; 
 but Christianity produceth a universal great- 
 ness of soul. Philosophy increaseth our views 
 in every respect, but Christianity extends them 
 to a degree beyond the light of nature. 
 
 How mean must the most exalted potentate 
 upon earth appear to that eye which takes in 
 innumerable orders of blessed spirits, differing 
 in glory and perfection! How little must the 
 amusements of sense, and the ordinary oc- 
 cupations of mortal men, seem to one who is 
 engaged in so noble a pursuit, as the assimila- 
 tion of himself to the Deity, which is the pro- 
 per employment of every Christian ' . . * 
 
 And the improvement which grows from ha- 
 bituating the mind to the comprehensive views 
 of religion must not be thought wholly to re- 
 gard the understanding. Nothing is of greater 
 force to subdue the inordinate motions of the 
 heart, and to regulate the will. Whether a 
 man be actuated by his passions or his reason, 
 these are first wrought upon by some object, 
 which stirs the soul in proportion to its appa- 
 rent dimensions. Hence irreligious men, whose 
 short prospects are filled with earth, and sense, 
 and mortal life, are invited, by these mean 
 ideas, to actions proportionably little and low. 
 But a mind, whose views are enlightened and 
 extended by religion, is animated to nobler 
 pursuits by more sublime and remote objects. 
 
 There is not any instance of weakness in the 
 free-thinkers that raises my indignation more, 
 than their pretending to ridicule Christians, 
 as men of narrow understandings, and to pass 
 themselves upon the world for persons of su- 
 perior sense, and more enlarged views. But I 
 leave it to any impartial man to judge which 
 bath the nobler sentiments, which the greater 
 views ; he whose notions are stinted to a few 
 miserable inlets of sense, or he whose senti- 
 ments are raised above the common taste, by 
 the anticipation of those delights which will 
 satiate the soul, when the whole capacity of 
 her nature is branched out into new faculties ? 
 He who looks for nothing beyond this short 
 span of duration, or he whose aims are co-ex- 
 tended with the endless length of eternity? 
 He who derives his spirit from the elements, 
 or he who thinks it was inspired by the Al- 
 mighty ? 
 
 NO. 7 I.J Tm.-daii, June 2, 1713. 
 
 I m< ultra n. que militarb 
 
 ill ii- j 
 N< c Jui> • i. iin general, leononi 
 
 li'llllX. 
 
 lL'i-. Lib, I. Ori.xxli. 13. 
 
 No boast, of more poteofona 8i7.c, 
 In the Ilercinian forest lies ; 
 Nor fiercer in Nn'midia lired, 
 Witli Cartilage were in triumph led. 
 
 rTiiimi—HW. 
 
 I question not but my country customers 
 will be surprised to hear me complain that this 
 town is, of late years, very much infested with 
 lions : and will perhaps, look upon it as a 
 strange piece of news when I assure them that 
 there are many of these beasts of prey, who 
 walk our streets in broad day-light, beating 
 about from coffee-house to coffee-house, and 
 seeking whom they may devour. 
 
 To unriddle this paradox, I must acquaint 
 my rural reader that we polite men of the town 
 give the name of a lion to any one that is a 
 great man's spy. And whereas I cannot dis- 
 charge my office of Guardian without setting 
 a mark on such a noxious animal, and caution- 
 ing my wards against him, I design this whole 
 paper as an essay upon the political lion. 
 
 It has cost me a great deal of time to dis- 
 cover the reason of this appellation, but after 
 many disquisitions and conjectures ou so ob- 
 scure a subject, I find there are two accounts 
 of it more satisfactory than the rest. In the 
 republic of Venice, which has been always the 
 mother of politics, there are near the doge's 
 palace several large figures of lions curiously 
 wrought in marble, with mouths gaping in a 
 most enormous manner. Those who have a 
 mind to give the state any private intelligence 
 of what passes in the city, put their hands into 
 the mouth of one of these lions, and convey 
 into it a paper of such private informations as 
 any way regard the interest or safety of the 
 commonwealth. By this means all the secrets 
 of state come out of the lion's mouth. The 
 informer is concealed ; it is the lion that tells 
 every thing. In short, there is not a misma- 
 nagement in office, or a murmur in conversa- 
 tion, which the lion does not acquaint the 
 government with. For this reason, say the 
 learned, a spy is very properly distinguished 
 by the name of lion. 
 
 I must confess this etymology is plausible 
 enough, and I did for some time acquiesce in 
 it, till about a year or two ago I met with a 
 little manuscript which sets this whole matter 
 in a clear light. In the reign of queen Eliza- 
 beth, says my author, the renowned Walsing- 
 ham had many spies in his service, from whom 
 the government received great advantage. The 
 most eminent among them was the statesman's 
 barber, whose surname was Lion. This fellow 
 had an admirable knack of fishing out the 
 secrets of his customers, as they were under 
 his hands. He would rub and lather a man's 
 head, till he had got out every thing that 
 was in it. He had a certain snap in his fingers 
 and a volubility in his tongue, that would en- 
 gage u man to talk with him whether he woult" 
 
No. 71.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 ill 
 
 or no. By this means he became an inex- 
 haustible fund of private intelligence, and so 
 signalized himself in the capacity of a spy, 
 that from his time a master-spy goes under 
 the name of a lion. 
 
 Walsingham had a most excellent penetra- 
 tion, and never attempted to turn any man 
 into a lion whom he did not see highly qua- 
 lified for it when he was in his human [con- 
 dition. Indeed the speculative men of those 
 times say of him, that he would now and then 
 play them off, and expose them a little unmer- 
 cifully ; but that, in my opinion, seems only 
 good policy, for otherwise they might set up 
 for men again, when they thought fit, and 
 desert his service. But however, though in 
 that very corrupt age he made use of these 
 animals, he had a great esteem for true men, 
 and always exerted the highest generosity in 
 offering them more, without asking terms of 
 them, and doing more for them out of mere 
 respect for their talents, though against hirn, 
 than they could expect from any other minister 
 whom they had served never so conspicuously. 
 This made Raleigh (who profest himself his 
 opponent) say one day to a friend, ' Pox take 
 this Walsingham, he baffles every body ; he 
 won't so .much as let a man hate him in pri- 
 vate.' True it is, that by the wanderings, 
 roarings, and lurkings of his lions, he knew 
 the way to every man breathing, who bad 
 not a contempt for the world itself. He had 
 »ions rampant whom he -ased for the service 
 of the church, and couchant who were to lie 
 down for the queen. They were so much at 
 command, that the couchant would act as 
 the rampant, and the rampant as couchant, 
 without being the least out of countenance, 
 and all this within four-and-twenty hours. 
 Walsingham had the pleasantest life in the 
 world; for, by the force of his power and in- 
 telligence, he saw men as they really were, and 
 not as the world thought of them : all this was 
 principally brought about by feeding his lions 
 well, or keeping them hungry, according to 
 their different constitutions. 
 
 Having giving this short, but necessary ac- 
 count of this statesman and his barber, who, 
 like the tailor in Shakspeare's Pyramus and 
 Thysbe, was a man made as other men are, 
 notwithstanding he was a nominal lion, I shall 
 proceed to the description of this strange 
 species of creatures. Ever since the wise Wal- 
 singham was secretary in this nation, our 
 statesmen are said to have encouraged the 
 breed among us, as very well knowing that a 
 lion in our British arms is one of the supporters 
 of the crown, and that it is impossible for a 
 government, in which there are such a variety 
 of factions and intrigues, to subsist without 
 this necessary animal. 
 A lion, or master-spy, hath several jack-calls 
 
 under him, who are his retailers in intelligence, 
 and bring him in materials for his report ; his 
 chief haunt is a coffee-house, and as his voice 
 is exceeding strong, it aggravates the sound of 
 every thing it repeats. 
 
 As the lion generally thirsts after blood, and 
 is of a fierce and cruel nature, there are no 
 secrets which he hunts after with more delight, 
 than those that cut off heads, hang, draw, and 
 quarter, or end in the ruin of the person who 
 becomes his prey. If he gets the wind of any 
 word or action that may do a man good, it is 
 not for his purpose, he quits the chace and 
 falls into a more agreeable scent. 
 
 He discovers a wonderful sagacity in seeking 
 after his prey. He couches and frisks about 
 in a thousand sportful motions to draw it within 
 his reach, and has a particular way of imitating 
 the sound of the creature whom he would en- 
 snare ; an artifice to be met with in no beast 
 of prey, except the hyaena and the political 
 lion. 
 
 You seldom see a cluster of newsmongers 
 without a lion in the midst of them. He never 
 misses taking his stand within ear-shot of one 
 of those little ambitious men who set up for 
 orators in places of public resort. If there is a 
 whispering-hole, or any public-spirited corner 
 in a coffee-house, you never fail of seeing a 
 lion couched upon his elbow in some part of 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 A lion is particularly addicted to the perusal 
 of every loose paper that lies in his way. He ap- 
 pears more than ordinary attentive to what he 
 reads, while he listens to those who are about 
 him. He takes up the Post-man, and snuffs 
 the candle that he may hear the better by it. I 
 have seen a lion pore upon a single paragraph 
 in an old gazatte for two hours together, if his 
 neighbours have been talking all that while. 
 
 Having given a full description of this mon- 
 ster, for the benefit of such innocent persons 
 as may fall into his walks, I shall apply a word 
 or two to the lion himself, whom I would desire 
 to consider that he is a creature hated both by 
 God and man, and regarded with the utmost 
 contempt even by such as make use of him. 
 Hangmen and executioners are necessary in a 
 state, and so may the animal I have been here 
 mentioning ; but how despicable is the wretch 
 that takes on him so vile an employment ? 
 There is scarce a being that would not suffer 
 by a comparison with him, except that being 
 only who acts the same kind of part, and is 
 both the tempter and accuser of mankind. 
 
 N. B. Mr. Ironside has, within five weeks 
 last past, muazled three lions, gorged five, and 
 killed one. On Monday next the skin of the 
 dead one will be hung up in terrorem, at 
 Button's coffee-house, over against Tom's in 
 Covent-Garden, fc 3 * 
 
112 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 72. 
 
 7-?..] If, Jnesday, June 3, 1713. 
 
 In viiinni Illicit. is cxiidit, el vim 
 
 1 ' (Mm k u«-- ragi Hor. Ars Toet. vcr. 282. 
 
 — lis liberty wu tnrned to rage; 
 
 Such rage as civil pow'r was forc'd to tame. — Creech. 
 
 Oxford is a place which I am more inqui- 
 sitive about than even that of my nativity; 
 and when I have an account of any sprightly 
 saving, or rising genius from thence, it brings 
 my own youthful days into my mind, and 
 throws me forty years back into life. It is for 
 this reason, that I have thought myself a little 
 neglected of late by Jack Lizard, from whom 
 I used to hear at least once a week. The last 
 post brought me his excuse, which is, that he 
 hath been wholly taken up in preparing some 
 exercises for the theatre. He tells me like- 
 wise, that the talk there is about a public act, 
 and that the gay part of the university have 
 great expectation of a Terrae-filius, who is to 
 lash and stkig all the world in a satyrical 
 speech. Against the great licence which hath 
 heretofore been taken in these libels, he ex- 
 presses himself with such humanity, as is very 
 unusual in a young person, and ought to be 
 cherished and admired. For my own part, 
 I so far agree with him, that if the university 
 permits a thing, which I think much better let 
 alone; I hope those, whose duty it is to ap- 
 point a proper person for that office, will take 
 care that he utter nothing unbecoming a gen- 
 tleman, a scholar, and a Christian. Moreover, 
 I would have them consider that their learned 
 body hath already enemies enough, who are 
 prepared to aggravate all irreverent insinu- 
 ations, and to interpret all oblique indecencies, 
 who will triumph in such a victory, and bid the 
 university thank herself for the consequences. 
 In my time I remember the Terrae-filius 
 contented himself with being bitter upon the 
 pope, or chastising the Turk ; and raised a 
 serious and manly mirth, and adapted to the 
 dignity of his auditory, by exposing the false 
 reasoning of the heretic, or ridiculing the 
 clumsy pretenders to genius and politeness. 
 In the jovial reign of king Charles the Second, 
 wherein never did more wit or more ribaldry 
 abound, the fashion of being arch upon all that 
 was grave, and waggish upon the ladies, crept 
 into our seats of learning upon these occasions. 
 This was managed grossly and awkwardly 
 enough, in a place where the general plainness 
 and simplicity of manners could ill bear the 
 mention of such crimes, as in courts and great 
 cities arc called by the specious names of air 
 ami gallantry. It is to me amazing, that ever 
 any man, bred up in the knowledge of virtue 
 ami humanity, should so far cast oil' all shame 
 and tenderness, as to stand up in the face of 
 
 thousands, and utter such contumelies as 1 have 
 j cad and heard of. Let such a one know that 
 
 he is making fools merry, and wise men 6ick ; 
 and that, in the eye of considering persons, he 
 hath less compunction than the common hang- 
 man, and less shame than a prostitute. 
 
 lufamy is so cutting an evil, that most per- 
 sons who have any elevation of soul, think it 
 worse than death. Those who have it not in 
 their power to revenge it, often pine away in 
 anguish, and loath their being ; and those who 
 have, enjoy no rest till they have vengeance. 
 I shall therefore make it the business of this 
 paper to show how base and ungenerous it is 
 to traduce the women, and how dangerous 
 to expose men of learning and character, who 
 have generally been the subjects of these in- 
 vectives. 
 
 It hath been often said, that women seem 
 formed to soften the boisterous passions, and 
 sooth the cares and anxieties to which men 
 are exposed in the many perplexities of life. 
 That having weaker bodies, and less strength 
 of mind than man, nature hath poured out 
 her charms upon them, and given them such 
 tenderness of heart, that the most delicate de- 
 light we receive from them is, in thinking them 
 entirely ours, and under our protection. Ac- 
 cordingly we find, that all nations have paid a 
 decent homage to this weaker and lovelier part 
 of the rational creation, in proportion to their 
 removal from savageness and barbarism. Chas- 
 tity and truth are the only due returns that 
 that they can make for this generous dispo- 
 sition in the nobler sex. For beauty is so far 
 from satisfying us of itself, that whenever we 
 think that it is communicated to others, we 
 behold it with regret and disdain. "Whoever 
 therefore robs a woman of her reputation, de- 
 spoils a poor defenceless creature of all that 
 makes her valuable, turns her beauty into 
 loathsomeness, and leaves her friendless, aban- 
 doned, and undone. There are many tempers 
 so soft that the least calumny gives them pains 
 they are not able to bear. They give them- 
 selves up to strange fears, gloomy reflections, 
 and deep melancholy. How savage must he 
 be, who can sacrifice the quiet of such a mind 
 to a transient burst of mirth ! Let him who 
 wantonly sports away the peace of a poor lady 
 consider what discord he sows in families; how 
 often he wrings the heart, of a hoary parent ; 
 how often he rouses the fury of a jealous hus- 
 band ; how he extorts from the abused woman 
 curses, perhaps not unheard, and pouredSout 
 in the bitterness of her soul ! What weapons 
 hath she wherewith to repel such an outrage I. 
 How shall she oppose her softness and imbe- 
 cility to the hardened forehead of a coward 
 who hath trampled upon weakness that t-ould 
 not resist him! to a buffoon, who hath slan- 
 dered innocence to raise the laughter of fools ! 
 who hath ' scattered firebrands, arrows, and 
 deaths, and said, am I not in sport'.' 
 
No. 72.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 113 
 
 Irreverent reflections upon men of learning 
 and note, if their character be sacred, do great 
 disservice to religion, and betray a vile mind 
 in the author. I have therefore always thought 
 with indignation upon that c accuser of the 
 brethren,' the famous antiquary,* whose em- 
 ployment it was for several years, to rake up 
 all the ill-natured stories that had ever been 
 fastened upon celebrated men, and transmit 
 them to posterity with cruel industry, and 
 malicious joy. Though the good men, ill-used, 
 may out of a meek and Christian disposition, 
 so far subdue their natural resentment, as to 
 neglect and forgive; yet the inventors of such 
 calumnies will find generous persons, whose 
 bravery of mind makes them think themselves 
 proper instruments to chastise such insolence. 
 And I have in my time, more than once known 
 the discipline of the blanket administered to 
 the offenders, and all their slanders answered 
 by that kind of syllogism which the ancient 
 Romans called the argumentum bacillinum. ^ 
 
 I have less compassion for men of sprightly 
 parts and genius, whose characters are played 
 upon, because they have it in their power to 
 revenge themselves tenfold. But I think of 
 all the classes of mankind, they are the most 
 pardonable if they pay the slanderer in his own 
 coin. For their names being already blazed 
 abroad in the world, the least blot thrown upon 
 them is displayed far and wide ; and they have 
 this sad privilege above the men in obscurity, 
 that the dishonour travels as far as their fame. 
 To be even therefore with their enemy, they 
 are but too apt to diffuse his infamy as far as 
 their own reputation ; and perhaps triumph in 
 secret, that they have it in their power to make 
 his name the scoff and derision of after-ages. 
 This, I say, they are too apt to do. For some- 
 times they resent the exposing of their little 
 affectations or slips in writing, as much as 
 wounds upon their honour. The first are trifles 
 they should laugh away, but the latter deserves 
 their utmost severity. 
 
 I must confess a warmth against the buf- 
 fooneries mentioned in the beginning of this 
 paper, as they have so many circumstances to 
 aggravate their guilt. A licence for a man to 
 stand up in the schools of the prophets, in a 
 grave decent habit, and audaciously vent his 
 obloquies against the doctors of our church, 
 and directors of our young nobility, gentry 
 and clergy, in their hearing and before their 
 eyes : to throw calumnies upon poor defence- 
 less women, and offend their ears with nauseous 
 ribaldry, ar.«J name their names at length in a 
 public theatre, when a queen is upon the throne : 
 such a licence as this never yet gained ground 
 in our playhouses ; and I hope will not need a 
 
 * Anthony Wood, author of th /TUiense Oxoniensis, a 
 valuable collection of the lives of writers and bishops edu- 
 cated at Oxford, 2 vols, folio, l6Q\. 
 
 law to forbid it. Were I to advise in this 
 matter, I should represent to the orator how 
 noble a field there lay before him for panegyric ; 
 what a happy opportunity he had of doing jus- 
 tice to the great men who once were of that 
 famous body, or now shine forth in it ; nor 
 should I neglect to insinuate the advantages 
 he might propose by gaining their friendship, 
 whose worth, by a contrary treatment, he will 
 be imagined either not to know, or to envy. 
 This might rescue the name from scandal; 
 and if, as it ought, this performance turned 
 solely upon matters of wit and learning, it 
 might have the honour of being one of the 
 first productions of the magnificent printing 
 house, just erected at Oxford. 
 
 This paper is written with a design to make 
 my journey to Oxford agreeable to me, where 
 I design to be at the Public Act. If my advice 
 is neglected, I shall not scruple to insert in 
 the Guardian whatever the men of letters and 
 genius transmit to me, in their own vindication; 
 and I hereby promise that I myself will draw 
 my pen in defence of all injured women. 
 
 No. 73.] Thursday , June 4, 1713. 
 
 In amore hsc insunt omnia. 
 
 Ter. Enn. Act. i. Sc. 1. 
 All these things are inseparable from love. 
 
 It is a matter of great concern that there 
 come so many letters to me, wherein I see 
 parents make love for their children, and, 
 without any manner of regard to the season of 
 life, and the respective interests of their pro- 
 geny, judge of their future happiness by the 
 rules of ordinary commerce. When a man 
 falls in love in some families, they use him as 
 if his land was mortgaged to them, and he 
 cannot discharge himself, but by really making 
 it the same thing in an unreasonable settle- 
 ment, or foregoing what is dearer to him than 
 his estate itself. These extortioners are of all 
 others the most cruel, and the sharks, who 
 prey upon the inadvertency of young heirs, are 
 more pardonable than those who trespass upon 
 the good opinion of those who treat with them 
 upon the foot of choice and respect. The fol- 
 lowing letters may place in the reader's view 
 uneasinesses of this sort, which may perhaps 
 be useful to some under the circumstances 
 mentioned by my correspondents. 
 
 * To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 From a certain town in Cumberland, May 21. 
 ' VENERABLE SIR, 
 ' It is impossible to express the universal 
 satisfaction your precautions give in a country 
 so far north as ours ; and indeed it were im- 
 pertinent to expatiate in a case that is by no 
 means particular to ourselves, all mankind, 
 
114 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 73 
 
 who wish well to one another, being equally 
 c o n cern ed in their success. However, as all 
 
 nations hive not the genius, and each parti- 
 ( ular in. m has his different views and taste, 
 we northerns cannot but acknowledge our ob- 
 ligations in a more especial manner, for your 
 matrimonial precautions, which we more im- 
 mediately are interested in. Our climate has 
 ever been recorded as friendly to the conti- 
 nuation of our kind; and the ancient histories 
 are not more full of their Goths and Vandals, 
 that in swarms overspread all Europe, than 
 modern story of its Yorkshire hostlers and at- 
 torneys, who are remarkably eminent and be- 
 neficial in every market-town, and most inns 
 of this kingdom. I shall not here presume to 
 enter, with the ancient sages, into a particular 
 reasoning upon the case, as whether it proceeds 
 from the cold temper of the air, or the parti- 
 cular constitutions of the persons, or both ; 
 from the fashionable want of artifice in the 
 women, and their entire satisfaction in one 
 conquest only, or the happy ignorance in the 
 men, of those southern vices which effeminate 
 mankind. 
 
 1 From this encomium, I do not question 
 but by this time you infer me happy already 
 in the legal possession of some fair one, or in 
 a propable way of being so. But alas ! neither 
 is my case, and from the cold damp which this 
 minute seizes upon my heart, I presage never 
 will. What shall I do ? To complain here is 
 to talk to winds, or mortals as regardless as 
 they. The tempestuous storms in the neigh- 
 bouring mountains, are not more relentless, 
 or the crags more deaf, than the old gentle- 
 man is to my sighs and prayers. The lovely 
 Pastorella indeed hears and gently sighs, but 
 it is only to increase my tortures ; she is too 
 dutiful to disobey a father ; and I neither able, 
 nor forward, to receive her by an act of dis- 
 obedience. 
 
 * As to myself, my humour, until this acci- 
 dent to ruffle it, has ever been gay and thought- 
 less, perpetually toying amongst the women, 
 dancing briskly, and singing softly. For I take 
 it, more men miscarry amongst them for hav- 
 ing too much than too little understanding. 
 Pastorella seems willing to relieve me from 
 my frights ; and by her constant carriage, by 
 admitting my visits at all hours, has convinced 
 all hereabouts of my happiness with her, and 
 occasioned a total defection amongst her for- 
 mer lovers, to my infinite contentment. Ah ! 
 Mr. Ironside, could you but see in a calm 
 evening the profusion of ease and tenderness 
 oetwixt us '. The murmuring river that glides 
 gently by, the cooing turtles in the neighbour- 
 ing groves, are harsh compared to her more 
 -un.ful voice. The happy pair, first joined in 
 Paradise, not more enamoured walked ! more 
 sweetly loved ! Hut alas ! what is all this ! an 
 tin ternary Joy, iu which we trifle away our pre- 
 
 cious time, without coming together for ever. 
 That must depend upon the old gentleman, 
 who sees I cannot live without his daughter, 
 and knows 1 cannot, upon his terms, be ever 
 happy with her. I beg of you to send for us 
 all up to town together, that we maybe heard 
 before you (for we all agree in a deference to 
 your judgment) upon these heads, Whether 
 the authority of a father should not accom- 
 modate itself to the liberty of a free-born Eng- 
 lish woman ? 
 
 1 Whether, if you think fit to take the old 
 gentleman into your care, the daughter may 
 not choose her lover for her Guardian ? 
 
 * Whether all parents are not obliged to 
 provide for the just passions of their children 
 when grown up, as well as food and raiment 
 in their tender years ? 
 
 1 These and such points being unsettled in 
 the world, are cause of great distraction, atvd 
 it would be worthy your great age and expe- 
 rience, to consider them distinctly for the be- 
 nefit of domestic life. All which, most vener- 
 able Nestor, is humbly submitted by all your 
 northern friends, as well as 
 
 * Your most obedient, and 
 
 * devoted humble servant, 
 
 « PASTOR FIDO.' 
 « MR. IRONSIDE, 
 
 1 We who subscribe this, are man and wife, 
 and have been so these fifteen years : but you 
 must know we have quarrelled twice a day ever 
 since we came together, and at the same time 
 have a very tender regard for one another. We 
 observe this habitual disputation has an ill 
 effect upon our children, and they lose their 
 respect towards us from this jangling of ours. 
 We lately entered into an agreement, that from 
 that time forward, when either should fall into 
 passion, the party angry should go into an- 
 other room, and write a note to the other by 
 one of the children, and the person writ to, 
 right or wrong, beg pardon ; because the wri- 
 ting to avoid passion, is in itself an act of kind- 
 ness. This little method, with the smiles of 
 the messengers, and other nameless incidents 
 in the management of this correspondence 
 with the next room, has produced inexpressible 
 delight, made our children and servants cheer- 
 ful under our care and protection, and made 
 us ourselves sensible of a thousand good qua- 
 lities we now see in each other, which could 
 not before shine out, because of our mutual 
 impatience. 
 
 1 Your humble servants, 
 
 « PHILIP AND MARY. 
 
 ' P. S. Since the above, my wife is gone out 
 of the room, and writes word by Billy, that she 
 would have in the above letter, the words 
 " jangling of ours," changed into the words, 
 " these our frequent debates." I allow of the 
 amendment, and desire you would understand 
 accordingly, that we never jangled, but went 
 
No. 74.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 115 
 
 into frequent debates, which were always held 
 in a committee of the whole house.* 
 
 * To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 
 ' SAGACIOUS SIR, 
 ' We married men reckon ourselves under 
 your ward, as well as those who live in a less 
 regular condition. You must know, I have a 
 wife, who is one of those good women who are 
 never very angry, or very much pleased. My 
 dear is rather inclined to the former, and will 
 walk about in soliloquy, dropping sentences to 
 herself of management, saying " she will say 
 nothing, but she knows when her head is laid 
 what — " and the rest of that kind of half ex- 
 pressions. I am never inquisitive to know 
 what is her grievance, because I know it is 
 only constitution. I call her by the kind ap- 
 pellation of My Gentle Murmur, and I am so 
 used to hear her, that I believe I could not 
 sleep without it. It would not be amiss if you 
 communicated this to the public, that many 
 who think their wives angry, may know they 
 are only not pleased, and that very many come 
 into this world, and go out of it at a very good 
 old age, without having ever been much trans- 
 ported with joy or grief in their whole lives. 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 ' ARTHUR SMOOTH.' 
 
 « MOST VENERABLE NESTOR, 
 ' I am now three and twenty, and in the 
 utmost perplexity how to behave myself towards 
 a gentleman whom my father has admitted to 
 visit me as a lover. I plainly perceive my father 
 designs to take advantage of his passion to- 
 wards me, and require terms of him which will 
 make him fly off. I have orders to be cold to 
 him in all my behaviour ; but if you insert this 
 letter in the Guardian, he will know that dis- 
 tance is constrained. I love him better than 
 life, am satisfied with the offer he has made, 
 and desire him to stick to it, that he may not 
 hereafter think he has purchased me too dear. 
 My mother knows I love him, so that my 
 father must comply. 
 
 * Your thankful ward, 
 
 ' SUSANNA 
 
 * P. S. I give my service to him, and desire 
 the settlement may be such as shows I have 
 my thoughts fixed upon my happiness in being 
 his wife rather than bis widow.' 
 
 No. 74.] Friday, June 5, 1713. 
 
 Magne Parens, sancta quam majestate verenrius I 
 
 Buchan. 
 
 Great Parent ! how majestic ! how adorable ! 
 
 I will make no apology for preferring this 
 letter, and the extract following, to any thing 
 else which 1 could possibly insert. 
 
 ♦ 6IR, Cambridge, May 31. 
 
 ' You having been pleased to take notice of 
 what you conceived excellent in some of our 
 English divines, I have here presumed to send 
 a specimen, which, if I am not mistaken, may, 
 for acuteness of judgment, ornament of speech, 
 and true sublime, compare with any of the 
 choicest writings of the ancient fathers or doc- 
 tors of the church, who lived nearest to the 
 apostles' times. The subject is no less than 
 that of God himself ; and the design, besides 
 doing some honour to our own nation, is to 
 show by a fresh example, to what a height and 
 strength of thought a person, who appears not 
 to be by nature endued with the quickest parts, 
 may arrive, through a sincere and steady prac- 
 tice of the Christian religion ; I mean, as taught 
 and administered in the church of England : 
 which will, at the same time, prove that the 
 force of spiritual assistance is not at all abated 
 by length of time, or the iniquity of mankind ; 
 but that if men were not wanting to them- 
 selves, and (as our excellent author speaks) 
 could but be persuaded to conform to our 
 church's rules, they might still live as the pri- 
 mitive Christians did, and come short of none 
 of those eminent saints for virtue and holiness. 
 The author from whom this collection is made, 
 is bishop Beveridge, vol. ii. serm. 1. 
 
 ' PHILOTHEUS.' 
 
 In treating upon that passage in the book of 
 Exodus, where Moses being ordered to lead the 
 children of Israel out of Egypt, he asked God 
 what name he should mention him by to that 
 people, in order to dispose them to obey him ; 
 and God answered, * I Am that I Am ;' and 
 bade him tell them, ' I Am hath sent me unto 
 you ;' the admirable author thus discourses : 
 * God having been pleased to reveal himself to 
 us under this name or title, " I Am that I Am," 
 he thereby suggests to us, that he would not 
 have us apprehend of him, as of any particular 
 or limited being, but as a being in general, or 
 the Being of all beings ; who giveth being to, 
 and therefore exerciseth authority over, all 
 things in the world. He did not answer Moses, 
 " I am the great, the living, the true, the 
 everlasting God," he did not say, " I am the 
 almighty creator, preserver, and governor, of 
 the whole world," but " I Am that I Am :" in- 
 timating, that if Moses desired such a name of 
 God as might fully describe his nature as in 
 itself, that is a thing impossible, there being no 
 words to be found in any language, whereby to 
 express the glory of an infinite being, especially 
 so as that finite creatures should be able fully 
 to conceive it. Yet, however, in these words 
 he is pleased to acquaint us what kind of 
 thoughts he would have us entertain of him . 
 insomuch, that could we but rightly apprehend 
 what is couched under, and intended by them, 
 we bhould doubtless have as high and true 
 conceptions of God as it is possible for creatures 
 
 
116 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [\o. ;•». 
 
 to have.' The answer. given suggests farther 
 
 to us these following notions of the most high 
 God. ' First, tliat he is one being, existing in 
 and of himself: his unity is implied in that he 
 siitli, " I ;" his existence in that he saith, 
 " I Am ;" his existence in and of himself, in 
 that he saith, " I Am that I Am," that is, " I 
 am in and of myself," not receiving- any thing 
 
 from, nor depending upon any other. The 
 
 same expression implies, that as God is only 
 one, so that he is a most pure and simple be- 
 ing; for here, we see, he admits nothing into 
 the manifestation of himself but pure essence, 
 saying, " I Am that 1 Am," that is, heing itself, 
 without any mixture or composition. And 
 therefore we must not conceive of God, as made 
 up of several parts, or faculties, or ingredients, 
 but only as one who " is that he is," and 
 whatsoever is in him is himself : And although 
 we read of several properties attributed to him 
 in scripture, as wisdom, goodness, justice, &c. 
 we must not apprehend them to be several 
 powers, habits, or qualities, as they are in us ; 
 for as they are in God, they are neither distin- 
 guished from one another, nor from his nature 
 or essence, in whom they are said to be. In 
 whom, I say, they are said to be : for to speak 
 properly, they are not in him, but are his very 
 essence, or nature itself; which acting seve- 
 rally upon several objects, seems to us to act 
 from several properties or perfections in him ; 
 whereas all the difference is only in our dif- 
 ferent apprehensions of the same thing. God 
 in himself is a most simple and pure act, and 
 therefore cannot have any thing in him, but 
 what is that most simple and pure act itself ; 
 which seeing it bringeth upon every creature 
 what it deserves, we conceive of it as of several 
 divine perfections in the same Almighty Being. 
 Whereas God, whose understanding is infinite 
 as himself, doth not apprehend himself under 
 the distiuct notions of wisdom, or goodness, or 
 justice, or the like, but only as Jehovah : And 
 therefore, in this place, he doth not say, " I 
 am wise, or just, or good," but simply, " I Am 
 that I Am."' 
 
 Having thus offered at something towards 
 
 the explication of the first of these mysterious 
 
 sayings in the answer God made to Moses, 
 
 when he designed to encourage him to lead his 
 
 people out of Egypt, he proceeds to consider 
 
 the other, whereby God calls himself absolutely 
 
 I Ant.' Concerning which he takes notice, 
 
 that though, " I Am" be commonly a verb of 
 
 thfl first person, yet it is here used as a noun 
 
 substantive, or proper name, and is the nomi- 
 
 C8SC to another verb of the third person 
 
 in these words, " I Am hath sent me unto you." 
 
 A itrange expression I Hut when God speaks 
 «»r himself, he cannot be confined to grammar; 
 
 mils, being infinitely above and beyond the 
 reaeh el nil languages it. the world. And 
 
 therefore, it is do wonder that when he would 
 
 reveal himself, he goes out of our common way 
 of speaking one to another, and expresseth 
 himself in a way peculiar to himself, and sueh 
 as is suitable and proper to his own nature 
 and glory. 
 
 1 Hence, therefore, as when he speaks of 
 himself and his own eternal essence, he saith, 
 "1 Am that I Am ;" so when he speaks Of 
 himself, with reference to his creatures, and 
 especially to his people, he saith, " I Am." 
 He doth not say " I am their light, their life, 
 their guide, their strength, or tower," but only 
 " I Am :" He sets as it were his hand to a 
 blank, that his people may write under it what 
 they please that is good for them. As if he 
 should say, " Are they weak ? I am Strength. 
 Are they poor ? I am Riches. Are they in 
 trouble? I am Comfort. Are they sick? I am 
 Health. Are they dying ? I am Life. Have 
 they nothing ? I am All Things. I am Wisdom 
 and Power, I am Justice and Mercy. I am 
 Grace and Goodness, I am Glory, Beauty, Ho- 
 liness, Eminency, Supereminency, Perfection, 
 All- sufficiency, Eternity, Jehohah, I Am. What- 
 soever is suitable to their nature, or convenient 
 for them in their several conditions, that J am. 
 Whatsoever is amiable in itself, or desirable 
 unto them, that 1 am. Whatsoever is pure 
 and holy ; whatsoever is great or pleasant ; 
 whatsoever is good or needful to make men 
 happy ; that 1 am." So that, in short, G>d 
 here represents himself unto us as a universal 
 good, and leaves us to make the application 
 of it to ourselves, according to our several 
 wants, capacities, and desires, by saying only 
 in general, " I Am.'" 
 
 Again, page 27, he thus discourses : ' There 
 is more solid joy and comfort, more real delight 
 and satisfaction of mind, in one single thought 
 of God, rightly formed, than all, the riches, 
 and honours, and pleasures of this world, put 
 them all together, are able to afford. — Let us 
 then call in all our scattered thoughts from all 
 things here below, and raise them up and unite 
 them all to the most high God; apprehending 
 him under the idea, image, or likeness of any 
 thing else, but as infinitely greater, and higher, 
 and better than all things; as one existing in 
 and of himself, and giving essence and exist- 
 ence to all things in the world besides himself; 
 as one so pure and simple that there is nothing 
 in him but himself, but essence and being 
 itself; as one so infinite and omnipotent, that 
 wheresoever any thing else is in the whole 
 world, there he is, and beyond the world, where 
 nothing else is, there all things are, because he 
 is there, as one so wise, so knowing, so omni- 
 scient, that he at this very moment, and always, 
 sees what all the angels are doing in heaven ; 
 what all the fowls are doing in the air; what 
 all the fishes are doing in the waters ; what 
 all the devils are doing in hell ; what all the 
 men and beasts, and the very insects, are doing 
 
No. 75.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 117 
 
 upon earth ; as one so powerful and omnipo- 
 tent, that he can do whatsoever he will, only 
 by willing it should be done; as one so great, 
 so good, so glorious, so immutable, so tran- 
 scendent, so infinite, so incomprehensible, so 
 eternal, what shall I say? so Jehovah, that 
 the more we think of him, the more we admire 
 him, the more we adore him, the more we love 
 him, the more we may and ought ; our highest 
 conceptions of him being as much beneath him, 
 as our greatest services come short of what we 
 owe him. 
 
 ' Seeing therefore we cannot think of God 
 so highly as he is, let us think of him as highly 
 as we can : and for that end let us get above 
 ourselves, and above the world, and raise up 
 our thoughts higher and higher, and higher 
 still, and when we have got them up as high 
 as possibly we can, let us apprehend a Being 
 infinitely higher than the highest of them; 
 and then finding ourselves at a loss, amazed, 
 confounded at such an infinite height of infi- 
 nite perfections, let us fall down in humble anil 
 hearty desires to be freed from those dark 
 prisons wherein we are now immured, that we 
 may take our flight into eternity, and there 
 (through the merits of our blessed Saviour) see 
 this infinite Being face to face, and enjoy him 
 for ever.' 
 
 No. 75.] Saturday, June 6, 1713. 
 
 Hie est, ant nusquam, quod quaerimus. 
 
 Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. xvii. 30. 
 
 — Here, or no where, we may hope to find 
 What we desire. Creech. 
 
 This paper shall consist of extracts from two 
 great divines, but of very different genius. The 
 one is to be admired for convincing the under- 
 standing, the other for inflaming the heart. 
 The former urges us in this plain and forcible 
 manner to an inquiry into religion, and prac- 
 tising its precepts. 
 
 * Suppose the world began some time to be; 
 it must either be made by counsel and design, 
 that is, produced by some being that knew 
 what it did, that did contrive it and frame it 
 as it is ; which it is easy to conceive, a being 
 that is infinitely good, and wise, and powerful, 
 might do: but this is to own a God. Or else 
 the matter of it being supposed to have been 
 always, and in continual motion and tumult, 
 it at last happened to fall into this order, and 
 the parts of matter, after various agitations, 
 were at length entangled and knit together in 
 this order, in which we see the world to be. 
 But can any man think this reasonable to 
 imagine, that in the infinite variety which is 
 in the world, all things should happen by 
 chance, as well, and as orderly, as the greatest 
 wisdom could have contrived them ? Whoever 
 
 can believe this, must do it with his will, and 
 not with his understanding. 
 
 * Supposing the reasons for and against the 
 principles of religion were equal, yet the dan- 
 ger and hazard is so unequal, as would sway a 
 prudent man to the affirmative. Suppose a 
 man believe there is no God, nor life after this, 
 and suppose he be in the right, but not certain 
 that he is (for that I am sure in this case is 
 impossible) ; all the advantage he hath by this 
 opinion relates only to this world and this pre- 
 sent time; for he cannot be the better for it 
 when he is not. Now what advantage will it 
 be to him in this life ? He shall have the more 
 liberty to do what he pleaseth ; that is, it fur- 
 nisheth him with a stronger temptation to be 
 intemperate, and lustful, and unjust, that is, 
 to do those things which prejudice his body, 
 and his health, which cloud his reason, and 
 darken his understanding, which will make 
 him enemies in the world, will bring him into 
 danger. So that it is no advantage to any 
 man to be vicious ; and yet this is the greatest 
 use that is made of atheistical principles; to 
 comfort men in their vicious courses. But if 
 thou hast a mind to be virtuous, and temperate, 
 and just, the belief of the principles of religion 
 will be no obstacle, but a furtherance to thee 
 in this course. All the advantage a man can 
 hope for, by disbelieving the principles of reli- 
 gion, is to escape trouble and persecution in 
 this world, which may happen to him upon 
 account of religion. But supposing there be 
 a God, and a life after this ; then what a vast 
 difference is there of the consequences of these 
 opinions ! As rcuch as between finite and infi- 
 nite, time and eternity. 
 
 * To persuade men to believe the scriptures, 
 I only offer this to men's consideration : If 
 there be a God, whose providence governs the 
 world, and all the creatures in it, is it not 
 reasonable to think that he hath a particular 
 care of men, the noblest part of this visible 
 world ? And seeing he hath made them capable 
 of eternal duration, that he hath provided for 
 their eternal happiness, and sufficiently revealed 
 to them the way to it, and the terms and con- 
 ditions of it! Now let any man produce any 
 book in the world, that pretends to be from 
 God, and to do this, that for the matter of it 
 is so worthy of God, the doctrines whereof are 
 so useful, and the precepts so reasonable, and 
 the arguments so powerful, the truth of all 
 which was confirmed by so many great and 
 unquestionable miracles, the relation of whi^h 
 has been transmitted to posterity in public and 
 authentic records, written by those who were 
 eye and ear witnesses of what they wrote, and 
 free from suspicion of any worldly interest and 
 design ; let any produce a book like to this, in 
 all these respects ; and which, over and besides, 
 hath, by the power and reasonableness of the 
 doctrines contained in it, prevailed so nairacu 
 
la 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 76. 
 
 kMMly in the WOrW, by weak find inconsiderable 
 means, in opposition to all the wit and power 
 of the world, sod under such discouragements 
 as DO other religion «as ever assaulted with; 
 let <ii\ man bring forth such a book, and he 
 bath my leave to believe it as soon as the Bible. 
 But if there be none such, as I am well assured 
 there is not, then every one that thinks God 
 hath revealed himself to men, ought to em- 
 brace and entertain the doctrine of the holy 
 scriptures, as revealed by God. 
 
 4 And now having presented men with such 
 arguments and considerations as are proper, 
 and I think sufficient to induce belief, I think 
 it not unreasonable to entreat and urge men 
 diligently and impartially to consider these 
 matters; and if there be weight in these con- 
 siderations to sway reasonable men, that they 
 would not suffer themselves to be biassed by 
 prejudice, or passion, or interest, to a contrary 
 persuasion. Thus much I may with reason de- 
 sire of men; for though men cannot believe 
 what they will, yet men may, if they will, con- 
 sider things seriously and impartially, and yield 
 or w ithhold their assent, as they shall see cause, 
 after a thorough search and examination. 1 
 
 1 If any man will offer a serious argument 
 against any of the principles of religion, and 
 will debate the matter soberly, as one that 
 considers the infinite consequences of these 
 things one way or other, and would gladly 
 be satisfied, he deserves to be heard what he 
 can say ; but if a man will turn religion into 
 raiilery, and confute it by two or three bold 
 jests, he doth not make religion, but himself, 
 ridiculous, in the opinion of all considerate 
 men, because he sports with his life. 
 
 1 So that it concerns every man that would 
 not trifle away his soul, and fool himself into 
 irrecoverable misery, with the greatest serious- 
 ness to inquire into these things, whether they 
 be so, or no, and patiently to consider the ar- 
 guments that are brought for them. 
 
 1 And when you are examining these matters, 
 do not take into consideration any sensual or 
 worldly interest; but deal fairly and impar- 
 tially with yourselves. Think with yourselves 
 that you have not the making of things true 
 and false, that the principles of religion are 
 < ither true or false, before you think of them. 
 The truth of things is already fixed; either 
 there i> a God, or no God; either your soids 
 are immortal, or they are not ; either the scrip- 
 turei He i divine revelation, or an imposture; 
 one "f these is certain and necessary, and they 
 are DOt now to he altered. Things will not 
 Comply with your conceits, and bend themselves 
 to your interests: therefore do not think what 
 you would bare to be; but consider impartially 
 
 what is.' 
 
 The other great writer is particularly useful 
 
 in bii rapturoui soliloquies, wherein he thinks 
 of the Deity with the highest admiration, and 
 
 beholds himself with the most contrite lowli- 
 ness. ' My present business,' says he, ' is to 
 treat of God, his being and attributes; but 
 " who is sufficient for these things ?" At least, 
 who am I, a silly worm, that 1 should take 
 upon me to speak of him, by whom alone I 
 speak ; and being myself but a finite sinful 
 creature, should strive to unveil the nature of 
 the infinite and Most Holy God! Alas! I can- 
 not so much as begin to think of him, but 
 immediately my thoughts are confounded, my 
 heart is perplexed, my mind amazed, my head 
 turns round, my whole soul seems to be un- 
 hinged and overwhelmed within me. His 
 mercy exalts me: His justice depresseth me: 
 His wisdom astonisheth me: His power af- 
 frights me: His glory dazzles mine eyes: 
 and " by reason of his highness," as Job speaks, 
 I cannot endure: But the least glimpse of 
 Him makes me " abhor myself and repent in 
 dust and ashes" before Him.' 
 
 No. 76.] Monday, June 8, 1713. 
 
 Solos aio bene vlvere, quorum 
 
 Consplcitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis. 
 
 Hot. Lib. 1. Ep. xv. 45. 
 
 •Tin se are blest and only those, 
 
 Whose stately house their hidden treasure shows. 
 
 Creech. 
 
 I kver thought it my duty to preserve peace 
 and love among my wards. And since 1 have 
 set up for a universal Guardian, 1 have laid 
 nothing more to heart than the differences and 
 quarrels between the landed and the trading 
 interests of my country, which indeed compre- 
 hend the whole. 1 shall always contribute, to 
 the utmost of my power, to reconcile these in- 
 terests to each other, and to make them both 
 sensible that their mutual happiness depends 
 upon their being friends. 
 
 They mutually furnish each other with all 
 the necessaries and conveniencies of life ; the 
 land supplies the traders with corn, cattle, 
 wool, aud generally all the materials, either for 
 their subsistence or their riches; the traders 
 in return provide the gentlemen with houses, 
 clothes, and many other things, without which 
 their life at best would be uncomfortable. Yet 
 these very interests are almost always clashing; 
 the traders consider every high duty upon any 
 part of their trade as proceeding from jealousy 
 in the gentlemen of their rivaling them too 
 fast; and they are often enemies on this ac- 
 count. The gentlemen, on the other hand, 
 think they can never lay too great a burden 
 upon trade, though in every thing they eat 
 aud drink and wear, they are sure to bear the 
 greatest part themselves. 
 
 I shall endeavour as much as possible, to 
 remove this emulation between the parties, 
 and in the first place to convince the traders, 
 that in many instances high duties maybe laid 
 
No. 76.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 119 
 
 upon their imports, to en.arge the general 
 trade of the kingdom. For example, if there 
 should he laid a prohibition, or high duties 
 which shall amount to a prohibition, upon the 
 imports from any other country which takes 
 from us a million sterling every year, and re- 
 turns us nothing else but manufactures for the 
 consumption of our own people, it is certain 
 this ought to be considered as the increase of 
 our trade in general; for if we want these 
 manufactures, we shall either make them our- 
 selves, or, which is the same thing, import 
 them from other countries in exchange for our 
 own. In either of which cases, our foreign or 
 inland trade is enlarged, and so many more of 
 our own people are employed and subsisted for 
 that money which was annually exported, that 
 is, in all probability, a hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand of our people, for the yearly sum of one 
 million. If our traders would consider many 
 of our prohibitions or high duties in this light, 
 they would think their country and themselves 
 obliged to the landed interest for these re- 
 straints. 
 
 Again, gentlemen are too apt to envy the 
 traders every sum of money they import, and 
 gain from abroad, as if it was so much loss to 
 themselves ; but if they could be convinced, 
 that for every million that shall be imported 
 and gained by the traders, more than twice 
 that sum is gained by the landed interest, 
 they would never be averse to the trading part 
 of the nation. To convince them, therefore, 
 that this is the fact, shall be the remaining 
 part of this discourse. 
 
 Let us suppose then, that a million, or if 
 you please, that twenty millions were to be 
 imported, and gained by trade : to what uses 
 could it be applied, and which would be the 
 greatest gainers, the landed or the trading 
 interest ? Suppose it to be twenty millions. 
 
 It cannot at all be doubted, that a part of 
 the afore-mentioned sum would be laid out in 
 luxury, such as the magnificence of*buildings, 
 the plate and furniture of houses, jewels, and 
 rich apparel, the elegance of diet, the splendour 
 of coaches and equipage, and such other things 
 as are an expense to the owners, and bring in 
 no manner of profit. But because it is seldom 
 seen, that persons who by great industry have 
 gained estates, are extravagant in their luxury; 
 and because the revenue must be still sufficient 
 to support the annual expense, it is hard to 
 conceive that more than two of the twenty 
 millions can be converted into this dead stock, 
 at least eighteen must still be left to raise an 
 annual interest to the owners ; and the revenue 
 from the eighteen millions, at six per centum, 
 will be little more than one million per annum. 
 
 Again, a part of the twenty millions is very 
 likely to be. converted to increase the stock of 
 our inland trade, in which is comprehended 
 that upon all our farms. This is the trade 
 
 which provides for the annual consumption of 
 our people, and a stock of the value of two 
 years' consumption is generally believed to be 
 sufficient for this purpose. If the eighteen 
 millions above-mentioned will not raise a re- 
 venue of more than one million per annum, it 
 is certain that no more than this last value 
 can be added to our annual consumption, and 
 that two of .the twenty millions will be suffi- 
 cient to add to the stock of our inland trade. 
 Our foreign trade is considered upon another 
 foot; for though it provides in part for the 
 annual consumption of our own people, it pro- 
 vides also for the consumption of foreign na- 
 tions. It exports our superfluous manufactures, 
 and should make returns of bullion, or other 
 durable treasure. Our foreign trade for forty 
 years last past, in the judgment of the most 
 intelligent persons, has been managed by a 
 stock not less than four, and not exceeding 
 eight millions, with which last sum they think 
 it is driven at this time, and that it cannot be 
 carried much farther, unless our merchants 
 shall endeavour to open a trade to 'Terra Aus- 
 tralis incognita,' or some place that would be 
 equivalent. It will therefore be a very large 
 allowance, that one of the twenty millions can 
 be added to the capital stock of our foreign 
 trade. 
 
 There may be another way of raising interest, 
 that is, by laying up, at a cheap time, corn or 
 other goods or manufactures that will keep, for 
 the consumption of future years, and when the 
 markets may happen to call for them at an 
 advanced price. But as most goods are perish- 
 able, and waste something every year, by which 
 means a part of the principle is stili lost, and 
 as it is seldom seen that these engrossers get 
 more than their principal, and the common 
 interest of their money, this way is so preca- 
 rious and full of hazard, that it is very unlikely 
 any more than three of the twenty millions 
 will be applied to engrossing. It were to be 
 wished the engrossers were more profitable 
 traders for themselves ; they are certainly very 
 beneficial for the commonwealth; they are a 
 market for the rich in a time of plenty, and 
 ready at hand with relief for the poor in a 
 time of dearth. They prevent the exportation 
 of many necessaries of life, when they are very 
 cheap ; so that we are not at the charge of 
 bringing them back again, when they are very 
 dear. They save the money that is paid to 
 foreign countries for interest and warehouse 
 room ; but there is so much hazard, and so 
 little profit in this business, that if twenty 
 millions were to be imported, scarce three of 
 them would be applied to the making maga- 
 zines for the kingdom. 
 
 If any of the money should be lent at interest 
 to persons that shall apply the same to any of 
 the purposes above-mentioned, it is still the 
 same thing. If I have given good reasons for 
 
120 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 7! 
 
 what I have said, no more than bight of the 
 twenty millions can be applied cither to our 
 dead stock of luxury, our stock in inland or 
 foreign trade, or our stores or magazines. So 
 tint still there will remain twelve millions, 
 which are now no otherwise to he disposed of 
 than in buying of lands or houses, or our new 
 parliamentary funds, or in being lent out at 
 interest upon mortgages of those securities, or 
 to persons who have uo other ways to repay 
 the value than by part of the things themselves. 
 The question then is, what effect these twelve 
 millions will have towards reducing the inte- 
 rest of money, or raising the value of estates; 
 for as the former grows less, the latter will 
 ever rise in proportion. For example, while 
 the interest of money is five per cent, per 
 annum, a man lends two thousand pounds to 
 raise a revenue of one hundred pounds per 
 annum, by the interest of his money; and for 
 the same reason he gives two thousand pounds 
 or more, to purchase an estate of one hundred 
 pounds per annum. Again, if the interest of 
 money shall fall one per cent, he must he 
 forced to lend two thousand four hundred 
 pounds to gain the revenue of one hundred 
 pounds per annum, and for the same reason 
 he must give at least two thousand four hun- 
 dred pounds to purchase an estate of the same 
 yearly rent. Therefore if these twelve millions 
 newly gained shall reduce one per cent, of the 
 present interest of money, they must of neces- 
 sity increase every estate at least four years' 
 value in the purchase. 
 
 It is ever easier to meet with men that will 
 borrow money than sell their estates. An evi- 
 dence of this is, that we never have so good a 
 revenue by buying, as by lending. The first 
 thing therefore that will be attempted with 
 these twelve millions, is to lend money to those 
 that want it. This can hardly fail of reducing 
 one per cent, of the present interest of money, 
 and consequently of raising every estate four 
 years' value in the purchase. 
 
 For in all probability all the money or value 
 DOW in England, not applied to any of the uses 
 above-menVioned, and which therefore lies dead, 
 or affords no revenue to the owners, until it 
 can be disposed of to such uses, does not ex- 
 ceed twelve millions; yet this sum, whatever 
 it is, is sufficient to keep down money to the 
 present interest, and to hold up lands to their 
 present value. One would imagine then, if 
 this sum should be doubled, if twelve millions 
 c\t inordinary should be added to it, they should 
 reduce half the present interest of money, and 
 double the present value of estates. But it will 
 easily Dfl allowed they must reduce one per 
 'int. of the present interest of money, and add 
 the value of four years' rent to the purchase of 
 every estate. 
 
 To confirm the belief of this, an argument 
 might he- taken from what really happened in 
 
 the province of Holland before the year one 
 thousand six hundred and seventy. I think it is 
 in sir William Temple's Observations upon the 
 United Netherlands. The government there 
 was indebted about thirteen millions, and paid 
 the interest of five per cent, per annum. They 
 had got a sum of money, I think not above a 
 million, with which they prepared to discharge 
 such a part of the principal. The creditors 
 were so unable to find so good an interest else- 
 where, that they petitioned the States to keep 
 their money, with an abatement of one per- 
 cent, of their interest. The same money was 
 offered to the same number of other creditors 
 with the same success, until one per cent, of 
 their whole interest was abated, yet at last such 
 a part of the principal was discharged. And 
 when this sum came to be lent to private per- 
 sons, it had the same effect ; there one pi r 
 cent, of the common interest was abated 
 throughout the whole province, as well be- 
 tween subject and subject, as between the sub- 
 jects and their governors. And nothing is so 
 notorious, as that the value of lands in that 
 country has risen in proportion, and that es- 
 tates are sold there for thirty years' value of 
 their whole rents. It is not then to be doubted, 
 that twelve millions extraordinary to be lent 
 at interest, or purchase lands, or government 
 securities, must have the like effect in England, 
 at least that lands will rise four years' rent in 
 every purchase above their present value. And 
 how great an improvement must this be of the 
 landed interest? 
 
 The rents of England, according to the pro- 
 portion of the land-tax, should be little more 
 than eight millions, yet perhaps they may be 
 twelve. If there is made an addition of four 
 years' value in every purchase, this, upon all 
 the rents of England, amounts to forty-eight 
 millions. So that, by the importation and 
 clear gain of twenty millions by trade, the 
 landed interest gains an improvement of forty- 
 eight millions, at least six times as much as all 
 other interests joined together. 
 
 I should think this argument, which I have 
 endeavoured to set in a clear light, must needs 
 be sufficient to show, that the landed and the 
 trading interests cannot in reality but be 
 friends to each other. 
 
 No. 77.] Tuesday, June 9, 1713. 
 
 — Certain voto pete fmem. 
 
 llor. Lib. 1. F.p.ii. 56. 
 
 To wishes fix an end. Crrcr/i. 
 
 The writers of morality assign two sorts of 
 goods, the one is in itself desirable, the other 
 is to be desired, not on account of its own ex- 
 cellency, but for the sake of some other thing 
 which it is instrumental to obtain. These are 
 usually distinguished by the appellations of end 
 
No. 770 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 121 
 
 and means. We are prompted by nature to 
 desire the former, but that we have any ap- 
 petite for the latter is owing to choice and de- 
 liberation. 
 
 But as wise men engage in the pursuit of 
 means, from a farther view of some natural 
 good with which they are conuected ; fools, 
 who are acted by imitation and not by rea- 
 son, blindly pursue the means, without any 
 design or prospect of applying them. The re- 
 sult whereof is, that they eutail upon them- 
 selves the anxiety and toil, but are debarred 
 from the subsequent deli»hts which arise to 
 wiser men ; since their views not reaching the 
 end, terminate in those things, which although 
 they have a relative goodness, yet, considered 
 absolutely, are indifferent, or, it may be, evil. 
 
 The principle of this misconduct is a certain 
 shortsightedness in the mind ; and as this de- 
 fect is branched forth into innumerable errors 
 in life, and hath infected all ranks and con- 
 ditions of men ; so it more eminently appears 
 in three species, the critics, misers, and free- 
 thinkers. I shall endeavour to make good this 
 observation with regard to each of them: And 
 first, of the critic. 
 
 Profit and pleasure are the ends that a rea- 
 sonable creature would propose to obtain by 
 study, or indeed by any other undertaking. 
 Those parts of learning which relate to the 
 imagination, as eloquence and poetry, produce 
 an immediate pleasure in the mind. And sub- 
 lime and useful truths, when they are conveyed 
 in apt allegories or beautiful images, make 
 more distinct and lasting impressions; by 
 which means the fancy becomes subservient to 
 the understanding, and the mind is at the 
 same time delighted and instructed. The ex- 
 ercise of the understanding in the discovery of 
 truth, is likewise attended with great pleasure, 
 as well as immediate profit. It not only 
 strengthens our faculties, purifies the soul, 
 subdues the passions; but besides these ad- 
 vantages, there is also a secret joy that flows 
 frcm intellectual operations, proportioned to 
 the nobleness of the faculty, and not the less 
 affecting because inward and unseen. 
 
 But the mere exercise of the memory as 
 such, instead of bringing pleasure or imme- 
 diate benefit, is a thing of vain irksomeness 
 and fatigue, especially when employed in the 
 acquisition of languages, which is of all others 
 the most dry and painful occupation. There 
 must be therefore something further proposed, 
 or a wise man would never engage in it. And, 
 indeed, the very reason of the thing plainly 
 intimates that the motive which first drew men 
 to affect a knowledge in dead tongues, was 
 that they looked on them as means to convey 
 more useful and entertaining knowledge into 
 their minds. 
 
 There are, nevertheless, certain critics, who, 
 seeing that Greek and Latin are in request, 
 
 join in a thoughtless pursuit of those lan- 
 guages, without any further view. They look 
 on the ancient authors, but it is with an eye 
 to phraseology, or certain minute particulars 
 which are valuable for no other reason but be- 
 cause they are despised and forgotten by the 
 rest of mankind. The divine maxims .of mo- 
 rality, the exact pictures of human life, the 
 profound discoveries in the arts and sciences, 
 just thoughts, bright images, sublime senti 
 ments, are overlooked, while the mind is learn- 
 edly taken up in verbal remarks. 
 
 Was a critic ever known to read Plato with 
 a contemplative mind, or Cicero, in order 
 to imbibe the noble sentiments of virtue and 
 a public spirit, which are conspicuous in the 
 writings of that great man; or to peruse the 
 Greek or Roman historians, with an intention 
 to form his own life upon the plan of the illus- 
 trious patterns they exhibit to our view ? Plato 
 wrote in Greek. Cicero's Latin is fine. And 
 it often lies in a man's way to quote the an- 
 cient historians. 
 
 There is no entertainment upon earth more 
 noble and befitting a reasonable mind, than 
 the perusal of good authors; or that better 
 qualifies a man to pass his life with satisfac- 
 tion to himself, or advantage to the public. 
 But where men of short views and mean souls 
 give themselves to that sort of employment 
 which nature never designed them for, they 
 indeed keep one another in countenance; but 
 instead of cultivating and adorning their own 
 minds, or acquiring an ability to be useful to 
 the world, they reap no other advantage from 
 their labours, than the dry consolation arising 
 from the applauses they bestow upon each 
 other. 
 
 And the same weakness, or defect of the 
 mind from whence pedantry takes its rise, does 
 likewise give birth to avarice. Words and mo- 
 ney are both to be regarded as only marks of 
 things; and as the knowledge of the one, so 
 the possession of the other is of no use, unless 
 directed to a further end. A mutual com- 
 merce could not be carried on ami/ng men, if 
 some common standard had not been agreed 
 upon, to which the value of all the various 
 products of art and nature were reducible, and 
 which might be of the same use in the convey- 
 ance of property, as words are in that of ideas. 
 Gold, by its beauty, scarceness, and durable 
 nature, seems designed by Providence to a pur- 
 pose so excellent and advantageous to man- 
 kind. Upon these considerations that metal 
 came first into esteem. But such who cannot 
 see beyond what is nearest in the pursuit, be- 
 holding mankind touched with an affection 
 for gold, and being ignorant of the true rea- 
 son that introduced this odd passion into hu- 
 man nature, imagine some intrinsic worth in 
 the metal to be the cause of it. Hence the 
 same men who, had they been turned towards 
 Q 
 
1 23 
 
 THE Gl'ARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 78. 
 
 IfaminEj would have employed themselves in 
 laying up words in tlieir memory, are by a dif- 
 f( -ri'iit application employed to as much pur- 
 pose, in treasuring up gold in their coffers. 
 They differ only in the object; the principle 
 on which they act, and the inward frame of 
 mind, is the same in the critic and the miser. 
 And upon a thorough observation, our mo- 
 dern sect of free-thinkers will be found to 
 labour under the same defect with those two in- 
 glorious species. Their short views are termi- 
 nated in the next objects, and their specious 
 pretences for liberty and truth, are so many 
 instances of mistaking the means for the end. 
 But the setting these points in a clear light 
 must be the subject of another paper. 
 
 No. 78.] Wednesday, June 10, 1713. 
 
 Docebo 
 
 Unde parentnr opes ; quid alat, formetqne poetam. 
 Hor. Ars Poet. ver. 306. 
 
 will teacn to write, 
 
 Tell what the duty of a poet is, 
 
 Wherein his wealth and ornament consist, 
 
 And how he may be form'd, and how improv'd. 
 
 Roscomtnon. 
 
 It is no small pleasure to me, who am zea- 
 lous in the interests of learning, to think I may 
 have the honour of leading the town into a 
 very new and uncommon road of criticism. As 
 that kind of literature is at present carried on, 
 it consists only in a knowledge of mechanic 
 rules which contribute to the structure of dif- 
 ferent sorts of poetry; as the receipts of good 
 housewives do to the making puddings of flour, 
 oranges, plums, or any other ingredients. Jt 
 would, methinks, make these my instructions 
 more easily intelligible to ordinary readers, if 
 1 discoursed of these matters in the style in 
 which ladies learned in economics, dictate to 
 their pupils for the improvement of the kitchen 
 and larder. 
 
 I shall begin with epic poetry, because the 
 critics agree it is the greatest work human na- 
 ture is capable of. I know the French have 
 already laid down many mechauical rules for 
 compositions of this sort, but at the same time 
 they cut off almost all undertakers from the 
 possibility of ever performing them; for the 
 first qualification they unanimously require in 
 a poet, is a genius. I shall here endeavour 
 (for the benefit of my countrymen) to make it 
 manifest, that epic poems may be made 'with- 
 out a genius,' nay, without learning, or much 
 reading. This most necessarily be of great use 
 to all those poets who confess they never read, 
 and of whom the world is convinced they never 
 .earn. What Molierc observes of making a 
 dinner, that any man can do it with money, 
 and if a professed cook cannot without, he has 
 his art for nothing; the same may be said of 
 making a poem, it is easily brought about by 
 
 him that has a genius, but the skill likes in 
 doing it without one. In pursuance of this 
 end, I shall present the reader with a plain 
 and certain recipe, by which even sonnetteers 
 and ladies may be qualified for this grand per- 
 formance. 
 
 I know it will be objected, that one of the 
 chief qualifications of an epic poet, is to be 
 knowing in all arts and sciences. But this 
 ought not to discourage those that have no 
 learning, as long as indexes and dictionaries 
 may be had, which are the compendium of all 
 knowledge. Besides, since it is an established 
 rule, that none of the terms of those arts and 
 sciences are to be made use of, one may ven- 
 ture to affirm, our poet cannot impertinently 
 offend in this point. The learning which will 
 be more particularly necessary to him, is the 
 ancient geography of towns, mountains, and 
 rivers : for this let him take Cluverius, value 
 four-pence. 
 
 Another quality required is a complete skill 
 in languages. To this I answer, that it is noto- 
 rious persons of no genius have been oftentimes 
 great linguists. To instance in the Greek, of 
 which there are two sorts ; the original Greek, 
 and that from which our modern authors trans- 
 late. I should be unwilling to promise impos- 
 sibilities, but modestly speaking, this may he 
 learned in about an hour's time with ease. I 
 have known one, who became a sudden pro- 
 fessor of Greek, immediately upon application 
 of the left-hand page of the Cambridge Homer 
 to his eye. It is in these days with authors 
 as with other men, the well-bred are familiarly 
 acquainted with them at first sight; and as it 
 is sufficient for a good general to have surveyed 
 the ground he is to conquer, so it is enough 
 for a good poet to have seen the author he is 
 to be master of. But to proceed to the pur- 
 pose of this paper. 
 
 A Receipt to make an Epic Poem. 
 
 FOR THE FABLE. 
 
 'Take out of any old poem, history book, 
 romance, or legend, (for instance, Geoffry of 
 Monmouth, or don Belianis of Greece) those 
 parts of story which afford most scope for long 
 descriptions. Put these pieces together, and 
 throw all the adventures you fancy into one 
 tale. Then take a hero whom you may choose 
 for the sound of his name, and put him into 
 the midst of these adventures. There let him 
 work for twelve books ; at the end of which 
 you may take him out ready prepared to con- 
 quer, or to marry ; it being necessary that the 
 conclusion of an epic poem be fortunate.' 
 
 To make an Episode. — ' Take any remaining 
 adventure of your former collection, in which 
 you could no way involve your hero ; or any 
 unfortunate accident that was too good to be 
 thrown away; and it will be of use applied to 
 any other person, who may be lost and eva 
 
No. 78.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 123 
 
 porate in the course of the work, without the 
 least damage to the composition.' 
 
 For the Moral and Allegory. — ' These you 
 may extract out of the fahle afterwards, at 
 your leisure. Be sure you strain them suffi- 
 ciently.' 
 
 FOR THE MANNERS. 
 
 * For those of the hero, take all the best 
 qualities you can find in all the celebrated he- 
 roes of antiquity; if they will not be reduced 
 to a consistency, lay them all on a heap upon 
 him. But be sure they are qualities which 
 your patron would be thought to have : and, 
 to prevent any mistake which the world may 
 be subject to, select from the alphabet those 
 cap'tal letters that compose his name, and set 
 them at the head of a dedication before your 
 poem. However, do not absolutely observe 
 the exact quantity of these virtues, it not being 
 determined, whether or no it be necessary for 
 the hero of a poem to be an honest man. — For- 
 the under characters, gather them from Homer 
 and Virgil, and change the names as occasion 
 serves.' 
 
 FOR THE MACHINES. 
 
 * Take of deities, male and female, as many 
 as you can use. Separate them into two equal 
 parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. Let 
 Juno put him in a ferment, and Venus mollify 
 him. Remember on all occasions to make use 
 of volatile Mercury, if you have need of de- 
 vils, draw them out of Milton's Paradise, and 
 extract your spirits from Tasso. The use of 
 these machines is evident ; for since no epic 
 poem can possibly subsist without them, the 
 wisest way is to reserve them for your greatest 
 necessities. When you cannot extricate your 
 hero by any human means, or yourself by your 
 own wits, seek relief from heaven, and the 
 gods will do your business very readily. This 
 is according to the direct prescription of Horace 
 in his Art of Poetry : 
 
 Nee dens intcrgit, nisi dignus vindiee Nodus 
 Incident ver. 101. . 
 
 Never presume to make a god appear, 
 But for a business worthy of a god. 
 
 RoscemmoTh 
 
 * That is to say, a poet should never call upon 
 the gods for their assistance, but when he is in 
 great perplexity.' 
 
 FOR THE DESCRIPTIONS. 
 
 For a Tempest. — * Take Eurus, Zephyr, 
 Auster, and Boreas, and cast them together in 
 o?ie verse. Add to these of rain, lightning, 
 and of thunder (the loudest you can) quantum 
 sufficit. Mix your clouds and billows well to- 
 gether until the} foam, and thicken your de- 
 scription here and there with a quicksand. 
 Brew your tempest wsll in your head, before 
 you set it a blowing.' 
 
 For a Battle. — ' Pick a large quantity o c 
 images and descriptions from Homer's Iliads, 
 with a spice or two of Virgil, and if there re- 
 main any overplus you may lay them by for a 
 skirmish. Season it well with similes, and it 
 will make an excellent battle.' 
 
 For Burning 1 a Town. — ' If such a descrip- 
 tion be necessary, because it is certain there is 
 one in Virgil, Old Troy is ready burnt to your 
 hands. But if you fear that would be thought 
 borrowed, a chapter or two of the Theory of 
 the Conflagration, well circumstanced, and 
 done into verse, will be a good succedaneuro.* 
 
 As for Similes and Metaphors, they may 
 be found all over the creation; the most ig- 
 norant may gather them, but the danger is in 
 applying them. For this advise with your book- 
 seller. 
 
 FOR THE LANGUAGE. 
 
 (I mean the diction.) * Here it will do well 
 to be an imitator of Milton, for you will find 
 it easier to imitate him in this, than any thing 
 else. Hebraisms and Grecisms are to be found 
 in him, without the trouble of learning the 
 languages. I knew a painter, who (like our 
 poet) had no genius, make his daubings to be 
 thought originals by setting them in the smoke. 
 You may in the same manner give the venera- 
 ble air of antiquity to your piece, by darkening 
 it up and down with Old English. With this 
 you may be easily furnished upon any occasion, 
 by the dictionary commonly printed at the end 
 of Chaucer.* 
 
 I must not conclude, without cautioning all 
 writers without genius in one material point, 
 which is, never to be afraid of having too much 
 fire in their works. I should advise rather to 
 take their warmest thoughts, and spread them 
 abroad upon paper; for they are observed to 
 cool before they are read. 
 
 No. 79.] Thursday, June 11, 1713. 
 
 Praeclara et pulchra minantem 
 
 Vivere nee recte, nee suaviter 
 
 Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. viii. 3. 
 
 [ make a noise, a gaudy show, 
 
 1 promise mighty things, I nobly strive ; 
 
 Yet what an ill, unpleasant life I live ! Creech. 
 
 It is an employment worthy a reasonable 
 creature, to examine into the disposition of 
 men's affections towards each other, and as far 
 as one can, to improve all tendencies to good 
 nature and charity. No one could be unmoved 
 with this epistle, which I received the other 
 day from one of my correspondents, and which 
 is full of the most ardent benevolence. 
 
 ' To the Guardian. 
 •SIR, 
 ' I seldom read your political, your critical, 
 your ludicrous, or if you will call them so, your 
 
m 
 
 THE GUAKDiAN 
 
 [No. 70. 
 
 polite paters, but when I observe any tiling 
 whi' h 1 think written for the advancement of 
 good will amongst men, and laying; before them 
 objects of charity, I am very zealous for the 
 promotion of so honest a design. Believe me, 
 sir, want of wit or wisdom, is not the infirmity 
 nf this age ; it is the shameful application of 
 both that is the crying evil. As for my own 
 part, I am always endeavouring at least to be 
 better, rather than richer, or wiser. But I never 
 lamented that I was not a wealthy man so 
 heartily as the other day. You must under- 
 stand that I now and then take a walk of mor- 
 tification, and pass a whole day in making 
 myself profitably sad. I for this end visit the 
 hospitals about this city, and when I have 
 rambled about the galleries at Bedlam, and 
 seen for an hour the utmost of all lamentable 
 objects, human reason distracted ; when I have 
 from grate to grate offered up my prayers for 
 a wretch who has been reviling me, for a figure 
 that has seemed petrified with anguish, for a 
 man that has held up his face in a posture of 
 adoration toward heaven to utter execrations 
 and blasphemies; I say, when I have beheld 
 all these things, and thoroughly reflected on 
 them, until J have startled myself out of my 
 present ill course, I have thought fit to pass 
 to the observation of less evils, and relieve my- 
 self by going to those charitable receptacles 
 about this town, appointed only for bodily dis- 
 tresses. The gay and frolic part of mankind 
 are wholly unacquainted with the numbers of 
 their fellow- creatures, who languish under pain 
 and agony, for want of a trifle out of that ex- 
 pense by which those fortunate persons pur- 
 chase the gratification of a superfluous passion, 
 or appetite. 1 ended the last of these pilgri- 
 mages which I made, at St. Thomas's hospital 
 in Southwark. I had seen all the variety of 
 woe which can arise from the distempers which 
 attend human frailty ; but the circumstance 
 which occasioned this letter, and gave me the 
 quickest compassion, was beholding a little boy 
 often years of age, who was just then to be 
 expelled the house as incurable. My heart 
 melted within me to think what would become 
 of the poor child, who, as 1 was informed, had 
 not a farthing in the world, nor father, nor 
 mother, nor friend to help it. The infant saw 
 my sorrow for it, and came towards me, and 
 bid me speak, that it might die in the hout»e. 
 
 ' Alas ! There are crowds cured in this place, 
 ami the strictest care taken, in the distribution 
 of the charity, for wholesome food, good physic, 
 and tender care in behalf of the patients ; but 
 the provision is not large enough for those 
 whom tlievdo not. despair of recovering, which 
 mak.s it necessary to turn out the incurable, 
 fur the sake of those Whotn they can relieve. 
 J wa. informed tins wan the fate of many in a 
 year, as well as of this poor child, who I sup- 
 pose) corrupted away yet alive in the streets. 
 
 lie was to be sure removed when he was only 
 capable of giving offence, though avoided when 
 still an object of compassion. There are not 
 words to give mankind compunction enough 
 on such an occasion ; but I assure you 1 think 
 the miserable have a property in the superfluous 
 possessions of the fortunate ; though 1 despair 
 of seeing right done them until the day wherein 
 those distinctions shall cease for ever, and they 
 must both give an account for their behaviour 
 under their respective sufferings and enjoy- 
 ments. However, you would do your part as 
 a guardian, if you would mention, in the most 
 pathetic terms, these miserable objects, and 
 put the good part of the world in mind of exert- 
 ing the most noble benevolence that can be 
 imagined, in alleviating the few remaining 
 moments of the incurable. 
 
 * A geutleman who belonged to the hospital, 
 was saying, he believed it would be done as 
 soon as mentioned, if it were proposed that a 
 ward might be erected for the accommodation 
 of such as have no more to do in this world, 
 but resign themselves to death. I know no 
 readier way of communicating this thought to 
 the world, than by your paper. If you omit 
 to publish this, I shall never esteem you to be 
 the man you pretend; and so recommending 
 the incurable to your guardianship, 
 ' I remain, Sir, 
 
 4 Your most humble servant, 
 
 « PHlLANTIIRaPOS.' 
 
 It must be confessed, that if one turns One's 
 eyes round these cities of London and West- 
 minster, one cannot overlook the exemplary 
 instances of heroic charity, in providing re- 
 straints for the wicked, instructions for the 
 young, food and raiment for the aged, with 
 regard also to all other circumstances and re- 
 lations of human life ; but it is to be lamented 
 that these provisions are made only by the 
 middle kind of people, while those of fashion 
 and power are raised above the species itself, 
 and are unacquainted or unmoved with the 
 calamities of others. But, alas! how monstrous 
 is this hardness of heart ! How is it possible 
 that the returns of hunger and thirst should not 
 importune men, though in the highest afflu- 
 ence, to consider the miseries of their fellow- 
 creatures who languish under necessity. But 
 as I hintea just now, tne distinctions of man- 
 kind are almost wholly to be resolved into those 
 of the rich and the poor ; for as certainly as 
 wealth gives acceptance and grace to all that 
 its possessor says or does ; so poverty creates 
 disesteem, scorn, and prejudice, to all the un- 
 dertakings of the indigent. The necessitous 
 man has neither hands, lips, or understanding, 
 for his own or friend's use, but is in the same 
 condition with the sick, with this difference 
 only, that his is an infection no man will re- 
 lieve, or assist, or if he does, it is seldom with 
 so much pity as contempt, and rather for th« 
 
Ko. 80.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 125 
 
 ostentation of the physician, than compassion 
 ou the patient. It is a circumstance, wherein 
 a man finds all the good he deserves inacces- 
 sible, all the ill unavoidable; and the poor 
 hero is as certainly ragged, as the poor villain 
 hanged. Under these pressures the poor man 
 speaks with hesitation, undertakes with irre- 
 solution, and acts with disappointment. He 
 is slighted in men's conversations, overlooked 
 in their assemblies, and beaten at their doors. 
 But from whence, alas, has he this treatment ? 
 from a creature that has only the supply of, 
 but not an exemption from, the wants, for 
 which he despises him. Yet such is the unac- 
 countable insolence of man, that he will not 
 see that he who is supported, is in the same 
 class of natural necessity with him that wants 
 a support; and to be helped implies to be in- 
 digent. In a word, after all you can say of a 
 man, conclude that he is rich, aud you have 
 made him friends ; nor have you utterly over- 
 thrown a man in the world's opinion, until you 
 have said he is poor. This is the emphatical 
 expression of praise and blame : for men so 
 stupidly forget their natural impotence and 
 waut, that riches and poverty have taken in 
 our imagination the place of innocence and 
 guilt. 
 
 Reflections of this kind do but waste one s 
 being, without capacity of 'helping the dis- 
 tressed ; yet though I know no way to do any 
 service to my brethren under such calamities, 
 I cannot help having so much respect for them, 
 as to suffer with them in a fruitless fellow- 
 feeling. 
 
 No. 80.] Friday, June 12, 1713. 
 
 Coeleftibns Ii ae. Vlrg. yEh. i. 11. 
 
 Anger iu heav'nly nii:x!s. 
 
 I have found by experience, that it is im- 
 possible to talk distinctly without defining the 
 words of which we make use. There is not a 
 term in our language which wants explanation 
 so much as the word Church. One would 
 think when people utter it, they should have 
 in their minds ideas of virtue and religion ; 
 but that important monosyllable drags all the 
 other words in the language after it, and it is 
 made use of to express both praise and blame, 
 according to the character of him who speaks 
 it. By this means it happens, that no one 
 knows what his neighbour means when he says 
 such a one is for or against the church. It 
 has happened that the person, who is seen 
 every day at church, has not been in the eye 
 of the world a church-man; and he who is 
 very zealous to oblige every man to frequent 
 it, but himself, has been held a very good son 
 of the church. This prepossession is the best 
 handle imaginable for politicians to make use 
 of, for managing the loves and hatreds of 
 
 mankind, to the purposes to which they would 
 lead them. But this is not a thing for fools to 
 meddle with, for they only bring disesteem 
 upon those whom they attempt to serve, when 
 they unskilfully pronounce terms of art. I have 
 observed great evils arise from this practice, 
 and not only the cause of piety, but also the 
 secular interest of clergymen, has extremely 
 suffered by the general unexplained significa- 
 tion of the word Church. 
 
 The Examiner, upon the strength of being 
 a received church-man, has offended in this 
 particular more grossly than any other man 
 ever did before, and almost as grossly as ever 
 he himself did, supposing the allegations in 
 the following letter are just. To slander any 
 man is a very heinous offence ; but the crime 
 is still greater, when it falls upon such as ought 
 to give example to others. I cannot imagine 
 how the Examiner can divest any part of the 
 clergy of the respect due to their characters, 
 so as to treat them as he does, without an in- 
 dulgence unknown to our religion, though 
 taken up in the name of it, in order to dis- 
 parage such of its communicants as will not 
 sacrifice their conscience to their fortunes. 
 This confusion and subdivision of interests and 
 sentiments among people of the same com- 
 munion, is what would be a very good subject 
 of mirth ; but when I consider against whom 
 this insult is committed, I think it too great, 
 and of too ill a consequence, to be in good 
 humour on the occasion. 
 
 * SIR, June 9, 1713. 
 
 ' Your character of universal Guardian, 
 joined to the concern you ought to have for 
 the cause of virtue and religion, assure me you 
 will not think that clergymen when injured, 
 have the least right to your protection ; and 
 it is from that assurance I trouble you with 
 this, to complain of the Examiner, who calum 
 niates as freely as he commends, and whose 
 invectives are as groundless as his panegyrics. 
 ' In his paper of the eighth instant, after a 
 most furious invective against many noble lords, 
 a considerable number of the commons, and a 
 very great part of her majesty's good subjects, 
 as disaffected and full of discontent, (which by 
 the way, is but an awkward compliment to the 
 prince, whose greatest glory it is to reign in the 
 hearts of her people,) that the clergy may not 
 go without their share of his resentment, he 
 concludes with a most malicious reflection upon 
 some of them. He names indeed nobody, but 
 points' to Windsor and St. Paul's, where he 
 tells us some are disrespectful to the queen, 
 and enemies to her peace ; most odious cha- 
 racters, especially in clergymen, whose profes- 
 sion is peace, and to whose duty and affection 
 her majesty has a more immediate right, by 
 her singular piety and great goodness to them. 
 " They have sucked in," he says, " this war 
 
126 
 
 THE GUARDIAN'. 
 
 [No. 8. 
 
 Tike principle from their arbitrary patrons." 
 Jt is not enough, it seems, to calumniate ihem, 
 unless their patrons also be insulted, no less 
 patrons than ;the late king and the duke of 
 Marlborough. These are his arbitrary men; 
 though nothing be more certain than that 
 without the king, the shadow of a legal govern- 
 ment had not been left to us ; nor did there 
 ever live a man, who in the nature and temper 
 of him, less deserved the character of arbitrary 
 than the duke. How now is this terrible 
 charge against those clergymen supported? 
 Why, as to St. Paul's, the fact, according to 
 him, is this: " Some of the church, to affront 
 the q-ieen,on the day the peace was proclaimed, 
 gave orders for parochial prayers only, without 
 singing, as is used upon fast-days, though in 
 this particular their inferiors were so very ho- 
 nest to disobey them." This the Examiner 
 roundly affirms after his usual manner, but 
 without the least regard to truth; for it is 
 fallen in my way, without inquiring, to be 
 exactly informed of this matter, and therefore, 
 1 take upon me in their vindication to assure 
 you, that every part of what is said is absolutely 
 *alse, and the truth is just the reverse. The 
 inferiors desired there might be only parochial 
 prayers ; but the person applied to was aware 
 to what construction it might be liable, and 
 therefore would not consent to the request, 
 though very innocent and reasonable. The 
 case was this: the procession of the ceremony 
 had reached Ludgatejust at the time of prayers, 
 and there was such a prodigious concourse of 
 people, that one of the vergers came to the 
 residentiary in waiting, to represent, that it 
 would be impossible to have prayers that after- 
 noon ; that the crowds all round the church 
 was so great, there would be no getting in : 
 but it was insisted, that there must be prayers, 
 only the tolling of the bell should be deferred 
 a little, until the head of the procession,' was 
 got beyond the church. When the bell had 
 Hone, and none of the choir appeared, but one 
 to read, it was upon this again represented, 
 that there could he only parochial prayers, a 
 thing that sometimes happens, twice or thrice 
 perhaps in a year, when, upon some allowable 
 occasion, the absence of the choir-men is so 
 great, as not to leave the necessary voices for 
 cathedral service; which very lately was the 
 case upon a performance of the thanksgiving 
 music at Whitehall. So that had the prayers, 
 on this occasion, been parochial only, it had 
 
 been neither new nor criminal, but necessary 
 and unavoidable, unless the Examiner can tell 
 now the service may be sung decently without 
 singing-men. However, to leave informers no 
 
 room for calumny, it was expressly urged, that 
 
 parochial prayers on such ;i day, would look 
 
 ill, that therefore, if possible, it. should he 
 
 avoided, and (lie service should be begun as 
 usual, in hopes one or two of the choir 'might 
 
 come in before the psalms ; and the verger 
 was ordered to look out, if he could see any of 
 the choir, to hasten them to their places ; and 
 so it proved, two of the best voices came in 
 time enough, and the service was performea 
 cathedral-wise, though in a manner to bare 
 walls, with an anthem suitable to the day. 
 This is the fact on which the Examiner grounds 
 a charge of factious and seditious principles 
 against some at St. Paul's, and I am persuaded 
 there is as little truth in what he charges some 
 of Windsor with, though I know not certainly 
 whom he means. Were I disposed to expos- 
 tulate with the Examiner, I would ask him if 
 he seriously thinks this be answering her ma- 
 jesty's intentions? Whether disquieting the 
 minds of her people is the way to calm them ? 
 Or to traduce men of learning and virtue, he 
 to cultivate the arts of peace? But I am too 
 well acquainted with his writings not to see he 
 is past correction ; nor does any thing in his pa- 
 per surprise me, merely because it is false ; for 
 to use his own words, " not a day passes," with 
 him, " but it brings forth a mouse or a monster, 
 some ridiculous lie, some vile calumuy or for- 
 gery." He is almost equally false in every 
 thing he says ; but it is not always equally easy 
 to make his falsehood plain and palpable. And 
 it is chiefly for that reason I desire you to gh e 
 this letter a place in your papers, that those 
 that are willing to be undeceived may leain, 
 from so clear an instance, what a faithful, 
 modest writer this is, who pretends to teach 
 them how to think and speak of things and 
 persons they know nothing of themselves. As 
 this is no way disagreeable to your character 
 of Guardian, your publication of it is a favour 
 which I flatter myself you will not deny to, 
 'Sir, 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 « H. A.' 
 
 No. 81.] Saturday, June 13, 1713. 
 
 Qtiiete ot pure atque cleg inter acta; tet.slis placlda ac 
 knis recordatio. Circro. 
 
 Flacid and soothing is the remembrance of a life passed 
 with quiet, innocence, and elegance. 
 
 The paper which was published on the thir- 
 tieth of last month, ended with a piece of de- 
 votion written by the archbishop of Cambray. 
 It would (as it was hinted in that precaution) 
 be of singtdar use for the improvement of our 
 minds, to have the secret thoughts of men of 
 good talents on such occasions. I shall for the 
 entertainment of this day give my reader two 
 pieces, which, if he is curious, will be pleasing 
 for that reason, if they prove to have no other 
 (licet upon him. One of them was found in 
 the closet of an Athenian libertine, who lived 
 many ages ago, and is a soliloquy wherein he 
 contemplates his own life and actions according 
 
No. 8L] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 127 
 
 to the lights men have from nature, and the 
 compunctions of natural reason. The other is 
 a prayer of a gentleman who died within few 
 years last past ; and lived to a very great age ; 
 but had passed his youth in all the vices in 
 fashion. The AtheniaL is supposed to have 
 been Alcihiades, a man of great spirit, ex- 
 tremely addicted to pleasures, hut at the same 
 time very capahle, and upon occasion very 
 attentive to business. He was by nature en- 
 dued with all the accomplishments she could 
 bestow ; he had beauty, wit, courage, and a 
 great understanding ; but in the first bloom 
 of his life was arrogantly affected with the ad- 
 vantages he had over others. That temper is 
 pretty visible in an expression of his: when it 
 was proposed to him to learn to play upon a 
 musical instrument, he answered, * It is not 
 for me to give, but to receive delight.' How- 
 ever, the conversation of Socrates tempered a 
 strong inclination to licentiousness into reflec- 
 tions of philosophy ; and if it had not the force 
 to make a man of his genius and fortune wholly 
 regular, it gave him some cool moments, and 
 this following soliloquy is supposed by the 
 learned to have been thrown together before 
 some expected engagement, and seems to be 
 very much the picture of the man 
 
 ' I am now wholly alone, my ears are not 
 entertained with music, my eyes with beauty, 
 nor any of my senses so forcibly affected, as to 
 divert the course of my inward thoughts. Me- 
 thinks there is something sacred in myself, 
 now I am alone. What is this being of mine ? 
 I came into it without my choice, and yet 
 Socrates says it is to be imputed to me. In 
 this repose of my senses wherein they commu- 
 nicate nothing strongly to myself, I taste, me- 
 thinks, a being distinct from their operation. 
 Why may not then my soul exist, when she is 
 wholly gone out of these organs ? I can perceive 
 my faculties grow stronger, the less I admit 
 the pleasures of sense ; and the nearer I place 
 myself to a bare existence, the more worthy, 
 the more noble, the more celestial does that 
 existence appear to me. If my soul is weakened 
 rather than improved by all that the body ad- 
 ministers to her, she may reasonably be sup- 
 posed to be designed for a mansion more suit- 
 able than this, wherein what delights her 
 diminishes her excellence, and that which 
 afflicts her adds to her perfection. There is 
 an hereafter, and I will not fear to be immor- 
 tal for the sake of Athens.' 
 
 This soliloquy is but the first dawnings of 
 thought in the mind of a mere man given up 
 to sensuality. The paper which I mention of 
 our contemporary was found in his scrutoire 
 after his death, but communicated to a friend 
 or two of his in his life-time. You see in it a 
 man wearied with the vanities of this life ; and 
 the reflections which the success of his wit and 
 gallantry bring upon his old age, are not un- 
 
 I worthy the observation of those who possess 
 the like advantages. 
 
 * Oh, Almighty Being ! How shall I look up 
 towards thee, when I reflect that I am of no 
 consideration but as I have offended ? My 
 existence, O my God, without thy mercy, is 
 not to be prolonged in this or another world 
 but for my punishment. I apprehend, Oh, my 
 Maker, let it not be too late: I apprehend, 
 and tremble at thy presence ; and shall I not 
 consider thee, who art all goodness, but with 
 terror ? Oh, my Redeemer, do thou behold 
 my anguish. Turn to me, thou Saviour cf the 
 world : Who has offended like me ? Oh, my 
 God, I cannot fly out of thy presence, let me 
 fall down in it ; I humble myself in contritiou 
 of heart ; but alas ! I have not only swerved 
 from thee, but have laboured against thee. 
 If thou dost pardon what 1 have committed, 
 how wilt thou pardon what I have made others 
 commit? I have rejoiced in ill, as in a pros- 
 perity. Forgive, oh my God, all who have 
 offended by my persuasion, all who have trans- 
 gressed by my example. Canst thou, O God, 
 accept of the confession of old age, to expiate 
 all the labour and industry of youth spent in 
 transgressions against thee ? While I am still 
 alive, let me implore thee to recall to thy 
 grace all whom I have made to sin. Let, oh 
 Lord, thy goodness admit of his prayer for their 
 pardon, by whose instigation they have trans- 
 gressed. Accept, O God, of this interval of 
 age, between my sinful days and the hour of 
 my dissolution, to wear away the corrupt habits 
 in my soul, and prepare myself for the man- 
 sions of purity and joy. Impute not to me, 
 oh my God, the offences I may give, after my 
 death, to those I leave behind me ; let me not 
 transgress when I am no more seen ; but pre- 
 vent the ill effects of my ill-applied studies, 
 and receive me into thy mercy.' 
 
 It is the most melancholy circumstance that 
 can be imagined, to be on a death-bed, and 
 wish all that a roan has most laboured to bring 
 to pass were obliterated for ever. How em- 
 phatically worse is this, than having passed all 
 one's days in idleness ! Yet this is the frequent 
 case of many men of refined talents. It is, 
 methinks, monstrous that the love of fame, 
 and value of the fashion of the world, can 
 transport a man so far as even in solitude to 
 act with so little reflection upon his real in- 
 terest. This is premeditated madness, for it 
 is an error done with the assistance of all the 
 faculties of the mind. 
 
 When every circumstance about us is a con- 
 stant admonition how transient is every labour 
 of man, it should, methinks, be no hard mat- 
 ter to bring one's self to consider the emptiness 
 of all our endeavours ; but I was not a little 
 charmed the other day, when sitting with an 
 old friend and communing together on such sub- 
 jects, he expressed himself after this manner :— 
 
123 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 [No. 
 
 1 It i-. u nw o r t hy a Christum philosopher to 
 
 i. t ai ij thing her* below stand in the least 
 Competition with bis dwty. In vain is reason 
 fortified by f.titlt, if it produces in our practice 
 no greater effects than what reason wrought 
 in mere map. 
 
 ' I contemn, (in dependence on the support 
 of heaven 1 speak it) I contemn all which the 
 genet ality of mankind call great and glorious. 
 I will no longer tliiuk or act like a mortal, but 
 consider myself as a being that commenced at 
 my birth, and is to endure to all eternity. The 
 accident of death will not end but improve my 
 being; I will think of myself, and provide for 
 myself as an immortal ; and 1 will do nothing 
 now which I do not believe I shall approve a 
 thousand years hence.' 
 
 No. 8i.] Monday, June 15, 1713. 
 
 Cedat nil conviva satnr Hor. Lib. 1. Sat. i. 110. 
 
 Let him depart like a contended guest. 
 
 Though men see every day people go to 
 fheir long home, who are younger than them- 
 selves, they are not so apt to be alarmed at 
 that, as at the decease of those who have lived 
 longer in their sight. They miss their ac- 
 quaintance, aud are surprised at the loss of an 
 habitual object. This gave me so much con- 
 cern for the death of Mr. William Peer of the 
 theatre-royal, who was an actor at the Re- 
 storation, and took his theatrical degree with 
 Betterton, Kynaston, and Harris. Though his 
 station was humble, he performed it well ; and 
 the common comparison with the stage and 
 human life, which has been so often made, 
 may well be brought out upon this occasion. 
 It is no matter, say the moralists, whether 
 you act a prince or a beggar, the business is 
 to do your part well. Mr. William Peer dis- 
 tinguished himself particularly in two charac- 
 ters, which no man ever could touch but him- 
 self; one of them, was the speaker of the 
 prologue to the play, which is contrived in the 
 tragedy of Hamlet, to awake the consciences 
 of the guilty princes. Mr. William Peer spoke 
 that preface to the play with such an air, as 
 represented that he was an actor, and with 
 such an inferior manner as only acting an 
 actor, as made the others on the stage appear 
 real great persons, and not representatives. 
 This was a nicety in acting that none but the 
 most subtle player could so much as conceive. 
 I remember his speaking these words, in which 
 there is no great matter but in the right ad- 
 justment of the air of the speaker, with uni- 
 versal applause : 
 
 ' I "it M ami tor our t Wga d y , 
 Hire ItnOplQg to join rleini-ni-y, 
 
 v. . i>. g jniu bearing patiently,' 
 
 Hamlet says very archly upon the pronouncing 
 of it, ' Is this a prologue, or a posy of a ring ?' 
 
 However, the speaking of it got Mr. Peer more 
 reputation, than those who speak the length 
 of a puritan's sermon every night will ever 
 attain to. Besides this, Mr. Peer got a great 
 fame on another little occasion. He played 
 the apothecary in Caius Marius, as it is called 
 by Otway ; but Romeo and Juliet, as originally 
 in Shakspeare ; it will be necessary to recite 
 more out of the play than he spoke, to have a 
 right conception of what Peer did in it. Marius, 
 weary of life, recollects means to be rid of it 
 after this manner: 
 
 ' I do remember an apothecary 
 That dwelt about this rendezvous of death ! 
 Meagre and very rueful were his looks, 
 Sharp misery had worn him to the bones' 
 
 When this spectre of poverty appeared, Marius 
 addresses him thus : 
 
 • I see thou art very poor. 
 Thou may's! do any thing, here's fifty drachmas, 
 
 Get me a draught of what will soonest lice 
 A wretch from all his cares.' 
 
 When the apothecary objects that it is unlaw 
 ful, Marius urges, 
 
 ' Art thou so base and full of wretchedness 
 Yet fear'st to die ! Famine is in thy cheeks, 
 Need and oppression stareth in thy eyes, 
 Contempt and beggary hang on thy back ; 
 The world is not thy friend, nor the woild's laws ; 
 The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
 Then be not poor, but break it, aud take this. 
 
 Without all this quotation the reader could 
 not have a just idea of the visage and manner 
 which Peer assumed, when in the most lament- 
 able tone imaginable he consents ; and de- 
 livering the poison, like a man reduced to the 
 drinking it himself, if he did not vend it, says 
 to Marius, 
 
 « My poverty, but not my will, consents; 
 Take this and drink it off, the work is done.' 
 
 It was an odd excellence, and a very parti 
 cular circumstance this of Peer's, that his whole 
 action of life depended upon speaking five lines 
 better than any man eUe in the world. But 
 this eminence lying in so narrow a compass, 
 the governors of the theatre observing his 
 talents to lie in a certain knowledge of pro- 
 priety, and his person admitting him to shine 
 only in the two above parts, his sphere of ac- 
 tion was enlarged by the addition of the post 
 of property-man. This officer has always 
 ready, in a place appointed for him behind the 
 prompter, all such tools and implements as are 
 necessary in the play, and it is his business 
 never to want billet-doux, poison, false money, 
 thunderbolts, daggers, scrolls of parchment, 
 wine, pomatum, truncheons, and wooden legs, 
 ready at the call of the said prompter, accord- 
 ing as his respective utensils were necessary 
 for promoting what was to pass on the stage. 
 The addition of this office, so importaut to 
 the conduct of the whole affair of the stage, 
 and the good economy observed by their pre- 
 sent managers in punctual payments, made 
 
No. 82.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 129 
 
 Mr. Peer's subsistence very comfortable. But 
 it frequently happens, that men lose their 
 virtue in prosperity, who were shining charac- 
 ters in the contrary condition. Good fortune 
 indeed had no effect on the mind, but very 
 much on the body of Mr. Peer. For in the 
 seveutieth year of his age he grew fat, which 
 rendered his figure unfit for the utterance of 
 the five lines above-mentioned. He had now 
 unfortunately lost the wan distress necessary 
 for the countenance of the apothecary, and 
 was too jolly to speak the prologue with the 
 proper humility. It is thought this calamity 
 went too near him. It did not a little contri- 
 bute to the shortening his days ; and, as there 
 is no state of real happiness in this life, Mr. Peer 
 was undone by his success, and lost all by ar- 
 riving at what is the end of all other men's 
 pursuits, his ease. 
 
 I could not forbear enquiring into the effects 
 Mr. Peer left behind him, but find there is no 
 demand due to him from the house, but the 
 following bill : 
 
 of s. d. 
 For hire of six case of pistols, 4 
 
 A drum for Mrs. Bignall in the Pil- 
 grim, - -- » - 044 
 A truss of straw for the madmen, 8 
 Pomatum and vermilion to grease 
 
 the face of the stuttering cook, 8 
 For boarding a setting dog two days 
 to follow Mr. Johnson in Epsom 
 Wells, - 6 
 
 For blood in Macbeth, - - 3 
 Raisins and almonds for a witch's 
 
 banquet, - 8 
 
 This contemporary of mine, whom I have 
 often rallied for the narrow compass of his sin- 
 gular perfections, is now a-t peace, and wants 
 no further assistance from any man ; but men 
 of extensive genius, now living, still depend 
 upon the good offices of the town. 
 
 I am therefore to remind my reader, that 
 on this day, being the fifteenth of June, the 
 Plotting Sisters is to be acted for the benefit 
 of the author, my old friend Mr. D'Urfey. This 
 comedy was honoured with the presence of 
 king Charles the Second three of its first five 
 nights. 
 
 My friend has in this work shown himself a 
 master, and made not only the characters of 
 the play, but also the furniture of the house 
 contribute to the main design. He has made 
 excellent use of a table with a carpet, and the 
 key of a closet. With these two implements, 
 which would, perhaps, have been overlooked 
 oy an ordinary writer, he contrives the most 
 natural perplexities (allowing only the use of 
 these household goods in poetry) that ever were 
 represented on a stage. He has also made good 
 advantage of the knowledge of the stage itself; 
 for in the nick of being surprised, the lovers 
 
 are let down and escape at a trap-door. In a 
 word, any who have the curiosity to observe 
 what pleased in the last generation, and does 
 not go to a comedy with a resolution to be 
 grave, will find this evening ample food for 
 mirth. Johnson, who understands what he 
 does as well as any man, exposes the imper 
 tinence of an old fellow, who has lost his senses, 
 still pursuing pleasures, with great mastery. 
 The ingenious Mr. Pinkethman is a bashful 
 rake, and is sheepish without having modesty 
 with .great success. Mr. Bullock succeeds 
 Nokes in the part of Bubble, and in my opinion 
 is not much below him : for he does excellently 
 that sort of folly we call absurdity, which is 
 the very contrary of wit, but, next to that, is 
 of all things the properest to excite mirth. 
 What is foolish is the object of pity; but ab- 
 surdity often proceeds from an opinion of suf- 
 ficiency, and consequently is an honest occasion 
 for laughter. These characters in this play 
 cannot choose but make it a very pleasant en- 
 tertainment, and the decorations of singing 
 and dancing will more than repay the good- 
 nature of those who make an honest man a 
 visit of two merry hour9 to make his following 
 year unpainful. 
 
 *rj-j*-**u 
 
 
 No. 83.] Tuesday, June 16, 1713. 
 
 Nimirum insanus paucis vicleatnr, e6 quod 
 Maxima pais hominuin morbo jaetatur oodem. 
 
 Hor. Lib. C. Sat. iii. 120. 
 
 Few think these mad, for most like these, 
 
 Are sick and troubled with the same disease. 
 
 Creech. 
 
 There is a restless endeavour in the mind of 
 man after happiness. This appetite is wrought 
 into the original frame of our nature, and exerts 
 itself in all parts of the creation that are en- 
 dued with any degree of thought or sense. But 
 as the human mind is dignified by a more com- 
 prehensive faculty than can be found in the 
 inferior animals, it is natural for men not only 
 to have an eye, each to his own happiness, but 
 also to endeavour to promote that of others in 
 the same rank of being : and in proportion to 
 the generosity that is ingredient in the temper 
 of the soul, the object of its benevolence is of 
 a larger and narrower extent. There is hardly 
 a spirit upon earth so mean and contracted, as 
 to centre all regards on its own interest, ex- 
 clusive of the rest of mankind. Even the 
 selfish man has some share of love, which he 
 bestows on his family and his friends. A nobler 
 mind hath at heart the common interest of the 
 society or country of which he makes a part. 
 And there is still a more diffusive spirit, whose 
 being or intentions reach the whole mass of 
 mankind, and are continued beyond the pre- 
 sent age to a succession of future generations. 
 
 The advantage, arising to him who hath a 
 tincture of this generosity on his soul, is, that 
 
 Pv 
 
130 
 
 THE (.UAKDIAX. 
 
 [No. S3- 
 
 be i- affected with a lublimer Joy than can be 
 comprehended by one \* ho is destitute of that 
 noble relish. The happiness of the rest of 
 mankind hath a natural connexion with that 
 of a reasonable mind. And in proportion as 
 the actions of each individual contribute to this 
 end, be must be thought to deserve well or ill, 
 both of the world, and of himself. I have in 
 a late paper observed, that men who have no 
 reach of thought do often misplace their affec- 
 tions on the means, without respect to the end ; 
 and by a preposterous desire of things in them- 
 selves indifferent, forego the enjoyment of that 
 happiness which those things are instrumental 
 to obtain. This observation has been consi- 
 dered with regard to critics and misers ; I shall 
 now apply it to free-thinkers. 
 
 Liberty and truth are the main points which 
 these gentlemen pretend to have in view ; to 
 proceed, therefore, methodically, 1 will endea- 
 vour to show in the first place, that liberty and 
 truth are not in themselves desirable, but only 
 as they relate to a farther end. And secondly, 
 that the sort of liberty and truth (allowing 
 them those names) which our free-thinkers 
 use all their industry to promote, is destructive 
 of that end, viz. human happiness : and con- 
 sequently that species, as such, instead of being 
 encouraged or esteemed, merit the detestation 
 and abhorrence of all honest men. And in the 
 last place, I design to show, that under the 
 pretence of advancing liberty and truth, they 
 do in reality promote the two contrary evils. 
 
 As to the first point, it has been observed 
 that it is the duty of each particular person to 
 aim at the happiness of his fellow-creatures; 
 and that as this view is of a wider or narrower 
 extent, it argues a mind more or less virtuous. 
 Hence it follows, that a liberty of doing good 
 actions which conduce to the felicity of man- 
 kind, and a knowledge of such truths as might 
 either give us pleasure in the contemplation of 
 them, or direct our conduct to the great ends 
 of life, are valuable perfections. But shall a 
 ^ood man, therefore, prefer a liberty to commit 
 murder or adultery, before the wholesome re- 
 straint of divine and human laws ? Or shall a 
 wise man prefer the knowledge of a trouble- 
 some and afflicting truth, before a pleasant 
 error that would cheer his soul with joy and 
 Comfort, and be attended with no ill conse- 
 quences ? Surely no man of common sense 
 would thank him, who had put it in his power 
 to execute the sudden suggestions of a fit of 
 passion or madness, or imagine himself obliged 
 to a person, who, by forwardly informing him 
 of ill news, had oauscd his soul to anticipate 
 that sorrow which she would never have felt 
 so long as the ungrateful truth lay concealed. 
 
 Let us then respect the happiness of our 
 ipecics, and in this light examine the proceed- 
 ings of the free-thinkers. Prom what giants 
 and monsters would these knight- errants un- 
 
 dertake to free the world? From the tie9 that 
 religion iinposeth on our minds, from the ex- 
 pectation of a future judgment, and from the 
 terrors of a troubled conscience, not by reform- 
 ing men's lives, but by giving encouragement 
 to their vices. What are those important 
 truths of which they would convince mankind? 
 That there is no such thing as a wise and just 
 Providence ; that the mind of man is corporeal ; 
 that religion is a state- trick, contrived to make 
 men honest and virtuous, and to procure a 
 subsistence to others for teaching and exhort- 
 ing them to be so; that the good tidings of 
 life and immortality, brought to light by the 
 gospel, are fables and impostures ; from be- 
 lieving that we are made in the image of God, 
 they would degrade us to an opinion that we 
 are on a level with the beasts that perish. 
 What pleasure or what advantage do these 
 notions bring to mankind. Is it of any use to 
 the public that good men should lose the com- 
 fortable prospect of a reward to their virtue ; 
 or the wicked be encouraged to persist in their 
 impiety, from an assurance that they shall not 
 be punished for it hereafter ? 
 
 Allowing, therefore, these men to be patrons 
 of liberty and truth, yet it is of such truths, 
 and that sort of liberty, which makes them 
 justly be looked upon as enemies to the peace 
 and happiness of the world. But upon a 
 thorough and impartial view it will be found, 
 that their endeavours, instead of advancing 
 the cause of liberty and truth, tend only to 
 introduce slavery and error among men. There 
 are two parts in our nature : the baser, which 
 consists of our senses and passions, and the 
 more noble and rational, which is properly the 
 human part, the other being common to us 
 with brutes. The inferior part is generally 
 much stronger, and has always the start of 
 reason, which if in the perpetual struggle be- 
 tween them, it were not aided from heaven by 
 religion, would almost universally be vanquish- 
 ed, and man become a slave to his passions, 
 which, as it is the most grievous and shameful 
 slavery, so it is the genuine result of that liberty 
 which is proposed by overturning religion. Nor 
 is the other part of their design better executed. 
 Look into their pretended truths: are they 
 not so many wretched absurdities, maintained 
 in opposition to the light of nature and divine 
 revelation by sly inuendoes and cold jests, by 
 such pitiful sophisms and such confused and 
 indigested notions, that one would vehemently 
 suspect those men usurped the name of free- 
 thinkers with the same view that hypocrites 
 do that of godliness, that it may serve for 
 cloak to cover the contrary defect ? 
 
 1 shall close this discourse with a parellel re- 
 flection on these three species, who seem to 
 be allied by a certain agreement in mediocrity 
 of understanding. A critic is entirely given 
 up to the pursuit of learning; when he has 
 
No. 84.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 131 
 
 got it, is his judgment clearer, his imagination 
 livelier, or his manners more polite than those 
 of other men? Is it observed that a miser, 
 when he has acquired his superfluous estate, 
 eats, drinks, or sleeps with more satisfaction, 
 that he has a cheerfuller mind, or relishes any 
 of the enjoyments of life better than his neigh- 
 bours? The free-thinkers plead hard for a 
 licence to think freely ; they have it : but 
 what use do they make of it? Are they emi- 
 nent for any sublime discoveries in any of the 
 arts and sciences ? Have they been authors of 
 any inventions that conduce to the well-being 
 of mankind ? Do their writings show a greater 
 tepth of design, a clearer method, or more 
 just and correct reasoning than those of other 
 men? 
 
 There is a great resemblance in their genius ; 
 but the critic and miser are only ridiculous 
 and contemptible creatures, while the free- 
 thinker is also a pernicious one. 
 
 No. 84.] Wednesday, June 17, 1713. 
 
 Noti missura cuteui nisi plena cruoris hirudo. 
 
 Hor. Ars Poet. ver. ult. 
 
 Sticking like leeches, till they burst with blood. 
 
 Roscommon. 
 
 * To the Honoured Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 
 ' SIR, Middle Temple, June 12. 
 
 ' Presuming you may sometimes condescend 
 to take cognizance of small enormities, 1 here 
 lay one before you, which I proceed to without 
 farther apology, as well knowing the best oom- 
 pliment to a man of business is to come to the 
 point. 
 
 * There is a silly habit among many of our 
 minor orators, who display their eloquence in 
 the several coffee-houses of this fair city, to 
 the no small annoyance of considerable num- 
 bers of her majesty's spruce and loving sub- 
 jects, and that is a humour they have got of 
 twisting off your buttons, These ingeuious 
 gentlemen are not able to advance three words 
 until they have got fast hold of one of your 
 buttons; but as soon as they have procured 
 such an excellent handle for discourse, they 
 will indeed proceed with great elocution. I 
 know not how well some may have escaped, 
 but for my part I have often met with them 
 to my cost; having I believe within these three 
 years last past been argued out of several dozens; 
 insomuch that I have for some time ordered 
 my tailor to bring me home with every suit a 
 dozen at least of spare ones, to supply the place 
 ef such as from time to time are detached as 
 a help to discourse, by the vehement gentle- 
 men before-mentioned. This way of holding 
 a man in discourse is much practised in the 
 coffee-houses within the city, and does not in- 
 deed so much prevail at the politer end of the 
 town. It is likewise more frequently made 
 use of among the small politicians, than any 
 
 other body of men ; I am therefore something 
 cautious of entering into a controvesy with this 
 species of statesmen, especially the younger 
 fry ; for if you offer in the least to dissent from 
 any thing that one of these advances, he im- 
 mediately steps up to you, takes hold of one 
 of your buttons, and indeed will soon convince 
 you of the strength of his argumentation. 
 1 remember, upon the news of Dunkirk's be- 
 ing delivered into our hands, a brisk little 
 fellow, a politician and an able engineer, had 
 got into the middle of Batson's coffee-house, 
 and was fortifying Graveling for the service of 
 the most Christian king, with all imaginable 
 expedition. The work was carried on with 
 such success, that in less than a quarter of an 
 hour's time, he had made it almost impregna- 
 ble, and in the opinion of several worthy citi- 
 zens who had gathered round him, full as 
 strong both by sea and land as Dunkirk ever 
 could pretend to be. I happened, however, un- 
 advisedly to attack some of his outworks ; upon 
 which, to show his great skill likewise in the 
 offensive part, he immediately made an assualt 
 upon one of my buttons, and carried it in less 
 than two minutes, notwithstanding I made as 
 handsome a defence as was possible. He had 
 likewise invested a second, and would certainly 
 have been master of that too in a very little 
 time, had not he been diverted from this en- 
 terprise by the arrival of a courier, who brought 
 advice that his presence was absolutely neces- 
 sary in the disposal of a beaver,* upon which 
 he raised the siege, and indeed retired with 
 some precipitation. In the coffee-houses here 
 about the Temple, you may harangue even 
 among our dabblers in politics for about two 
 buttons a day, and many times for less. I had 
 yesterday the good fortune to receive very con- 
 siderable additions to my knowledge in state 
 affairs, and 1 find this morning, that it has not 
 stood me in above a button. In most of the 
 eminent coffee-houses at the other end of the 
 town, for example, to go no farther than Will's 
 in Covent-garden, the company is so refined, 
 that you may hear and be heard, and not be a 
 button the worse for it. Besides the gentlemen 
 before- mentioned, there are others who are no 
 less active in their harangues, but with gentle 
 services rather than robberies. These, while 
 they are improving your understanding, are at 
 the same time setting off your person ; they 
 will new-plait and adjust your neckcloth. 
 
 ' But though I can bear with this kind of 
 orator, who is so humble as to aim at the good- 
 will of his hearer by being his valet de chambre, 
 I must rebel against another sort of them. 
 There are some, sir, that do not stick to take 
 a man by the collar when they have a mind to 
 
 * The person here alluded to was a Mr. James TIeywoorl, 
 a linen draper, who was the writer of a letter in the Spec- 
 tator, signed James Easy. 
 
132 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 85. 
 
 persuade him. It is your business, 1 humbly 
 presume, Mr. Ironside, to interpose tint :i man 
 
 is Rot brought over to bis opponent by force 
 
 <>l arms. It were requisite therefore that you 
 should name a certain interval, which ought 
 
 |0 be preserved between the speaker aiul him 
 to whom be speaks. For sure no man has a 
 right, because I am not of his opinion, lo take 
 any of my clothes from me, or dress me ac- 
 cording; to his own liking;. I assure you the 
 most becoming- thing- to me in the world is in 
 a campaign periwig, to wear one side before 
 and the other cast upon the collateral shoulder. 
 But there is a friend of mine who never talks 
 to me but he throws that which I wear forward, 
 upon my shoulder, so that in restoring it to 
 its place I lose two or three hairs out of the 
 lock upon my buttons; though I never touched 
 him in my whole life, and have been acquainted 
 with him these ten years. I have seen my 
 eager friend in danger sometimes of a quarrel 
 by this ill custom, for there are more young 
 gentlemen who can feel, than can understand. 
 Jt would be therefore a good office to my good 
 friend if you advised him not to collar any man 
 but one who knows what he means, and give it 
 him as a standing precaution in conversation, 
 that none hut a very good friend will give him 
 the liberty of being seen, felt, heard, and un- 
 derstood all at once. 
 4 I am Sir, 
 Your most humble servant, 
 
 ' JOHANNES MISOCIIIUOSOPIIUS. 
 
 * F. S. I have a sister who saves herself from 
 being handled by one of these manual rheto- 
 ricians by giving him her fan to play with ; 
 but I appeal to you in the behalf of us poor 
 helpless men.' 
 
 June 15, 1713. 
 
 I am of opinion, that no orator or speaker in 
 public or private has any right to meddle with 
 any body's clothes but his own. I indulge men 
 in the liberty of playing with their own hats, 
 fumbling in their own pockets, settling their 
 own periwigs, tossing or twisting their heads, 
 and all other gesticulations which may contri- 
 bute to their elocution ; but pronounce it an 
 infringement of the English liberty, for a man 
 to keep his neighbour's person in custody in 
 order to force a hearing ; and farther declare, 
 that all assent given by an auditor under such 
 constraint, is of itself void and of no effect. 
 
 NESTOR IRONSIDE. 
 
 N o. a. r ) . ] 77; iirsduy, June 18, 171 :>. 
 
 Bed la decor We, qqpd optas, 
 
 i m rets! votoqae i»<> tn.i forma repugnat 
 
 Ovid. Met Lib. I. 488. 
 mnch \..ntli, with in much beauty (oin'd, 
 « IppoM ihi rtau widen thy rti irw designed, 
 
 To suffer scandel (says somebody) is the tax 
 
 nhich every pCTSOn of merit pays to the public, 
 
 and my bird Veruiam finely observes; that a 
 man who lias no virtue in himself, ever envies 
 virtue in others. I know not how it comes to 
 pass, but detraction, through all ages, has been 
 found a vice which the fair sex too easily give 
 in to. Not the Roman satirist could use them 
 with more severity than they themselves do 
 one another. Some audacious rritics, in my 
 opinion, have launched out a little to far when 
 they take upon them to prove, in opposition 
 to history, that Lais was a woman of as much 
 virtue has beauty, which violently displeasing 
 the Phrynes of those times, they secretly pre- 
 vailed with the historians to deliver her down 
 to posterity under the infamous character of 
 an extorting prostitute. But though 1 have 
 the greatest regard imaginable to that softer 
 species, yet am I sorry to find they have very 
 little for themselves. So far are they from 
 being tender of one another's reputation, that 
 they take a malicious pleasure in destroying 
 ir. My lady the other day, when Jack was 
 asking, who could be so base to spread such 
 
 a report about Mrs. — , answered, ' None, 
 
 you may be sure, but a woman.' A little after, 
 Dick told my lady, that he had heard Florella 
 hint as if Cleora wore artificial teeth. The 
 reason is, said she, because Cleora first gave 
 out that Florella owed her complexion to a 
 wash. Thus the industrious pretty creatures 
 take pains by invention, to throw blemishes 
 on each other, when they do not consider that 
 there is a profligate set of fellows too ready to 
 taint the character of the virtuous, or blast 
 the charms of the blooming virgin. The young 
 lady from whom I had the honour of receiving 
 the following letter, deserves or rather claims, 
 protection from our sex, since so barbarously 
 treated by her own. Certainly they ought to 
 defend innocence from injury who gave igno- 
 rantly the occasion of its being assaulted. Had 
 the men been less liberal of their applauses, 
 the women had been more sparing of these 
 calumnious censures. 
 
 ' To the Guardian. 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 4 1 do not know at what nice point you fix 
 the bloom of a young lady ; hut I am one who 
 can just look back upon fifteen. My father 
 dying three years ago, left me under the care 
 and direction of my mother, with a fortune 
 not profusely great, yet such as might demand 
 a very handsome settlement, if ever proposals 
 of marriage should be offered. My mother, 
 after the usual time of retired mourning wa3 
 over, was so affectionately indulgent to me, as 
 to take me along with her in all her visits; 
 but still not thinking she gratified my youth 
 enough, permitted me further to go with my 
 relations to all the public, cheerful, but inno- 
 cent entertainments, where she was too reserved 
 to appear herself. The two first years of my 
 
No. 85.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 133 
 
 teens were easy, gay, and delightful. Every 
 one caressed me ; the old ladies told me how 
 finely I grew, and the young ones were proud 
 of my company. But when the third year had 
 a little advanced, my relations used to tell my 
 mother, that pretty miss Clary was shot up 
 into a woman. The gentlemen began now not 
 to let their eyes glance over me, and in most 
 places 1 found myself distinguished ; but ob- 
 served, the more I grew into the esteem of 
 their sex, the more 1 lost the favour of my own. 
 Some of those whom I had been familiar with, 
 grew cold and indifferent; others mistook by 
 design, my meaning, made me speak what 
 1 never thought, and so by degrees took occa- 
 sion to break off all acquaintance. There were 
 several little insignificant reflections cast upon 
 me, as being a lady of a great many quaint- 
 nesses, and such like, which I seemed not to 
 take notice of. But my mother coming home 
 about a week ago, told me there was a scandal 
 spread about town by my enemies, that would 
 at once ruin me for ever for a beauty ; I ear- 
 nestly entreated her to know it; she refused 
 me, but yesterday it discovered itself. Being 
 in an assembly of gentleman and ladies, one 
 of the gentlemen who had been very facetious 
 to several of the ladies, at last turning to me, 
 ' And as for you, madam, Prior has already 
 given us your character, 
 
 " That-air and harmony of shape evprcss, 
 Fine by degrees, yet beautifully less."' 
 
 f perceived immediately a malignant smile 
 display itself in the countenance of some of 
 the ladies, which they seconded with a scornful 
 flutter of the fan ; until one of them, unable 
 any longer to contain, asked the gentleman if 
 he did not remember what Congreve said about 
 Aurelia, for she thought it mighty pretty. He 
 made no answer, but instantly repeated the 
 verses : 
 
 " The mulcibers who in the minories sweat, 
 And massive bars on stubborn anvils beat: 
 DefonnM themselves, yet forge those sttys of steel, 
 Which arm Aurelia with a shape to kill." 
 
 This was no sooner over, but it was easily dis- 
 cernable what an ill-natured satisfaction most 
 of the company took ; and the more pleasure 
 they showed by dwelling upon the two last 
 lines, the more they increased my trouble and 
 confusion. And now, sir, after this tedious 
 account, what would you advise me to ? Js 
 there no way to be cleared of these malicious 
 calumnies ? What is beauty worth that makes 
 the possessor thus unhappy ? Why was nature 
 so lavish of her gifts to me, as to make her 
 kindness prove a cruelty ? They tell me my 
 shape is delicate, my eyes sparkling, my lips, 
 J know not what, my cheeks, forsooth, adorned 
 with a just mixture of the rose and lily ; but 
 I wish this face was barely not disagreeable, 
 this voice harsh and unhannonious, these limbs 
 
 only not deformed, and then perhaps I might 
 live easy and unmolested, and neither raise 
 love and admiration in the men, nor scandal 
 and hatreJ in the women. 
 
 ' Your very humble servant, 
 
 « CtARINA.' 
 
 The best answer I can make my fair cor- 
 respondent is, That she ought to comfort her- 
 self with this consideration, that those who 
 talk thus of her know it is false, but, wish they 
 could make others believe it true. It is not 
 they think you deformed, but are vexed that 
 they themselves were not as nicely framed. 
 If you will take an old man's advice, laugh, 
 and be not concerned at them : they have at- 
 tained what they endeavoured if they make 
 you uneasy ; for it is envy that has made them 
 so. I would not have you wish your shape one 
 sixtieth part of an inch disproportioned, nor 
 desire your face might be impoverished with 
 the ruin of half a feature, though numbers of 
 remaining beauties might make the loss insen- 
 sible ; but take courage, go into the brightest 
 assemblies, and the world will quickly confess 
 it to be scandal. Thus Plato, hearing it was 
 asserted by some persons that he was a very 
 bad man, * I shall take care,' said he, ' to live 
 so, that nobody will believe them.* 
 
 I shall conclude this paper with a relation 
 of matter of fact. A gay young gentlemen in 
 the country, not many years ago, fell despe- 
 rately in love with a blooming fine creature, 
 whom give me leave to call Melissa. After a 
 pretty long delay, and frequent solicitations, 
 she refused several others of larger estates, 
 and consented to make him happy. But they 
 had not been married much above a twelve- 
 month, until it appeared too true what Juba 
 says, 
 
 ' Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, 
 
 Fades in the eye, and palls upon the sense.' 
 
 Polydore (for that was his name) finding him- 
 self grow every day more uneasy, and unwil- 
 ling she should discover the cause, for diversion 
 came up to town, and, to avoid all suspicions, 
 brought Melissa along with him. After some 
 stay here, Polydore was one day informed, that 
 a set of ladies over their tea-table, in the circle 
 of scandal, had touched upon Melissa— — And 
 was that the silly thing so much talked of! 
 How did she ever grow into a toast ! For their 
 parts they had eyes as well as the men, but 
 could not discover where her beauties lay. — 
 Polydore upon hearing this, flew immediately 
 home and told Melissa, with the utmost trans- 
 port, that he was now fully convinced how 
 numberless were her charms, since her own 
 sex would not allow her any. 
 
 ' MK, IRONSIDE, Button's Coffee-house, 
 
 ' I have observed that this day you make 
 mention of Will's coffee-house, as a place where 
 
131 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 86. 
 
 people are too polite (0 I10KI a man in dis- 
 coufM l>\ ibi button. Every body knows your 
 nonour frequents this house; therefore they 
 will take an advantage against ine, and say, 
 if inv company was as civil as that at Will's, 
 vou would say so: therefore pray your honour 
 do not he afraid of doing me justice, because 
 people would think it may be a conceit below 
 you on this occasion to name the name of 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 * DANIEL BUTTON.* 
 
 ' The young poets are in the hack room, 
 and take their places as you directed.' 
 
 No. 86.] Friday, June 19, 1713. 
 
 Coi mens diviuior, atque os 
 
 Magna sonauiram Hor. Lib. l. Sat. iv. 43. 
 
 With fancy high, and bold and daring (lights. 
 
 Creech. 
 
 1 To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 
 ' SIR, Oxford, June 16, 1713. 
 
 ' The classical writers, according to your ad- 
 vice, are by no means neglected by me, while 
 I pursue my studies in divinity. I am per- 
 suaded that they are fountains of good sense 
 and eloquence; and that it is absolutely ne- 
 cessary for a young mind to form itself upon 
 such models. For by a careful study of their 
 style and manner, we shall at least avoid those 
 faults, into which a youthful imagination is 
 apt to hurry us; such as luxuriance of fancy, 
 licentiousness of style, redundency of thought, 
 and false ornaments. As I have been flattered 
 by my friends, that 1 have some genius for 
 poetry, I sometimes turn my thoughts that 
 way. and with pleasure reflect, that I have 
 got over that childish part of life, which de- 
 lights in points and turns of wit: and that 
 I can take a manly and rational satisfaction 
 in that which is called paiuting in poetry. 
 Whether it be that in these copyings of nature 
 the object is placed in such lights and cir- 
 cumstances as strike the fancy agreeably; or 
 whether we are surprised to find objects that 
 are absent, placed before our eyes ; or whether 
 it be our admiration of the author's art and 
 dexterity; or whether we amuse ourselves with 
 comparing the picture and the original; or 
 rather (which is most probable) because all 
 these reasons concur to affect us; we are won- 
 derfully charmed with these drawings after 
 the life, this magic that raises apparitions in 
 the fancy. 
 
 ' Landscapes or still-life work much less 
 upon us than representations of the postures 
 or peMtoni of living creatures. Again, those 
 passions or postures strike us more or less in 
 
 * I ' I I »i<"' kept a COftofeoOM On (lie south side of 
 
 b lit two rl • from Covcntf arden. Hen 
 
 ii >.x« thai die wilt of thai inn. ami lo assemble. 
 
 proportion to the ease or violence of their mo- 
 tions. A horse grazing moves us less than one 
 stretching in a race, and a racer less than one 
 in the fury of a battle. It is very difficult, 
 I believe, to express violent motions which 
 are fleeting and transitory, either in colours 
 or words. In poetry it requires great spirit 
 in thought, and energy in style ; which we find 
 more of in the eastern poetry, than either the 
 Greek or Roman. The great Creator, who 
 accommodated himself to those he vouchsafed 
 to speak to, hath put into the mouths of bis 
 prophets such sublime sentiments and exalted 
 language, as mu>t abash the pride and wit of 
 man. In the book of Job, the most ancient 
 poem in the world, we have such paintings and 
 descriptions as I have spoken of, in great va- 
 riety. 1 shall at present make some remarks 
 on the celebrated description of the horse in 
 that holy book, and compare it with those 
 drawn by Homer and Virgil. 
 
 ' Homer hath the following similitude of a 
 horse twice over in the Iliad, which Virgil hath 
 copied from him ; at least he hath deviated less 
 from Homer than Mr. Dryden hath from him : 
 
 " Freed from his keepers, thus with broken reins 
 The wanton courser prances o'er the plains ; 
 Or in the pride of youth o'erleaps the mounds, 
 And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds ; 
 Or seeks his watering in the well-knowu tlood, 
 To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood : 
 lie swims luxuriant in the liquid plain, 
 And o'er his shoulders flows his waving mane. ; 
 He nei»hs, he snorts, he bears his head on high, 
 Before his ample chest the frothy waters fly." 
 
 ' Virgil's description is much fuller than the 
 foregoing, which, as I said, is only a simile ; 
 whereas Virgil professes to treat of the nature 
 of the horse. It is thus admirably translated : 
 
 •■' The fiery courser, when lie hears from far 
 The sprightly trumpets, and the shouts of war, 
 Pricks" up his ears, and trembling with delight, 
 Shifts pace, and paws; and hopes the promis'd fight. 
 On his right shoulder his thick mane reclin'd, 
 Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind. 
 His horny hoofs are jetty black and round : j 
 His chin is double ; starting, with a bound 
 lie turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground. ' 
 Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nostrils ROW ; 
 He bears his rider headlong on the foe." 
 
 I Now follows that in the book of Job ; which 
 under all the disadvantages of having been 
 written in a language little understood ; of 
 being expressed in phrases peculiar to a part 
 of the world whose manner of thinking and 
 speaking seems to us very uncouth ; and, above 
 all, of appearing in a prose translation ; is, ne- 
 vertheless, so transcendently above the heathen 
 descriptions, that hereby we may percieve how 
 faint and languid the images are which are 
 formed by mortal authors, when compared with 
 that which is figured, as it were, just as it ap- 
 pears in the eye of the Creator. God speaking 
 to Job, asks him, 
 
 II Hast thou given the horse strength? hast 
 thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst 
 
No, 86.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 135 
 
 thou make him afraid as a grasshopper ? The 
 glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in 
 the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength. He 
 goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh 
 at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turneth 
 he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth 
 against him, the glittering spear, and the shield. 
 He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and 
 rage ; neither believeth he that it is the sound 
 of the trumpet. He saith amongst the trum- 
 pets, Ha, ha ; and he smelleth the battle afar 
 off; the thunder of the captains, and the 
 shouting." 
 
 * Here are all the great and sprightly images 
 that thought can form of this generous beast, 
 expressed in such force and vigour of style, 
 as would have given the great wits of antiquity 
 new laws for the sublime, had they been ac- 
 quainted with these writings. I cannot but 
 particularly observe, that whereas the classical 
 poets chiefly endeavour to paint the outward 
 figure, lineaments, and motions; the sacred 
 poet makes all the beauties to flow from an 
 inward principle in the creature he describes, 
 and thereby gives great spirit and vivacity to 
 his description. The following phrases and 
 circumstances seem singularly remarkable : 
 
 " Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder ?" 
 Homer and Virgil mention nothing about the 
 neck of the horse but his mane. The sacred 
 author, by the bold figure of thunder, not only 
 expresses the shaking of that remarkable beauty 
 in the horse, and the flakes of hair which na- 
 turally suggest the idea of lightning ; but like- 
 wise the violent agitation and force of the 
 neck, which in the oriental tongues had been 
 flatly expressed by a metaphor less than this. 
 
 Canst thou make him afraid as a grass- 
 hopper ?" There is a twofold beauty in this ex- 
 pression, which not only marks the courage of 
 this beast, by asking if he can be scared ? but 
 likewise raises a noble image of his swiftness, 
 by insinuating, that if he could be frighted, he 
 would bound away with the nirnbleness of a 
 grasshopper. 
 
 " The glory of his nostrils is terrible." This 
 is more strong and concise than that of Virgil, 
 which yet is the noblest line that was ever 
 written without inspiration: 
 
 " Cnllectumque premens volvit sub naribus ignem." 
 
 Georg. iii. 85. 
 " And in his nostrils rolls collected fire." 
 
 " He rejoiceth in his strength — He mocketh 
 at fear — neither believeth he that it is the 
 sound of the trumpet — He saith among the 
 trumpets, Ha, ha," are signs of courage as I 
 said before, flowing from an inward principle. 
 There is a peculiar beauty in his " not be- 
 lieving it is the sound of the trumpet :" that is, 
 he cannot believe it for joy ^ but when he was 
 sure of it, and is " amongst the trumpets, he 
 saith, Ha, ha;" he neighs, he rejoices. His 
 
 docility is elegantly painted in his being un 
 moved at the " rattling quiver, the glittering 
 spear, and the shield ;" and is well imitated by 
 Oppian (who undoubtedly read Job as well as 
 Virgil) in his poem upon hunting: 
 
 " How firm the manag'd war-horse keeps his ground, 
 Nor breaks his order, tho' the trumpets sound ! 
 With fearless eye the glittering host surveys, 
 And glares directly at the helmet's blaze ! 
 The master's word, the laws of war he knows, 
 And when to stop, and when to charge the foes." 
 
 ■* He swalloweth the ground," is an expres- 
 sion for prodigious swiftness, in use among the 
 Arabians, Job's countrymen, at this day. The 
 Latins have something like it : 
 
 " Latnmque fuga consumere campum." Nemesian. 
 " In flight the extended campaign to consume." 
 " Carpere prata fuga. Virg. Georg. iii. 142. 
 
 " In flight to crop the meads." 
 
 " cainpnmqnc volatu 
 
 Cum rapuere, pedum vestigia quaeras." Sil. ltal. 
 " When in their flight the campaign they liave snatch'd 
 No track is left behind." 
 
 * It is indeed the boldest and noblest of images 
 for swiftness ; nor have I met with any thing 
 that comes so near it as Mr. Pope's, in Windsor 
 Forest : 
 
 " The impatient courser pants in every vein, 
 And pawing, seems to beat the distant plain ; 
 Hills, vales, and floods, appear already cross'd, 
 And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost." 
 
 " He smelleth the battle afar off," and what 
 follows about the shouting, is a circumstance 
 expressed with great spirit by Lucan: 
 
 '• So when the ring with joyful shouts rebounds, 
 With rage and pride the imprison'd courser bounds : 
 He frets, he foams, he rends his idle rein ; 
 Springs o'er the fence, and headlong seeks the plain." 
 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 ' Your ever obliged servant, 
 
 'JOHN LIZARD.' 
 
 No. 87.] Saturday, June 20, 1713. 
 
 Constiterant nine Thisbe, Priamns illinc, 
 
 Inque vicem fuerat captatus anhelitus oris. 
 
 Ovid. Met. Lib. iv. 71- 
 
 Here i»y ram us, there gentle Thisbe, strove 
 
 To catch each other's breath, the balmy breeze of love. 
 
 My precautions are made up of ail that I 
 can hear and see, translate, borrow, para- 
 phrase, or contract, from the persons with 
 whom I mingle and converse, and the authors, 
 whom I read. But the grave discourses which. 
 I sometimes give the town, do not win so 
 much attention as lighter matters. For this 
 reason it is, that I am obliged to consider vice 
 as it is ridiculous, and accompanied with gal- 
 lantry, else I find in a very short time I shal 
 lie like waste paper on tLe tables of coffee- 
 houses. Where I have taken most pains I 
 often find myself least read. There 13 a spirit 
 
13(' 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 87. 
 
 of intrigue got into all, even the meanest of 
 the |« opli-, ami the very servants are hent upon 
 delights, and commence oglers and languishes. 
 1 happened the other day to pass by a gentle- 
 man s bouse, and saw the most flippant scene 
 of low love that I have ever observed. The 
 maid was rubbing the windows within side of 
 the house, and her humble servant the foot- 
 man was so happy a man as to be employed in 
 cleaning the same glass on the side toward the 
 street. The wench began with the greatest 
 severity of aspect imaginable, and breathing 
 on the glass, followed it with a dry cloth ; her 
 opposite observed her, and fetching a deep 
 sigh, as if it were his .ast, with a very discon- 
 solate air did the same on his side of the win- 
 dow. He still worked on and languished, till 
 at last hi J fair one smiled, but covered herself, 
 and spreading the napkin in her hand, con- 
 cealed herself from her admirer, while he took 
 pains, as it were, to work through all that 
 intercepted their meeting. This pretty contest 
 held for four or five large panes of glass, until 
 at last the waggery was turned into a humo- 
 rous way of breathing in each other's faces, 
 and catching the impression. The gay crea- 
 tures were thus loving and pleasing their ima- 
 ginations with their nearness and distance, 
 until the windows were so transparent that 
 the beauty of the female made the man. servant 
 impatient of beholding it, and the whole house 
 besides being abroad, he ran in, and they 
 romped out of my sight. It may be imagined 
 these oglers of no quality made a more sudden 
 application of the intention of kind sighs and 
 glances, than those whose education lays them 
 under greater restraints, and who are conse- 
 quently more slow in their advances. I have 
 often observed all the low part of the town in 
 love, and, taking a hackney-coach, have con- 
 sidered all that passed by me in that light, as 
 these cities are composed of crowds wherein 
 there is not one who is not lawfully or unlaw- 
 fully engaged in that passion. When one is in 
 this speculation, it is not unpleasant to ob- 
 serve alliances between those males and fe- 
 males whose lot it is to act in public. Thus 
 the woods in the middle of summer are not 
 more entertaining with the different notes of 
 birds, than the town is of different voices of 
 the several sorts of people who act in public; 
 they are divided into Masses, and crowds made 
 for crowds. The hackney- coachmen, chair- 
 men, and porters, are the lovers of the hawker- 
 women, fruitrcsses, and milk-maids. They 
 are a wild world by themselves, and have voices 
 significant of their private inclinations, which 
 Stranger* can lake no notice of. Thus a wench 
 with fruit looks like a mad woman when she 
 criei wares you see she does not carry, but 
 those in the secret know that cry is only an 
 assignation to a hackney- coachman who is 
 driving by, and understands her. The whole 
 
 people is in an intrigue, and the undiscerning 
 passengers are unacquainted with the meaning 
 of what they hear all round them. They know 
 not how to separate the cries of mercenary 
 traders, from the sighs and lamentations of 
 languishing lovers. The common face of mo- 
 desty is lost among the ordinary part of the 
 world, and the general corruption of manners 
 is visible from the loss of all deference in the 
 low people towards those of condition. One 
 order of mankind trips fast after the next above 
 it, and by this rule you may trace iniquity 
 from the conversations of the most wealthy, 
 down to those of the humblest degree. It is 
 an act of great resolution to pass by a crowd 
 of polite footmen, who can rally, make love, 
 ridicule, and observe upon all the passengers 
 who are obliged to go by the places where they 
 wait. This licence makes different characters 
 among them, and there are beaus, party-men, 
 and free-thinkers in livery. I take it for a rule, 
 that there is no bad man but makes a bad wo- 
 man, and the contagion of vice is what should 
 make people cautious of their behaviour. Ju- 
 venal says, there is the greatest reverence to 
 be had to the presence of children ; it may be 
 as well said of the presence of servants, and it 
 would be some kind of virtue, if we kept our 
 vices to ourselves. It is a feeble authority 
 which has not the support of personal respect, 
 and the dependence founded only upon their 
 receiving their maintenance of us is not of 
 force enough to support us against an habitual 
 behaviour, for which they contemn and deride 
 us. No man can be well served, but by those 
 who have an opinion of his merit; and that 
 opinion cannot be kept up but by an exemption 
 from those faults which we would restrain in 
 our dependents. 
 
 Though our fopperies imitated are subjects 
 of laughter, our vices transferred to our ser- 
 vants give matter of lamentation. But there 
 is nothing in which our families are so docile, 
 as in the imitation of our delights. It is, there- 
 fore, but common prudence to take care, that 
 our inferiors know of none but our innocent 
 ones. It is, methinks, a very arrogant thing 
 to expect, that the single consideration of not 
 offending us should curb our servants from 
 vice, when much higher motives cannot mo- 
 derate our own inclinations. But I began this 
 paper with an observation, that the lower world 
 is got into fashionable vices, and, above all, to 
 the understanding the language of the eye. 
 There is nothing but writing songs which the 
 footmen do not practise as well as their masters. 
 Spurious races of mankind, which pine in want, 
 and perish in their first months of being, come 
 into the world from this degeneracy. The pos- 
 session of wealth and affluence seems to carry 
 some faint extenuation of his guilt who is sunk 
 by it into luxury; but poverty and servitude 
 accompanied with the vices of wealth and li 
 
No. 88.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 13/ 
 
 centiousness, is, I believe, a circumstance of 
 ill peculiar to our age. This may, perhaps, be 
 matter of jest, or is overlooked by those who 
 do not turn their thoughts upon the actions of 
 others. But from that one particular, of the 
 immorality of our servants arising from the 
 negligence of masters of families in their care 
 of them, flows that irresistible torrent of dis- 
 asters which spreads itself through all human 
 life. Old age oppressed with beggary, youth 
 drawn into the commission of murders and 
 robberies, both owe their disaster to this evil. 
 If we consider the happiness which grows out 
 of a fatherly conduct towards servants, it would 
 encourage a man to that sort of care, as much 
 as the effects of a libertine behaviour to them 
 would affright us. 
 
 Lycurgus is a man of that noble disposition, 
 that his domestics, in a nation of the greatest 
 liberty, enjoy a freedom known only to them- 
 selves who live under his roof. He is the 
 banker, the counsel, the parent, of all his nu- 
 merous dependents. Kindness is the law of 
 his house, and the way to his favour is being 
 gentle, and well-natured to their fellow-ser- 
 vants. Every one recommends himself, by ap- 
 pearing officious to let their patron know the 
 merit of others under his care. Many little 
 fortunes have streamed out of his favour; and 
 his prudence is such, that the fountain is not 
 exhausted by the channels from it, but its way 
 cleared to run new meanders. He bestows 
 with so much judgment, that his bounty is the 
 increase of his wealth ; all who share his favour 
 are enabled to enjoy it by his example, and he 
 has not only made, but qualified many a man 
 to be rich. 
 
 No. 88.] Monday, June %% 1713. 
 
 Mens agitat molem Cirg. Sun. vi. 727. 
 
 A mind informs the mass. 
 
 To one who regards things with a philoso- 
 phical eye, and hath a soul capable of being 
 delighted with the sense that truth and know- 
 ledge prevail among men, it must be a grate- 
 ful reflection to think that the sublimest 
 truths, which, among the heathens, only here 
 and there one of brighter parts and more lei- 
 sure than ordinary could attain to, are now 
 grown familiar to the meanest inhabitants of 
 these nations. 
 
 Whence came this surprising change, that 
 regions formerly inhabited by ignorant and 
 savage people, should now outshine ancient 
 Greece, and the other eastern countries so re- 
 nowned of old, in the most elevated notions of 
 theology and morality? Is it the effect of our 
 own parts and industry? Have our common 
 mechanics more refined understandings than 
 the ancient philosophers ? It is owing to the 
 God of truth, who came down from heaven, 
 
 and condescended to be himself our teacher. 
 It is as we are Christians, that we profess more 
 excellent and divine truths than the rest of 
 mankind. 
 
 If there be any of the free-thinkers who are 
 not direct atheists, charity would incline one 
 to believe; them ignorant of what is here ad- 
 vanced. And it is for their information that 
 I write this paper, the design of which is to 
 compare the ideas that Christians entertain of 
 the being and attributes of a God, with the 
 gross notions of the heathen world. Is it pos- 
 sible for the mind of man to conceive a more 
 august idea of the Deity than is set forth in 
 the holy scriptures ? I shall throw together 
 some passages relating to this subject, which 
 I propose only as philosophical sentiments, to 
 be considered by a free-thinker. 
 
 ' Though there be that are called gods, yet 
 to us there is but one God. He made the 
 heaven, and heaven of heavens, with all theii 
 host ; the earth, and all things that are 
 therein ; the seas, and all that is therein ; he 
 said, Let them be, and it was so. He hath 
 stretched forth the heavens. He hath founded 
 the earth, and hung it upon nothing. He 
 hath shut up the sea with doors, and said, 
 Hitherto shalt thou come, and no farther, and 
 here shall thy proud waves be staid. The Lord 
 is an invisible spirit, in whom we live, and 
 move, and have our being. He is the fountain 
 of life. He preserveth man and beast. He 
 giveth food to all flesh. In his hand is the 
 soul of every living thing, and the breath of 
 all mankind. The Lord maketh poor and 
 maketh rich. He bringeth low and lifteth up. 
 He killeth and maketh alive. He woundeth 
 and he healeth. By him kings reign, and 
 princes decree justice; and not a sparrow falleth 
 to the ground without him. All angels, au- 
 thorities, and powers, are subject to him. He 
 appointeth the moon for seasons, and the sun 
 knoweth his going down. He thundereth with 
 his voice, and directeth it under the whole 
 heaven, and his lightning unto the ends of the 
 earth. Fire and hail, snow and vapour, wind 
 and storm, fulfil his word. The Lord is king 
 for ever and ever, and his dominion is an ever- 
 lasting dominion. The earth and the heavens 
 shall perish, but thou, O Lord, remainest. 
 They all shall wax old, as doth a garment, and 
 as a vesture shalt thou fold them up, and they 
 shall be changed ; but thou art the same, and 
 thy years shall have no end. God is perfect 
 in knowledge ; his understanding is infinite. 
 He is the Father of lights. He looketh to the 
 ends of the earth, and seeth under the whole 
 heaven. The Lord beholdeth all the children 
 of men from the place of his habitation, and 
 considered! all their works. He knoweth our 
 down-sitting and up-rising. He compasseth 
 our path, and counteth our steps. He is ac- 
 quainted with all our ways ; and when we enter 
 S 
 
iSS 
 
 THE GUAKDIAN. 
 
 [No. 89, 
 
 our clottta and shut our door, he seeth us. He 
 knoweth the tilings that come into our mind, 
 every one "' tbemj and no thought can be 
 witbholden from him. The Lord is good to 
 ;ill, and his tender mercies are over all his 
 \s.)rks. He is a father of the fatherless, and 
 a judge of the widow. He is the God of peace, 
 ,,.,' Father of mercies, and the God of all com- 
 fort and consolation. The Lord is great, and 
 we know him not; his greatness is unsearch- 
 able. Who but he hath measured the waters 
 in the hollow of his hand, and meted out the 
 heavens with a span ? Thine, O Lord, is the 
 greatness, and the power, and the glory, and 
 the victory, and the majesty. Thou art very 
 great, thou art clothed with honour. Heaven 
 is thy throne, and earth is thy footstool.' 
 
 Can the mind of a philosopher rise to a more 
 just and magnificent, and at the same time a 
 more amiable idea of the Deity than is here 
 set forth in the strongest images and most 
 emphatical language? And yet this is the 
 language of shepherds and fishermen. ■ The il- 
 literate Jews, and poor persecuted Christians 
 retained these noble sentiments, while the po- 
 lite and powerful nations of the earth v/ere 
 given up to that sottish sort of worship, of 
 which the following elegant description is ex- 
 tracted from one of the inspired writers. 
 
 ' Who hath formed a god, and molten an 
 image that is profitable for nothing? The 
 smith with the tongs both worketh in the coals 
 and fashioneth it with hammers, and worketh 
 it with the strength of his arms: yea he is 
 hungry, and his strength faileth. He drinketh 
 no water and is faint. A man planteth an ash, 
 and the rain doth nourish it. He burnetii 
 part thereof in the fire. He roasteth roast. He 
 warmeth himself. And the residue thereof he 
 maketh a god. He faileth down unto it, and 
 worshippeth it, and prayeth unto it, and saith, 
 Deliver me, for thou art my god. None con- 
 sidereth m his heart, I have burnt part of it 
 in the fire, yea also, I have baked bread upon 
 the coals thereof; I have roasted flesh aud 
 eaten it, and shall J make the residue thereof 
 an abomination ? Shall I fall down to the 
 stock of a tree ?' * 
 
 In such circumstances as these, for a man 
 to declare for free-thinking, and disengage 
 himself from the yoke of idolatry, were doing- 
 honour to human nature, and a work well be- 
 coming the great assertors of reason. But in 
 a church, where our adoration is directed to 
 the Supreme Being, and (to say the least) 
 where is nothing eithl r in the object or manner 
 of worship i hat contradicts the light of nature ; 
 there, under the pretence of free-thinking, to 
 rail a( the religious institutions of their coun- 
 boweth an. undistinguishing genius that 
 mistake opposition for freedom of thought. 
 
 passim. 
 
 And indeed, notwithstanding the pretences of 
 some few among our free-thinkers, I can hardly 
 think there are men so stupid and inconsistent 
 with themselves, as to have a serious regard 
 for natural religion, and at the same time use 
 their utmost endeavours to destroy the credit 
 of those sacred writings, which, as they have 
 been the means of bringing these parts of the 
 world to the knowledge of natural religion, so 
 in case they lose their authority over the minds 
 of men, we should of course sink into the same 
 idolatry which we see practised by other un- 
 enlightened nations. 
 
 If a person who exerts himself in the modern 
 way of free-thinking be not a stupid idolater, 
 it is undeniable that he contributes all he can 
 to the making other men so, either by igno- 
 rance or design; which lays him under the 
 dilemma, I will not say of being a fool or knave, 
 but of incurring the contempt or detestation 
 of mankind. 
 
 No. 89.1 Tuesday, June 23, 1713. 
 
 Ignous est ollis vigor, ct coelcstis origo 
 Seminibiis Vtrg, £n. vi. 730. 
 
 They boast ethereal vigour, and are forna'd 
 liom seeds of heavenly birth. 
 
 The same faculty of reason and understand- 
 ing which placeth us above the brute part of 
 the creation, doth also subject our minds to 
 greater and more manifold disquiets than 
 creatures of an inferior rank are sensible of. 
 It is by this that we anticipate future disasters, 
 and oft create to ourselves real pain from ima- 
 ginary evils, as well as multiply the pangs 
 arising from those which cannot be avoided. 
 
 It behoves us therefore to make the best use 
 of that sublime talent, which so long as it 
 continues the instrument of passion, will serve 
 only to make us more miserable, in proportion 
 as we are more excellent than other beings. 
 
 It is the privilege of a thinking being to 
 withdraw from the objects that solicit his 
 senses, and turn his thoughts inward on him- 
 self. For my own part, I often mitigate the 
 pain arising from the little misfortunes and 
 disappointments that checker human life, by 
 this introversion of my faculties, wherein I re- 
 gard my own soul as the image of her Creator, 
 and receive great consolation from beholding 
 those perfections which testify her divine ori- 
 ginal, and lead me into some knowledge of her 
 everlasting archetype. 
 
 But there is not any property or circum- 
 stance of my being that I contemplate with 
 more joy than my immortality. I can easily 
 overlook any present momentary sorrow, when 
 I reflect that it is in my power to be happy a 
 thousand years hence. If it were not for this 
 thought, I had rather be an oyster than a man, 
 the most stupid and senseless of animals, than 
 
No. 89.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 13S) 
 
 a reasonable mind tortured with an extreme 
 innate desire of that perfection which it de- 
 spairs to obtain. 
 
 It is with great pleasure that I behold in- 
 stinct, reason, and faith, concurring to attest 
 this comfortable truth. It is revealed from 
 heaven, it is discovered by philosophers ; and 
 the ignorant, unenlightened part of mankind 
 have a natural propensity to believe it. It is 
 an agreeable entertainment to reflect on the 
 various shapes under which this doctrine has 
 appeared in the world. The Pythagorean trans- 
 migration, the sensual habitations of the Ma- 
 hometan, and the shady realms of Pluto, do 
 all agree in the main points, the continuation 
 of our existence, and the distribution of re- 
 wards and punishments, proportioned to the 
 merits or demerits of men in this life. 
 
 But in all these schemes there is something 
 gross and improbable, that shocks a reasonable 
 and speculative mind. Whereas nothing can 
 be more rational and sublime than the Chris- 
 tian idea of a future state. ' Eye hath not 
 seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered 
 into the heart of man to conceive the things 
 which God hath prepared for those that love 
 him.' The above-mentioned schemes are nar- 
 row transcripts of our present state : but in 
 this indefinite description there is something 
 ineffably great and noble. The mind of man 
 must be raised to a higher pitch, not only to 
 partake the enjoyments of the Christian para- 
 dise, but even to be able to frame any notion 
 of them. 
 
 Nevertheless, in order to gratify our imagi- 
 nation, and by way of condescension to oui 
 low way of thinking, the ideas of light, glory, 
 a crown, &c. are made use of to adumbrate 
 that which we cannot directly understand. 
 * The Lamb which is in the midst of the throne 
 shall feed them, and shall lead them unto liv- 
 ing fountains of waters ; and God shall wipe 
 away all tears from their eyes. And there 
 shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor 
 crying, neither shall there be any more pain, 
 for the former things are passed away, and be- 
 hold all things are new. There shall be no 
 night there, and they need no candle, neither 
 light of the sun : for the Lord God giveth them 
 light, and shall make them drink of the river 
 of his pleasures ; and they shall reign for ever 
 and ever. They shall receive a crown of glory 
 which fadeth not away.' 
 
 These are cheering reflections ; and I have 
 often wondered that men could be found so 
 dull and phlegmatic, as to prefer the thought 
 of annihilation before them ; or so ill-natured, 
 as to endeavour to persuade mankind to the 
 disbelief of what is so pleasing and profitable 
 even in the prospect ; or so blind, as not to see 
 that there is a Deity, and if there be, that this 
 scheme of things flows from his attributes, and 
 
 evidently corresponds with the other parts of 
 his creation. 
 
 I know not how to account for this absurd 
 turn of thought, except it proceed from a want 
 of other employment joined with an affectation 
 of singularity. I shall, therefore, inform our 
 modern free-thinkers of two points whereof 
 they seem to be ignorant. The first is, that 
 it is not the being singular, but being singular 
 for something, that argues either extraordinary 
 endowments of nature, or benevolent inten- 
 tions to mankind, which draws the admiration 
 and esteem of the world. A mistake in this 
 point naturally arises from that confusion of 
 thought which I do not remember to have 
 seen so great instances of in any writers as in 
 certain modern free-thinkers. 
 
 The other point is, that there are innumer- 
 able objects within the reach of a human mind, 
 and each of these objects may be viewed in 
 innumerable lights and positions, and the re- 
 lations arising between them are innumerable. 
 There is therefore an infinity of things whereon 
 to employ their thoughts, if not with advan- 
 tage to the world, at least with amusement to 
 themselves, and without offence or prejudice 
 to other people. If they proceed to exert their 
 talent of free-thinking in this way, they may 
 be innocently dull, and no one take any notice 
 of it. But to see men without either wit or ar- 
 gument pretend to run down divine and human 
 laws, and treat their fellow-subjects with con- 
 tempt for professing a belief of those points, 
 on which the present as well as future interest 
 of mankind depends, is not to be endured. For 
 my own part, I shall omit no endeavours to 
 render their persons as despicable, and their 
 practices as odious, in the eye of the world, as 
 they deserve. 
 
 No. 90.] Wednesday, June 24, 1713. 
 
 Fungar vice cotis— Ho?: Ars Poet. ver. 304. 
 
 I'll play the '"hetstone. Creech. 
 
 It is, they say, frequent with authors to 
 write letters to themselves, either out of lazi- 
 ness or vanity. 
 
 The following is genuine, and, I think, de- 
 serves the attention of every man of sense in 
 England. 
 
 * To the Guardian, 
 
 • SIR, June 20. 
 
 ' Though I am not apt to make complaints, and 
 have never yet troubled you with any, and little 
 thought 1 ever should, yet seeing that in your 
 paper of this day, you take no notice of yester- 
 day's Examiner, as I hoped you would ; my love 
 for my religion, which is so nearly concerned, 
 would not permit me to be silent. The matter, 
 sir, is this : A bishop of our church (to whom 
 
no 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 91. 
 
 the Examiner himself has uothing to object, 
 but hi* care aiul concern for the protestant 
 religion, which by him, it seems, is thought a 
 sufficient fault) has lately published a hook, in 
 
 which be endeavours to show the folly, iguo- 
 
 mnce, and mistake of the church of Rome in 
 it-, worship of saints. From this the Examiner 
 takes occasion to fall upon the author with his 
 utmost malice, and to make him the subject 
 of his ridicule. Is it then become a crime for 
 a protestant to speak or write in defence of his 
 religion ? Shall a papist have leave to print 
 and publish in England what he pleases in de- 
 fence of his own opinion, with the Examiner's 
 approbation ; and shall not a protestant be per- 
 mitted to write an answer to it? For this, 
 Mr. Guardian, is the present case. Last year 
 a papist (or to please Mr. Examiner, a Roman 
 catholic) published the life of St. Wenefrede, 
 for the use of those devout pilgrims_who go in 
 great numbers to offer up their prayers to her 
 at her well. This gave occasion to the worthy 
 prelate, in whose diocess that well is, to make 
 some observations upon it; and in order to 
 undeceive so many poor deluded people, to 
 show how little reason, and how small autho- 
 rity there is, not only to believe any of the 
 miracles attributed to St. Wenefrede, but even 
 to believe there ever was such a person in the 
 world. And shall then a good man, upon such 
 an account, be liable to be abused in so public 
 a manner? Can any good church of England 
 man bear to see a bishop, one whom her pre- 
 sent majesty was pleased to make, treated in 
 so ludicrous a way ? Or should one pass by the 
 scurrility and the immodesty that is to be 
 found in several parts of the paper? Who can 
 with patience see St. Paul and St. Wenefrede 
 set by the Examiner upon a level, and the 
 authority for one made by him to be equal 
 with that for the other? Who that is a Chris- 
 tian can endure his insipid mirth upon so 
 serious an occasion ? I must confess it raises 
 my indignation to the greatest height, to see 
 a pen that has been long employed in writing 
 panegyrics upon persons of the first rank (who 
 would be, indeed, to be pitied were they to 
 depend upon that for their praise) to see, I say, 
 the same pen at last made use of in defence 
 of popery. 
 
 ' I think I may now with justice, congratu- 
 late with those whom the Examiner dislikes ; 
 since, for my own part, I should reckon it my 
 great honour to be worthy his disesteem, and 
 should count his censure praise. 
 1 I am, Sir, 
 1 your most humble servant.' 
 
 The above letter complains, with great jus- 
 
 tice, against this incorrigible creature ; but 
 
 I do not insert any thing concerning him, in 
 
 v will have any effect upon 
 
 him, but to prevent the impression what he 
 says may have upon others. I shall end this 
 paper with a letter I have just now written to 
 a gentleman, whose writings are often inserted 
 in the Guardian, without deviation of one tittle 
 from what he sends. 
 
 'SIR, June C.I. 
 
 1 I have received the favour of yours with 
 the inclosed, which made up the papers of the 
 two last days. 1 cannot but look upon myself 
 with great contempt and mortification, when 
 I reflect that I have thrown away more hours 
 than you have lived, though you so much excel 
 me in every thing for which I would live. Until 
 I knew you, I thought it the privilege of angels 
 only to be very knowing and very innocent. 
 In the warmth of youth to be capable of such 
 abstracted and virtuous reflections (with a suit- 
 able life) as those with which you entertain 
 yourself, is the utmost of human perfection 
 and felicity. The greatest honour I can con- 
 ceive done to another, is when an elder does 
 reverence to a younger, though that younger 
 is not distinguished above him by fortune. 
 Your contempt of pleasures, riches, and honour 
 will crown you with them all, and I wish you 
 them not for your own sake, but for the reason 
 which only would make them eligible by your- 
 self, the good of others. 
 
 ' I am, dearest youth, 
 
 ' your friend and admirer, 
 
 « NESTOR I ROM SIDE. 
 
 No. 91.] Thursday, June 25, 1713. 
 
 I nest sua gratia parvis. 
 
 Little things have ihcir value. 
 
 It is the great rule of behaviour to follow 
 nature. The author of the following letter is 
 so much convinced of this truth, that he turns 
 what would render a man of little soul, excep- 
 tious, humorsome, and particular in all his 
 actions, to a subject of raillery and mirth. 
 He is, you must know, but half as tall as an 
 ordinary man, but is contented to be still at 
 his friend's elbow, and has set up a club, by 
 which he hopes to bring those of his own size 
 into a little reputation. 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 •Silt, 
 * I remember a saying of yours concerning 
 persons in low circumstances of stature, that 
 their littleness would hardly be taken notice 
 of, if they did not manifest a consciousness of 
 it themselves in all their behaviour. Indeed, 
 the observation that no man is ridiculous for 
 being what he is, but only in the affectation 
 of being something more, is equally true in re- 
 gard to the mind and the body. 
 
No. 91.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 HI 
 
 1 I question not but It will be pleasing to 
 you to hear that a set of us have formed a 
 society, who are sworn to " dare to be short," 
 and boldly bear out the dignity of littleness 
 under the noses of those enormous engrossers 
 of manhood, those .hyperbolical monsters of 
 the species, the tall fellows that overlook us. 
 
 * The day of our institution was the tenth 
 of December, being the shortest of the year, 
 on which we are to hold an annual feast over 
 a dish of shrimps. 
 
 ' The place we have chosen for this meeting 
 is in the Little Piazza, not without an eye to 
 the neighbourhood of Mr. Powel's opera, for 
 the performers of which we have, as becomes 
 us, a brotherly affection. 
 
 ' At our first resort hither an old woman 
 brought her son to the club-room, desiring he 
 might be educated in this school, because she 
 saw here were finer boys than ordinary. How- 
 ever, this accident no way discouraged our de- 
 signs. We began with sending invitations to 
 those of a stature not exceeding five foot, to 
 repair to our assembly ; but the greater part 
 returned excuses, or pretended they were net 
 qualified. 
 
 * One said he was indeed but five foot at pre- 
 sent, but represented that he should soon exceed 
 that proportion, his periwig-maker and shoe- 
 maker having lately promised him three inches 
 more betwixt them. 
 
 * Another alleged, he was so unfortunate 
 as to have one leg shorter than the other, and 
 whoever had determined his stature to five 
 foot, had taken him at a disadvantage ; for 
 when he was mounted on the other leg, he 
 was at least five foot two inches and a half. 
 
 * There were some who questioned the exact- 
 ness of our measures ; and others, instead of 
 complying, returned us informations of people 
 yet shorter than themselves. In a word, almost 
 every one recommended some neighbour or 
 acquaintance, whom he was willing we should 
 look upon to be less than he. We were not a 
 little ashamed that those who are past the years 
 of growth, and whose beards pronounce them 
 men, should be guilty of as many unfair tricks 
 in this point, as the most aspiring children 
 when they are measured. 
 
 1 We therefore proceeded to fit up the club- 
 room, and provide conveniencies for our accom- 
 modation. In the first place we caused a total 
 removal of all the chairs, stools, and tables,which 
 had served the gross of mankind for many 
 years. The disadvantages we had undergone 
 while we made use of these, were unspeakable* 
 The president's whole body was sunk in the 
 elbow chair: and when his arms were spread 
 over it, he appeared (to the great lessening of 
 his dignity) like a child in a go-cart. It was 
 also so wide in the seat, as to give a wag occa- 
 sion of saying, that notwithstanding the presi- 
 dent sat in it, there was a sede vacante. 
 
 1 The table was so high, that one who tame 
 by ehance to the door, seeing our chins just 
 above the pewter dishes, took us for a circle oi 
 men that sat ready to be shaved, and sent in 
 half a dozen barbers. Another time one of the 
 club spoke contumeliously of the president, 
 imagining he had been absent, when he was 
 only eclipsed by a flask of Florence which stooc, 
 on the table in a parallel line before his face. 
 We therefore new-furnished the room in all 
 respects proportionably to us, and had the door 
 made lower, so as to admit no man of above 
 five foot high, without brushing his foretop, 
 which whoever does is utterly unqualified to sit 
 among us. 
 
 * Some of the statutes of the club are as follow : 
 I. If it be proved upon any member, though 
 never so duly qualified, that he strives as much 
 as possible to get above his size, by stretching, 
 cocking, or the like; or that he hath stood 
 on tiptoe iu a crowd, with design to be taken 
 for as tall a man as the rest ; or hath privily 
 conveyed any large book, cricket, or other 
 device under him, to exalt him on his seat : 
 every such offender shall be sentenced to walk 
 in pumps for a whole month. 
 
 4 II. If any member shall take advantage, 
 from the fulness or length of his wig, or any 
 part of his dress, or the immoderate extent of 
 his hat, or otherwise, to seem larger or higher 
 than he is; it is ordered, he shall wear red 
 heels to his shoes, and a red feather in his hat, 
 which may apparently mark and set bounds 
 to the extremities of his small dimension, that 
 all people may readily find him out, between 
 his hat and his shoes. 
 
 ' III. If any member shall purchase a horse 
 for his own riding above fourteen hands and a 
 half in height, that horse shall forthwith be 
 sold, a Scotch galloway bought in its stead for 
 him, and the overplus of the money shall treat 
 the club. 
 
 * IV. If any member, in direct contradiction 
 to the fundamental laws of the society, shall 
 wear the heels of his shoes exceeding one inch 
 and half, it shall be interpreted as an open re- 
 nunciation of littleness, and the criminal shall 
 instantly be expelled. Note, The form to be 
 used in expelling a member shall be in these 
 words, " Go from among us, and be tall if you 
 can I" 
 
 ' It is the unanimous opinion of our whole 
 society, that since the race of mankind is grant- 
 ed to have decreased in stature from the be- 
 ginning to this present, it is the intent of 
 nature itself, that men should be little ; and 
 we believe that all human kind shall at last 
 grow down to perfection, that is to say, be re» 
 dueed to our own measure. 
 
 * I am, very literally, 
 
 ' your humble servant, 
 
 « BOB SHORT.' 
 
142 
 
 No. H.] l'rulay, June M, 171*. 
 
 linmiinciili nu;i!in «unt, cum rtcogilo ! PktUtUS. 
 
 Now l reedUact, how cootidi rable M* Ihele little nun .' 
 
 1 To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 ' silt, 
 
 1 The club rising early this evening, I have 
 time to finish my account of it. Vou are al- 
 ready acquainted with the nature and design 
 of our institution ; the characters of the mem- 
 bers, and the topics of our conversation, are 
 what remain for the subject of this epistle. 
 
 ' The most eminent persons of our assembly 
 are, a little poet, a little lover, a little politi- 
 cian, and a little hero. The first of these, Dick 
 Distich by name, we have elected president, 
 not only as he is the shortest of us all, but 
 because he has entertained so just a sense of 
 the stature, as to go generally in black, that 
 he may appear yet less. Nay, to that perfec- 
 tion is he arrived, that he stoops as he walks. 
 The figure of the man is odd enough : he is a 
 lively little creature, with long arms and legs: 
 a spider is no ill emblem of him. He has 
 been taken at a distance for a small windmill. 
 But indeed what principally moved us in his 
 favour was his talent in poetry, for he hath 
 promised to undertake a long work in short 
 verse to celebrate the heroes of our size. He 
 has entertained so great a respect for Statius, 
 on the score of that line, 
 
 " Major in cxigno regnabat corpore" virtus." 
 " A larger portion of heroic fire 
 Did liis small limbs and little brc.st inspire." 
 
 that he once designed to translate the whole 
 Thebaid for the sake of little Tydeus. 
 
 1 Tom Tiptoe, a dapper black fellow, is the 
 most gallant lover of the age. He is particu- 
 larly nice in his habiliments ; and to the end 
 justice may be done him that way, constantly 
 employs the same artist who makes attire for 
 the neighbouring princes and ladies of quality 
 at Mr. Powel's. The vivacity of his temper 
 inclines him sometimes to boast of the favours 
 of the fair. He was the other night excusing 
 his absence from the club upon account of an 
 assignation with a lady, (and, as he had the 
 vanity to tell us, a tall one too) who had con- 
 sented to the full accomplishment of his desires 
 that evening; but one of the company, who 
 was his confidant, assured us she was a woman 
 of humour, and made the agreement on this 
 condition, that his toe should he tied to hers. 
 
 4 Our politician is a person of real gravity, 
 and professed wisdom. Gravity in a man of 
 tins lize, compared with that of one of ordinary 
 bulk, appears like the gravity of a cat com- 
 pared with that of a lion. This gentleman is 
 SCCUttOtned to talk to himself, and wn once 
 overheard to compare his own person to a 
 
 little cabinet, wherein are locked up all the 
 
 secrets of state, and refined Si •■hemes of princes. 
 Mi- face is pale and meagre, winch proceeds 
 from much Watching and Studying lor the wel 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 92. 
 
 fare of Europe, which is also thought to have 
 stinted his growth: for he hath destroyed his 
 own constitution with taking care of that of 
 the nation. He is what Mons. Balzac calls" a 
 great distiller of the maxims of Tacitus." When 
 he speaks, it is slowly, and word hy word, as 
 one that is loth to enrich you too fast with his 
 observations : like a limbec, that gives you, drop 
 by drop, an extract of the simples in it. 
 
 1 The last I shall mention is Tim Tuck, the 
 hero. He is particularly remarkable for the 
 length of his sword, which intersects his person 
 in a cross line, and makes him appear not un- 
 like a fly that the boys have run a pin through 
 and set a walking. He once challenged a tall 
 fellow for giving him a blow on the pate with 
 his elbow as he passed along the street. But 
 what he especially values himself upon is, that 
 in all the campaigns he has made, he never 
 once ducked at the whiz of a cannon-ball. 
 Tim was full as large at fourteen years old as 
 he is now. This we are tender of mentioning, 
 your little heroes being generally choleric. 
 
 ' These are the gentlemen that most enliven 
 our conversation. The discourse generally 
 turns upon such accidents, whether fortunate 
 or unfortunate, as are daily occasioned by our 
 size. These we faithfully communicate, either 
 as matter of mirth, or of consolation to each 
 other. The president had lately an unlucky 
 fall, being unable to keep his legs on a storm v 
 day ; whereupon he informed us, it was no 
 new disaster, but the same a certain ancient 
 poet had been subject to, who is recorded to 
 have been so light, that he was obliged to poise 
 himself against the wind with lead on one side 
 and his own works on the other. The lover 
 confessed the other night that he had been 
 cured of love to a tall woman by reading over 
 the legend of Ragotine in Scarron, with his tea, 
 three mornings successively. Our hero rarely 
 acquaints us with any of his unsuccessful ad- 
 ventures. And as for the politician, he declares 
 himself an utter enemy to all kind of burlesque, 
 so will never discompose the austerity of his 
 aspect by laughing at our adventures, much 
 less discover any of his own in this ludicrous 
 light. Whatever he tells of any accidents that 
 hefal him, is by way of complaint, nor is he to 
 be laughed at, but in his absence. 
 
 * We are likewise particularly careful to 
 communicate in the club all such passages of 
 history, or characters of illustrious personages, 
 as any way reflect honour on little men. Tim 
 Tuck having but just reading enough for a 
 military man, perpetually entertains us with 
 the same stories, of little David, that conquered 
 the mighty Ooliah, and little Luxembourg, 
 that made Lewis XIV. a grand monarque, never 
 forgetting little Alexander the Great. Dick 
 Distich celebrates the exceeding humanity of 
 Augustus, who called Horace LepidissimuQ 
 Homunciolum ; and is wonderfully pleased 
 
No. 93.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 143 
 
 with Voiture and Scarron, for having so well 
 described their diminutive forms to all poste- 
 rity. He is peremptorily of opinion, against 
 a great reader, and all his adherents, that^Esop 
 was not a jot properer or handsomer than he 
 is represented by the common pictures. But 
 the soldier believes with the learned person 
 above-mentioned ; for he thinks, none but an 
 impudent tall author could be guilty of such 
 an unmannerly piece of satire on little warriors, 
 as his battle of the mouse and the frog. The 
 politician is very proud of a certain king of 
 Egypt, called Bocchor, who, as Diodorus assures 
 us, was a person of very low stature, but far 
 exceeded all that went before him in discretion 
 and politics. 
 
 * As I am secretary to the club, it is my busi- 
 ness whenever we meet to take minutes of the 
 transactions. This has enabled me to send 
 you the foregoing particulars, as I may here- 
 after other memoirs. We have spies appointed 
 in every quarter of the town, to give us in- 
 formations of the misbehaviour of such refrac- 
 tory persons as refuse to be subject to our 
 statutes. Whatsoever aspiring practices any 
 of these our people shall be guilty of in their 
 amours, single combats, or any indirect means 
 to manhood, we shall certainly be acquainted 
 with, and publish to the world for their punish- 
 ment and reformation. For the president has 
 granted me the sole property of exposing and 
 showing to the town all such intractable dwarfs, 
 whose circumstances exempt them from being 
 carried about in boxes ; reserving only to him- 
 self, as the right of a poet, those smart cha- 
 racters that will shine in epigrams. Venerable 
 Nestor, I salute you in the name of the club. 
 * BOB SHORT, Secretar: 
 
 No. 93.] Saturday, June 27, 1713. 
 
 Est animus lncis contemptor. Virg. iEn. ix. 205. 
 
 The tiling call'd life vritli ease I can disclaim. Dryden. 
 
 The following letters are curious and in- 
 structive, and shall make up the business of 
 the day. 
 
 1 To the Author of the Guardian. 
 
 'SIR, June 25, 17 L3. 
 
 * The inclosed is a faithful translation from 
 an old author, which, if it deserves your notice, 
 let the readers guess whether he was a. heathen 
 or a Christian. ' I am, 
 
 ' your most humble servant.' 
 
 " 1 cannot, my friends, borbear letting you 
 know what I think of death; for methinks 
 I view and understand it much better, the 
 nearer I approach to it. I am convinced that 
 your fathers, those illustrious persons whom 
 I so much loved and honoured, do not cease 
 to live, though they have passed through what 
 we call death ; they are undoubtedly still liv- 
 
 ing, but it is that sort of life which alone de 
 serves truly to be called life. In effect, whila 
 we are confined to bodies, we ought to esteem 
 ourselves no other than a sort of galley-slaves 
 at the chain, since the soul, which is some 
 what divine, and descends from heaven as the 
 place of its original, seems debased and disho 
 noured by the mixture with flesh and blood, 
 and to be in a state of banishment from its 
 celestial country. I cannot help thinking too, 
 that one main reason of uniting souls to bodies 
 was, that the great work of the universe might 
 have spectators to admire the beautiful order 
 of nature, the regular motion of heavenly 
 bodies, who should strive to express that re- 
 gularity in the uniformity of their lives. When 
 I consider the boundless activity of our minds, 
 the remembrance we have of things past, our 
 foresight of what is to come ; when I reflect 
 on the noble discoveries and vast improve- 
 ments, by which these minds have advanced 
 arts and sciences ; I am entirely persuaded, 
 and out of all doubt that a nature which has 
 in itself a fund of so many excellent things 
 cannot possibly be mortal. I observe further, 
 that my mind is altogether simple, without the 
 mixture of any substance or nature different 
 from its own ; I conclude from thence that it 
 is indivisible, and consequently cannot perish. 
 " By no means think, therefore, my dear 
 friends, when I shall have quitted you, that 
 I cease to be, or shall subsist no where. Re- 
 member that while we live together, you do 
 not see my mind, and yet are sure that I have 
 one actuating and moving my body ; doubt 
 not then but that this same mind will have a 
 being when it is separated, though you cannot 
 then perceive its actions. What nonsense 
 would it be to pay those honours to great men 
 after their deaths, which we constantly do, if 
 their souls did not then subsist ? For my own 
 part, I could never imagine that our minds live 
 only when united to bodies, and die when they 
 leave them ; or that they shall cease to think 
 and understand when disengaged from bodies, 
 which without them have neither sense nor 
 reason : on the contrary, I believe the soul 
 when separated from matter, to enjoy the 
 greatest purity and simplicity of its nature, 
 and to have much more wisdom and light than 
 while it was united. We see when the body 
 dies what becomes of all the parts which com. 
 posed it; but we do not see the mind, either in 
 the body, or when it leaves it. Nothing more 
 resembles death than sleep, and it is in that 
 state that the soul chiefly shows it has some- 
 thing divine in its nature. How much more 
 then must it show it when entirely disengaged ?' 
 
 ' To the Author of the Guardian. 
 'SIR, 
 * Since you have not refused to insert mat- 
 ters of a theological nature in those excellent 
 
Ill 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 9S. 
 
 papers with which you daily both instruct and 
 divert us, I earnestly desire you to print the 
 following paper. The notions therein advanced 
 are, lor aught I know, new to the English 
 . Mid if they are true, will afford room 
 fur many useful infer* nces. 
 
 ' NO man that reads the evangelists, but 
 most observe that our blessed Saviour does 
 upon every occasion bend all his force and zeal 
 to rebuke and correct the hypocrisy of the 
 Pharisees. Upon that subject he shows a 
 warmth which one meets with in no other 
 part of his sermons. They were so enraged at 
 this public detection of their secret villanies, 
 by one who saw through all their disguises, 
 that they joined in the prosecution of him, 
 which was so vigorous, that Pilate at last con- 
 sented to his death. The frequency and vehe- 
 mence of these representations' of our Lord, 
 have made the word Pharisee to be looked 
 upon as odious among Christians, and to 
 mean only one who lays the utmost stress upon 
 the outward, ceremonial, and ritual part of his 
 religion, without having such an inward sense 
 of it, as would lead him to a general and sin- 
 cere observance of those duties which can only 
 arise from the heart, and which cannot be 
 supposed to. spring from a desire of applause 
 or profit. 
 
 ' This is plain from the history of the life 
 and actions of our Lord in the four evangelists. 
 One of them, St. Luke, continued his history 
 down in a second part, which we commonly 
 call The Acts of the Apostles. Now it is ob- 
 servable, that in this second part, in which he 
 gives a particular account of what the apostles 
 did and suffered at Jerusalem upon their first 
 entering upon their commission, and also of 
 what St. Paul did after he was consecrated to 
 the apostleship until his journey to Rome, we 
 find not only no opposition to Christianity from 
 the Pharisees, but several signal occasions in 
 which they assisted its first teachers, when the 
 Christian church was in its infant state. The 
 true, zealous, and hearty persecutors of Chris- 
 tianity at that time were the Sadducees, whom 
 we may truly call the free-thinkers among the 
 Jews. They believed neither resurrection, nor 
 angel, nor spirit, i. e. in plain English, they 
 were deists at least, if not atheists. They 
 could outwardly comply with, and conform to 
 the establishment in church and state, and 
 they pretended, forsooth, to belong only to a 
 particular sect ; and because there was nothing 
 in tin- law of Moses which in so many words 
 
 ed a resurrection, they appeared to adhere 
 to that in a particular manner beyond any 
 other part of tin' old testament. These mem, 
 therefore, justly dreaded the spreading of Chris- 
 tianity after the ascension of our Lord, because 
 it was wholly founded upon his resurrection. 
 
 ' Accordingly, t hcrcloi c, \\ hen Peter and John 
 had cured the lame \n.\u at the beautiful gate 
 
 of the temple, and had thereby raised a won- 
 derful expectation of themselves among the 
 people, the priests and Sadducees, (Acts iv.) 
 elapt them up, and sent them away for the 
 first time with a severe reprimand. Quickly 
 after, when the deaths of Ananias and Sapphira, 
 and the many miracles wrought after those 
 severe instances of the apostolical power had 
 alarmed the priests, who looked upon the tern- 
 pie-worship, and consequently their bread, to 
 be struck at ; these priests, and all they that 
 were with them, who were of the sect of the 
 Sadducees, imprisoned the apostles, intending 
 to examine them in the great council the next 
 day. Where, when the council met, and the 
 priests and Sadducees proposed to proceed with 
 great rigour against them, we find that Gama- 
 liel, a very eminent Pharisee, St. Paul's master, 
 a man of great authority among the people, 
 many of whose determinations we have still 
 preserved in the body of the Jewish traditions, 
 commonly called the Talmud, opposed their 
 heat, and told them, for aught they knew, the 
 apostles might be acted by the Spirit of God, 
 and that in such a case it would be in vain to 
 oppose them, since, if they did so, they would 
 only fight against God, whom they could not 
 overcome. Gamaliel was so considerable a man 
 among his own sect, that we may reasonably 
 believe he spoke the sense of his party as well 
 as his own. St. Stephen's martyrdom came 
 on presently after, in which we do not fiud 
 the Pharisees, as such, had any hand ; it is 
 probable that he was prosecuted by those who 
 had before imprisoned Peter and John. One 
 novice indeed of that sect was so zealous, that 
 he kept the clothes of 'those that stoned him. 
 This novice, whose zeal went beyond all bounds, 
 was the great St. Paul, who was peculiarly ho- 
 noured with a call from heaven by which he 
 was converted, and he was afterwards, by God 
 himself, appointed to be the apostle of the 
 Gentiles. Besides him, and him too reclaimed 
 in so glorious a manner, we find no one Phari- 
 see either named or hinted at by St. Luke, as 
 an opposer of Christianity in those earliest 
 days. What others might do we know not. 
 But we find the Sadducees pursuing St. Paul 
 even to death at his coming to Jerusalem, in 
 the twenty-first of the Acts.. He then, upon 
 all occasions, owned himself to be a Pharisee. 
 In the twenty-second chapter he told the 
 people, that he had been bred up at the feet of 
 Gamaliel after the strictest manner, in the law 
 of his fathers. In the twenty-third chapter he 
 told the council that he was a Pharisee, the 
 son of a Pharisee, and that he was accused for 
 asserting the hope and resurrection of the dead, 
 which was their darling doctrine. Hereupon 
 the Pharisees stood by him, and though they 
 did not own our Saviour to be the Messiah, yet 
 they would not deny but some angel or spirit 
 might have spoken to him, and then if thev 
 
No. 94.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 U5 
 
 opposed him, they should fight against God. 
 This was the very argument Gamaliel had used 
 before. The resurrection of our Lord, which 
 they saw so strenuously asserted by the apos- 
 tles, whose miracles they also saw and owned, 
 (Acts iv. 16.) seems to have struck them, and 
 many of them were converted (Acts xv. 5.) even 
 without a miracle, and the rest stood still and 
 made no opposition. 
 
 1 We see here what the part was, which the 
 Pharisees acted in this important conjuncture. 
 Of the Sadducees, we meet not with one in the 
 whole apostolic history that was converted. 
 We hear of no miracles wrought to convince 
 any of them, though there was an eminent one 
 wrought [to reclaim a Pharisee. St. Paul we 
 see, after his conversion, always gloried in his 
 having been bred a Pharisee. He did so to 
 the people of Jerusalem, to the great council, 
 to king Agrippa, and to the Philippiar.s. So 
 that from hence we may justly infer, that it 
 was not their institution, which was in itself 
 laudable, which our blessed Saviour found fault 
 w ith, but it was their hypocrisy, their covetous- 
 ne-ss, their oppression, their overvaluing them- 
 selves upon their zeal for the ceremonial law, 
 and their adding to that yoke by their tradi- 
 tions, all which were not properly essentials of 
 their institution, that our Lord blamed. 
 
 f But I must not run on. What I would 
 observe, sir, is that atheism is more dreadful, 
 and would be more grievous to human society, 
 if it were invested with sufficient power, than 
 religion under any shape, where its professors 
 do at the bottom believe what they profess. I 
 despair not of a papist's conversion, though 
 I would not willingly lie at a zealot papist's 
 mercy, (and no protestant would, if he knew 
 what popery is) though he truly believes in our 
 Saviour. But the free-thinker, who scarcely 
 believes there is a God, and certainly disbe- 
 lieves revelation, is a very terrible animal. He 
 will talk of natural rights, and the just free- 
 doms of mankind, no longer than until he 
 himself gets into power ; and by the instance 
 before us, we have small grounds to hope for 
 his salvation, or that God will ever vouchsafe 
 him sufficient grace to reclaim him from errors, 
 which have been so immediately levelled against 
 himself. 
 
 * If these notions be true, as I verily believe 
 they are, 1 thought they might be worth pub- 
 lishing at this time, for which reason they are 
 sent in this manner to you by, S4r, 
 
 ( Your most humble servant, 
 
 «M. N.' 
 
 No. 94.] Monday, June 29, 1713. 
 
 Ingenium, sibi quod vacnas desumpsit Athenas, 
 Et studiis annos septem dedit, insenuitque 
 Libris et curis ; statua taciturnius exit 
 
 Pterumque, et risu popiilnm quatit 
 
 Hor. Lib. 2. Ep. ii. 81 . 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 The man, who strctch'd in Isis' calm retreat, 
 To books and study gives seven years complete, 
 See ! strow'd with learned dust, his night-cap on, 
 He walks, an object new beneath the sun ! 
 The boys flock round him, and the people stare ; 
 So stiff, so mute ! some statue, you would swear, 
 Stept from its pedestal to take the air ? Pope. 
 
 Since our success in worldly matters may 
 be said to depend upon our education, it will 
 be very much to the purpose to inquire if the 
 foundations of our fortune could not be laid 
 deeper and surer than they are. The education 
 of youth falls of necessity under the direction 
 of those who, through fondness to us and our 
 abilities, as well as to their own unwarrantable 
 conjectures, are very likely to.be deceived; 
 and the misery of it is, that the poor creatures, 
 who are the sufferers upon wrong advances, 
 seldom find out the errors, until they become 
 irretrievable. As the greater number of all 
 degrees and conditions have their education 
 at the universities, the errors whieh I conceive 
 to be in those places, fall most naturally under 
 the following observation. The first mis- 
 management in these public nurseries, is the 
 calling together a number of pupils, of how- 
 soever different ages, views, and capacities, to 
 the same lectures : but surely there can be no 
 reason to think, that a delicate tender babe, 
 just weaned from the bosom of his mother, 
 indulged in all the impertinencies of his heart's 
 desire, should be equally capable of receiving 
 a lecture of philosophy, with a hardy ruffian 
 of full age, who has been occasionally scourged 
 through some of the great schools, groaned 
 under constant rebuke and chastisement, and 
 maintained a ten years' war with lite ature, 
 under very strict and rugged discipline. 
 
 I know the reader has pleased himself with 
 an answer to this already, viz. That an atten- 
 tion to the particular abilities and designs of 
 the pupil cannot be expected from the trifling 
 salary paid upon such account. The price, in- 
 deed, which is thought a sufficient reward for 
 any advantages a youth can receive from a 
 man of learning, is an abominable considera- 
 tion ; the enlarging which would not only in- 
 crease the care of tutors, but would be a very 
 great encouragement to such as designed to 
 take this province upon them, to furnish them- 
 selves with a more general and extensive know- 
 ledge. As the case now stands, those of the 
 first quality pay their tutors but little above 
 half so much as they do their footmen : what 
 morality, what history, what taste of the 
 modern languages, what lastly, that can make 
 a man happy or great, may not be expected in 
 return for such an immense treasure! It is 
 monstrous, indeed, that the men of the best 
 estates and families, are more solicitous about 
 the tutelage of a favourite dog or horse, than 
 of their heirs male. The next evil is the pe- 
 dantical veneration that is maintained at the 
 T 
 
lib 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 94 
 
 university for the Greek and Latin, which puts 
 
 the youth upon such exercises as many of them 
 are incapable of performing with any tolerable 
 •UCCeSS. Upon this emergency they are suc- 
 coured by the allowed wits of their respective 
 colleges, who are always ready to befriend 
 them with two or three hundred Latin or Greek 
 words thrown together, with a very small pro- 
 portion of sense. 
 
 But the most established error of our uni- 
 versity education, is the general neglect of all 
 the little qualifications and accomplishments 
 which make up the character of a well-bred 
 man, and the general attention to what is 
 called deep learning. But as there are very few 
 blessed with a genius that shall force success 
 by the strength of itself alone, and few occa- 
 sions of life that require, the aid of such genius ; 
 the vast majority of the unblessed souls ought 
 to store themselves with such acquisitions, in 
 which every man has capacity to make a con- 
 siderable progress, and from which every com- 
 mon occasion of life may reap great advantage. 
 The persons that may be useful to us in the 
 making our fortunes, are such as are already 
 happy in their own ; I may proceed to say, 
 that the men of figure and family are more 
 superficial in their education, than those of a 
 less degree, and of course, are ready to en- 
 courage and protect that qualification in an- 
 other, which they themselves are masters of. 
 For their own application implies the pursuit 
 of something commendable ; and when they 
 see their own characters proposed as imitable, 
 they must be won by such an irresistible flat- 
 tery. But those of the university, who are to 
 make their fortunes by a ready insinuation into 
 the favour of their superiors, contemn this ne- 
 cessary foppery so far, as not to be able to 
 speak common sense to them without hesita- 
 tion, perplexity, and confusion. For want of 
 care in acquiring less accomplishments which 
 adorn ordinary life, he that is so unhappy as 
 to be born poor, is condemned to a method 
 that will very probably keep him so. 
 
 I hope all the learned will forgive me what 
 is said purely for their service, and tends to no 
 other injury against them, than admonishing 
 them not to overlook such little qualifications 
 as they every day see defeat their greater ex- 
 cellencies in the pursuit both of reputation 
 and fortune. 
 
 If the youth of the university were to be ad- 
 vanced according to their sufficiency in the 
 severe progress of learning ; or ' riches could 
 be secured to men of understanding, and favour 
 to men of skill ;' then indeed all studies were 
 solemnly to be defied, that did not seriously 
 pursue the main end ; but since our merit is 
 to be tried by the unskilful many, we must 
 gratify the sense, of the injudicious majority, 
 
 satisfying ourselves that the shame of a trivial 
 qualification sticks only upon him that prefers 
 
 it to one more substantial. The more accom- 
 plishments a man is master of, the better is 
 he prepared for a more extended acquaintance, 
 and upon these considerations, without doubt, 
 the author of the Italian book called II Cor- 
 tegiano, or The Courtier, makes throwing the 
 bar, vaulting the horse, nay even wrestling, 
 with several other as low qualifications, neces- 
 sary for the man whom he figures for a perfect 
 courtier; for this reason no doubt, because his 
 end being to find grace in the eyes of men of 
 all degrees, the means to pursue this end, was 
 the furnishing him with such real and seeming 
 excellencies as each degree had its particular 
 taste of. But those of the university, instead 
 of employing their leisure hours in the pursuit 
 of such acquisitions as would shorten their 
 way to better fortune, enjoy those moments at 
 certain houses in the town, or repair to others 
 at very pretty distances out of it, where ' they 
 drink and forget their poverty, and remember 
 their misery no more.' Persons of this indigent 
 education are apt to pass upon themselves and 
 others for modest, especially in the point of 
 behaviour ; though it is easy to prove, that 
 this mistaken modesty not only arises from 
 ignorance, but begets the appearance of its 
 opposite, pride. For he that is conscious of 
 his own insufficiency to address his superiors 
 without appearing ridiculous, is by that be- 
 trayed into the same neglect and indifference 
 towards them, which may bear the construc- 
 tion of pride. From this habit they begin to 
 argue against the base submissive application 
 from men of letters to men of fortune, and be 
 grieved when they see, as Ben Jonson says, 
 
 The learned pate 
 
 Duck to the golden fool.'- 
 
 thotigh these are points of necessity and con- 
 venience, and to be esteemed submissions rather 
 to the occasion than to the person, it was a 
 fine answer of Diogenes, who being asked in 
 mockery, why philosophers were the followers 
 of rich men, and not rich men of philosophers, 
 replied, ' Because the one knew what they 
 had need of, and the other did not.' It oer- 
 tainly must be difficult to prove, that a man of 
 business, or a profession, ought not to be what 
 we call a gentleman, but yet very few of them 
 are so. Upon this account they have little 
 conversation with those who might do them 
 most service, but upon such occasions only as 
 application is made to them in their particular 
 calling ; and for any thing they can do or say 
 in such matters have their reward, and there- 
 fore rather receive than confer an obligation; 
 whereas he that adds his being agreeable to 
 his being serviceable, is constantly in a capacity 
 of obliging others. The character of a beau, 
 is, I think, what the men that pretend to 
 learning please themselves in ridiculing : and 
 yet if we compare these persons as we see them 
 
No. 95. j 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 147 
 
 in public, we shall find that the lettered cox- 
 combs without good- breeding 1 , give more just 
 occasion to raillery., than the unlettered cox- 
 combs with it : as our behaviour falls within 
 the judgment of more persons than our con- 
 versation, and a failure in it is therefore more 
 visible. What pleasant victories over the loud, 
 the saucy, and the illiterate, would attend the 
 men of learning and breeding; which quali- 
 fications could we but join, would beget 
 such a confidence as, arising from good sense 
 and good-nature, would never let us oppress 
 others or desert ourselves. In short, whether 
 a man intends a life of business or pleasure, it 
 is impossible to pursue either in an elegant 
 manner, without the help of good-breeding. 
 I shall conclude with the face at least of a re- 
 gular discourse ; and say, if it is our behaviour 
 and address upon all common occasions that 
 prejudice people in our favour, or to our disad- 
 vantage, and the more substantial parts, as our 
 learning and industry, cannot possibly appear 
 but to few ; it is not justifiable to spend so 
 much time in that which so very few are judges 
 of, and utterly neglect that which falls within 
 the censure of so many. 
 
 No. 95.] Tuesday, June 30, 1713. 
 
 — Alieua nepotia centum Hor. Lib. 2. Sat. vi. 33. 
 
 A crowd of petitioners. Creech. 
 
 I find business increase upon me very much, 
 as will appear by the following letters. 
 
 ' SI R, Oxford, June 24, 1713. 
 
 ' This day Mr. Oliver Purville, gentleman, 
 property-man to the theatre royal in the room 
 of Mr. William Peer, deceased, arrived here 
 in widow Bartlett's waggon. He is a humble 
 member of the Little Club, and a passionate 
 man, which makes him tell the disasters which 
 he met with on his road hither, a little too in- 
 coherently to be rightly understood. By what 
 I can gather from him, it seems that within 
 three miles of this side Wickham, the party 
 was set upon by highwaymen. Mr. Purville 
 was supercargo to the great hamper in which 
 were the following goods. The chains of Jaf- 
 fier and Pierre; the crowns and sceptres of 
 the posterity of Banquo; the bull, bear, and 
 horse of captain Otter ; bones, skulls, pickaxes, 
 and a bottle of brandy, and five muskets ; four- 
 score pieces of stock-gold, and thirty pieces of 
 tin-silver, hid in a green purse within a skull. 
 These the robbers, by being put up safe, sup- 
 posed to be true, and rid off with, not forget- 
 ting to take Mr. Purville's own current coin. 
 They broke the armour of Jacomo, which was 
 cased up in the same hamper, and one of them 
 put on the said Jaeomo's mask to escape. 
 They also did several extravagancies with no 
 other purpose but to do mischief; they broke 
 a mace for the lord mayor of London. They 
 
 also destroyed the world, the sun, and moon, 
 which lay loose in the waggon. Mrs. Bartlett 
 is frightened out of her wits, for Purville says he 
 has her servant's receipt for the world, and ex- 
 pects she shall make it good. Purville is re- 
 solved to take no lodgings in town, but makes, 
 behind the scenes, a bed chamber of the ham- 
 per. His bed is that in which Desdemona is 
 to die, and he uses the sheet (in which Mr. 
 Johnson is tied up in a comedy,) for his own 
 bed of nights. It is to be hoped the great ones 
 will consider Mr. Purville's loss. One of the 
 robbers has sent, by a country fellow, the 
 stock-gold, and had the impudence to write 
 the following letter to Mr. Purville. 
 
 f S1K, 
 " If you had been an honest man, you would 
 not have put bad money upon men who ven- 
 ture their lives for it. But we shall see you 
 when you come back. 
 
 " PIlILtP SCOWRER." 
 
 ' There are many things in this matter 
 which employ the ablest men here, as whether 
 an action will lie for the world among people 
 who make the most of words ? or whether it 
 be adviseable to call that round ball the world, 
 and if we do not call it so, whether we can 
 have any remedy ? the ablest lawyer here says 
 there is no help ; for if you call it the world, 
 it will be answered, How could the world be in 
 one shire, to wit, that of Buckingham ; for 
 the county must be named, and if you do not 
 name it, we shall certainly be nonsuited. I do 
 not know whether I make myself understood ; 
 but you understand me right when you believe 
 I am ' Your most humble servant, 
 
 ' and faithful correspondent, 
 
 ' THE PROMPTER. 1 
 ' HONOURED SIU. 
 
 * Your character of Guardian makes it. not 
 only necessary, but becoming, to have several 
 employed under you. And being myself am- 
 bitious of your service, I am now your humble 
 petitioner to be admitted into a place I do not 
 find yet disposed of — I mean that of your lion- 
 catcher. It was, sir, for want of such com- 
 mission from your honour, very many lions 
 have lately escaped. However, I made bold 
 to distinguish a couple. One I found in 
 a coffee-house — He was of the larger sort, 
 looked fierce, and roared loud. I considered 
 wherein he was dangerous ; and accordingly 
 expressed my displeasure against him, in such 
 a manner upon his chaps, that now he is not 
 able to show his teeth. The other was a small 
 lion, who was slipping by me as I stood at the 
 corner of an alley — 1 smelt the creature pre- 
 sently, and catched at him, but he got off with 
 the loss of a lock of hair only, which proved of 
 a dark colour. This and the teeth above- 
 mentioned I have by me, and design them both 
 for a present to Button's coffee-house. 
 
 ' Besides this way of dealing with then), 2 
 
148 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 95. 
 
 have invented many curious traps, 6nares, and 
 artificial baits, which, it is humbly conn -ived, 
 tannot fail of clearing the kingdom of the 
 whole species in a short time. 
 
 1 This is humbly submitted to your honour's 
 consideration ; and I am ready to appear before 
 your houour, to answer to such questions as you 
 in your great wisdom, shall think meet to ask, 
 whenever you please to commmand, 
 
 ' Vour honour's most obedient 
 
 humble servant, 
 Midsummer-day. ' HERCULES CRABTREE. 
 
 ' N. B. I have an excellent nose.' 
 
 Tom'9 Coffee-lJui.se, iu Cornhill, 
 « SIR, June 10, 1?13. 
 
 ' Reading in your yesterday's paper a letter 
 from Daniel Button, in recommendation of 
 his coffee-house for polite conversation and 
 freedom from the argument by the button, I 
 make bold to send you this to assure you, that 
 at this place there is as yet kept up as good a 
 decorum in the debates of politics, trade, 
 stocks, &c. as at Will's, or at any other coffee- 
 house at your end of the town. In order, 
 therefore, to preserve this house from the arbi- 
 trary way of forcing an assent, by seizing on 
 the collar, neckcloth, or any other part of the 
 body or dress, it would be of signal service if 
 you would be pleased to intimate, that we, 
 who frequent this place after Exchange-time, 
 shall have the honour of seeing you here some- 
 times ; for that would be a sufficient guard to 
 us from all such petty practices, and also be a 
 means of enabling the honest man, who keeps 
 the bouse, to continue to serve us with the 
 best bohea and green tea, and coffee, and will 
 in a particular manner oblige, 
 
 1 Sir, vour most humble servant, 
 
 'JAM liS DIArEH. 
 
 P. S. The room above stairs is the hand- 
 somest in this part of the town, furnished with 
 large pier glasses for persons to view themselves 
 in, who have no business with any body else, 
 and every way fit for the reception of fine 
 gentlemen.' 
 
 ' SIR, 
 I am a very great scholar, wear a fair wig, 
 and have an immense number of books curi- 
 ously bound and gilt. I excel in a singularity 
 of diction and manners, and visit persons of the 
 first quality. In fine, 1 have by me a great 
 quantity of cockle-shells, which, however, 
 does not defend inc from the insults of another 
 learned man who neglects me in a most in- 
 supportable manner: fori have it from per- 
 sons of undoubted veracity, that he presumed 
 onoc t<> pass by my door without waiting upon 
 in-. \\ liether this be consistent with the re- 
 -i-i t which we learned nun ought to have for 
 each other, I leave to your judgment, and am, 
 * Sir, your affectionate Friend, 
 
 • PiiiLAin us: 
 
 • PRl EN U N ESTOR, Oxford. June 18, 1713. 
 
 ' I had always a great value for thee, and 
 have so still : but I must tell thee, that thou 
 strangely affectest to be sage and solid: now 
 pr'ythee let me observe to thee, that though 
 it be common enough for people as they grow 
 older to grow graver, yet it is not so common 
 to become wiser. Verily to me thou seemest to 
 keep strange company, and with a positive 
 sufficiency, incident to old age, to follow too 
 much thine own inventions. Thou dependest 
 too much, likewise, upon thy correspondence 
 here, and art apt to take people's words with- 
 out consideration. -But my present business 
 with thee is to expostulate with thee about a 
 late paper, occasioned, as thou say'st, by Jack 
 Lizard's information, (my very good friend) 
 that we are to have a public act. 
 
 1 Now, I say, in that paper, there is nothing 
 contended for which any man of common sense 
 will deny; all that is there said, is, that no 
 man or woman's reputation ought to be blasted, 
 i.e. nobody ought to have an ill character 
 who does not deserve it. Very true ; but here's 
 this false consequence insinuated, that there- 
 fore nobody ought to hear of their faults ; or, 
 in other words, let any body do as much ill as 
 he pleases, he ought not to be told of it. Art 
 thou a patriot, Mr. Ironside, and wilt thou 
 affirm, that arbitrary proceedings and oppres- 
 sion ought to be concealed or justified? Art 
 thou a gentleman, and would'st thou have 
 base, sordid, ignoble tricks connived at, or 
 tolerated ? Art thou a scholar and would st 
 tbou have learning and good manners discou- 
 raged ? Would'st thou have cringing servility, 
 parasitical shuffling, fawning, and dishonest 
 compliances, made the road to success ? Art 
 thou a Christian, and would'st thou have all 
 villanies within the law practised with impu- 
 nity ? Should they not be told of it ? It is cer- 
 tain, there are many things which, though 
 there are no laws against them, yet ought not 
 to be done ; and in such cases there is no ar- 
 gument so likely to hinder their being doue, 
 as the fear of public shame for doing them. 
 The two great reasons against an act are 
 always, the saving of money, and hiding of 
 roguery. 
 
 " Here many things are omitted which will 
 be in the speech of the Terraefilius." 
 
 4 And now, dear Old Iron, I am glad to hear 
 that at these years thou hast gallantry enough 
 left to have thoughts of setting up for a knight- 
 errant, a tamer of monsters, and a defender of 
 distrest damsels. 
 
 4 Adieu, old fellow, and let me give thee this 
 advice at parting; E'en get thyself case-hard- 
 ened ; for though the very best steel may snap, 
 yet old iron you know will rust. 
 
 ' UMBRA. 
 
 ' Be ;ust, and publish this. 
 
No. 96.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 149 
 
 ' MM. IRONSIDE, Oxford, Sat. 27, 1713. 
 
 1 This day arrived the vanguard of the the- 
 atrical array. Your friend, Mr. George Powel, 
 commanded the artillery, both celestial and 
 terrestrial. The magazines of snow, lightning, 
 and thunder, are safely laid up. We have had 
 no disaster on the way, but that of breaking 
 Cupid's bow by a jolt of the waggon : but they 
 tell us they make them very well in Oxford. 
 We all went in a body, and were shown your 
 chambers in Lincoln college. The Teraefilius 
 expects you down, and we of the theatre, de- 
 sign to bring you into town with all our guards. 
 Those of Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, 
 and the faithful retinue of Cato, shall meet 
 you at Shotover. The ghost of Hamlet, and 
 the statue which supped with Don John, both 
 say, that though it be at noon day, they will 
 attend your entry. Every body expects you 
 with great impatience. We shall be in very 
 good order when all are come down. We have 
 sent to town for a brick-wall which we forgot. 
 The sea is to come by water. 
 
 ' Your most humble servant, 
 
 * and faithful correspondent, 
 
 « TIJE PROMPTER/ 
 
 No. 96.] Wednesday, July 1, 1713. 
 
 Concti adscint, meritaeqne expectent prasmia palrme. 
 Virg. i£n. v. 70. 
 
 Let all be present at the games prepar'd ; 
 
 Aud joyful victors wait the just reward. Dryden. 
 
 There is no maxim in politics more indis- 
 putable, than that a nation should have mauy 
 honours in reserve for those who do national 
 services. This raises emulation, cherishes 
 public merit, and inspires every one with an 
 ambition which promotes the good of his coun- 
 try. The less expensive these honours are to 
 the public, the more still do they turn to its 
 advantage. 
 
 The Romans abounded with these little 
 honorary rewards, that without conferring 
 wealth or riches, gave only place and distinc- 
 tion to the person who received them. An 
 oaken garland to be worn on festivals and 
 public ceremonies, was the glorious recoms- 
 pense of one who had covered a citizen in 
 battle. A soldier would not only venture his 
 life for a mural crown, but think the most 
 hazardous enterprise sufficiently repaid by so 
 noble a donation. 
 
 But among all honorary rewards which are 
 neither dangerous nor detrimental to the donor, 
 1 remember none so remarkable as the titles 
 which are bestowed by the emperor of China. 
 These are never given to any subject, says 
 monsieur le Comte, until the subject is dead. 
 Jf he has pleased his emperor to the last, he is 
 called in all public memorials by the title which 
 the emperor confers on him after his death, 
 
 and his children take their ranks accordingly. 
 This keeps the ambitious subject in a perpetual 
 dependence, making him always vigilant and 
 active, and in every thing conformable to the 
 will of Ins sovereign. 
 
 There are no honorary rewards among us, 
 which are more esteemed by the person who 
 receives them, and are cheaper to the prince, 
 than the giving of medals. But there is some- 
 thing in the modern manner of celebrating a 
 great action in medals, which makes such a 
 reward much less valuable thau it was among 
 the Romans. There is generally but one coin 
 stamped on the occasion, which is made a pre- 
 sent to the person who is celebrated on it. By 
 this means his whole fame is in his own custody. 
 The applause that is bestowed upon him is 
 too much limited and confined. He is in pos- 
 session of an honour which the world perhaps 
 knows nothing of. He may be a great man 
 in his own family ; his wife and children may 
 see the monument of an exploit, which the 
 public in a little time is a stranger to. The 
 Romans took a quite different method in this 
 particular. Their medals were their current 
 money. When an action deserved to be re- 
 corded in coin, it was stamped perhaps upon 
 a hundred thousand pieces of money like our 
 shillings, or halfpence, which were issued out 
 of the mint, and became current. This method 
 published every noble action to advantage, and 
 in a short space of time, spread through the 
 whole Roman empire. Ine Romans were so 
 careful to preserve the memory of great events 
 upon their coins, that when any particular piece 
 of money grew very scarce, it was often re- 
 coined by a succeeding emperor, many years 
 after the death of the emperor to whose honour 
 it was first struck. 
 
 A friend of mine drew up a project of this 
 kind during the late ministry, which would 
 then have been put in execution had it uot 
 been too busy a time for thoughts of that na- 
 ture. As this project has been very mur-h 
 talked of by the gentleman above-mentioned 
 to men of the greatest genius, as well as qua- 
 lity ; I am informed there is now a design on 
 foot for executing the proposal which was then 
 made, and that we shall have several farthings 
 and halfpence charged on the reverse with 
 many of the glorious particulars of her ma- 
 jesty's reign. This is one of those arts of peace 
 which may very well deserve to be cultivated, 
 and which may be of great use to posterity. 
 
 As I have in my possession the copy of the 
 paper above-mentioned, which was delivered to 
 the late lord treasurer, I shall here give the 
 public a sight of it; for I do not question but 
 that the curious part of my readers will be 
 very much pleased to see so much matter, and 
 so many useful hints upon this subject, laid 
 together in so clear and concise a manner. 
 
 * The English have not been so careful as 
 
150 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 97. 
 
 other polite nations to preserve the memory 
 of ili< ir great actions and eveuts on medals. 
 Their subject* are few, their mottoes and de- 
 
 \ 1 es mean, and the coins themselves not nu- 
 merous enough to spread among the people, 
 or descend to posterity. 
 
 ' The French have outdone us in these par- 
 ticulars, and hy the establishment of a society 
 lor the invention of proper inscriptions and de- 
 signs, have the whole history of their present 
 king iu a regular series of medals. They have 
 failed as well as the Euglish, in coining so 
 small a number of each kind, and those of such 
 costly metals, that each species may be lost in 
 a few ages, and is at present no where to be 
 met with but in the cabinets of the curious. 
 
 ' The ancient Romans took the only effectual 
 method to disperse and preserve their medals, 
 by making them their current money. 
 
 * Every thing glorious or useful, as well in 
 peace as war, gave occasion to a different coin. 
 Not only an expedition, victory, or triumph, 
 but the exercise of a solemn devotion, the re- 
 mission of a duty or tax, a new temple, sea- 
 port, or highway, were transmitted to posterity 
 after this manuer. 
 
 ' The greatest variety of devices are on their 
 copper money, which have most of the designs 
 that are to be met with on the gold and silver, 
 and several peculiar to that metal only. By 
 this means they were dispersed into the re- 
 motest corners of the empire, came into the 
 possession of the poor as well as rich, and were 
 in no danger of perishing in the hands of those 
 that might have melted down coins of a more 
 valuable metal. 
 
 'Add to all this, that the designs were in- 
 vented by men of genius, and executed by a 
 decree of senate. 
 
 ' It is therefore proposed, 
 
 ' I. That the English farthings and halfpence 
 
 be re-coiued upon the union of the two nations. 
 
 II. That they bear devices and inscriptions 
 
 alluding to all the most remarkable parts of 
 
 her majesty's reign. 
 
 'III. That there be a society established for 
 the finding out of proper subjects, inscriptions, 
 and devices. 
 
 IV. That no subject, inscription, or device, 
 be stamped without the approbation of this 
 society, nor if it be thought proper, without 
 the authority of pi ivy-council. 
 
 By this means, medals that are at present 
 only a dead treasure, or mere curiosities, will 
 be of use in the ordinary commerce of life, 
 and at the same time, perpetuate the glories 
 of her majesty's reign, reward the labours of 
 her greatest subjects, keep alive ill the people 
 a gratitude for public services, and excite the 
 emulation of posterity. To these generous 
 purposes nothing can so much contribute as 
 medals of this kind, which arc of undoubted 
 authority, of necessary use and observation, 
 
 not perishable by time, nor confined to any 
 certain place; properties not to be found in 
 books, statues, pictures, buildings, or any other 
 monuments of illustrious actions. o^. 
 
 No. 97.] Thursday, July <2, 1713. 
 
 — Furor est |)o?t omnia perdere nullum. 
 
 Jut: Sal. viii. 97. 
 'lis mad to Lavish what tlair rapine left. 
 
 8tepnejf. 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' I was left a thousand pounds by an uncle, 
 and being a man to my thinking very likely to 
 get a rich widow, I laid aside all thoughts of 
 making my fortune any other way, and with- 
 out loss of time made my application to one 
 who had buried her husband about a week be- 
 fore. By the help of some of her she-friends 
 who were my relations, I got into her company 
 when she would see no man besides myself and 
 her lawyer, who is a little, rivelled, spindle- 
 shanked gentleman, and married to boot, so 
 that I had no reason to fear him. Upon my 
 first seeing her, she said in conversation within 
 my hearing, that she thought a pale complexion 
 the most agreeable either in man or woman. 
 Now you must know, sir, my face is as white 
 as chalk. This gave me some encouragement ; 
 so that to mend the matter I bought a fine 
 flaxen long wig that cost me thirty guineas, 
 and found an opportunity of seeing her in it 
 the next day. She then let drop some ex- 
 pressions about an agate snuff-box. I imme- 
 diately took the hint, and bought one, being 
 unwilling to omit any thing that might make 
 me desirable in her eyes. I was betrayed after 
 the same manner into a brocade waistcoat, a 
 sword knot, a pair of silver fringed gloves, and 
 a diamond ring. But whether out of fickleness 
 or a design upon me, I cannot tell ; but I found 
 by her discourse, that what she liked one day, 
 she disliked another: so that in six months' 
 space I was forced lo equip myself above a 
 dozen times. As I told you before, I took her 
 hints at a distance, for 1 could never find an 
 opportunity of talking with her directly to the 
 point. All this time, however, I was allowed 
 the utmost familiarities with her lap-dog, and 
 have played with it above an hour together, 
 without receiving the least reprimand, and had 
 many other marks of favour shown me, which 
 I thought amounted to a promise. If she 
 chanced to drop her fan, she received it from 
 my hands with great civility. If she wanted 
 any thing, I reached it for her. 1 have filled 
 her tea-pot above a hundred times, and have 
 afterwards received a dish of it from her own 
 hands. Now, sir, do you judge, if after such 
 encouragements, she was not obliged to marry 
 me. I forgot to tell you that I kept a chair 
 by the week, on purpose to carry me thither 
 and back again. Not lo trouble you with a 
 
No. 97.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 151 
 
 long letter, in the space of about a twelvemonth 
 I have run out of my whole thousand pound 
 upon her, having laid out the last fifty in a new 
 suit of clothes, in which I was resolved to re- 
 ceive her final answer, which amounted to this, 
 " that she was engaged to another ; that she 
 never dreamt I had any such thing in my head 
 as marriage; and that she thought I had fre- 
 quented her house only because 1 loved to be in 
 company with my relations." This, you know, 
 sir, is using a man like a fool, and so I told her ; 
 but the worst of it is, that I have spent my for- 
 tune to no purpose. All, therefore, that I desire 
 of you is, to tell me whether, upon exhibiting 
 the several particulars which I have related to 
 you, I may not sue her for damages in a court 
 of justice. Your advice in this particular will 
 very much oblige 
 
 1 Your most humble admirer, 
 
 ♦ SIMON SOFTLY.' 
 
 Before I answer Mr. Softly's request, I find 
 myself under a necessity of discussing two nice 
 points. First of all, What it is, in cases of 
 this nature, that amounts to an encourage- 
 ment ; and secondly, What it is that amounts 
 to a promise ? Each of which subjects requires 
 more time to examine than I am at present 
 master of. Besides, 1 would have my friend 
 Simon consider, whether he has any counsel 
 that will undertake his cause in forma pau- 
 peris, he having unluckily disabled himself, by 
 his own account of the matter, from prosecuting 
 his suit any other way. 
 
 In answer, however, to Mr. Softly's request, 
 I shall acquaint him with a method made use 
 of by a young fellow in king Charles the Se- 
 cond's reign, whom I shall here call Silvio, 
 who had long made love with much artifice 
 and intrigue, to a rich widow, whose true 
 name I shall conceal under that of Zelinda. 
 Silvio, who was much more smitten with her 
 fortune than her person, finding a twelve- 
 month's application unsuccessful, was resolved 
 to make a saving bargain of it; and since he 
 could not get the widow's estate into his pos- 
 session, to recover at least what he had laid 
 out of his own in the pursuit of it. 
 
 In order to this he presented her with a bill 
 of costs, having particularised in it the several 
 expenses he had beet) at in his long perplexed 
 amour. Zelinda was so pleased with the hu- 
 mour of the fellow, and his frank way of deal- 
 ing, that, upon the perusal of the bill, she sent 
 him a purse of fifteen hundred guineas, by the 
 right application of which, the lover, in less 
 than a year, got a woman of a greater fortune 
 than her he had missed. The several articles 
 in the bill of costs I pretty well remember, 
 though I have forgotten the particular sum 
 charged to each article. 
 
 Laid out in supernumerary full-bottom wigs. 
 
 Fiddles for a serenade, with a speaking 
 trumpet. 
 
 Gilt paper in letters, and billet-doux, witn 
 perfumed wax. 
 
 A ream of sonnets and love- verses, purchased 
 at different times of Mr. Triplet at a crown a 
 sheet. 
 
 To Zelinda, two sticks of May- cherries. 
 
 Last summer at several times, a bushel o\ 
 peaches. 
 
 Three porters whom I planted about her to 
 watch her motions. 
 
 The first who stood centry near her door. 
 
 The second who had his stand at the stables 
 where her coach was put up. 
 
 The third who kept watch at the corner of 
 the street where Ned Courtall lives, who has 
 since married her. 
 
 Two additional porters planted over her 
 during the whole month of May. 
 
 Five conjurors kept in pay all last winter. 
 
 Spy-money to John Trott her footman, and 
 Mrs. Sarah Wheedle her companion. 
 
 A new Conningsmark blade to fight Ned 
 Courtall. 
 
 ToZelinda's woman (Mrs. Abigail) an Indian 
 fan, a dozen pair of white kid gloves, a piece 
 of Flanders lace, and fifteen guineas in dry 
 money. 
 
 Secret-service money to Betty at the ring. 
 
 Ditto to Mrs. Tape the mantua- maker. 
 
 Loss of time. ^ 
 
 No. 98.] Friday, July 3, 1713. 
 
 redit 
 
 Virg. Georg. iv. 414. 
 
 He resumes himself. 
 
 The first who undertook to instruct the 
 world in single papers was Isaac Bickerstaff of 
 famous memory : a man nearly related to the 
 family of the Ironsides. We have often 
 smoked a pipe together; for I was so much 
 in his .books, that at his decease he left me a 
 eilver standish, a pair of spectacles, and the lamp 
 by which he used to write his lucubrations. 
 
 The venerable Isaac was succeeded by a 
 gentleman of the same family, very memorable 
 for the shortness of his face and of his speeches. 
 This ingenious author published his thoughts, 
 and held his tongue with great applause, for 
 two years together. 
 
 I Nestor Ironside, have now for some time 
 undertaken to fill the place of these my two 
 renowned kinsmen and predecessors. For it is 
 observed of every branch of our family, that 
 we have all of us a wonderful inclination to 
 give good advice, though it is remarked of some 
 of us, that we are apt on this occasion, rather 
 to give than take. 
 
 However it be, I cannot but observe with 
 some secret pride, that this way of writing 
 diurnal papers has not succeeded for any space 
 of time in the hands of any persons who are 
 not of our line. I believe I speak within eom» 
 
152 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 puss, when I affirm that above a hundred dif- 
 ferent Mltbon have mdeavourcd after our 
 famih-wav of R riling, some of which have been 
 written in OtbeK kinds of the greatest eminence 
 in the kingdom: but I do not know how it 
 has happened, they have none of them hit 
 upon the art. Their projects have always dropt 
 after a few unsuccessful essays. It puts me in 
 mind of a story which was lately told me by a 
 pleasant friend of mine, who has a very fine 
 hand on the violin. His maid servant seeing 
 his instrument lying upon the table, and being 
 sensihie there was music in it, if she knew 
 how to fetch it out, drew the bow over every 
 part of the strings, and at last told her master 
 she had tried the fiddle all over, but could not 
 for her heart find where about the tune lay. 
 
 But though the whole burden of such a 
 paper is only fit to rest on the shoulders of a 
 liickerstaff or an Ironside; there are several 
 who can acquit themselves of a single day's 
 labour in it with suitable abilities. These are 
 gentlemen whom I have often invited to this 
 trial of wit, and who have several of them ac- 
 quitted themselves to my private emolument ; 
 as well as to their own reputation. My paper 
 among the republic of letters is the Ulysses his 
 bow, in which every man of wit or learning 
 may try his strength. One who does not care 
 to write a book without being sure <,f his abi- 
 lities, may see by this means if his parts and 
 talents are to the public taste. 
 
 This 1 take to be of great advantage to men 
 of the best sense, who are always diffident of 
 their private judgment, until it receives a sanc- 
 tion from the public. ' Provoco ad populum,' 
 * 1 appeal to the people,' was the usual saying 
 of a very excellent dramatic poet, when he had 
 any dispute with particular persons about the 
 justness and regularity of his productions. It 
 is but a melancholy comfort for an author to 
 be satisfied that he has written up to the rules 
 of art, when he finds he has no admirers in 
 the world besides himself. Common modesty 
 should, on this occasion, make a man suspect 
 his own judgment, and that he misapplies the 
 rules of his art, when he finds himself singular 
 in the applause which he bestows upon his 
 own writings. 
 
 The public is always even with an author 
 who has not a just deference for them. The 
 contempt is reciprocal. ' J laugh at every one,' 
 said an old cynic, ' who laughs at me.' * Do 
 you so,' replied the philosopher ; ' then let me 
 tell you, you live the merriest life of any man 
 in Athens.' 
 
 It is not, therefore, the least use cf this my 
 paper, that it gives a timorous writer, and 
 Budl is every good one, an opportunity of put- 
 ting his abilities to the proof, and of sounding 
 the public before he launches into it. For this 
 reason I look upon my paper as a kind of nur- 
 lery for authors, and question not but some 
 
 [Xo. 99. 
 
 who have made a good figure here, will here- 
 after flourish under their own names in more 
 long and elaborate works. 
 
 After having thus far enlarged upon this 
 particular, I have one favour to beg of the 
 candid and courteous reader, that when he 
 meets with any thing in this paper which may 
 appear a little dull and heavy (though 1 hope 
 this will not be often) he will believe it is the 
 work of some other person, and not of Nestor 
 Ironside. 
 
 1 have, I know not how, been diawn into 
 tattle of myself, more majorum, almost the 
 length of a whole Guardian ; I shall, therefore, 
 fill up the remaining part of it with what still 
 relates to my own person and my correspon- 
 dents. Now I would have them all know, that 
 on the twentieth instant it is my intention to 
 erect a lion's head in imitation of those I have 
 described in Venice, through which all the pri- 
 vate intelligence of that commonwealth is said 
 to pass. This head is to open a most wide and 
 voracious mouth, which shall take in such let- 
 ters and papers as are conveyed to me by my 
 correspondents, it being my resolution to have 
 a particular regard to all such matters as come 
 to my hands through the mouth of the lion. 
 
 There will be under it a box, of which the 
 key will be kept in my own custody, to rece'ne 
 such papers as are dropped into it. Whatever 
 the lion swallows I shall digest for the use of 
 the public. This head requires some time to 
 finish, the workman being resolved to give it 
 several masterly touches and to represent it 
 as ravenous as possible. It will be set up in 
 Button's coffee-house in Covent-garden,* who 
 is directed to show the way to the lion's head, 
 and to instruct any young author how to con- 
 vey bis works into the mouth of it with safety 
 and secrecy. jr> 
 
 No. 99.] Saturday, July 4, 1713. 
 
 Justum et tenaccm propositi virum, 
 Non civiuni ardor prava jubentiunr, 
 Non vultus in.-taniis ts ranni 
 Monte iiu.u it solid* ; Deque auster 
 Dux inquieti turbidns Adriae, 
 Nee fulminantis magna Jovis manus : 
 Si li actus illabatur orbis, 
 Inipavidum ferienl ruinae. Hor. Lib. 3. Od. iii. 1. 
 
 PARAPHRASED. 
 The man resolv'd and steady to his trust, 
 Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just. 
 May the rude rabble's insolence despise, 
 Their senseless clamours, and tumultuous cries: 
 
 I be tyrant's fierceness he beguiles, 
 And the stein brow, and the harsh voice defies 
 
 And with superior greatness smilis. 
 
 Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms 
 Adda's black gulph, and vexes it with storms, 
 
 • The lion's head, formerly at Button's rof.ee- he us \wzs 
 preserved many years at the Shakspeaic tavern in Ccver.t 
 garden ; the master of the tavern becoming a bankrupt, it 
 was sold among his effects, Nov. 8, 1804, for 17/. 10s. 
 
No. 99.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 153 
 
 The stubborn virtue of his soul can move ; 
 
 Not the red arm of angry Jove, 
 
 That flings the thunder from the sky, 
 And gives it rage to roar, and stiength to fly. 
 Should the whole frame of nature round him break, 
 
 In ruin and confusion hurl'd, 
 He unconcern'd would hear the mighty crack, 
 And stand secure amidst a falling world. Anon. 
 
 There is no virtue so truty great and god- 
 like as justioe. Most of the other virtues are 
 the virtues of created beings, or accommodated 
 to our nature as we are men. Justice is that 
 which is practised by God himself, and to be 
 practised in its perfection by none but him. 
 Omniscience and omnipotence are requisite 
 for the full exertion of it. The one to discover 
 every degree of uprightness or iniquity in 
 thoughts, words, and actions ; the other, to 
 measure out and impart suitable rewards and 
 punishments. 
 
 As to be perfectly just is an attribute in the 
 divine nature, to be so to the utmost of our 
 abilities is the glory of a man. Such a one, 
 who has the public administration in his hands, 
 acts like the representative of his maker, in 
 recompensing the virtuous, and punishing the 
 offender. By the extirpating of a criminal he 
 averts the judgments of Heaven, when ready 
 to fall upon an impious people ; or, as my friend 
 Cato expresses it much better, in a sentiment 
 conformable to his character, 
 
 ' When by just vengeance impious mortals peiish, 
 The gods behold their punishment with pleasure, 
 And lay tlf uplifted thunderbolt aside.' 
 
 When a nation once loses its regard to jus- 
 tice ; when they do not look upon it as some- 
 thing venerable, holy, and inviolable ; when 
 any of them dare presume to lessen, affront, or 
 terrify those who have the distribution of it in 
 their hands; when a judge is capable of being 
 influenced by any thing but law, or a cause 
 may be recommended by any thing that is 
 foreign to its own merits, we may venture to 
 pronounce that such a nation is hastening to 
 its ruin. 
 
 For this reason the best law that has ever 
 past in our days, is that which continues our 
 judges in their posts during their good beha- 
 viour, without leaving them to the mercy of 
 such who in ill times might, by an undue in- 
 fluence over them, trouble and pervert the 
 course of justice. I dare say the extraordinary 
 person who is now posted in the chief station 
 of the law, would have been the same had that 
 act never past ; but it is a great satisfaction to 
 all honest men, that while we see the greatest 
 ornament of the profession in its highest post, 
 we are sure he cannot hurt himself by that 
 assiduous, regular, and impartial administration 
 of justice, for which he is so universally cele- 
 brated by the whole kingdom. Such men are 
 to be reckoned among the greatest national 
 blessings, and should have that honour paid 
 them whilst they are yet living, which will not 
 fail to crown their memory when dead. 
 
 1 always rejcice when I see a tribunal filled 
 with a man of an upright and inflexible tem- 
 per, who in the execution of his country's laws 
 can overcome all private fear, resentment, 
 solicitation, and even pity itself. Whatever 
 passion enters into a sentence or decision, so 
 far will there be in it a tincture of injustice. 
 In short, justice discards party, friendship, 
 kindred, and is therefore always represented 
 as blind, that we may suppose her thoughts 
 are wholly intent on the equity of a cause, 
 without being diverted or prejudiced by objects 
 foreign to it. 
 
 I shall conclude this paper with a Persian 
 story, which is very suitable to my present 
 subject. It will not a little please the reader, 
 if he has the same taste of it which I myself 
 have. 
 
 As one of the sultans lay encamped on the 
 plains of Avala, a certain great man of the 
 army entered by force into a peasant's house, 
 and finding his wife very handsome, turned the 
 good man out of his dwelling and went to bed 
 to her. The peasant complained the next 
 morning to the sultan, and desired redress; 
 but was not able to point out the criminal. 
 The emperor, who was very much incensed at 
 the injury done to the poor man, told him that 
 probably the offender might give his wife an- 
 other visit, and if he did, commanded him im- 
 mediately to repair to his tent and acquaint 
 him with it. Accordingly, within two or three 
 days the officer entered again the peasant's 
 house, and turned the owner out of doors ; who 
 thereupon applied himself to the imperial tent, 
 as he was ordered. The sultan went in person, 
 with his guards, to the poor man's house, where 
 he arrived about midnight. As the attendants 
 carried each of them a flambeau in their hands, 
 the sultan, after having ordered all the lights 
 to be put out, gave the word to enter the 
 house, find out the criminal, and put him to 
 death. This was immediately executed, and 
 the corpse laid out upon the floor by the em- 
 peror's command. He then bid every one light 
 his flambeau, and stand about the dead body. 
 The sultan approaching it, looked about the 
 faGe, and immediately fell upon his knees in 
 prayer. Upon his rising up, he ordered the 
 peasant to set before him whatever food be had 
 in his house. The peasant brought out a good 
 deal of coarse fare, of which the emperor ate 
 very heartily. The peasant seeing him in good 
 humour, presumed to ask of him, why he had 
 ordered the flambeaux to be put out before he 
 had commanded the adulterer should be slain ? 
 Why, upon their being lighted again, he looked 
 upon the face of the dead body, and fell down 
 in prayer ? And why, after this, he had ordered 
 meat to be set before him, of which he now 
 eat so heartily? The sultan being willing to 
 gratify the curiosity of his host, answered him 
 in this manner. ' Upon hearing the greatness 
 U 
 
15-1 
 
 THIS GLAKDIAxX. 
 
 [No. 100. 
 
 Oi the otiei.ce which had been committed by 
 
 one of the army, I had reason to think it might 
 have been one of my own sons, for who else 
 would have bun so audacious and presuming! 
 orders therefore for the lights to he ex- 
 tinguished, that 1 might not be ltd astray, by 
 partiality or compassion, from doing justice on 
 the criminal. Upon the lighting the flambeaux 
 a second time, I looked upon the face of the 
 dead person, and, to my unspeakable joy, found 
 it was not my son. It was for this reason that 
 J immediately fell upon my knees and gave 
 thanks to God. As for my eating heartily of 
 the food you have set before me, you will cease 
 to wonder at it, when you know that the great 
 anxiety of mind I have been in upon this occa- 
 sion, since the first complaints you brought 
 me, has hindered my eating any thing from 
 that time until this very moment.' o 
 
 No. 100.] Monday, July 6, 1713. 
 
 Hoc vos praecipe, niveae, deed, hoc ubi vtctt, 
 Oscula ferre bnraero, qua patct, usque libct. 
 
 Ovid. Ars Amator. Lib. iii. 30y. 
 
 If snowy white your neck, you still should wear 
 That, and the shoulder of the left arm, bare ; 
 Such sights ne'er fail to fire my am'rous heart, 
 And make me pant to kiss the naked part. 
 
 Congreve. 
 
 There is a certain female ornament by some 
 called a tucker, and by others the neck-piece, 
 being a slip of fine linen or muslin that used 
 to run in a small kind of ruffle round the 
 uppermost verge of the women's stays, and by 
 that means covered a great part of the shoulders 
 and bosom. Having thus given a definition, 
 or rather description of the tucker, I must take 
 notice that our ladies have of late thrown aside 
 this fig-leaf, and exposed in its primitive naked- 
 ness that gentle swelling of the breast which it 
 was used to conceal. What their design by it 
 is, they themselves best know. 
 
 I observed this as I was sitting the other day 
 by a famous she-visitant at my lady Lizard's, 
 when accidently as I was looking upon her 
 face, letting my sight fall into her bosom, I 
 was surprised with beauties which I never be- 
 fore discovered, and do not know where my 
 tye would have run, if I had not immediately 
 checked it. The lady herself could not forbear 
 blushing, when she observed by my looks that 
 she bad made her neck too beautiful and glaring 
 an object, even for a man of my character and 
 gravity. 1 rould scarce forbear making use of 
 my band to cover so unseemly a sight. 
 
 II we survey the pictures of our great grand- 
 mot In :ri in queen Elisabeth's time, we see them 
 
 clothed down to the very wrists, and up to the 
 very < -bin. The bands and face were the only 
 rumples they gave of their beautiful persons. 
 The following age of females made larger dis- 
 coveries of their complexion. They first of all 
 
 tucked up their garments to the elbow, and 
 notwithstanding the tenderness of the sex, 
 were content, for the information of mankind, 
 to expose their arms to the coldness of the air, 
 and injuries of the weather. This artifice hath 
 succeeded to their wishes, and betrayed many 
 to their arms, who might have escaped them 
 had they been still concealed. 
 
 About the same time, the ladies consideriug 
 that the neck was a very modest part in a hu- 
 man body, they freed it from those yokes, I 
 mean those monstrous linen ruffs, in which 
 the simplicity of their grandmothers had in- 
 closed it. In proportion as the age refined, the 
 dress still sunk lower; so that when we now 
 say a woman has a handsome neck, we reckon 
 into it many of the adjacent parts. The disuse 
 of the tucker has still enlarged it, insomuch 
 that the neck of a fine woman at present takes 
 in almost half the body. 
 
 Since the female neck thus grows upon us, 
 and the ladies seem disposed to discover them- 
 selves to us more and more, I would fain have 
 them tell us once for all, how far they intend 
 to go, and whether they have yet determined 
 among themselves where to make a stop. 
 
 For my own part, their necks, as they call 
 them, are no more than busts of alabaster in 
 my eye. I can look upon 
 
 ' The yielding marble of a snowy breast,' 
 
 with as much coldness as this line of Mr. Waller 
 represents in the object itself. But my fair 
 readers ought to consider that all their be- 
 holders are not Nestors. Every man is not 
 sufficiently qualified with age and philosophy, to 
 be an indifferent spectator of such allurements. 
 The eyes of young men are curious and pene- 
 trating, their imaginations are of a roving na- 
 ture, and their passion under no discipline or 
 restraint. I am in pain for a woman of rank, 
 when I see her thus exposing herself to the 
 regards of every impudent staring fellow. How 
 can she expect that her quality can defend 
 her, when she gives such provocation ? 1 could 
 not but observe last winter, that upon the 
 disuse of the neck-piece (the ladies will pardon 
 me, if it is not the fashionable term of art) the 
 whole tribe of oglers gave their eyes a new 
 determination, aud stared the fair sex in the 
 neck rather than in the face. To prevent 
 these saucy familiar glauces, I would entreat 
 my gentle readers to sew on their tuckers 
 again, to retrieve the modesty of their charac- 
 ters, and not to imitate the nakedness, but the 
 innocence, of their mother Eve. 
 
 What most troubles and indeed surprises me 
 in this particular, I have observed that the 
 leaders in this fashion were most of them mar- 
 ried women. What their design can be in 
 making themselves bare 1 cannot possibly ima- 
 gine. Nobody exposes wares that are appro- 
 priated. When the bird is takeu, the snare 
 
No. 101.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 155 
 
 ought to be removed. It was a remarkable 
 circumstance in the institution of the severe 
 Lycurgus: as that great lawgiver knew that 
 the wealth and strength of a republic consisted 
 in the multitude of citizens, he did all he could 
 to encourage marriage. In order to it he pre- 
 scribed a certain loose dress for the Spartan 
 maids, in which there were several artificial 
 rents and openings, that upon their putting 
 themselves in motion, discovered several limbs 
 of the body to the beholders. Such were the 
 baits and temptations made use of by that 
 wise lawgiver, to incline the young men of 
 his age to marriage. But when the maid was 
 once sped, she was not suffered to tantalize the 
 male part of the commonwealth. Her gar- 
 ments were closed up, and stitched together 
 with the greatest care imaginable. The shape 
 of her limbs and complexion of her body had 
 gained their ends, and were ever after to be 
 concealed from the notice of the public. 
 
 I shall conclude this discourse of the tucker 
 with a moral which I have taught upon all 
 occasions, and shall still continue to inculcate 
 into my female readers ; namely, that nothing 
 bestows so much beauty on a woman as mo- 
 desty. This is a maxim laid down by Ovid 
 himself, the greatest master in the art of love. 
 He observes upon it, that Venus pleases most 
 when she appears (semi-reducta) in a figure 
 withdrawing herself from the eye of the be- 
 holder. It is very probable he had in his 
 thoughts the statue which we see in the Venus 
 de Medicis, where she is represented in such a 
 shy retiring posture, and covers her bosom 
 with one of her hands. In short, modesty 
 gives the maid greater beauty than even the 
 bloom of youth, it bestows on the wife the 
 dignity of a matron, and reinstates the widow 
 in her viginity. ^ 
 
 No. 101.] Tuesday, July 7, 1713. 
 
 Tros Tyriusve mihi nullo discrimine habetur. 
 
 Virg. Mb. i. 578. 
 Trojan and Tyrian differ but in name, 
 Both to my favour have an equal claim. 
 
 This being the great day of thanksgiving 
 for the peace, I shall present my reader with 
 a couple of letters that are the fruits of it. 
 They are written by a gentleman who has 
 taken this opportunity to see France, and has 
 given his friends in England a general account 
 of what he has there met with, in several epis- 
 tles. Those which follow were put into my 
 hands with liberty to make them public, and 
 I question not but my reader will think him- 
 self obliged to me for so doing. 
 
 'SIR, 
 * Since I had the happiness tp see you last, 
 I have encountered as many misfortunes as a 
 knight-errant. 1 had a fall into the water at 
 
 Calais, and since that, several bruises upon th«j 
 land, lame post-horses by day, and hard beds 
 at night, with many other dismal adventures, 
 
 " Quorum animus memiuisse horret luctuque refngit. 
 
 Virg. fen. ii. 12. 
 " At which my memory with grief recoils." 
 
 * My arrival at Paris was at first no less un- 
 comfortable, where 1 could not see a face nor 
 hear a word that I ever met with before ; so 
 that my most agreeable companions have been 
 statues and pictures, which are many of them 
 very extraordinary; but what particularly re- 
 commends them to me is, that they do not 
 speak French, and have a very good quality, 
 rarely to be met with in this country, of not 
 being too talkative. 
 
 ' I am settled for some time at Paris. Since 
 my being here I have made the tour of all the 
 king's palaces, which has been, I think, the 
 pleasantest part of my life. I could not believe 
 it was in the power of art, to furnish out such 
 a multitude of noble scenes as I there met 
 with, or that so many delightful prospects 
 could lie within the compass of a man's ima- 
 gination. There is every thing done that can 
 be expected from a prince who removes moun- 
 tains, turns the course of rivers, raises woods 
 in a day's time, and plants a village or town 
 on such a particular spot of ground, only for 
 the bettering of a view. One would wonder 
 to see how many tricks he has made the water 
 play for his diversion. It turns itself into 
 pyramids, triumphal arches, glass bottles, imi- 
 tates a fire work, rises in a mist, or tells a 
 story out of ^Esop. 
 
 * I do not believe, as good a poet as you are, 
 that you can make finer landscapes than those 
 about the king's houses, or, with all your de- 
 scriptions, raise a more magnificent palace 
 than Versailles. I am, however, so singular as 
 to prefer Fontainbleau to all the rest. It is 
 situated among rocks and woods, that give you 
 a fine variety of salvage prospects. The king 
 has humoured the genius of the place, and only 
 made use of so much art as is necessary to 
 help and regulate nature, without reforming 
 her too much. The cascades seem to break 
 through the clefts and cracks of rocks that are 
 covered over with moss, and look as if they 
 were piled upon one another by accident. There 
 is an artificial wildness in the meadows, walks, 
 and canals ; and the garden, instead of a wall, 
 is fenced on the lower end by a natural mound 
 of rock-work that strikes the eye very agree- 
 ably. For my part, I think there is something 
 more charming in these rude heaps of stone 
 than in so many statues, and would as soon 
 see a river winding through woods and mea- 
 dows, as when it is tossed up in so many whim- 
 sical figures at Versailles. To pass from works 
 of nature to those of art : In my opinion, the 
 pleasantest part of Versailles is the gallery. 
 
 
156 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 102. 
 
 Every one sees on each 6ide of it something 
 that will he sure to please him. For one of 
 them eommandl a view of the finest garden in 
 the world, and the other is wainscoted with 
 looking-glass. The history of the present 
 king until the year 16 — is painted on the roof 
 iiv Le Brun, so that his majesty has actions 
 enough by him to furnish another gallery 
 much longer than the present. 
 
 1 The painter has represented his most Chris- 
 tian majesty under the figure of Jupiter, throw- 
 ing thunderbolts all about the ceiling, and 
 striking terror into the Danube and Rhine, 
 that lie astonished and blasted with lightning 
 a little above the cornice. 
 
 But what makes all these shows the more 
 agreeable, is the great kindness and affability 
 that is shown to strangers. If the French do 
 not excel the English in all the arts of huma- 
 nity, they do at least in the outward expres- 
 sions of it. And upon this, as well as other 
 accounts, though I believe the English are a 
 much wiser nation, the French are undoubtedly 
 much more happy. Their old men in parti- 
 cular are, I believe, the most agreeable in the 
 world. An antediluvian could not have more 
 life and briskness in him at threescore and ten : 
 for that fire and levity which makes the young 
 ones scarce conversible, when a little wasted 
 and tempered by years, makes a very pleasant 
 and gay old age. Besides, this national fault 
 of being so very talkative looks natural and 
 graceful in one that has grey hairs to counte- 
 nance it. The mentioning this fault 'n the 
 French must put me in mind to finish my 
 letter, lest you think me already too much in- 
 fected by their conversation ; but 1 must desire 
 you to consider, that travelling does in this 
 respect lay a little claim to the privilege of old 
 age. * I am, Sir, &c.' 
 
 " SIR, Blois, May 15, N. S. 
 
 I cannot pretend to trouble you with any 
 news from this place, where the only advan- 
 tage I have besides getting the language, is to 
 see the manners and tempers of the people, 
 which I believe may be better learnt here than 
 in courts and greater cities, where artifice and 
 disguise are more in fashion. 
 
 ' I have already seen, as I informed you in 
 my last, all the king's palaces, and have now 
 seen a great part of the country. I never 
 thought there had been in the world such an 
 excessive magnificence or poverty as I have 
 met with in both together. One can scarce 
 conceive the pomp that appears in every thing 
 about the king ; but at the same time it makes 
 half his subjects go bare-foot. The people are, 
 however, the happiest in the world, and enjoy, 
 from the benefit of their climate, and natural 
 Constitution, lUch a perpetual gladness of heart 
 and easiness of temper as even liberty and 
 plenty cannot bestow on those of other nations. 
 
 It is not in the power of want or slavery to 
 make them miserable. There is nothing to 
 be met with in the country but mirth and 
 poverty. Every one sings, laughs, and starves. 
 Their conversation is generally agreeable ; for 
 if they have any wit or sense, they are sure to 
 show it. They never mend upon a second 
 meeting, but use all the freedom and familia- 
 rity at first sight, that a long intimacy or 
 abundance of wine, can scarce draw from an 
 Englishman. Their women are perfect mis- 
 tresses in the art of showing themselves to the 
 best advantage. They are always gay and 
 sprightly, and set off the worst faces in Europe 
 yvith the best airs. Every one knows how to 
 give herself as charming a look and posture as 
 sir Godfrey Kneiler could draw her in. I can- 
 not end my letter without observing, that from 
 what I have already seen of the world, I can- 
 not but set a particular mark of distinction 
 upon those who abound most in the virtues of 
 their nation, and least with its imperfections. 
 When, therefore, I see the good sense of an 
 Englishman in its highest perfection without 
 any mixture of the spleen, I hope you will ex- 
 cuse me, if I admire the character, and am 
 ambitious of subscribing myself, 
 
 ' Sir, yours, &c.' 
 
 No. 102.] Wednesday, July 8, 1713. 
 
 NaiM ad flumina primdm 
 
 Defcnnius, sfevoqne gelu duramus ct andis. 
 
 Pirg. .'En. ix. 003. 
 Strong from the cradle, of a sturdy brood, 
 We bear our new-born infants to the Hood ; 
 There bath'd amid the stream, our boys we ho.d, 
 With winter harden'd, and inur'd to cold. Dryden. 
 
 I AM always beating about in my thoughts 
 for something that may turn to the benefit of 
 my dear countrymen. The present season off 
 the year having put most of them in slight 
 summer-suits, has turned my speculations to 
 a subject that concerns every one who is sen- 
 sible of cold or heat, which 1 believe takes in 
 the greatest part of my readers. 
 
 There is nothing in nature more inconstant 
 than the British climate, if we except the hu- 
 mour of its inhabitants. We have frequently 
 in one day all the seasons of the year. 1 have 
 shivered in the dog-days, and been forced to 
 throw off my coat in January. 1 have gone to 
 bed in August, and rose in December. Summer 
 has often caught me in my drap de Berry, 
 and winter in my Doily suit. 
 
 I remember a very whimsical fellow (com- 
 monly known by the name of Posture-master) 
 in king Charles the Second's reign, who was 
 the plague of all the tailors about town. He 
 would often seud for one of them to take mea- 
 sure of him, hut would so contrive it as to 
 have a most immoderate rising in one of his 
 shoulders, When the clothes were brought 
 
No. 102.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 157 
 
 home and tried upon him, the deformity was 
 removed into the other shoulder. Upon which 
 the tailor begged pardon for the mistake, and 
 mended it as fast as he could, but upon a third 
 trial found him a straight-shouldered man as 
 one would desire to see, but a little unfortu- 
 nate in a hump back. In short, this wander- 
 ing tumour puzzled all the workmen about 
 town, who found it impossible to accommodate 
 so changeable a customer. My reader will apply 
 this to any one who would adapt a suit to a 
 season of our English climate. 
 
 After this short descant on the uncertainty 
 of our English weather, I come to my moral. 
 
 A man should take care that his body be 
 not too soft for his climate ; but rather, if pos- 
 sible, harden and season himself beyond the 
 degree of cold wherein he lives. Daily expe- 
 rience teaches us how we may inure ourselves 
 by custom to bear the extremities of weather 
 without injury. The inhabitants of Nova 
 Zembla go naked, without complaining of the 
 bleakness of the air in which they are born, as 
 the armies of the northern nations keep the 
 field all winter. The softest of our British 
 ladies expose their arms and necks to the open 
 air, which the men could not do without catch- 
 ing cold, for want of being accustomed to it. 
 The whole body by the same means might 
 contract the same firmness and temper. The 
 Scythian that was asked how it was possible 
 for the inhabitants of his frozen climate to go 
 naked, replied, ' Because we are all over face.' 
 Mr. Locke advises parents to have their chil- 
 dren's feet washed every morning in cold water, 
 which might probably prolong multitudes of 
 lives. 
 
 I verily believe a cold bath would be one of 
 the most healthful exercises in the world, were 
 it made use of in the education of youth. It 
 would make their bodies more than proof to 
 the injuries of the air and weather. It would 
 be something like what the poets tell us of 
 Achilles, whom his mother is said to have 
 dipped, when he was a child, in the river Styx. 
 The story adds, that this made him invulner- 
 able all over, excepting that part which his 
 mother held in her hand during this immersion, 
 and which by that means lost the benefit of 
 these hardening waters. Our common practice 
 runs in a quite contrary method. We are per- 
 petually softening ourselves by good fires and 
 warm clothes. The air within our rooms has 
 generally two or three degrees more of heat in 
 it than the air without doors. 
 
 Crassus is an old lethargic valetudinarian. 
 For these twenty years last past he has been 
 clothed in frize of the same colour, and of the 
 same piece. He fancies he should catch his 
 death in any other kind of manufacture; and 
 though his avarice would incline him to wear 
 it until it was threadbare, he dares not do it 
 lest he should take cold when the knap is off. 
 
 He could no more live without his frize coat, 
 than without his skin. It is not indeed so 
 properly his coat as what the anatomists call 
 one of the integuments of the body. 
 
 How different an old man is Crassus from 
 myself! It is, indeed, the particular distinction 
 of the Ironsides to be robust and hardy, to defy 
 the cold and rain, and let the weather do its 
 worst. My father lived till a hundred with- 
 out a cough ; and we have a tradition in the 
 family, that my grandfather used to throw off 
 his hat, and go open-breasted, after fourscore, 
 As for myself, they used to sowse me over head 
 and ears in water when I was a boy, so that 
 I am now looked upon as one of the most 
 case-hardened of the whole family of the Iron- 
 sides. In short, I have been so plunged in 
 water and inured to the cold, that I regard 
 myself as a piece of true-tempered Steel, and 
 can say with the above-mentioned Scythian, 
 that I am face, or, if my enemies please, fore- 
 head, all over. 
 
 No. 103.] Thursday, July 9, 1713. 
 
 Dum flammas Jovis, et sonitus imitatur olympi. 
 
 Virg. Mn. vi. 586. 
 
 With mimic thunder impiously he plays, 
 And darts the artificial lightning's blaze. 
 
 I AM considering how most of the great phe- 
 nomena or appearances in nature, have been 
 imitated by the art of man. Thunder is grown 
 a common drug among the chymists. Lightning 
 may be bought by the pound. If a man has 
 occasion for a lambent flame, you have whole 
 sheets of it in a handful of phosphor. Showers 
 of rain are to be met with in every water- work ; 
 and we are informed, that some years ago the 
 virtuosos of France covered a little vault with 
 artificial snow, which they made to fall above 
 an hour together for the entertainment of his 
 present majesty. 
 
 I am led into this train of thinking by the 
 noble fire-work that was exhibited last night 
 upon the Thames. You might there see a 
 little sky filled with innumerable blazing stars 
 and meteors. Nothing could be more astonish- 
 ing than the pillars of flame, clouds of smoke, 
 and multitudes of stars mingled together in 
 such an agreeable confusion. Every rocket 
 ended in a constellation, and strowed the air 
 with such a shower of silver spangles, as opened 
 and enlightened the whole scene from time 
 to time. It put me in mind of the lines in 
 CEdipus, 
 
 * Why from the bleeding womb of monstrous night 
 Burst forth such myriads of abortive stars?' 
 
 In short, the artist did his part to admiration, 
 and was so encompassed with fire and smoke 
 that one would have thought nothing but a 
 salamander could have been safe in such a 
 situation. 
 
158 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 104, 
 
 1 was iii company with two or three fanciful 
 friends during this whole show. One of them 
 being ■ critic, that is, a man who on all occa- 
 sion- is more attentive to what is wanting than 
 what i- present, began to exert his talent upon 
 tin- leveral objects we had before ns. ' I am 
 mightily pleased,' says he, ' with that burning 
 cypher. There is no matter in the world so 
 proper to write with as wild-fire, as no characters 
 can be more legible than those which are read 
 by their own light. But as for your cardinal 
 virtues, I do not care for seeing them in such 
 comhustihle figures. Who can imagine Chas- 
 titv with a body of fire, or Temperance in a 
 flame? Justice indeed may be furnished out 
 of this element as far as her sword goes, and 
 Courage may be all over one continued blaze, 
 if the artist pleases.' 
 
 Our companion observing that we laughed 
 at this unseasonable severity, let drop the 
 critic, and proposed a subject for a fire-work, 
 which he thought would be very amusing, if 
 executed by so able an artist as he who was 
 at that time entertaining us. The plan he 
 mentioned was a scene in Milton. He would 
 have a large piece of machinery represent the 
 Pandaemonium, where, 
 
 from the arched roof 
 
 Pendant by subtle magic, many a row 
 Of starry lamps, and blazing cressets, fed 
 With naphtha and asphaltos, yielded light 
 As from a sky' 
 
 This might be finely represented by several il- 
 luminations disposed in a great frame of wood, 
 with ten thousand beautiful exhalations of fire, 
 which men versed in this art know very well 
 how to raise. The evil spirits at the same time 
 might very properly appear in vehicles of 
 flame, and employ all the tricks of art to ter- 
 rify and surprise the spectator. 
 
 We were well enough pleased with this start 
 of thought, but fancied there was something 
 in it too serious, and perhaps too horrid, to be 
 put in execution. 
 
 Upon this a friend of mine gave us an ac- 
 count of a fire-work described, if I am not 
 mistaken, by Strada. A prince of Italy, it 
 seems, entertained his mistress with it upon 
 a great lake. In the midst of this lake was a 
 huge floating mountain made by art. The 
 mountain represented /Etna, being bored 
 through the top with a monstrous orifice. 
 Upon a signal given, the eruption began. Fire 
 and smoke, mixed with several unusual prodi- 
 gies and figures, made their appearance for 
 some time. On a sudden there was heard a 
 most dreadful rumbling noise within the en- 
 trails of the machine. After which the moun- 
 tain burst, and discovered avast cavity in that 
 side winch faced the prince and his court. 
 Within this hollow was Vulcan's shop, full of 
 fire and clock-work. A column of blue flame 
 toned oil! InceaMPtly from the forge. Vulcan 
 
 was employed in hammering out thunderbolts, 
 that every now and then flew up from the anvil 
 with dreadful cracks and flashes. Venus stood 
 by him in a figure of the brightest fire, with 
 numberless Cupids on all sides of her, that shot 
 out volleys of burning arrows. Before her was 
 an altar with hearts of fire flaming on it. I 
 have forgot several other particulars no less 
 curious, aud have only mentioned these to 
 show that there may be a sort of fahle or design 
 in a fire- work which may give an additional 
 beauty to those surprising objects. 
 
 I seldom see any thing that raises wonder 
 in me which does not give my thoughts a turn 
 that makes my heart the better for it. As I 
 was lying in my bed, and ruminating on what 
 I had seen, 1 could not forbear reflecting on 
 the insignificancy of human art, when set in 
 comparison with the designs of Providence. 
 In the pursuit of this thought I considered 
 a comet, or, in the language of the vulgar, a 
 blazing-star, as a sky-rocket discharged by 
 a hand that is Almighty. Many of my readers 
 saw that in the year 1680, and if they are not 
 mathematicians, will be amazed to hear that 
 it travelled in a much greater degree of swift- 
 ness than a cannon-ball, and drew after it a 
 tail of fire that was fourscore millions of miles 
 in length. What an amazing thought it is to 
 consider this stupendous body traversing the 
 immensity of the creation with such a rapidity, 
 and at the same time, wheeling about in that 
 line which the Almighty has prescribed for it! 
 that it should move in such inconceivable fury 
 and combustion, and at the same time with 
 such an exact regularity ! How spacious must 
 the universe be that gives such bodies as these 
 their full play, without suffering the least dis- 
 order or confusion by it 1 What a glorious show 
 are those beings entertained with, that can look 
 into this great theatre of nature, and see my- 
 riads of such tremendous objects wandering 
 through those immeasurable depths of aether, 
 and running their appointed courses ! Our eyes 
 may hereafter he strong enough to command 
 tlm magnificent prospect, and our understand- 
 ings able to find out the several uses of these 
 great parts of the universe. In the mean time 
 they are very proper objects for our imagina- 
 tions to contemplate, that we may form more 
 exalted notions of infinite wisdom and power, 
 and learn to think humbly of ourselves, and 
 of all the little works of human invention. <&> 
 
 No. 104.] Friday, July 10, 1713. 
 
 Qua; e longinquo magis placent. T<u it 
 
 The farther fetch'd, the more they please. 
 
 On Tuesday last I published two letters 
 written by a gentleman in his travels. As 
 they were applauded by my best readers, I shall 
 
No. 10k] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 159 
 
 this day publish two more from the same hand. 
 The first of them contains a matter of fact 
 which is very curious, and may deserve the 
 attention of those who are versed in our British 
 antiquities. 
 
 ' SIR, Blois, May 15, N. S. 
 
 * Because I am at present out of the road 
 of news, I shall send you a story that was lately 
 given me by a gentleman of this country, who 
 is descended from one of the persons concerned 
 in the relation, and very inquisitive to know 
 if there be any of the family now in England. 
 
 1 I shall only premise to it, that this story 
 is preserved with great care among the writings 
 of this gentleman's family, and that it has been 
 given to two or three of our English nobility, 
 when they were in these parts, who could not 
 return any satisfactory answer to the gentle- 
 man, whether there be any of that family now 
 remaining in Great Britain. 
 
 * In the reign of king John there lived a 
 nobleman called John de Sigonia, lord of that 
 place in Touraine, his brothers were Philip and 
 Briant. Briant, when very young, was made 
 one of the French king's pages, and served him 
 in that quality when he was taken prisoner by 
 the English. The king of England chanced 
 to seethe youth, and being much pleased with 
 his person and behaviour, begged him of the 
 king his prisoner. It happened, some years 
 after this, that John, the other brother, who, 
 in the course of the war had raised himself to 
 a considerable post in the French army, was 
 taken prisoner by Briant, who at that time was 
 an officer in the king of England's guards. 
 Briant knew nothing of his brother, and being 
 naturally of a haughty temper, treated him 
 very insolently, and more like a criminal than 
 a prisoner of war. This John resented so highly, 
 that he challenged him to a single combat. The 
 challenge was accepted, and time and place as- 
 signed them by the king's appointment. Both 
 appeared on the day prefixed, and entered the 
 lists completely armed, amidst a great multi- 
 tude of spectators. Their first encounters were 
 very furious, and the success equal on both 
 sides ; until after some toil and bloodshed they 
 were parted by their seconds to fetch breath, 
 and prepare themselves afresh for the combat. 
 Briant, in the mean time had cast his eye upon 
 his brother's escutcheon, which he saw agree 
 in all points with his own. I need not tell 
 you after this, with what joy and surprise the 
 story ends. King Edward, who knew all the 
 particulars of it, as a mark of his esteem, gave 
 to each of them, by the king of France's con- 
 sent, the following coat of arms, which I will 
 send you in the original language, not being 
 herald enough to blazon it in English. 
 
 " Le Roi d'Angleterre par permission du 
 Roi de France, pour perpetuelle memoire de 
 ieurs grands faits d'armes et fidelity envers 
 
 leurs Rois, leur donna par ampliation a leurs 
 armes en une croix d'argen cantoned de quatre 
 coquillesd'or en champ de sable, qu ils avoient 
 auparavant, une endenteleuse faite en fa«,'ons 
 de croix de gueulle inseree au dedans de la 
 ditte croix d'argent et par le milieu d'icelle 
 que est participation des deux croix que por- 
 tent les dits Rois en la guerre." 
 
 ' I am afraid by this time you begin to won- 
 der that I should send you for news a tale of 
 three or four hundred years old ; and I dare 
 say never thought, when you desired me to 
 write to you, that I should trouble you with a 
 story of king John, especially at a time when 
 there is a monarch on the French throne that 
 furnishes discourse for all Europe. But I con- 
 fess I am the more fond of the relation, because 
 it brings to mind the noble exploits of our own 
 countrymen : though at the same time I must 
 own it is not so much the vanity of an English- 
 man which puts me upon writing it, as that 
 I have of taking an occasion to subscribe 
 myself, Sir, 
 
 ' Yours, &c.' 
 
 « SIR, Blois, May 20, N. S. 
 
 * I am extremely obliged to you for your last 
 kind letter, which was the only English that 
 had been spoken to me in some months toge- 
 ther, for I am at present forced to think the 
 absence of my countrymen my good fortune: 
 
 Votum in amante novum! vellum quod amatur abessef. 
 Ovid. Met. Lib. iii. 4(J8. 
 
 Strange wish to harbour in a lover's breast.' 
 I wish that absent, which I love the best. 
 
 * This is au advantage that I could not have 
 hoped for, had I stayed near the French court, 
 though I must confess I would not but have 
 seen it, because I believe it showed me some 
 of the finest places, and of the greatest persons 
 in the world. One cannot hear a name men- 
 tioned in it that does not bring to mind a piece 
 of a gazette, nor see a man that has not sig- 
 nalised himself in a battle. One would fancy 
 one's self to be in the enchanted palaces of a 
 romance ; one meets with so many heroes, and 
 finds something so like scenes of magic in the 
 gardens, statues, and water-works. I am 
 ashamed that I am not able to make a quicker 
 progress through the French tongue, because 
 I believe it is impossible for a learner of a lan- 
 guage to find in any nation such advantages as 
 in this, where every body is so very courteous, 
 and so very talkative. They always take care 
 to make a noise as long as they are in company, 
 and are as loud any hour in the morning, as 
 our own countrymen at midnight. By what 
 I have seen, there is more mirth in the French 
 conversation, and more wit in the English. 
 You abound more in jests, but they in laugh- 
 ter. Their language is, indeed, extremely 
 proper to tattle in, it is made up of so much 
 repetition and compliment. One may know a 
 
160 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 105, 
 
 foreigner by llis answering only No or Yi s to a 
 question, which a Frenchman generally makes 
 a sentence of. They have a set of ceremonious 
 ohrases that run through all ranks and degrees 
 among them. Nothing is more common than 
 to hear a shop-keeper desiring his neighbour 
 to have the goodness to tell him what it is 
 o'clock, or a couple of cobblers, that are ex- 
 tremely glad of the honour of seeiug one an- 
 other. 
 
 The face of the whole country where I now 
 am, is at this season pleasant beyond imagi- 
 nation. I cannot but fancy the birds of this 
 place, as well as the men, a great deal merrier 
 than those of our own nation. I am sure the 
 French year has got the start of ours more in 
 the works of nature, than in the new style. 
 I have past one March in my life without 
 being ruffled with the winds, and one April 
 without being washed with rains. 
 
 * I am, Sir, yours.' £> 
 
 No. 105.] Saturday, July 11, 1713. 
 
 Quod ncqne in Armeniis tigres fecere latebris : 
 
 Perdere nee foetus ausa Leaena suos. 
 At tenerae faciunt, sed non impune, pnellae ; 
 
 Saepe, suos utero qua? necat, ipsa perit. 
 
 Ovid. Amor. Lib. 2 Ele-g. xiv. 35. 
 
 The tigresses, that haunt th' Armenian wood, 
 Will spare their proper young, tho' pinch'd for food ! 
 Nor will the Lybian lionesses slay 
 Their whelps : but women are more fierce than they, 
 More barbarous to the tender fruit they hear ; 
 Nor Nature's call, tho' loud she cries, will bear. 
 But righteous vengeance oft their crimes pursues, 
 And they are lost themselves who would their children 
 lose. Anon. 
 
 There was no part of the show on the 
 thanksgiving-day that so much pleased and 
 affected me as the little boys and girls who 
 were ranged with so much order and decency 
 in that part of the Strand which reaches from 
 the May-pole to Exeter-change. Such a nu- 
 merous and innocent multitude, clothed in the 
 charity of their benefactors, was a spectacle 
 pleasing both to God and man, and a more 
 beautiful expression of joy and thanksgiving 
 than could have been exhibited by all the 
 pomps of a Roman triumph. Never did a 
 more full and unspotted chorus of human crea- 
 tures join together in a hymn of devotion. The 
 care and tenderness which appeared in the 
 looks of their several instructors, who were 
 disposed among this little helpless people, 
 could not forbear touching every heart that 
 had any sentiments of humanity. 
 
 I am very sorry that her majesty did not see 
 this assembly of objects, so proper to excite 
 that charity and compassion which she bears 
 to all who stand in need of it, though, at the 
 ■amfl time, 1 question not but her royal bounty 
 will extend itself to them. A charity bestowed 
 on the education of so many of her young sub- 
 
 jects, has more merit in it than a thousand 
 pensions to those of a higher fortune who are 
 in greater stations in life. 
 
 I have always looked on this institution 
 charity-schools, which of late years has s.i 
 universally prevailed through the whole nation, 
 as the glory of the age we live in, and the 
 most proper means that can be made use of to 
 recover it out of its present degeneracy and 
 depravation of manners. Jt seems to promise 
 us an honest and virtuous posterity. There 
 will be few in the next generation, who will 
 not at least be able to write and read, and 
 have not had an early tincture of religion. It 
 is therefore to be hoped that the several per- 
 sons of wealth and quality, who made their 
 procession through the members of these new- 
 erected seminaries, will not regard them only 
 as an empty spectacle, or the materials of a 
 fine show, but contribute to their maintenance 
 and increase. For my part, 1 can scarce for- 
 bear looking on the astonishing victories our 
 arms have been crowned with, to be in some 
 measure the blessings returned upon that na- 
 tional charitv which has been so conspicuous 
 of late; and that the great successes of the 
 last war, for which we lately offered up our 
 thanks, were in some measure occasioned by 
 the several objects which then stood before us. 
 
 Since I am upon this subject, 1 shall mention 
 a piece of charity which has not been yet ex- 
 erted among us, and which deserves our at- 
 tention the more, because it is practised by 
 most of the nations about us. I mean a pro- 
 vision for foundlings, or for those children who, 
 through want of such a provision, are exposed 
 to the barbarity of cruel and unnatural parents. 
 One does not know how to speak on such a 
 subject without horror : but what multitudes 
 of infants have been made away by those who 
 brought them into the world, and were after- 
 wards either ashamed, or unable to provide for 
 them ! 
 
 There is scarce an assizes where some un- 
 happy wretch is not executed for the murder 
 of a child. And how many more of these mon- 
 sters of inhumanity may we suppose to be 
 wholly undiscovered, or cleared for want of 
 legal evidence! Not to mention those, who, 
 by unnatural practices, do in some measure 
 defeat the intentions of Providence, and de- 
 stroy their conceptions even before they see 
 the light. In all these the guilt is equal, 
 though the punishment is not so. But to pass 
 by the greatness of the crime (which is not to 
 be expressed by words) if we only consider it 
 as it robs the commonwealth of its full num- 
 ber of citizens, it certainly deserves the ut- 
 most application and wisdom of a people to 
 prevent it. 
 
 It is certain, that which generally betrays 
 these profligate women into it, and overoomes 
 the tenderness which is natural to them on 
 
No. 106.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 161 
 
 other occasions, is the fear of shame, or their 
 inability to support those whom they give life 
 to. I shall therefore show how this evil is 
 prevented in other countries, as I have learned 
 from those who have been conversant in the 
 several great cities of Europe. 
 
 There are at Paris, Madrid, Lisbon, Rome, 
 and many other large towns, great hospitals 
 built like our colleges. In the walls of these 
 hospitals are placed machines, in the shape of 
 large lanthorns, with a little door in the side 
 of them turned towards the street, and a bell 
 hanging by them. The child is deposited in 
 this lanthorn, which is immediately turned 
 about into the inside of the hospital. The 
 person who conveys the child, rings the bell, 
 and leaves it there, upon which the proper 
 officer comes and receives it without making 
 further inquiries. The parent, or her friend, 
 who lays the child there, generally leaves a 
 note with it, declaring whether it be yet chris- 
 tened, the name it should be called by, the 
 particular marks upon it, and the like. 
 
 It often happens that the parent leaves a 
 note for the maintenance and education of the 
 child, or takes it out after it has been some 
 years in the hospital. Nay, it has been known 
 that the father has afterwards owned the young 
 foundling for his son, or left his estate to him. 
 This is certain, that many are by this means 
 preserved and do signal services to their coun- 
 try, who without such a provision might have 
 perished as abortives, or have come to an un- 
 timely end, and perhaps have brought upon 
 their guilty parents the like destruction. 
 
 This I think is a subject that deserves our 
 most serious consideration, for which reason 
 I hope 1 shall not be thought impertinent in 
 laying it before my readers. \$y. 
 
 No. 106.] Monday, July 13, 1713. 
 
 Quod latet arcana, non enarrabile, fibi a. 
 
 Fers. Sat. v. 20. 
 
 The deep recesses of the human breast. 
 
 As I was making up my Monday's provision 
 for the public, I received the following letter, 
 which being a better entertainment than any 
 1 can furnish out myself, I shall set it before 
 the reader, and desire him to fall on without 
 farther ceremony. 
 
 * Your two kinsmen and predecessors of im- 
 mortal memory, were very famous for their 
 dreams and visions, and, contrary to all other 
 authors, never pleased their readers more than 
 when they were nodding. Now it is observed, 
 that the second sight generally runs in the 
 blood ; and, sir, we are in hopes that you your- 
 self, like the rest of your family, may at length 
 prove a dreamer of dreams, and a seer of visions. 
 
 In the mean while 1 beg leave to make you a 
 present of a dream, which may serve to lull 
 your readers until such time as you yourself 
 shall think fit to gratify the public with any 
 of your nocturnal discoveries. 
 
 * You must understand, sir, I had yesterday 
 been reading and ruminating upon that pas- 
 sage where Momus is said to have found fault 
 with the make of a man, because he had not 
 a window in his breast. The moral of this 
 story is very obvious, and means no more than 
 that the heart of man is so full of wiles and 
 artifices, treachery and deceit, that there is 
 no guessing at what he is, from his speeches, 
 and outward appearances. I was immediately 
 reflecting how happy each of the sexes would 
 be, if there was a window in the breast of every 
 one that makes or receives love. What pro- 
 testations and perjuries would be saved on the 
 one side, what hypocrisy and dissimulation on 
 the other ! I am myself very far gone in this 
 passion for Aurelia, a woman of an unsearchable 
 heart. I would give the world to know the 
 secrets of it, and particularly whether I am 
 really in her good graces, or if not, who is the 
 happy person. 
 
 * 1 fell asleep in this agreeable reverie, when 
 on a sudden methought Aurelia lay by my side. 
 I was placed by her in the posture of Milton's 
 Adam, and *' with looks of cordial love hung 
 over her enamour'd." As I cast my eye upon 
 her bosom, it appeared to be all of crystal, 
 and so wonderfully transparent that I saw 
 every thought in her heart. The first images 
 I discovered in it were fans, silk, ribands, 
 laces, and many other gewgaws, which lay so 
 thick together, that the whole heart was no- 
 thing else but a toy-shop. These all faded 
 away and vanished, when immediately I dis- 
 cerned a long train of coaches and six, equi- 
 pages, and liveries, that ran through the heart 
 one after another in a very great hurry for 
 above half an hour together. After this, look- 
 ing very attentively, I observed the whole 
 space to be filled with a hand of cards, in 
 which I could see distinctly three mattadors. 
 There then followed a quick succession of dif- 
 ferent scenes. A playhouse, a church, a court, 
 a puppet-show, rose up one after another, until 
 at last they ail of them gave place to a pair of 
 new shoes, which kept footing in the heart for 
 a whole hour. These were driven off at last 
 by a lap-dog, who was succeeded by a guinea- 
 pig, a squirrel, and a monkey. 1 myself, to 
 my no small joy, brought up the rear of these 
 worthy favourites. I was ravished at being so 
 happily posted, and in full possession of the 
 heart: but as I saw the little figure of myself 
 simpering and mightily pleased with its situa- 
 tion, on a sudden the heart methought gave a 
 sigh, in which, as I found afterwards, my little 
 representative vanished ; for upon applying my 
 eye, I found my place taken up by an ill bred, 
 
 X 
 
1*52 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [Nc. 107. 
 
 awkward puppy, m'Ah a money-bag under each 
 arm. This gentleman, however, did not keep 
 hi> station long, before he yielded it up to a 
 
 vigbt as disagreeable as himself, with a white 
 vtnk in his hand. These three last figures 
 represented to me, in a lively manner, the 
 conflicts in Aurelia's heart, between love, ava- 
 rice, and ambition, for we justled one another 
 out by turns, and disputed the post for a great 
 while. But at last, to my unspeakable satis- 
 faction, I saw myself entirely settled in it. 
 I was so transported with my success, that I 
 could not forbear hugging my dear piece of 
 crystal, when, to my unspeakable mortification, 
 1 awaked, and found my mistress metamor- 
 phosed into a pillow. 
 
 ' This is not the first time I have been thus 
 disappointed. 
 
 * O venerable Nestor, if you have any skill 
 in dreams, let me know whether I have the 
 same place in the real heart, that I had in the 
 visionary one. To tell you truly, I am per- 
 plexed to death between hope and fear. 1 was 
 very sanguine until eleven o'clock this morn- 
 ing, when I overheard an unlucky old woman 
 telling her neighbour that dreams always went 
 by contraries. I did not, indeed, before much 
 like the crystal heart, remembering that con- 
 founded simile in Valentinian, of a maid " as 
 cold as crystal never to be thawed." Besides, 
 I verily believe if I had slept a little longer, 
 cnat awkward whelp with his money-bags.would 
 certainly have made his second entrance. If 
 you can tell the fair one's mind, it will be no 
 small proof of your art, for I dare say it is more 
 than she herself can do. Every sentence she 
 speaks is a riddle; all that I can be certain of 
 is, that I am her and 
 
 1 Your humble servant, 
 
 ' PETER PUZZLE.' 
 
 No. 107.] Tuesday, July 14, 1713. 
 
 tendanda via est Virg. Georg. iii. 8. 
 
 I'll try the experiment. 
 
 I have lately entertained my readei with 
 two or three letters from a traveller, and may 
 possibly, in some of my future papers, oblige 
 him with more from the same hand. The fol- 
 lowing one comes from a projector, which is 
 a sort of correspondent as diverting as a tra- 
 veller ; his subject having the same grace of 
 novelty to recommend it, and being equally 
 adapted to the curiosity of the reader. For my 
 own part, I have always had a particular fondness 
 for a project, and may say without vanity, that 
 I have a pretty tolerable genius that way my- 
 sel£ I could mention some which I have 
 brought to maturity, others which have mis- 
 (. tnied, and many more which I have yet hy 
 me, and arc to take their fate in the world 
 when I see a proper juncture: I had a hand 
 
 in the land-bank, and was consulted with upon 
 the reformation of manners. I have had se 
 vera! designs upon the Thames and the New- 
 river, not to mention my refinements upon 
 lotteries and insurances, and that never-to- 
 be-forgotten project, which, if it had succeeded 
 to my wishes, would have made gold as plen- 
 tiful in this nation a9 tin or copper. If my 
 countrymen have not reaped any advantages 
 from these my designs, it was not for want of 
 any good-will towards them. They are obliged 
 to me for my kind intentions as much as if 
 they had taken effect. Projects are of a two- 
 fold nature : the first arising from public- 
 spirited persons, in which number I declare 
 myself: the other proceeding from a regard 
 to our private interest, of which nature is that 
 in the following letter. 
 
 • SLR* 
 ' A man of your reading knows very well 
 that there were a set of men in old Rome, 
 called by the name of Nomenclators, that is, 
 in English, men who call every one by his 
 name. When a great man stood for any pub- 
 lic office, as that of a tribune, a consul, or a 
 censor, he had always one of these nomen- 
 clators at his elbow, who whispered in his ear 
 the name of every one he met with, and by 
 that means enabled him to salute every Roman 
 citizen by his name when he asked him for his 
 vote. To come to my purpose: I have with 
 much pains and assiduity qualified myself for a 
 nomenclator to this great city, and shall gladly 
 enter upon my office as soon as I meet with 
 suitable encouragement. I will let myself out 
 by the week to any curious country gentleman 
 or foreigner. If he takes me with him in a 
 coach to the Ring,* I will undertake to teach 
 him, in two or three evenings, the names of 
 the most celebrated persons who frequent that 
 place. If he plants me by his side in the pit, 
 1 will call over to him, in the same manner, 
 the whole circle of beauties that are disposed 
 among the boxes, and at the same time point 
 out to him the persons who ogle them from 
 their respective stations. I need not tell you 
 that I may be of the same use in any other 
 public assembly. Nor do 1 only profess the 
 teaching of names, but of things. Upon the 
 sight of a reigning beauty, I shall mention her 
 admirers, and discover her gallantries, if they 
 are of public notoriety. I shall likewise mark 
 out every toast, the club in which she was 
 < leeted, and the number of votes that were on 
 her side. Not a woman shall be unexplained 
 that makes a figure either as a maid, a wife, 
 or a widow. The men too shall be set out in 
 their distinguishing characters, and declared 
 whose properties they are. Their wit, wealth, 
 
 * The Ring In IIyde-p*rk, at this time a tistiionaWc 
 place ot 
 
No. 107. j 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 163 
 
 or good-humour, their persons, stations, and 
 titles, shall be described at large. 
 
 4 I have a wife who is a nomenclatress, and 
 will be ready, on any occasion, to attend the 
 ladies. She is of a much more communicative 
 nature than myself, and is acquainted with all 
 the private history of London and Westminster, 
 and ten miles round. She has fifty private 
 amours which nobody yet knows any thing of 
 but herself, and thirty clandestine marriages 
 that have not been touched by the tip of a 
 tongue. She will wait upon any lady at her 
 own lodgings, and talk by the clock after the 
 rate of three guineas an hour. 
 
 ' N. B. She is a near kinswoman of the au- 
 thor of the New Atalantis. 
 
 * 1 need not recommend to a man of your 
 sagacity, the usefulness of this project, and do 
 therefore beg your encouragement of it, which 
 will lay a very great obligation upon 
 
 * Your humble servant.' 
 
 After this letter from my whimsical corres- 
 pondent, I shall publish one of a more serious 
 nature, which deserves the utmost attentiofl 
 of the public, and in particular of such who 
 are lovers of mankind. It is on no less a sub- 
 ject than that of discovering the longitude, 
 and deserves a much higher name than that 
 of a project, if our language afforded any such 
 term. But all I can say on this subject will 
 be superfluous when the reader sees the names 
 of those persons by whom this letter is sub- 
 scribed, and who have done me the honour to 
 send it me. I must only take notice, that the 
 first of these gentlemen is the same person 
 who has lately obliged the world with that 
 noble plan, intitled, A Scheme of the Solar 
 System, with the orbits of the planets and 
 comets belonging thereto, described from 
 Dr. Halley's accurate Table of Comets, Philo- 
 sophy Trans. No. 297, founded on sir Tsaac 
 Newton's wonderful discoveries, by William 
 Whiston, M. A. 
 
 * To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 At Button's Coffee-House, near Covent- Garden. 
 
 ' SIR, London, July 11, 1713. 
 
 * Having a discovery of considerable import- 
 ance to communicate to the public, and find- 
 ing that you are pleased to concern yourself 
 in any thing that tends to the common benefit 
 of mankind, we take the liberty to desire the 
 insertion of this letter into your Guardian. 
 We expect no other recommendation of it from 
 you, but the allowing of it a place in so useful 
 a paper. Nor do we insist on any protection 
 from you, if what we propose should fall short 
 of what we pretend to ; since any disgrace, 
 which in that case must be expected, ought to 
 lie wholly at our own doors, and to be entirely 
 oorne by ourselves, which we hope we have 
 
 provided for by putting our own names to this 
 paper. 
 
 * It is well known, sir, to yourself and to 
 the learned, and trading, and sailing world, 
 that the great defect of the art of navigation 
 is, that a ship at sea has no certain method, in 
 either her eastern or western voyages, or even 
 in her less distant sailing from the coasts, to 
 know her longitude, or how much she is gone 
 eastward or westward, as it can easily be known 
 in any clear day or night, how much she is 
 gone northward or southward. The several 
 methods by lunar eclipses, by those of Jupiter's 
 satellites, by the appulses of the moon to fixed 
 stars, and by the even motions of pendulum 
 clocks and watches, upon how solid foundations 
 soever they are built, still failing in long voyages 
 at sea, when they come to be practised ; and 
 leaving the poor sailors frequently to the great 
 inaccuracy of a log-line, or dead reckoning. 
 This defect is so great, and so many ships have 
 been lost by it, and this has been so long and 
 so sensibly known by trading nations, that 
 great rewards are said to be publicly offered 
 for its supply. We are well satisfied, that the 
 discovery we have to make as to this matter 
 is easily intelligible by all, and ready to be 
 practised at sea as well as at land ; that the 
 latitude will thereby be likewise found at the 
 same time ; and that with proper charges it 
 may be made as universal as the world shall 
 please ; nay, that the longitude and latitude 
 may be generally hereby determined to a greater 
 degree of exactness than the latitude itself is 
 now usually found at sea. So that on all ac- 
 counts we hope it will appear very worthy the 
 public consideration. We are ready to disclose 
 it to the world, if we may be assured that no 
 other person shall be allowed to deprive us of 
 those rewards which the public shall think fit 
 to bestow for such a discovery ; but do not de- 
 sire actually to receive any benefit of that na- 
 ture till sir Isaac Newton himself, with such 
 other proper persons as shall be chosen to assist 
 him, have given their opinion in favour of this 
 discovery. If Mr. Ironside pleases so far to 
 oblige the public as to communicate this pro- 
 posal to the world, he will also lay a great 
 obligation on 
 
 ' His very humble servants, 
 
 « WILL. WHISTON, 
 
 « HUMPHRY DITTON.* 
 
 No. 108.] Wednesday, July 15, 1713. 
 
 Abietibus juvenes patriis et montibus aeqni. 
 
 Virg. iEn. ix. 674. 
 
 Yoatns, of height and size, 
 
 Like firs that on their mother-mountain rise. 
 
 ... Dryden. 
 
 I do not care for burning my fingers in a 
 quarrel, but since I have communicated to the 
 world a plan which has given offence to some 
 
164 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 1 08-. 
 
 genthnuu whom it would not be very safe to 
 disoblige, I must insert the following remon 
 strance ; and at the same time promise those 
 of my correspondents who have drawn this 
 upon themselves, to exhibit to the publrc any 
 such answer as they shall think proper to 
 make to it. 
 
 ' MR. GUARDIAN, 
 
 ' I was very much troubled to see the two 
 letters which you lately published concerning 
 the short club. You cannot imagine what airs 
 all the little pragmatical fellows about us have 
 given themselves since the reading of those 
 papers. Every one cocks and struts upon it, 
 and pretends to overlook us who are two foot 
 higher than themselves. I met with one the 
 other day who was at least three inches above 
 five foot, which you know is the statutable 
 measure of that club. This overgrown runt 
 has struck off his heels, lowered his foretop, and 
 contracted his figure, that he might be looked 
 upon as a member of this new-erected society; 
 nay, so far did his vanity carry him that he 
 talked familiarly of Tom Tiptoe, and pretends 
 to be an intimate acquaintance of Tim Tuck. 
 For my part, I scorn to speak any thing to the 
 diminution of these little creatures, and should 
 not have minded them had they been still 
 shuffled among the crowd. Shrubs and under- 
 woods look well enough while they grow within 
 the shades of oaks and cedars ; but when these 
 pigmies pretend to draw themselves out from 
 the rest of the world, and form themselves into 
 a body, it is time for us who are men of figure 
 to look about us. If the ladies should once take 
 a liking to such a diminutive race of lovers, we 
 should, iti a little time, see mankind epitomized, 
 and the whole species in miniature ; daisy roots* 
 would grow a fashionable diet. In order there- 
 fore to keep our posterity from dwindling, and 
 fetch down the pride of this aspiring race of 
 upstarts, we have here instituted a tall club. 
 
 ' As the short club consists of those who are 
 under five foot, ours is to be composed of such 
 as are above six. These we look upon as the 
 two extremes and antagonists of the species ; 
 considering all those as neuters who fill up the 
 middle space. When a man rises beyond six 
 foot, he is a hypermeter, and may be admitted 
 into the tall club. 
 
 * We have already chosen thirty members, 
 the most sightly of all her majesty's subjects. 
 We elected a president, as many of the an- 
 cients did their kings, by reason of his height, 
 having only confirmed him in that station 
 above us which nature had given him. He is 
 a Scotch Highlander, and within an inch of a 
 show. As for my own part, I am but a sesqui 
 pedal, having only six foot and a half of stature. 
 
 • D.inv roots, boiled in milk, me said u> check tin- growth 
 
 Being the shortest member of the club, I am 
 appointed secretary. 1/ you saw us all toge- 
 ther you would take us for the sons of Anak. 
 Our meetings are held like the old gothic par- 
 liaments, sub dio, in open air ; but we shall make 
 an interest, if we can, that we may hold our 
 assemblies in Westminster-hall when it is not 
 term-time. I must add to the honour of our 
 club, that it is one of our society who is now 
 finding out the longitude. The device of our 
 public seal is, a crane grasping a pigmy in his 
 right foot. 
 
 * I know the short club value themselves 
 very much upon Mr. Distich, who may possibly 
 play some of his pentameters upon us, but if 
 he does he shall certainly be answered in Alex- 
 andrines. For we have a poet among us of a 
 genius as exalted as his stature, and who is 
 very well read in Longinus his treatise con- 
 cerning the sublime.* Besides, I would have 
 Mr. Distich consider, that if Horace was a 
 short man, Musseus, who makes such a noble 
 figure in Virgil's sixth ^Eneid, was taller by 
 the head and shoulders than all the people of 
 Elysium. I shall therefore confront his lepi- 
 dissimum hfimuncionem (a short quotation, and 
 fit for a member of their club) with one that 
 is much longer, and therefore more suitable 
 to a member of ours. 
 
 " Quos circumfusos sic est affata Sibylla ; 
 Musaaum ante omnes: medium nam plurima ttirba 
 Hunc habet, at que bumeris extantem suscipit alt is.'' 
 Virg. X.u. vi. G66. 
 " To these the Sibyl thus her speech address'd : 
 And first to him* surrouuded by the rest ; 
 Tow'ring his height and ample was Lis breast." 
 
 Drydcn. 
 
 * If after all, this society of little men pro- 
 ceed as they have begun, to magnify themselves, 
 and lessen men of higher stature, we have re- 
 solved to make a detachment, some evening 
 or other, that shall bring away their whole club 
 in a pair of panniers, and imprison them in a 
 cupboard which we have set apart for that use, 
 until they have made a public recantation. As 
 for the little bully, 11m Tuck, if he pretends 
 to be choleric, we shall treat him like his friend 
 little Dicky, and hang him upon a peg until 
 he comes to himself. 1 have told you our de- 
 sign, and let their little Machiavel prevent it 
 if he can. 
 
 1 This is, sir, the long and the short of the 
 matter, I am sensible 1 shall stir up a nest of 
 wasps by it, but let them do their worst. I 
 think that we serve our country by discou- 
 raging this little breed, and hindering it from 
 coming into fashion. If the fair sex look upon 
 us with an eye of favour, we shall make some 
 attempts to lengthen out the human figure, 
 aud restore it to its ancient procerity. In the 
 
 • Leonard Wclsted, whose translation of Longinui flrat 
 appeared in 1712. 
 
 t Musciis. 
 
No. 109.; 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 165 
 
 mean time we hope old age has not inclined 
 you in favour of our antagonists ; for I do assure 
 you sir, we are all your high admirers, though 
 none more than, * Sir, yours, &c. cs- 
 
 No. 109.] Thursday, July 16, 1713. 
 
 Pugnabat tunica sed tamen ilia tegi. 
 
 Ovid. Amor. Lib. 1. Eleg. v. 14. 
 Yet still she strove her naked charms to hide. 
 
 I have received many letters from persons 
 of all conditions, in reference to my late dis- 
 course concerning the tucker. Some of them 
 are filled with reproaches and invectives. A 
 lady who subscribes herself Teraminta, bids 
 me in a very pert manner mind my own affairs, 
 and not pretend to meddle with their linen ; 
 for that they do not dress for an old fellow, 
 who cannot see them without a pair of specta- 
 cles. Another, who calls herself Bubnelia, vents 
 her passion in scurrilous terms ; an old ninny- 
 hammer, a dotard, a nincompoop, is the best 
 language she can afford me. Florella, indeed, 
 expostulates with me upon the subject, and 
 only complains that she is forced to return a 
 pair of stays which were made in the extremity 
 of the fashion, that she might not be thought 
 to encourage peeping. 
 
 But if on the one side I have been used ill, 
 (the common fate of all reformers) I have on 
 the other side received gfeat applauses and ac- 
 knowledgments for what I have done, in having 
 put a seasonable stop to this unaccountable 
 humour of stripping, that was got among our 
 British ladies. As 1 would much rather the 
 world should know what is said to my praise, 
 than to my disadvantage, I shall suppress what 
 has been written to me by those who have re- 
 viled me on this occasion, and only publish 
 those letters which approve my proceedings. 
 
 •SIR, 
 ' I am to give you thanks in the name of 
 half a dozen superannuated beauties, for your 
 paper of the sixth instant. We all of us pass 
 for women of fifty, and a man of your sense 
 knows how many additional years are always 
 to be thrown into female computations of this 
 nature. We are very sensible that several 
 young flirts about town had a design to cast us 
 out of the fashionable world, and to leave us 
 in the lurch by some of their late refinements. 
 Two or three of them have been heard to say, 
 that they would kill every old woman about 
 town. In order to it, they began to throw off 
 their clothes as fast as they could, and have 
 played all those pranks which you have so 
 seasonably taken notice of. We were forced 
 to uncover, after them, being unwilling to give 
 out so soon, and be regarded as veterans in the 
 beau monde. Some of us have already caught 
 our deaths by it. For my own part, I have not 
 been without a cold ever since *his foolish 
 
 fashion came up. I nave followed it thus far 
 with the hazard of my life ; and how much 
 farther I must go, nobody knows, if your paper 
 does not bring us relief. You may assure your- 
 self that all the antiquated necks about town 
 are very much obliged to you. Whatever fires 
 and flames are concealed in our bosoms (iu 
 which perhaps we vie with the youngest of the 
 sex) they are not sufficient to preserve us 
 against the wind and weather. In taking so 
 many old women under your care, you have 
 been a real Guardian to us, and saved the life 
 of many of your contemporaries. In short, we 
 all of us beg leave to subscribe ourselves, 
 ' Most venerable Nestor, 
 
 ' your humble servants and sisters.' 
 
 I am very well pleased with this approbation 
 of my good sisters. I must confess I have al- 
 ways looked on the tucker to be the decus et 
 tut amen* the ornament and defence, of the 
 female neck. My good old lady, the lady Lizard, 
 condemned this fashion from the beginning, 
 and has observed to me, with some concern, 
 that her sex at the same time they are letting 
 down their stays, are tucking up their petti- 
 Coats, which grow shorter and shorter every 
 day. The leg discovers itself in proportion 
 with the neck. But I may possibly take another 
 occasion of handling this extremity, it being 
 my design to keep a watchful eye over every 
 part of the female sex, and to regulate them 
 from head to foot. In the mean time I shall 
 fill up my paper with a letter which comes to 
 me from another of my obliged correspondents. 
 
 'DEAR GUARDEE, 
 
 ' This comes to you from one of those un- 
 tuckered ladies whom you were so sharp upon 
 on Monday was sennight. I think myself 
 mightily beholden to you for the reprehension* 
 you then gave us. You must know I am a 
 famous olive beauty. But though this com- 
 plexion makes a very good face when there are 
 a couple of black sparkling eyes set in it, it 
 makes but a very indifferent neck. Your fair 
 women, therefore, thought of this fashion to> 
 insult the olives and the brunetts. They know 
 very well, that a neck of ivory does not make- 
 so fine a show as one of alabaster. It is for 
 this reason, Mr. Ironside, that they are so li- 
 beral in their discoveries. We know very weH r 
 that a woman of the whitest neck in the world,., 
 is co you no more than a woman of snow ; but 
 Ovid, in Mr. Duke's translation of him, seems 
 to look upon it with another eye, when he- 
 talks of Corinna, and mentions 
 
 " her heaving breast, 
 
 Courting the baud, aud suing to be pre-st." 
 
 * Women of my complexion ought to be more 
 modest, especially since our faces debar us from 
 
 • The words milled on the larger silver «nd gold coins- 
 of this kingom. 
 
166 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 110. 
 
 all artificial whitenings. Could you examine 
 many of these ladies who present you with such 
 heautiful snowy chests, you would find they 
 are not all of a piece. Good father Nestor, do 
 not let us alone until you have shortened our 
 necks, and reduced them to their ancient 
 standard. 
 
 ' I am, 
 ' your most obliged humble servant, 
 
 ' OLIVIA.' 
 
 I shaii have a just regard to Olivia's remon- 
 strance, though at the same time I cannot but 
 observe that her modesty seems to be entirely 
 the result of her complexion. 03* 
 
 No. 110.] Friday, July 17, 1713. 
 
 Non ego paucis 
 
 Offendor maculis, quas ant incuria nidit 
 
 Ant hnmana parmn cavil uatura 
 
 Hor. Ars Poet. ver. 351. 
 
 1 will not quarrel with a slight mistake, 
 Such as our nature's frailty may excuse. 
 
 Roscommon. 
 
 The candour which Horace shows in the 
 motto of my paper, is that which distinguishes 
 a critic from a caviller. He declares that he 
 is not offended with those little faults in a poe- 
 tical composition, which may be imputed to 
 inadvertency, or to the imperfection of human 
 nature. The truth of it is, there can be no 
 more a perfect work in the world, than a per- 
 fect man. To say of a celebrated piece, that 
 there are faults in it, is in effect to say no more, 
 than that the author of it was a man. For 
 this reason I consider every critic that attacks 
 an author in high reputation, as the slave in 
 the Roman triumph, who was to call out to 
 the conqueror, ' Remember, sir, that you are 
 a man.' I speak this in relation to the follow- 
 ing letter, which criticises the works of a great 
 poet, whose very faults have more beauty in 
 them than the most elaborate compositions of 
 many more correct writers. The remarks are 
 very curious and just, and introduced by a 
 compliment to the work of an author, who I 
 am sure would not care for being praised at 
 the expense of another's reputation. I must 
 therefore desire my correspondent to excuse 
 me, if I do not publish either the preface or 
 conclusion of his letter, but only the critical 
 part of it. 
 
 Our tragedy writers have been notoriously 
 defective in giving proper sentiment! to the 
 
 peiNnns they introduce. Nothing is more com- 
 mon than to hear a heathen talking of angels 
 And devils, the joys of heaven, and the pains 
 uf hell, according to the Christian system. 
 
 Lee's Alexander discovers him to be a Cartesian 
 in the first page of CEdipus : 
 
 The sun's sick too, 
 
 Shortly he'll be an earth"- 
 
 As Dryden's Cleomenes is acquainted with the 
 Copernican hypothesis two thousand years he- 
 fore its invention. 
 
 " 1 am pleas'd with my own work ; Jove was not more 
 With infant nature, when his spacious hand 
 Had rounded this huge ball of earth and seas, 
 To give it the first push, and see it roll 
 Along the vast abyss" 
 
 ' I have now Mr. Dryden's Don 'Sebastian 
 before me, in which J find frequent allusions 
 to ancient history, and the old mythology of 
 the heathen. Jt is not very natural to sup- 
 pose a king of Portugal would be borrowing 
 thoughts out of Ovid's Metamorphoses when 
 he talked even to those of his own court ; but 
 to allude to these Roman fables when he talks 
 to an emperor of Barbary, seems very extraor- 
 dinary. But observe how he defies him out 
 of the classics, in the following lines : 
 
 " Why didst not thou engage me man to man, 
 And try the virtue of that Gorgon face 
 To stare me into statue V 
 
 ' Almeyda at the same time is more book- 
 learned than Don Sebastian. She plays a 
 hydra upon the emperor that is full as good as 
 the Gorgon. 
 
 " O that I had the fruitful heads of hydra, 
 That one might bourgeon where another fell I 
 Still would 1 give thee work, still, still, thou tyrant, 
 And hiss thee with thee last" 
 
 ' She afterwards, in allusion to Hercules, 
 bids him " lay down the lion's skin, and take 
 the distaff;" and in the following speech utters 
 her passion still more learnedly. 
 
 " No I were we join'd, even tho' it were in death, 
 Our bodies burning in one funeral pile, _ 
 The prodigy of Thebes wou'd be renew'd, 
 And my divided (lame should break from thine." 
 
 * The eniperor of Barbary shows himself ac- 
 quainted with the Roman poets as well as either 
 of his prisoners, and answers the foregoing 
 speech in the same classic strain : 
 
 " Serpent, I will engender poison with thee ; 
 Our offspring, like the seed of dragons' teeth, 
 Shall isMio arm'd, and tight themselves to death." 
 
 ,' Ovid seems to have been Muley Molock's 
 favorite author, witness the lines that follow : 
 
 " She still inexorable, still impel ions 
 And loud, as if, like r.ucliiis, horn in thunder." 
 
 ' I shall conclude my remarks on his part 
 with that poetical complaint of his being in 
 love, and leave my reader to consider how 
 prettily it would sound in the mouth of an 
 emperor of Morocco : 
 
 " The gprl of love once more nas shot his fires 
 Into my soul, and my whole hea.t receives him." 
 
No. 111.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 167 
 
 1 Muley Zeydan is as ngenious a man as his 
 brother Muley Molock ; as where he hints at 
 the story of Castor and Pollux : 
 
 '•' May we ne'er meet/ 
 
 For like the twins of Leda, when I mount, 
 He gallops down the skies" 
 
 * As for the mufti, we will suppose that he 
 was bred up a scholar, and not only versed in 
 the law of Mahomet, but acquainted with all 
 kinds of polite learning 1 . For this reason he 
 is not at all surprised when Dorax calls him a 
 Phaeton in one place, and in another tells 
 him he is like Archimedes. 
 
 4 The mufti afterwards mentions Ximenes, 
 Albornoz, and cardinal Wolsey by name. The 
 poet seems to think he may make every per- 
 son in his play know as much as himself, and 
 talk as well as he could have done on the same 
 occasion. At least I believe every reader will 
 agree with me, that the above-mentioned sen- 
 timents, to which I might have added several 
 others, wouM have been better suited to the 
 court of Augustus, than that of Muley Molock. 
 I grant they are beautiful in themselves, and 
 much more so in that noble language which 
 was peculiar to this great poet. 1 only observe 
 that they are improper for the persons who 
 make use of them. Dryden is, indeed, gene- 
 rally wrong in his sentiments. Let any one 
 read the dialogue between Octavia and Cleo- 
 patra, and he will be amazed to hear a Roman 
 lady's mouth filled with such obscene raillery. 
 If the virtuous Octavia departs from her cha- 
 racter, the loose Dolabella is no less incon- 
 sistent with himself, when, all of sudden, he 
 drops the pagan, and talks in the sentiments 
 of revealed religion. 
 
 " Heaven has but 
 
 Our sorrow for our sins, and then delights 
 To pardon erring man. Sweet mercy seems 
 Jts darling attiibute, which limits justice ; 
 As if there were degrees in infinite : 
 And infinite would rather want perfection 
 Than punish to extent"' 
 
 ' I might show several faults of the same 
 nature in the celebrated Aureng Zebe. The 
 impropriety of thoughts in the speeches of the 
 great mogul and his empress has been gene- 
 rally censured. Take the sentiments out of 
 the shining dress of words, and they would be 
 too coarse for a scene in Billingsgate. 
 
 I am, &c.' {t^- 
 
 No. 111.] Saturdaij^ July 18, 1713. 
 
 file aliquis de gente hircosa Centurionum 
 Dicat : quod satis est sapio mihi ; non ego euro 
 Esse qnod Arcesilas, a? rumnosiqise Soiones. 
 
 Pers. Sat. iii. 77. 
 
 Bat here, some captain of the land or fleet, 
 
 Stout of his hands, but of a soldier's wit, 
 
 Cries, I have sense to serve my turn, in store ; 
 
 And he's a rascal who pretends to more : 
 
 Dammee, whate'er those book-learned blockheads say 
 
 Solon's the veriest fool in all the play. Dryden. 
 
 I AM very much concerned when I see young 
 gentlemen of fortune and quality so wholly 
 set upon pleasures and diversions, that they 
 neglect all those improvements in wisdom and 
 knowledge which may make them easy to 
 themselves, and useful to the world. The 
 greatest part of our British youth lose their 
 figure, and grow out of fashion by that time 
 they are five-and-twenty. As soon as the na- 
 tural gayety and amiableness of the young man 
 wears off, they have nothing left to recommend 
 them, but lie by the rest of their lives among 
 the lumber and refuse of the species. It some- 
 times happens, indeed, that for want of apply- 
 ing themselves in due time to the pursuits of 
 knowledge, they take up a book in their de- 
 clining years, and grow very hopeful scholars 
 by that time they are threescore. I must, 
 therefore, earnestly press my readers, who are 
 in the flower of their youth, to labour at those 
 accomplishments which may set off their per- 
 sons when their bloom is gone, and to lay in 
 timely provisions for manhood and old age. 
 In short, I would advise the youth of fifteen to 
 be dressing up every day the man of fifty, or 
 to consider how to make himself venerable at 
 threescore. 
 
 Young men, who are naturally ambitious, 
 would do well to observe how the greatest men 
 of antiquity made it their ambition to excel 
 all their contemporaries in knowledge. Julius 
 Cffisar and Alexander, the most celebrated in- 
 stances of human greatness, took a particular 
 care to distinguish themselves by their skill in 
 the arts and sciences. We have still extant 
 several remains of the former, which justify 
 the character given of him by the learned men 
 of his own age. As for the latter, it is a known 
 saying of his, ' that he was more obliged to 
 Aristotle, who had instructed him, than to 
 Philip, who had given him life and empire. 
 There is a letter of his recorded by Plutarch 
 and Aulus Gelius, which he wrote to Aristotle 
 upon hearing that he had published those lec- 
 tures he had given him in private. This letter 
 was written in the following words, at a time 
 when he was in the height of his Persian con- 
 quests. 
 
 'Alexander to Aristotle, greeting. 
 
 1 You have not done well to publish your 
 books of Select Knowledge ; for what is there 
 now in which I can surpass others, if those 
 things which I have been instructed in are 
 communicated to every body? For my own 
 part, I declare to you, 1 would rather excel 
 others in knowledge than power. Farewell. 
 
 We see by this letter, that the love of con* 
 
lt>8 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. li 
 
 quest was but tbe second ambition in Alexan- 
 der's soul. Knowledge is, indeed, that which, 
 next to virtup. truly and essentially raises one 
 man above another. It finishes one half of 
 the human soul. It makes being pleasant to 
 us, fills tbe mind with entertaining views, and 
 administers to it a perpetual series of gratifi- 
 cations. It gives ease to solitude, and grace- 
 fulness to retirement. It fills a public station 
 with suitable abilities, and adds a lustre to 
 those who are in possession of them. 
 
 Learning, by which I mean all useful know- 
 ledge, whether speculative or practical, is, in 
 popular and mixt governments, tbe natural 
 source of wealth and honour. If we look into 
 most of the reigns from tbe conquest, we shall 
 find that the favourites of each reign have 
 been those who have raised themselves. The 
 greatest men are generally the growth of that 
 particular age in which they flourish. A supe- 
 rior capacity for business, and a more exten- 
 sive knowledge, are the steps by which a new 
 man often mounts to favour, and outshines the 
 rest of his contemporaries. But when men are 
 actually born to titles, it is almost impossible 
 that they should fail of receiving an additional 
 greatness, if they take care to accomplish 
 themselves for it. 
 
 The story of Solomon's choice does not only 
 instruct us in that point of history, but fur- 
 nishes out a very fine moral to us, namely, 
 that he who applies his heart to wisdom, dues 
 at the same time take the most proper method 
 for gaining long life, riches, and reputation, 
 which are very often not only the rewards, but 
 the effects of wisdom. 
 
 As it is very suitable to my present subject, 
 I shall first of all quote this passage in the 
 words of sacred writ, and afterwards mention 
 an allegory, in which this whole passage is re- 
 presented by a famous French poet : not ques- 
 tioning but it will be very pleasing to such of 
 my readers as have a taste of fine writing. 
 
 * In Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon 
 in a dream by night : and God said, Ask what 
 I shall give thee. And Solomon said, Thou 
 hast showed unto thy servant David my fa- 
 ther great mercy, according as he walked be- 
 fore thee in truth and in righteousness, and in 
 uprightness of heart with thee, and thou hast 
 kept for him this great kindness, that thou 
 hast given him a son to sit on his throne, as it 
 is this day. And now, O Lord my God, thou 
 bast made thy servant king instead of David 
 in y father : and I am but a little child ; I know 
 not how to go out or come in. Give, therefore, 
 thy servant an understanding heart to judge 
 thy people, that I may discern between good 
 and baJ : for who is able to judge this thy so 
 great a people? And the speech pleased the 
 J, <>nl, that Solomon bad asked this thing. 
 And God said unto him, Because thou hast 
 asked this thing, and hast not asked for thy- 
 
 self long life, neither hast asked riches fo. 
 thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine ene- 
 mies, but hast asked for thyself understanding 
 to discern judgment : Behold I have done ac- 
 cording to thy words: Lo, I have given thee 
 a wise and understanding heart, so that there 
 was none like tbee before tbee, neither after 
 thee shall any arise like unto thee. And I have 
 also given thee that which thou hast not asked, 
 both riches and honour, so that there shall not 
 be any among the kings like unto thee all thy 
 days. And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to 
 keep my statutes and my commandments, as 
 thy father David did walk, then I will lengthen 
 thy days. And Solomon awoke, and behold it 
 
 was a dream.' 
 
 The French poet has shadowed this story in 
 an allegory, of which he seems to have taken 
 the hint from the fable of the three goddesses 
 appearing to Paris, or rather from the vision 
 of Hercules, recorded by Xenophon, where 
 Pleasure and Virtue are represented as real per- 
 sons making their court to the hero with all 
 their several charms and allurements. Health, 
 Wealth, Victory, and Honour are introduced 
 successively in their proper emblems and cha- 
 racters, each of them spreading her tempta- 
 tions, and recommending herself to the young 
 monarch's choice. Wisdom enters the last, and 
 so captivates bim with her appearance, that he 
 gives himself up to her. Upon which she in- 
 forms bim, that those who appeared before her 
 were nothing else but her equipage : and that 
 since he had placed his heart upon Wisdom ; 
 Health, Wealth, Victory, and Honour, should 
 always wait on her as her handmaids. g?- 
 
 No. 112.] Monday, July 20, 1713. 
 
 Spenrit hiuiiam fugieuic penniL 
 
 Hor. Lib. 3. Od. ii. SSL 
 
 Scorn? the base earth, anil crowd below ; 
 And with a soaring wing still mounts on high. 
 
 Creech. 
 
 The philosophers of king Charles bis reign 
 were busy in finding out the art of flying. The 
 famous bishop Wilkins was so confident of 
 success in it, that he says he does not question 
 but in the next age it will be as usual to hear 
 a man call for his wings when he is going a 
 journey, as it is now to call for his boots. The 
 humour so prevailed among the virtuosos of this 
 reign, that they were actually making parties 
 to go up to the moon together, and were more 
 put to it in their thoughts how to meet with 
 accommodations by the way, than how to get 
 (hither. Every one knows the story of tbe 
 great lady * who at the same time was building 
 
 * I In- diu-li.-.-s of Newcastle objected to bishop Wilkins, 
 the want of buiting places in the way to his new world ; 
 the bishop exprcwed his surprise tliat this objection should 
 bo made by a lady who had been all her life employed in 
 building casllos in the air. 
 
No. 112.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 169 
 
 castles in the air for their reception. I always 
 leave such trite quotations to my reader's pri- 
 vate recollection. For which reason, also, [ 
 shall forbear extracting out of authors several 
 instances of particular persons who have ar- 
 rived at some perfection in this art, and exhi- 
 bited specimens of it before multitudes of be- 
 holders. Instead of this I shall present my 
 reader with the following letter from an artist, 
 who is now taken up with this invention, and 
 conceals his true name under that of Dsedalus. 
 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, 
 ' Knowing that you are a great encourager 
 of ingenuity, I think fit to acquaint you, that 
 1 have made a considerable progress in the art 
 of flying. I flutter about my room two or 
 three hpurs in a morning, and when my wings 
 are on, can go above a hundred yards at a hop, 
 step, and jump. 1 can fly already as well as a 
 turkey-cock, and improve every day. If I 
 proceed as I have begun, I intend to give the 
 world a proof of my proficiency in this art. 
 Upon the next public thanksgiving day it is 
 my design to sit astride the dragon upon Bo.w 
 steeple, from whence, after the first discharge 
 of the Tower guns r I intend to mount into the 
 air, fly over Fleet-street, md pitch upon the 
 May-pole in the Strand. From thence, by a 
 gradual descent, I shall make the best of my 
 way for St. James's-park, and light upon the 
 ground near Rosamond's-pond. This I doubt 
 not will convince the world that I am no pre- 
 tender ; but before I set out, I shall desire to 
 have a patent for making of wings, and that 
 none shall presume to fly, under pain of death, 
 with wings of any other man's making. I in- 
 tend to work for the court myself, and will 
 have journeymen under me to furnish the rest 
 of the nation. I likewise desire, that I may 
 have the sole teaching of persons of quality, 
 in which I shall spare neither time nor pains 
 until I have made them as expert as myself. 
 I will fly with the women upon my back for 
 the first fortnight. I shall appear at the next 
 masquerade dressed up in my feathers and 
 plumage like an Indian prince, that the quality 
 may see how pretty they will look in their 
 travelling habits. You know, sir, there is an 
 unaccountable prejudice to projectors of all 
 kinds, for which reason when I talk of prac- 
 tising to fly, silly people think me an owl for 
 my pains; but, sir, you know better things. 
 I need not enumerate to you the benefits which 
 will accrue to the public from this invention ; 
 as how the roads of England will be saved 
 when we travel through these j.ew highways, 
 and how all family accounts will be lessened 
 in the article of coaches and horses. I need 
 not mention posts and packet-boats, with many 
 other conveniences of life, which will be sup- 
 plied ibis way. In short, sir, when mankind 
 are in possession of this art, they will be able 
 
 to do more business in threescore and ten years, 
 then they could do in a thousand by the me- 
 thods now in use. I therefore recommend my- 
 self and art to your patronage, and am 
 
 * Your most humble servant. 
 
 I have fully considered the project of these 
 our modern Daedalists, and am resolved so far 
 to discourage it, as to prevent any person from 
 flying in my time. It would fill the world with 
 innumerable immoralities, and give such occa- 
 sions for intrigues as people cannot meet with 
 who have nothing but legs to carry them. You 
 should have a couple of lovers make a midnight 
 assignation upon the top of the monument, 
 and see the cupola of St. Paul's covered with 
 both sexes like the outside of a pigeon-house. 
 Nothing would be more frequent than to see 
 a beau flying in at a garret window, or a gal- 
 lant giving chace to his mistress, like a hawk 
 after a lark. There would be no walking in a 
 shady wood without springing a covey of toasts. 
 The poor husband could not dream what was 
 doing over his head. If he were jealous, indeed, 
 he might clip his wife's wings, but what would 
 this avail when there were flocks of whore- 
 masters perpetually hovering over his house? 
 What concern would the father of a family be 
 in all the time his daughter was upon the wing ? 
 Every heiress must have an old woman flying 
 at her heels. In short, the whole air would 
 be full of this kind of gibier, as the French call 
 it. 1 do allow, with my correspondent, that 
 there would be much more business done than 
 there is at present. However, should he apply 
 for such a patent as he speaks of, I question 
 not but there would be more petitions out of 
 the city against it, than ever yet appeared 
 against any other monopoly whatsoever. Every 
 tradesman that cannot keep his wife a coach, 
 could keep her a pair of wings, and there is no 
 doubt but she would be every morning and 
 evening taking the air with them. 
 
 I have here only considered the ill conse- 
 quences of this invention in the influence it 
 would have on love affairs. I have many more 
 objections to make on other accounts ; but 
 these I shall defer publishing until I see my 
 friend astride the dragon. 03» 
 
 No. 113.] Tuesday, July 21, 1713. 
 -Amphora ccepit 
 
 Institui, currente rota, cur nrcetis exii? 
 
 Hqr. Ars Poet. ver. 21. 
 
 When yon begin with so much pomp and show, 
 "Why is the end so little and so low ? 
 
 Roscommon. 
 
 I LAST night received a letter from an honest 
 citizen, who it seems is in his honey-moon. It 
 is written by a plain man on a plain subject, 
 but has an air of good sense and natural ho- 
 nesty in it, which may perhaps please the 
 
T n 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 114, 
 
 public afl mu< h as mya If. I shall not therefore 
 scruple the giving it a place in my paper, 
 which is designed tor common use, and for the 
 benefit of the poor as well as rich. 
 
 •• GOOD MR. l RONSIDK, Cheapade, July 18. 
 ' I have lately married a very pretty body, 
 *bo being something younger and richer than 
 myself, I was advised to go a wooing to her in 
 a finer stnt of clothes than ever I wore in my 
 fife ; fur I love to dress plain, and suitable to 
 a man of my rank. However, I gained her 
 heart by it. Upon the wedding day I put my- 
 self, according to custom, in another suit, fire- 
 new, with silver buttons to it. I am so out 
 of countenance among my neighbours upon 
 being so fine, that I heartily wish my clothes 
 well worn out. I fancy every body observes 
 me as I walk the street, and long to be in my 
 old plain gear again. Besides, forsooth, they 
 have put me in a silk night-gown and a gaudy 
 fool's cap, and make me now and then stand 
 in the window with it. I am ashamed to be 
 dandled thus, and cannot look iii the glass 
 without blushing to see myself turned into 
 such a pretty little master. They tell me I 
 must appear in my wedding-suit for the first 
 month at least ; after which I am resolved to 
 come again to my every day's clothes, for at 
 present every day is Sunday with me. Now, 
 in my mind, Mr. Ironside, this is the wrongest 
 way of proceeding in the world. When a man's 
 person is new and unaccustomed to a young 
 body, he does not want any thing else to set 
 him off. The novelty of the lover has more 
 charms than a wedding-suit. I should think, 
 therefore, that a man should keep his finery 
 for the latter seasons of marriage, and not begin 
 to dress until the honey- moon is over. I have 
 observed at a lord mayor's feast that the sweet- 
 meats do not make their appearance until 
 people are cloyedwith beef and mutton, and 
 begin to lose their stomachs. * But instead of 
 this, we serve up delicacies to our guests, when 
 their appetites are keen, and coarse diet when 
 their bellies are full. As bad as I hate my 
 silver-buttoned coat and silk night-gown, I am 
 afraid of leaving them off, not knowing whether 
 my wife will not repent of her marriage when 
 she sees what a plain man she has to her hus- 
 band. Pray, Mr. Ironside, write something to 
 prepare her for it, and let me know whether 
 you think she can ever love me in a hair button. 
 
 * I am, &e. 
 
 ' P. S. I forgot to tell you of my white gloves, 
 which liny say too, I must wear all the first 
 month.' 
 
 My correspondent's observations are very 
 
 just, and may he useful in low life; but to 
 
 turn them to the advantage of people in higher 
 station-, I shall raise the moral, and observe 
 
 something parallel to the wooiinj and wedding- 
 
 suit, in the behaviour of persons of figure 
 After long experience in the world, and re- 
 flections upon mankind, I find one particular 
 occasion of unhappy marriages, which, though 
 very common, is not very much attended to. 
 What I mean is this: Every man in the time 
 of courtship, and in the first entrance of mar- 
 riage, puts on a behaviour like my correspon- 
 dent's holiday suit, which is to last no longer 
 than until he is settled in the possession of his 
 mistress. He resigns his inclinations and un- 
 derstanding to her humour and opinion. He 
 neither loves nor hates, nor talks, nor thinks, 
 in contradiction to her. He is controlled by a 
 nod, mortified by a frown, and transported by 
 a smile. The poor young lady falls in love with 
 this supple creature, and expects of him the 
 same behaviour for life. In a little time she 
 finds that he has a will of his own, that he 
 pretends to dislike what she approves, and that 
 instead of treating her like a goddess, he uses 
 her like a woman. What still makes the mis- 
 fortune worse, we find the most abject flat- 
 terers degenerate into the greatest tyrants. 
 This naturally fills the spouse with sullenness 
 and discontent, spleen and vapour, "Which, with 
 a little discreet management, make a very 
 comfortable marriage. I very much approve 
 of my friend Tom Truelove in this particular. 
 Tom made love to a woman of sense, and al- 
 ways treated her as such during the whole time 
 of courtship. His natural temper and good 
 breeding hindered him from doing any thing 
 disagreeable, as his sincerity and frankness of 
 behaviour made him converse with her, before 
 marriage, in the same manner he intended to 
 continue to do afterwards. Tom would often 
 tell her, ' Madam, jou see what a sort of man 
 I am. If you will take me with all my faults 
 about me, I promise to mend rather than grow 
 worse.' 1 remember Tom was once hinting his 
 dislike of some little trifle his mistress had said 
 or done. Upon which she asked him, how he 
 would talk to her after marriage, if he talked 
 at this rate before ? * No, madam,' says Tom, 
 ' I mentjon this now because you are at your 
 own disposal ; were you at mine I should be 
 too generous to do it.' In short, Tom succeeded, 
 and has ever since been better than his word. 
 The lady has been disappointed on the right 
 side, and has found nothing more disagreeable 
 in the husband than she discovered in the lover. 
 
 O 
 
 No. 111-.] Wednesday i July 23, 1713. 
 
 Alvcos nccipite, el ccrisopns int'nndite : 
 inn r< cusant, spibus conditio placet. 
 
 Phddr. Lib. 3. Fab. xiii. 0. 
 
 Til- the hives, and empty your work into the tenths ; 
 The tlrnnea roftue, the bees accept the proposal. 
 
 I think myself obliged to acquaint the public 
 lion's head, of which I advertised them 
 
,0. IU.j 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 1 1 
 
 kbout a fortnight ago, is now erected at But- 
 ion's coffee-house in Russel-street, Covent- 
 jjarden, where it opens its mouth at all hours 
 for the reception of such intelligence as shall 
 !>e thrown into it. It is reckoned an excellent 
 piece of workmanship, and was designed by a 
 great hand in imitation of the antique Egyptian 
 lion, the face of it being compounded out of that 
 of a lion and a wizard. The features are strong 
 and well furrowed. The whiskers are admired 
 by all that have seen them. It is planted on 
 the western side of the coffee-house, holding 
 its paws under the chin upon a box, which 
 contains every thing that he swallows. He is 
 indeed a proper emblem of knowledge and ac- 
 tion, being all head and paws. I need not ac- 
 quaint my readers, that my lion, like a moth, 
 or book-worm, feeds upon nothing but paper, 
 and shall only beg of them to diet him with 
 wholesome and substantial food. I must, there- 
 fore, desire that they will not gorge him either 
 with nonsense or obscenity ; and must likewise 
 insist, that his mouth be not defiled with scan- 
 dal, for I would not make use of him to revile 
 the human species, and satirise those who ate 
 his betters. I shall not suffer him to worry 
 any man's reputation, nor indeed fall on any 
 person whatsoever, such only excepted as dis- 
 grace the name of this generous animal, and 
 under the title of lions contrive the ruin of 
 their fellow-subjects. I must desire, likewise, 
 that intriguers will not make a pimp of my 
 lion, and by his means convey their thoughts 
 to one another. Those who are read in the 
 history of the popes observe, that the Leos have 
 been the best, and the Innocents the worst of 
 that species, and I hope that I shall not be 
 thought to derogate from my lion's character, 
 by representing him as such a peaceable, good- 
 natured, well- designing beast. 
 
 I intend to publish once every week, ' the 
 roarings of the lion,' and hope to make him 
 roar so loud as to be heard over all the British 
 nation. 
 
 If my correspondents will do their parts in 
 prompting him, and supplying him with suit- 
 able provision, I question not but the lion's 
 head will be reckoned the best head in England. 
 There is a notion generally received in the 
 world, that a lion is a dangerous creature to 
 all women who are not virgins: which may 
 have given occasion to a foolish report, that 
 my lion s jaws are so contrived, as to snap the 
 hands of any of the female sex, who are not 
 thus qualified to approach it with safety. I shall 
 not spend much time in exposing the falsity of 
 this report, which I believe will not weigh any 
 thing with women of sense : I shall only say, 
 that there is not one of the sex in all the neigh- 
 bourhood of Covent-garden, who may not put 
 her hand in his mouth with the same security 
 as if she were a vestal. However, that the 
 ladies may not be deterred from corresponding 
 
 with me by this method, I must acquaint them 
 that the coffee-man has a little daughter of 
 about four years old, who has been virtuously 
 educated, and will lend her hand upon this oc- 
 casion to any lady that shall desire it of her. 
 
 In the mean time I must further acquaint my 
 fair readers, that I have thoughts of making 
 a further provision for them at my ingenious 
 friend Mr. Motteux's, or at: Cortieelli's, or some 
 other place frequented by the wits and beauties 
 of the sex. As I have here a lion's head for 
 the men, I shall there erect a unicorn's head 
 for the ladies, and will so contrive it, that they 
 may put in their intelligence at the top of the 
 horn, which shall convey it into a little re- 
 ceptacle at the bottom prepared for that pur- 
 pose. Out of these two magazines I shall 
 supply the town from time to time, with wha* 
 may tend to their edification, and at the same, 
 time, carry on an epistolary correspondence 
 between the two heads, not a little beneficial 
 both to the public and to myself. As both these 
 monsters will be very insatiable, and devour 
 great quantities of paper, there will no small 
 use redound from them to that manufacture 
 in particular. 
 
 The following letter having been left with 
 the keeper of the lion, with a request from the 
 writer that it may be the first morsel which 
 is put into his mouth, I shall communicate it 
 to the public as it came to my hand, without 
 examining whether it be proper nourishment, 
 as I intend to do for the future, 
 
 ' MR. GUARDIAN, 
 1 Your predecessor, the Spectator, endea- 
 voured, but in vain, to improve the charms of 
 the fair sex, by exposing their dress whenever 
 it launched into extremities. Among the rest, 
 the great petticoat came under his considera- 
 tion, but in contradiction to whatever he has 
 said, they still resolutely persist in this fashion. 
 The form of their bottom is not, I confess, al- 
 together the same ; for whereas before it was 
 of an orbicular make, they now look as if they 
 were pressed, so that they seem to deny access 
 to any part but the middle. Many are the in- 
 conveniences that accrue to her majesty's loving 
 subjects from the said petticoats, as hurting 
 men's shins, sweeping down the wares of in- 
 dustrious females in the streets, &c. I saw a 
 young lady fall down the other day ; and be- 
 lieve me, sir, she very much resembled an 
 overturned bell without a clapper. Many other 
 disasters I could tell you of, that befall them- 
 selves, as well as others, by means of this un- 
 wieldy garment. I wish, Mr. Guardian, you 
 would join with me in showing your dislike of 
 such a monstrous fashion, and I hope when the 
 ladies see it is the opinion of two of the wisest 
 men in England, they will be convinced of 
 their folly. ' I am, Sir, 
 
 ' your daily reader and admirer, 
 
 •TOM PLAIN.' £> 
 
17- 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 [No. 115, 
 
 No. U5.] Thwtday, July IS, 1713. 
 
 Iiigciiluin par materia Juv. S it. i. 151. 
 
 A teaftu equal to Hie subject. 
 
 WHEN I read rules of criticism I immediately 
 inquire after the works of the author who has 
 written them, and by that means discover what 
 it is he likes in a composition; for there is no 
 question but every man aims at least, at what 
 he thinks beautiful in others. If I find by his 
 own mauner of writing that he is heavy and 
 tasteless, I throw aside his criticisms with a 
 secret indignation, to see a man without genius 
 or politeness dictating to the world on subjects 
 which I find are above his reach. 
 
 If the critic has published nothing but rules 
 and observations in criticism, I then consider 
 whether there be a propriety and elegance in 
 his thoughts and words, clearness and delicacy 
 in his remarks, wit and good breeding in his 
 raillery ; but if in the place of all these, I find 
 nothing but dogmatical stupidity, I must beg 
 such a writer's pardon if I have no manner of 
 deference for his judgment, and refuse to con- 
 form myself to his taste. 
 
 1 So Macer and Mundungus school the times, 
 And write in rugged prose the softer rules of rhymes. 
 Well do they play the careful critic's part, 
 Instructing donbly by their matchless art : 
 Rules for good verse they first with pains indite, 
 Then show us what are bad by what they write.' 
 
 Mr. Conpreve to Sir R. Temple. 
 
 The greatest critics among the ancients are 
 those who have the most excelled in all other 
 kinds of composition, and have shown the 
 height of good writing even in the precepts 
 which they have given for it. 
 
 Among the moderns, likewise, no critic has 
 ever pleased, or been looked upon as authentic, 
 who did not show by his practice that he was 
 a master of the theory. I have now one before 
 me, who, after having given many proofs of 
 his performances both in poetry and prose, 
 obliged the world with several critical works. 
 The author I mean is Strada. His prolusion 
 on the style of the most famous among the an- 
 cient Latin poets who are extant, and have 
 written in epic verse, is one of the most enter- 
 taining, as well as the most just pieces of cri- 
 ticism that I have ever read : I shall make the 
 plan of it the subject of this day's paper. 
 
 It is commonly known that pope Leo the 
 Tenth was a great patron of learning, and used 
 to be present at the performances, conversa- 
 tions, and disputes, of all the most polite wri- 
 ters of his time. Upon this bottom, Strada 
 founds the following narrative: When this 
 pope was at his villa, that stood upon an emi- 
 nence on the banks of the Tiber, the poets 
 contrived the following pageant or machine 
 
 for his entertainment : They made a huge 
 floating mountain, thai was split at the top, 
 in imitation of Parnassus. There were several 
 
 marks on it, that distinguished ft for the ha- 
 bitation of heroic poets. Of all the muses 
 Calliope only made her appearance. It was 
 covered up and down with groves of laurel. 
 Pegasus appeared hanging off the side of a rock, 
 with a fountain running from his heel. This 
 floating Parnassus fell down the river to the 
 sound of trumpets, and in a kind of epic mea- 
 sure, for it was rowed forward by six huge 
 wheels, three on each side, that by their con- 
 stant motion carried on the machine, until it 
 arrived before the pope's villa. 
 
 The representatives of the ancient poets were 
 disposed in stations suitable to their respective 
 characters. Statius was posted on the highest 
 of the two summits, which was fashioned in 
 the form of a precipice, and hung over the rest 
 of the mountain in a dreadful manner, so that 
 people regarded him with the same terror and 
 curiosity as they look upon a daring rope- 
 dancer, whom they expect to fall every mo- 
 ment. 
 
 Claudian was seated on the other summit, 
 which was lower, and at the same time more 
 smooth and even than the former. It was ob- 
 served likewise to be more barren, and to pro- 
 duce, on some spots of it, plants that are 
 unknown to Italy, and such as the gardeners 
 call exotics. 
 
 Lucretius was very busy about the roots of 
 the mountains, being wholly intent upon the 
 motion and management of the machine which 
 was under his conduct, and was indeed of his 
 invention. He was sometimes so engaged 
 among the wheels, and covered with machi- 
 nery, that not above half the poet appeared to 
 the spectators, though at other times, by the 
 working of the engines, he was raised up, and 
 became as conspicuous as any of the brother- 
 hood. 
 
 Ovid did not settle in any particular place, 
 but ranged over all Parnassus with great nim- 
 bleness and activity. But as he did not much 
 care for the toil and pains that were requisite 
 to climb the upper part of the hill, he was ge- 
 nerally roving about the bottom of it. 
 
 But there was none who was placed in a more 
 eminent station, and had a greater prospect 
 under him than Lucan. He vaulted upon 
 Pegasus with all the heat and intrepidity of 
 youth, and seemed desirous of mounting into 
 the clouds upon the back of him. But as the 
 hinder feet of the horse stuck to the mountain 
 while the body reared up in the air, the poet 
 with great difficulty kept himself from sliding 
 off his back, insomuch that the people often 
 gave him for gone, and cried out every now 
 and then that he was tumbling. 
 
 .Virgil, with great modesty in his looks, was 
 seated by Calliope, in the midst of a plantation 
 of laurels which grew thick about him, and al- 
 most covered him with their shade. He would 
 not perhaps have been seen in this retirement, 
 
No. 116.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 173 
 
 but that it was impossible to look upon Calliope, 
 without seeing Virgil at the same time. 
 
 This poetical masquerade was no sooner ar- 
 rived before the pope's villa, but they received 
 an invitation to land, which they did accord- 
 ingly. The hall prepared for their reception 
 was filled with an audience of the greatest 
 eminence for quality and politeness. The poets 
 took their places, and repeated each of them 
 a poem, written in the style and spirit of those 
 immortal authors whom they represented. The 
 subject of these several poems, with the judge- 
 ment passed upon each of them, may be an 
 agreeable entertainment for another day's 
 paper. fc> 
 
 No. 116.] Friday, July 24, 1713. 
 
 •Ridiculum acri 
 
 Fortius el melius- 
 
 Ror. LiD. 1. Sat. x. 14. 
 
 A jest in scorn points out, and hits the thing 
 More home, than the raorosest satire's stiug. 
 
 There are many little enormities in the 
 world which our preachers would be very glad 
 to see removed ; but at the same time dare 
 not meddle with them, for fear of betraying 
 the dignity of the pulpit. Should they recom- 
 mend the tucker in a pathetic discourse, their 
 audiences would be apt to laugh out. I knew 
 a parish, where the top woman of it used al- 
 ways to appear with a patch upon some part 
 of her forehead. The good man of the place 
 preached at it with great zeal for almost a 
 twelvemonth ; but instead of fetching out the 
 spot which he perpetually aimed at, he only 
 got the name of Parson Patch for his pa*ns. 
 Another is to this day called by the name of 
 Doctor Topknot, for reasons of the same na- 
 ture. I remember the clergy during the time 
 of Cromwell's usurpation, were very much 
 taken up in reforming the female world, and 
 showing the vanity of those outward orna- 
 ments in which the sex so much delights. I 
 have heard a whole sermon against a white- 
 wash, and have known a coloured riband made 
 the mark of the unconverted. The clergy of 
 the present age are not transported with these 
 .ndiscreet fervours, as knowing that it is hard 
 for a reformer to avoid ridicule, when he is 
 severe upon subjects which are rather apt to 
 produce mirth than seriousness. For this reason 
 I look upon myself to be of great use to these 
 good men. While they are employed in ex- 
 tirpating mortal sins, and crimes of a higher 
 nature, I should be glad to rally the world out 
 of indecencies and venial transgressions. While 
 the doctor is curing distempers that have the 
 appearance of danger or death in them, the 
 merry-andrew has his separate packet for the 
 megrims and tooth- ache. 
 Thus much I thought fit to premise before 
 resume the subject which I have already 
 
 handled, I mean the naked bosoms of our 
 British ladies. I hope they will not take it ill 
 of me, if I still beg that they will be covered. 
 I shall here present them with a letter on that 
 particular, as it was yesterday conveyed to me 
 through the lion's mouth. It comes from a 
 quaker, and is as follows : 
 
 « NESTOR IRONSIDE, 
 
 ' Our friends like thee. We rejoice to find 
 thou beginnest to have a glimmering of the 
 light in thee. We shall pray for thee, that 
 thou mayest be more and more enlightened. 
 Thou givest good advice to the women of this 
 world to clothe themselves like unto our 
 friends, and not to expose their fleshly tempta- 
 tions, for it is against the record. Thy lion 
 is a good lion ; he roareth loud, and is heard 
 a great way, even unto the sink of Babylon ! 
 for the scarlet whore is governed by the voice 
 of thy lion. Look on his order. 
 
 " Rome, July 8, 1713. A placard is published 
 here, forbidding women of whatsoever quality 
 to go with naked breasts ; and the priests are 
 ordered not to admit the transgressors of this 
 law to confession, nor to communion, neither 
 are they to enter the cathedrals, under severe 
 penalties." 
 
 ' These lines are faithfully copied from the 
 nightly paper, with this title written over it, 
 " The Evening Post, from Saturday, July the 
 eighteenth, to Tuesday, July the twenty-first." 
 
 * Seeing thy lion is obeyed at this distance, 
 we hope the foolish women in thy own country 
 will listen to thy admonitions. Otherwise thou 
 art desired to make him still roar till all the 
 beasts of the forest shall tremble. I must 
 again repeat unto thee, friend Nestor, the 
 whole brotherhood have great hopes of thee, 
 and expect to see thee so inspired with the 
 light, as thou mayest speedily become a great 
 preacher of the word. I wish it heartily. 
 * Thine, 
 ' in every thing that is praise-worthy, 
 Tom's coffee-house, in Eirchin- 
 lane, the 23d day of the month * TOM TREMB LE.' 
 called July. 
 
 It happens very oddly that the pope and 
 I should have the same thoughts much about 
 the same time. My enemies will be apt to say, 
 that we hold a correspondence together, and 
 act by concert in this matter. Let that be as 
 it will, I shall not be ashamed to join with his 
 holiness in those particulars which are indif- 
 ferent between us, especially when it is for the 
 reformation of the finer half of mankind. We 
 are both of us about the same age, and consider 
 this fashion in the same view. J hope that it 
 will not be able to resist his bull and my lion. 
 I am only afraid that our ladies will take oc- 
 casion from hence to show their zeal for the 
 protestant religion, and pretend to expose thoir 
 naked bosoms only in opposition to popery. 
 
 K7 
 
171 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 117, 
 
 No. 11?.] Saturday, July 25, 1713. 
 
 C hi. i | i. I>ii- >»"t Olid. Met. Lib. viii. 7C4. 
 
 Hi,- good -in Heaven's peculiar cue. 
 
 Looking over the late edition of monsieur 
 Boileau's works, I was very much pleased with 
 the article which he has added to his notes on 
 the translation of Longinus. He there tells 
 us, that the suhlime in writing rises either 
 from the nobleness of the thought, the mag- 
 nificence of the words, or the harmonious and 
 lively turn of the phrase, and that the perfect 
 suhlime arises from all these three in conjunc- 
 tion together. He produces an instance of 
 this perfect sublime in four verses from the 
 Athalia of monsieur Racine. When Abner, 
 one of the chief officers of the court, represents 
 to Joad the high-priest, that the queen was 
 incensed against him, the high-priest, not in 
 the least terrified at the news, returns this 
 answer : 
 
 « Celui qui met nn frein a la fureur des flots, 
 Scait aussi des medians anetcr les complots. 
 Sounds avee respect a sa volonte sainte. 
 Je crains E>ieu, clier Abner, et n'ai point d'autrecraint.' 
 
 ' He who ruleth the raging of the sea, knows 
 also how to check the designs of the ungodly. 
 I submit myself with reverence to his holy will. 
 O Abner, I fear my God, and I fear none but 
 him.' Such a thought gives no less a sublimity 
 to human nature, than it does to good writing. 
 This religious fear, when it is produced by just 
 apprehensions of a divine power, naturally 
 overlooks all human greatness that stands in 
 competition with it, and extinguishes every 
 other terror that can settle itself in the heart 
 of man ; it lessens and contracts the figure of 
 the most exalted person ; it disarms the tyrant 
 and executioner ; and represents to our minds 
 the most enraged and the most powerful as 
 altogether harmless and impotent. 
 
 There is no true fortitude which is not 
 founded upon this fear, as there is no other 
 principle of so settled and fixed a nature. 
 Courage that grows from constitution very 
 often forsakes a man when he has occasion for 
 It ; and when it is only a kind of instinct in 
 the soul, breaks out on all occasions without 
 judgment or discretion. That courage which 
 proceeds from the sense of our duty, and from 
 the fear of offending him that made us, acts 
 always in a uniform manner, and according to 
 the dictates of right reason. ' 
 
 What can the man fear, who takes care in 
 all his actions to please a being that is omni- 
 potent? A being who is able to crush all his 
 adversaries? A being that can divert any mis- 
 fortune from befalling him, or turn any such 
 misfortune to bis advantage ? The person who 
 lives with this constant and habitual regard to 
 the great superintendanl of the world, is indeed 
 lure that no real evil can come into his lot. 
 
 Blessings may appear under the shape of pains, 
 losses, and disappointments; but let him have 
 patience, and he will see them in their proper 
 figures. Dangers may threaten him, but he 
 may rest satisfied that they will either not 
 reach him ; or that, if they do, they will be the 
 instruments of good to him. In short, he may 
 look upou all crosses and accidents, sufferings 
 and afflictions, as means which are made use 
 of to bring him to happiness. This is even the 
 worst of that man's condition whose mind is 
 possessed with the habitual fear of which 1 am 
 now speaking. But it very often happens, 
 that those which appear evils in our own eyes, 
 appear also as such to him who has human 
 nature under his care ; in which case they are 
 certainly averted from the person who has 
 made himself by this virtue an object of divine 
 favour. Histories are full of instances of this 
 nature, where men of virtue have had ex- 
 traordinary escapes out of such dangers as 
 have enclosed them, and which have seemed 
 inevitable. 
 
 There is no example of this kind in pagan 
 history which more pleases me, than that which 
 is recorded in the life of Timoleon. This ex- 
 traordinary man was famous for referring all 
 his successes to Providence. Cornelius Nepos 
 acquaints us that he had in his house a private 
 chapel, in which he used to pay his devotions 
 to the goddess who represented Providence 
 among the heathens. I think no man was 
 ever more distinguished by the deity whom 
 he blindly worshipped, than the great person 
 I am speaking of, in several occurrences of his 
 life, but particularly in the following one 
 which I shall relate out of Plutarch. 
 
 Three persons had entered into a conspiracy 
 to assassinate Timoleon, as he was offering up 
 his devotions in a certain temple. In order to 
 it, they took their several stands in the most 
 convenient places for their purpose. As they 
 were waiting for an opportunity to put their 
 design in execution, a stranger having observed 
 one of the conspirators, fell upon him and slew 
 him. Upon which the other two, thinking 
 their plot had been discovered, threw them- 
 selves at Timoleon's feet, and confessed the 
 whole matter. This stranger, upon examina- 
 tion, was found to have understood nothing of 
 the intended assassination ; but having several 
 years before had a brother killed by the con- 
 spirator, whom he here put to death, and hav 
 ing till now sought in vain for an opportunity 
 of revenge, he chanced to meet the murderer 
 in the temple, who had planted himself there 
 for the above-mentioned purpose. Plutarch 
 cannot forbear on this occasion, speaking with 
 a kind of rapture on the schemes of Providence ; 
 which, in this particular, had so contrived it, 
 that the stranger should, for so great a space 
 of time, be debarred the means of doing justice 
 to his brother, until by the same blow that 
 
lVo. 118.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 W 
 
 revenged the death of one innocent man, he 
 preserved the life of another. 
 
 For my own part, I cannot wonder that a 
 man of Timoleon's religion, should have his 
 intrepidity and firmness of mind ; or that he 
 should he distinguished by such a deliverance 
 as I have here related. Cr^- 
 
 No. 118.] Monday, Julij 27, 1713. 
 
 Largitor ingeni 
 
 Venter 
 
 Pers. Prol. ver. 10. 
 Dryden. 
 
 Witty want. 
 
 1 AM very well pleased to find that my lion 
 has given such universal content to all that 
 have seen him. He has had a greater number 
 of visitants than any of his brotherhood in the 
 tower. 1 this morning examined his maw, 
 where among much other food I found the 
 following delicious morsels. 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 ' MR GUARDIAN, 
 
 * I am a daily peruser of your papers. I have 
 read over and over your discourse concerning 
 the tucker; as likewise your paper of Thurs- 
 day the sixteenth instant, in which you say it 
 is your intention to keep a watchful eye over 
 every part of the female sex, and to regulate 
 them from head to foot. Now, sir, being by 
 profession a mantua-maker, who am employed 
 by the most fashionable ladies about town, 
 I am admitted to them freely at all hours; 
 and seeing them both drest and undrest, I 
 think there is no person better qualified than 
 myself to serve you (if your honour pleases) 
 in the nature of a lioness. I am in the whole 
 secret of their fashion ; and if you think fit 
 to entertain me in this character, I will have 
 a constant watch over them, and doubt not 
 I shall send you from time to time such private 
 intelligence, as you will find of use to you in 
 your future papers. 
 
 1 Sir, this being^a new proposal, I hope you 
 will not let me iose the benefit of it; but that 
 you will first hear me roar before you treat with 
 any body else. As a sample of my intended 
 services, I give you this timely notice of an 
 improvement you will shortly see in the ex- 
 posing of the female chest, which, in defiance 
 of your gravity, is going to be uncovered yet 
 more and more ; so that, to tell you truly, 
 Mr. Ironside, I am in some fear lest my pro- 
 fession should in a little time become wholly 
 unnecessary. I must here explain to you a 
 small covering, if I may call it so, or rather 
 an ornament for the neck, which you have not 
 vet taken notice of. This consists of a narrow 
 lace, or a small skirt of fine ruffled linen, which 
 runs along the upper part of the stays before, 
 and crosses the breasts, without rising to the 
 shoulders ; and being, -as it were, a part of the 
 
 tucker yet kept in use, is therefore, by a par 
 ticular name, called the modesty-piece. Now 
 sir, what I have to communicate to you at 
 present is, that at a late meeting of the strip- 
 ping ladies, in which were present several emi- 
 nent toasts and beauties, it was resolved for 
 the future to lay the modesty-piece wholly 
 aside. It is intended at the same time to lower 
 the stays considerably before, and nothing but 
 the unsettled weather has hindered this design 
 from being already put in execution. Some 
 few indeed objected to this last improvement, 
 but were overruled by the rest, who alleged it 
 was their intention, as they ingeniously ex- 
 pressed it, to level their breast-works entirely, 
 and to trust to no defence but their own virtue. 
 * I am Sir, 
 (if you please) your secret servant, 
 
 < LEONILLA FJGLEAF.' 
 
 ' DEAR SIR, 
 ' As by name, and duty bound, I yesterday 
 brought in a prey of paper for my patron's 
 dinner ; but by the forwardness of his paws, 
 he seemed ready to put it into his own mouth, 
 which does not enough resemble its prototypes, 
 whose throats are open sepulchres. I assure 
 you, sir, unless he gapes wider he will sooner 
 be felt than heard. Witness my hand, 
 
 « JACKALL.' 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esq. 
 
 ' SAGE NESTOR, 
 
 * Lions being esteemed by naturalists the 
 most generous of beasts, the noble and ma- 
 jestic appearance they make in poetry, wherein 
 they so often represent the hero himself, made 
 me always think that name very ill applied 
 to a profligate set of men, at present going 
 about seeking whom to devour : and though 
 I cannot but acquiesce in your account of the 
 derivation of that title to them, it is with great 
 satisfaction I hear you are about to restore 
 them to their former dignity, by producing 
 one of that species so public spirited, as to 
 roar for reformation of manners. " I will 
 roar," says the clown in Shakespear, " that 
 it will do any man's heart good to hear me ; 
 I will roar, that 1 will make the duke say, 
 Let him roar again, let him roar again." Such 
 success, and such applause, I do not question 
 but your lion will meet with, whilst, like that 
 of Sampson, his strength shall bring forth 
 sweetness, and his entrails abound with honey. 
 
 ' At the same time that I congratulate with 
 the republic of beasts' upon this honour done to 
 their king, I must condole with us poor mor- 
 tals, who by distance of place are rendered in- 
 capable of paying our respects to him, with the 
 same assiduity as those who are ushered into 
 his presence by the discreet Mr. Button. Upon 
 this account, Mr. Ironside, I am become a 
 suitor to you, to constitute an out-riding lion ; 
 or, if you please, a jackall or two, to receive 
 
176 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 119 
 
 .mid remit our homage in a more particular 
 manner than is hitherto provided. As it is, 
 our tenders of duty every now and then mis- 
 carry hy the way; at least the natural self- 
 love that makes us unwilling to think any 
 thing that comes from us worthy of contempt, 
 inclines us to believe so. Methinks it were 
 likewise necessary to specify, by what means 
 a .'present from a fair hand may reach his 
 brindled majesty; the place of his residence 
 being very unfit for a lady's personal appear- 
 ance. * I am 
 
 1 your most constant reader, 
 
 ' and admirer, 
 
 « N. R.' 
 
 « DEAR NESTOR, 
 
 4 It is a well known proverb in a certain part 
 of this kingdom, " Love me, love my dog ;" 
 and I hope you will take it as a mark of my 
 respect for your person, that 1 here bring a bit 
 for your lion.' *** 
 
 What follows being secret history, it will be 
 printed in other papers ; wherein the lion will 
 publish his private intelligence. gs« 
 
 No. 119.] Tuesday, July 28, 1713. 
 
 poetarum venict manus, auxilio quae 
 
 Sit mihi Hot: Lib. 1. Sat. iv. 141, 
 
 A band of poets to my aid I'll call. 
 
 There is nothing which more shows the 
 want of taste and discernment in a writer than 
 the decrying of any author in gross ; especially 
 of an author who has been the admiration of 
 multitudes, and that too in several ages of the 
 world. This however is the general practice 
 of all illiterate and undistinguishing critics. 
 Because Homer and Virgil and Sophocles have 
 been commended by the learned of all times, 
 every scribbler who has no relish of their beau- 
 ties, gives himself an air of rapture when he 
 speaks of them. But as he praises these he 
 knows not why, there are others whom he 
 depreciates with the same vehemence, and 
 upon the same account. We may see after 
 what a different manner Strada proceeds in 
 his judgment on the Latin poets ; for I intend 
 to publish in this paper a continuation of that 
 prolusion which was the subject of the last 
 Thursday. 1 shall therefore give my reader a 
 short account in prose of every poem which 
 was produced in the learned assembly there 
 described ; and if he is thoroughly conversant 
 in the works of those ancient authors, he will 
 see with how much judgment every subject is 
 adapted to the poet who makes use of it, and 
 with how much delicacy every particular poet's 
 way of writing is characterised in the censure 
 that is passed upon it. Lucan's: representative 
 was the first who recited before that august 
 assembly. As Lucan was a Spaniard, hie poem 
 tl< ( i honour to that nation, which at the same 
 
 time makes the romantic bravery in the hero 
 of it more probable. 
 
 Alphonso was the governor of a town invested 
 by the Moors. During the blockade they made 
 his only son their prisoner, whom they brought 
 before the walls, and exposed to his father's 
 sight, threatening to put him to death if he 
 did not immediately give up the town. The 
 father tells them if he had a hundred sons he 
 would rather see them all perish, than do an 
 ill action, or betray his country. ' But,' savs 
 he, ' if you take a pleasure in destroying the 
 innocent, you may do it if you please: behold 
 a sword for your purpose.' Upon which he 
 threw his sword from the wall, returned to his 
 palace, and was able, at such a juncture, to sit 
 down to the repast which was prepared for 
 him. He was soon raised by the shouts of the 
 enemy, and the cries of the besieged. Upon 
 returning again to the walls, he saw his son 
 lying in the pangs of death ; but far from be- 
 traying any weakness at such a spectacle, he 
 upbraids his friends [for their sorrow, and re- 
 turns to finish his repast. 
 
 Upon the recital of this story, which is ex- 
 quisitely drawn up in Lucan's spirit and Ian 
 guage, the whole assembly declared their opi- 
 nion of Lucan in a confused murmur. The 
 poem was praised or censured according to 
 the prejudices which every one had conceived 
 in favour or disadvantage of the author. These 
 were so very great, that some had placed him, 
 in their opinions, above the highest, and others 
 beneath the lowest of the Latin poets. Most 
 of them, however, agreed, that Lucan's genius 
 was wonderfully great, but at the same time 
 too haughty and headstrong to be governed 
 by art, and that his style was like his genius, 
 learned, bold, and lively, but withal too tra- 
 gical and blustering. In a word, that he chose 
 rather a great than a just reputation ; to which 
 they added, that he was the first of the Latin 
 poets who deviated from the purity of the 
 Roman language. 
 
 The representative of Lucretius told the 
 assembly, that they should soon be sensible of 
 the difference between a poet who was a native 
 of Rome, and a stranger who had been adopted 
 into it: after which he entered upon his sub- 
 ject, which I find exhibited to my hand in a 
 speculation of one of my predecessors.* 
 
 Strada, in the person of Lucretius, gives an 
 account of a chimerical correspondence be- 
 tween two friends, by the help of a certain 
 loadstone, which had such a virtue in it, that 
 if it touched two several needles, when one of 
 the needles so touched began to move, the 
 other, though at never so great a distance, 
 moved at the same time, and in the same 
 manner. He tells us, that two friends, being 
 each of them possessed of one of these needles, 
 
 ectator, No. 841. 
 
No. 119.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 77 
 
 made a kind of dial-plate, inscribing it with 
 he four-and-twenty letters, in the same man- 
 ner as the hours of the day are marked upon 
 the ordinary dial-plate. Then they fixed one 
 of the needles on each of these plates in such 
 a manner that it could move round without 
 impediment, so as to touch any of the four-and- 
 twenty letters. Upon their separating from 
 one another into distant countries, they agreed 
 to withdraw themselves punctually into their 
 closets at a certain hour of the day, and to 
 converse with one another by means of this 
 their invention. Accordingly, when they were 
 some hundred miles asunder, each of them 
 shut himself up in his closet at the time ap- 
 pointed, and immediately cast his eyes upon 
 his dial-plate. If he had a mind to write any 
 thing to his friend, he directed his needle to 
 every letter that formed the words which he 
 had occasion for, making a little pause at the 
 end of every word or sentence to avoid confu- 
 sion. The friend, in the mean while, saw his 
 own sympathetic needle moving of itself to 
 every letter which that of his correspondent 
 pointed at. By this means they talked toge- 
 ther across a whole continent, and conveyed 
 their thoughts to one another in an instant 
 over cities or mountains, seas or deserts. 
 
 The whole audience were pleased with the 
 artifice of the poet who represented Lucretius, 
 observing very well how he had laid asleep 
 their attention to the simplicity of his style in 
 some verses, and to the want of harmony in 
 others, by fixing their minds to the novelty 
 of his subject, and to the experiment which 
 he related. Without such an artifice they 
 were of opinion that nothing would have 
 sounded more harsh than Lucretius's diction 
 and numbers. But it was plain that the more 
 learned part of the assembly were quite of 
 another mind. These allowed that it was pe- 
 culiar to Lucretius, above all other poets, to 
 be always doing or teaching something, that 
 no other style was so proper to teach in, or 
 gave a greater pleasure to those who had a 
 true relish for the Roman tongue. They added 
 further, that if Lucretius had not been em- 
 barrassed with the difficulty of his matter, and 
 a little led away by an affectation of antiquity, 
 there could not have been any thing more per- 
 fect than his poem. 
 
 Claudian succeeded Lucretius, having chosen 
 for his subject the famuus contest between the 
 nightingale and the lutanist, which every one 
 is acquainted with, especially since Mr. Philips 
 has so finely improved that hint in one of his 
 pastorals. 
 
 He had no sooner finished but the assembly 
 rung with acclamations made in his praise. 
 His first beauty, which every one owned s was 
 the great clearness and perspicuity which ap- 
 peared in the plan of his poem. Others were 
 wonderfully charmed with the smoothness ot 
 
 his verse and the flowing of his numbers, in 
 which there were none of those elisions and 
 cuttings off so frequent in the works of other 
 poets. There were several however, of a more 
 refined judgment, who ridiculed that infusion 
 of foreign phrases with which he had corrupted 
 the Latin tongue, and spoke with contempt of 
 the equability of his numbers, that cloyed and 
 satiated the ear for want of variety : to which 
 they likewise added, a frequent and unseason- 
 able affectation of appearing sonorous and 
 sublime. 
 
 The sequel of this prolusion shall be the 
 work of another day. £> 
 
 No. 120.] fVednesdmj, July 29, 1713. 
 
 — Nothing lovelier can be found 
 
 In woman, than to study household good, 
 
 And good works in her husband to promote. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 A BIT FOR THE LION. 
 
 As soon as you have set up your unicorn, 
 there is no question but the ladies will make 
 him push very furiously at the men; for which 
 reason I think it is good to be beforehand 
 with them, and make the lion roar aloud at 
 female irregularities. Among these, I wonder 
 how their gaming has so long escaped your 
 notice. You who converse with the sober 
 family of the Lizards, are perhaps a stranger 
 to these viragos ; but what would you say, 
 should you see the Sparkler shaking her elbow 
 for a whole night together, and thumping the 
 table with a dice-box? Or how would you like 
 to hear the good widow lady herself returning 
 to her house at midnight, and alarming the 
 whole street with a most enormous rap, after 
 having sat up until that time at crimp or 
 ombre ? Sir, I am the husband of one of these 
 female gamesters, and a great loser by it, both 
 in my rest and my pocket. As my wife reads 
 your papers, one upon this subject might be 
 of use both to her and 
 
 * Your humble servant ' 
 
 I should ill deserve the name of Guardian, 
 did 1 not caution all my fair wards against a 
 practice which when it runs to excess, is the 
 most shameful, but one, that the female world 
 can fall into. The ill consequences of it are 
 more than can be contained in this paper. 
 However, that I may proceed in method, I 
 shall consider them ; first, as they relate to 
 the mind; secondly, as they relate to the body. 
 
 Could we look into the mind of a female 
 gamester, we should see it full of nothing but 
 trumps and mattadores. Her slumbers are 
 haunted with kings, queens, and knaves. The 
 day lies heavy upon her until the play-season 
 returns, when for half a dozen hours together 
 all her faculties are employed in shuffling, 
 cutting, dealing, and sorting out a pack of 
 1 
 
17* 
 
 THIS GUARDIAN. 
 
 rNo. 121. 
 
 cards, and no ideas to be discovered in a soul 
 which calls itself rational, excepting little 
 square figures of painted and spotted paper. 
 Was the understanding, that divine part in 
 our composition, given for such a use? Is it 
 thus that we improve the greatest talent hu- 
 m;iu nature is endowed with ? What would a 
 superior being think were he shown this intel- 
 lectual faculty in a female gamester, and at 
 the] same time told, that it was by this she 
 was distinguished from brutes, and allied to 
 angels ? 
 
 When our women thus fill their imaginations 
 with pips and counters, I cannot wonder at 
 the story I have lately heard of a new-born 
 child that was marked with the five of clubs. 
 
 Their passions suffer no less by this practice 
 than their understandings and imaginations. 
 What hope and fear, joy and anger, sorrow 
 and discontent, break out all at once in a fair 
 assembly upon so noble an occasion as that of 
 turning up a card! Who can consider without 
 a secret indignation that all those affections of 
 the mind which should be consecrated to their 
 children, husbands, and parents, are thus vilely 
 prostituted and thrown away upon a hand at 
 loo ! For my own part, I cannot but be grieved 
 when I see a fine woman fretting and bleeding 
 inwardly from such trivial motives ; when I 
 behold the face of an angel agitated and dis- 
 composed by the heart of a fury. 
 
 Our minds are of such a make, that they 
 naturally give themselves up to every diversion 
 which they are much accustomed to; and we 
 always find that play, when followed with assi- 
 duity, engrosses the whole woman. She quickly 
 grows uneasy in her own family, takes but 
 little pleasure in all the domestic innocent 
 endearments of life, and grows more fond of 
 Pam, than of her husband. My friend Theo- 
 phrastus, the best of husbands and of fathers, 
 has often complained to me, with tears in his 
 eyes, of the late hours he is forced to keep if 
 he would enjoy his wife's conversation. * When 
 she returns to me with joy in her face, it does 
 not arise,' says he, ' from the sight of her hus- 
 band, but from the good luck she has had at 
 cards. On the contrary,' says he, ' if she has 
 been a loser, I am doubly a sufferer by it. She 
 comes home out of humour, is angry with every 
 body, displeased with all 1 can do or say, and 
 in reality for no other reason, but because she 
 has been throwing away my estate.' What 
 charming bed-fellows and companions for life 
 are men likely to meet with, that choose their 
 wives out of such women of vogue and fashion ! 
 What a race of worthies, what patriots, what 
 heroes, must we expect from mothers of this 
 .: ake ! 
 
 I come in the next place to consider the ill 
 c msequences which gaming has on the bodies 
 of our female adventurers. It is so ordered 
 that almost every tiling which corrupt 
 
 soul decays the body. The beauties of the face 
 and mind are generally destroyed by the same 
 means. This consideration should have a par- 
 ticular weight with the female world, who were 
 designed to please the eye and attract the re- 
 gards of the other half of the species. Now 
 there is nothing that wears out a fine face like 
 the vigils of the card-table, and those cutting 
 passions which naturally attend them. Hollow 
 eyes, haggard looks, and pale complexions, are 
 the natural indications of a female gamester. 
 Her morning sleeps are not able to repair her 
 midnight watchings. I have known a woman 
 carried off half dead from bassette ; and have 
 many a time grieved to see a person of quality 
 gliding by me in her chair at two o'clock in 
 the morning, and looking like a spectre amidst 
 a glare of flambeaux. In short, 1 never knew 
 a thorough-paced female gamester hold her 
 beauty two winters together. 
 
 But there is still another case in which the 
 body is more endangered than in the former. 
 All play-debts must be paid in specie, or by 
 an equivalent. The man that plays beyond 
 his income pawns his estate ; the woman must 
 find out something else to mortgage when her 
 pin-money is gone. The husband has his lands 
 to dispose of, the wife her person. Now when 
 the female body is once dipped, if the creditor 
 be very importunate, I leave my reader t</ 
 consider the consequences. £»» 
 
 No. 121.] Thursday, July 30, 1713. 
 
 Hlnc exaudiri geniitus, iraeque leonum. 
 
 Virg. /T.n. vii. 15. 
 
 Hence to our ear the roar of lions came. 
 
 ROARINGS OF THE LION. 
 
 ' OLD NESTOR, 
 Ever since the first notice you gave of the 
 erection of that useful monument of yours in 
 Button's coffee-house, I have had a restless 
 ambition to imitate the renowned London 
 prentice, and boldly venture my hand down 
 the throat of your lion. The subject of this 
 letter is a relation of a club whereof I am 
 member, and which has made a considerable 
 noise of late, I mean the Silent Club. The 
 year of our institution is 16'94, the number of 
 members twelve, and the place of our meeting 
 is Dumb's alley, in Holborn. We look upon 
 ourselves as the relies of the old Pythagoreans, 
 and have this maxim in common with thetn, 
 which is the foundation of our design, that 
 11 Talking spoils company." The president of 
 our society is one who was born deaf and dumb, 
 and owes that blessing to nature, which in the 
 rest of us is owing to industry alone. I find 
 upon inquiry, that the greater part of us are 
 married men, and such whose wives are re- 
 markably loud at home. Hither \vt fly fof 
 
No. 121.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 179 
 
 refuge, and enjoy at once the two greatest and 
 most valuable blessings, company and retire- 
 ment. When that eminent relation of yours, 
 the Spectator, published his weekly papers, 
 and gave us that remarkable account of his 
 silence (for you must know, though we do not 
 read, yet we inspect all such useful essays) we 
 seemed unanimous to invite him to partake 
 our secrecy, but it was unluckily objected, 
 that he had just then published a discourse of 
 his at his own club, and had not arrived to 
 that happy inactivity of the tongue, which we 
 expected from a man of his understanding. 
 You will wonder, perhaps, how we managed 
 this debate ; but it will be easily accounted 
 for, when I tell you that our fingers are as 
 nimble, and as infallible interpreters of our 
 thoughts, as other men's tongues are ; yet even 
 this mechanic eloquence is only allowed upon 
 the weightiest occasions. We admire the wise 
 institutions of the Turks, and other eastern 
 nations, where all commands are performed 
 by officious mutes; and we wonder that the 
 polite courts of Christendom should come so 
 far short of the majesty of barbarians. Ben 
 Jonson has gained an eternal reputation among 
 us by his play called The Silent Woman. Every 
 member here is another Morose while the club 
 is sitting, but at home may talk as much and 
 as fast as his family occasions require, without 
 breach of statute. The advantages we find 
 from this quaker-like assembly are many. 
 We consider, that the understanding of man 
 is liable to mistakes, and his will fond of con- 
 tradictions ; that disputes which are of no 
 weight in themselves, are often very consider- 
 able in their effects. The disuse of the tongue 
 is the only effectual remedy against these. All 
 party concerns, all private scandal, all insults 
 over another man's weaker reasons, must there 
 be lost where no disputes arise. Another ad- 
 vantage which follows from the first (and which 
 is very rarely to be met with) is, that we are 
 all upon the same level in conversation. A wag 
 of my acquaintance used to add a third, viz. 
 that if ever we do debate, we are sure to have 
 all our arguments at our fingers' ends. Of all 
 Longinus's remarks, we are most enamoured 
 with that excellent passage, where he men- 
 tions Ajax's silence as one of the noblest in- 
 stances of the sublime; and (if you will 
 allow me to be free with a namesake of yours) 
 I should think that the everlasting story-teller, 
 Nestor, had he been likened to the ass in- 
 stead of our hero, he had suffered less by the 
 comparison. 
 
 ' I have already described the practice and 
 sentiments of this society, and shall but barely 
 mention the report of the neighbourhood, that 
 we are not only as mute as fishes, but that we 
 drink like fishes too; that we are like the 
 Welshman's owl, though we do not sing, we 
 pay it off with thinking. Others take us for 
 
 an assembly of disaffected persons ; nay, their 
 zeal to the government has carried them so far 
 as to send, last week, a party of constables to 
 surprise us. You may easily imagine how 
 exactly we represented the Roman senators of 
 old, sitting with majestic silence, and un- 
 daunted at the approach of an army of Gauls. 
 If you approve of our undertaking, you need 
 not declare it to the world ; your silence shall 
 be interpreted as consent given to the honour- 
 able body of mutes, and in particular to 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 'NED MUM. 
 
 f P. S. We have had but one word spoken 
 since the foundation, for which the member 
 was expelled by the old Roman custom of 
 bending back the thumb. He had just received 
 the news of the battle of Hochstet, and being 
 too impatient to communicate his joy, was 
 unfortunately betrayed into a lapsus linguae. 
 We acted on the principles of the Roman Man- 
 lius, and though we approved of the cause of 
 his error as just, we condemned the effect as 
 a manifest violation of his duty.' 
 
 I never could have thought a dumb man 
 would have roared so well out of my lion's 
 mouth. My next pretty correspondent, like 
 Shakespear's lion in Pyramus and Thisbe, roars 
 as it were any nightingale. 
 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, July 28, 1713. 
 
 1 was afraid at first you were only in jest, 
 and had a mind to expose our nakedness for 
 the diversion of the town ; but since I see that 
 you are in good earnest, and have infallibility 
 of your side, I cannot forbear returning my 
 thanks to you for the care you take of us, 
 having a friend who has promised me to give 
 my letters to the lion, until we can commu- 
 nicate our thoughts to you through our own 
 proper vehicle. Now you must know, dear 
 sir, that if you do not take eare to suppress 
 this exorbitant growth of the female chest, all 
 that is left of my waist must inevitably perish. 
 It is at this time reduced to the depth of four 
 inches by what I have already made over to 
 my neck. But if the stripping design, men- 
 tioned by Mrs. Figleaf yesterday, should take 
 effect, sir, I dread to think what it will come 
 to. In short, there is no help for it, my girdle 
 and all must go. This is the naked truth of 
 the matter. Have pity on me then, my dear 
 Guardian, and preserve me from being so in* 
 humanly exposed. I do assure you that I fol- 
 low your precepts as much as a young woman 
 can, who will live in the world without being 
 laughed at. I have no hooped petticoat, and 
 when I am a matron will wear broad tuckers 
 whether you succeed or no. If the flying pro* 
 ject takes, I intend to be the last in wings, 
 being resolved in every thing to behave myself 
 as becomes 
 
 tt^» ' Your moit obedient ward.' 
 
 I —II 
 
180 
 
 No. 1JJ-] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 I No. 12*. 
 
 Friday, Juty Si, i?i 
 
 M< ■ III-:, i - I >| 
 
 vu.tu.s per ahenea slgna. 
 
 ffor. Lib. C. Ep. i. 
 
 £48. 
 
 I M AT ATE D. 
 
 M«»i will Midi majesty, Bach Im hi relh r, 
 
 Tlie ) " "is .uigiist, of king, or conqu'i iny chief, 
 
 I ii Bwell'd on marble. Pope. 
 
 That I may get out of debt with the public 
 as fast as I can, I shall here give them the 
 remaining part of Strada's criticism on the 
 Latin heroic poets. My readers may see the 
 whole work in the three papers numbered 115, 
 119, 122. Those who are acquainted with the 
 authors themselves cannot but be pleased to 
 see them so justly represented; and as for 
 those who have never perused the originals, 
 they may form a judgment of them from such 
 accurate and entertaining copies. The whole 
 piece will show at least how a man of genius 
 (and none else should call himselfa critic) can 
 make the driest art a pleasing amusement. 
 
 Hie Sequel of Stradus Prolusion. 
 
 The poet who personated Ovid, gives an ac- 
 count of the chry so -magnet, or of the loadstone 
 which attracts gold, after the same manner as 
 the common loadstone attracts iron. The 
 author, that he might express Ovid's way of 
 thinking, derives this virtue to the chryso- 
 magnet from a poetical metamorphosis. 
 
 1 As 1 was sitting by a well,' says he, ' when 
 I was a boy, my ring dropped into it, when 
 immediately my father fastening a certain 
 stone to the end of a line, let it down into the 
 well. It no sooner touched the surface of the 
 water, but the ring leaped up from the bottom, 
 and clung to it in such a manner, that he drew 
 it out like a fish. My father seeing ir«» won- 
 der at the experiment, gave me the following 
 account of it: When Deucalion and Pyrrha 
 went about the world to repair mankind by 
 throwing stones over their heads, the men 
 who rose from them differed in their inclina- 
 tions according to the places on which the 
 stones fell. Those which fell in the fields be- 
 came ploughmen and shepherds. Those which 
 fell into the water produced sailors and fisher- 
 men. Those that fell among the woods and 
 forests gave birth to huntsmen. Among the 
 rest there were several that fell upon moun- 
 tains that had mines of gold and silver in them. 
 This last race of men immediately betook 
 themselves to the search of these precious 
 metals; but nature being displeased to see 
 herself ransacked, withdrew these her treasures 
 towards the centre of the earth. The avarice 
 of man, however, persisted in its former pur- 
 suits, and ransacked her inmost bowels in 
 quest of the riches which they contained. Na- 
 ture si eing In rself thus plundered by a swarm 
 of miners, was so highly incensed, that she 
 bhook the whole place with an earthquake, and 
 buried the men umU r their own works. The 
 
 Stygian flames which lay in the neighbourhood 
 of these deep mines, broke out at the same 
 time with great fury, burning up the whole 
 mass of human limb6 and earth, until they 
 were hardened and baked into stone. The 
 human bodies that were delving in iron mines 
 were converted into those common loadstones 
 which attract that metal. Those which were 
 in search of gold became chryso-magnets, and 
 still keep their former avarice in their present 
 state of petrifaction.' 
 
 Ovid had no sooner given over speaking, 
 but the assembly pronounced their opinions 
 of him. Several were so taken with his easy 
 way of writing, and had so formed their tastes 
 upon it, that they had no relish for any com- 
 position which was not framed in the Ovidian 
 manner. A great many, however, were of a 
 contrary opinion; until at length it was de- 
 termined by a plurality of voices, that Ovid 
 highly deserved the name of a witty man, but 
 that his language was vulgar and trivial, and 
 of the nature of those things which cost no 
 labour in the invention, but are ready found 
 out to a man's hand. In the last place, they 
 all agreed, that the greatest objection which 
 lay against Ovid, both as to his life and wri- 
 tings, was his having too much wit, and that 
 he would have succeeded better in both, bad 
 he rather checked than indulged it. Statius 
 stood up next with a swelling and haughty air, 
 and made the following story the subject of 
 his poem. 
 
 A German and a Portuguese, when Vienna 
 was besieged, having had frequent contests of 
 rivalry, were preparing for a single duel, when 
 on a sudden the walls were attacked by the 
 enemy. Upon this, both the German and Por- 
 tuguese consented to sacrifice their private re- 
 sentments to the public, and to see who could 
 signalize himself most upon the common foe. 
 Each of them did wonders in repelling the 
 enemy from different parts of the wall. The 
 German was at length engaged amidst a whole 
 army of Turks, until his left arm, that held 
 the shield, was unfortunately lopped off, and 
 he himself so stunned with a blow he had re- 
 ceived, that he fell down as dead. The Por- 
 tuguese seeing the condition of his rival, very 
 generously flew to his succour, dispersed the 
 multitude that were gathered about him, and 
 fought over him as he lay upon the ground. 
 In the meanwhile the German recovered from 
 his trance, and rose up to the assistance of the 
 Portuguese, who a little after had his right 
 arm, which held his sword, cut off by the blow 
 of a sabre. He would have lost his life at the 
 same time by a spear which was aimed at his 
 back, had not the German slain the person who 
 was aiming at him. These two competitors foi 
 fame having received such mutual obligations, 
 now fought in conjunction, and as the one was 
 only able to manage the sword, and the otb>r 
 
No. 122. 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 181 
 
 a shield, made up but one warrior betwixt 
 ihem. The Portuguese covered the German, 
 while the German dealt destruction upon the 
 enemy. At length, finding themselves faint 
 with loss of blood, and resolving to perish 
 nobly, they advanced to the most shattered 
 part of the wall, and threw themselves down, 
 with a huge fragment of it, upon the heads of 
 the besiegers. 
 
 When Statius ceased, the old factions im- 
 mediately broke out concerning his manner of 
 writing. Some gave him very loud acclama- 
 tions, such as he had received in his life-time, 
 declaring him the only man who had written 
 in a style which was truly heroical, and that 
 he was above all others in his fame as well as in 
 his diction. Others censured him as one who 
 went beyond all bounds in his images and ex- 
 pressions, laughing at the cruelty of his con- 
 ceptions, the rumbling of his numbers, and 
 the dreadful pomp and bombast of his expres- 
 sions. There were, however, a few select 
 judges, who moderated between both these 
 extremes, and pronounced upon Statius, that 
 there appeared in his style much poetical heat 
 and fire, but withal so much smoke as suHied 
 the brightness of it. That there was a majesty 
 in his v°rse, but that it was the majesty rather 
 of a tyrant than of a king. That he was often 
 towering among the clouds, but often met with 
 the fate of Icarus. In a word, that Statius was 
 among the poets, what Alexander the Great is 
 among heroes, a man of great virtues and of 
 great faults. 
 
 Virgil was the last of the ancient poets who 
 produced himself upon this occasion. His sub- 
 ject was the story of Theutilla, which being 
 so near that of Judith in all its circumstances, 
 and at the same time translated by a very in- 
 genious gentleman in one of Mr. Dryden's Mis- 
 cellanies, I shall here give no further account 
 of it. When he had done, the whole assembly 
 declared the works of this great poet a subject 
 rather for their admiration than for their ap- 
 plause, and that if any thing was wanting in 
 Virgil's poetry, it was to be ascribed to a de- 
 ficiency in the art itself, and not in the genius 
 of this great man. There were, however, some 
 envious murmurs and detractions heard among 
 the crowd, as if there were very frequently 
 verses in him which flagged or wanted spirit, 
 and were rather to be looked upon as faultless 
 than beautiful. But these injudicious censures 
 were heard with a general indignation. 
 
 I need not observe to my learned reader, that 
 the foregoing story of the German and Portu- 
 guese is almost the same in every particular 
 with that of the two rival soldiers in Caesar's 
 Commentaries. This prolusion ends with the 
 performance of an Italian poet, full of those 
 little witticisms and conceits which have in- 
 fected the greatest part of modern poetry. 
 
 G3- 
 
 No. 123.] Satui^ay, August 1, 1713. 
 
 Hie mums aheneus esto, 
 
 Nil conscire sibi Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. i. 60. 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 True, conscious honour is to feel no sin ; 
 He's arm'd without that's innocent within ; 
 Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of brass. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 There are a sort of knights-errant in the 
 world, who, quite contrary to those in romance, 
 are perpetually seeking adventures to bring 
 virgins into distress, and to ruin innocence. 
 When men of rank and figure pass away their 
 lives in these criminal pursuits and practices, 
 they ought to consider that they render them- 
 selves more vile and despicable than any inno- 
 cent man can be, whatever low station his 
 fortune or birth have placed him in. Title and 
 ancestry render a good man more illustrious, 
 but an ill one more contemptible. 
 
 * Thy fathei's merit sets thee up to view, 
 And plants thee in the fairest point of light, 
 To make thy virtues, or thy faults conspicuous.' 
 
 Cato. 
 
 I have often wondered that these deflourers 
 of innocence, though dead to all the sentiments 
 of virtue and honour, are not restrained by 
 compassion and humanity. To bring sorrow, 
 confusion, and infamy, into a family, to wound 
 the heart of a tender parent, and stain the life 
 of a poor deluded young woman with a dis- 
 honour that can never be wiped off, are cir- 
 cumstances, one would think, sufficient to 
 check the most violent passion in a heart which 
 has the least tincture of pity and good-nature. 
 Would any one purchase the gratification of a 
 moment at so dear a rate, and entail a lasting 
 misery on others, for such a transient satisfac- 
 tion to himself ; nay, for a satisfaction that is 
 sure, at some time or other, to be followed 
 with remorse? I am led to the subject by two 
 letters which came latelv to mv hands. The last 
 of them ;s, it seems, the copy of one sent by a 
 mother to one who had abused her daughter; 
 and though I cannot justify her sentiments at 
 the latter end of it, they are such as might arise 
 in a mind which had not yet recovered its 
 temper after so great a provocation. I present 
 the reader with it as 1 received it, because I 
 think it gives a lively idea of the affliction which 
 a fond parent suffers on such an occasion. 
 
 ' Sift, shire, July, 17 13. 
 
 ' The other day I went into the house of 
 one of my tenants, whose wife was formerly a 
 servant in our family, and (by my grandmo- 
 ther's kindness) had her education with my 
 mother from her infancy ; so that she is of a 
 spirit and understanding greatly superior to 
 those of her own rank. 1 found the poor wo- 
 man in the utmost disorder of mind and attire, 
 drowned in tears, and reduced to a condition 
 that looked rather like stupidity than grief. 
 
182 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 [JNo. L_M. 
 
 Sbc leaned upon bet nrm over a table, on which 
 I iy ■ letter folded up and directed to a certain 
 nobleman very famous in our parts for low in- 
 trigue, or (in plainer words) for debauching 
 country girls; in which number is tbe unfor- 
 tunate daughter of my poor tenant, as I learn 
 from the following letter written by her mo- 
 ther. I have sent you here a copy of it, which, 
 made public in your paper, may perhaps fur- 
 nish useful reflections to many men of figure 
 and quality, who indulge themselres in a pas- 
 sion which they possess but in common with 
 the vilest part of mankind. 
 
 " MY LOUD, 
 " Last night I discovered the injury you have 
 done to my daughter. Heaven knows how long 
 and piercing a torment that short- lived shame- 
 ful pleasure of yours must bring upon me ; 
 upon me, from whom you never received any 
 offence. This consideration alone should have 
 deterred a noble mind from so base and un- 
 generous an act. But alas! what is all the 
 grief that must be my share, in comparison of 
 that, with which you have requited her by 
 whom you have been obliged ? Loss of good 
 name, anguish of heart, shame, and infamy are 
 what must inevitably fall upon her, unless she 
 gets over them by what is much worse, open 
 impudence, professed lewdness, and abandoned 
 prostitution. These are the returns you have 
 made to her for putting in your power all her 
 livelihood and dependence, her virtue and re- 
 putation. O, my lord, should my son have 
 practised the like on one of your daughters — 
 I know you swell with indignation at the very 
 mention of it, and would think he deserved a 
 thousand deaths, should he make such an at- 
 tempt upon the honour of your family. It is 
 well, my lord. And is then the honour of your 
 daughter, whom still, though it had been vio- 
 lated, you might have maintained in plenty 
 and even luxury, of greater moment to her, 
 than to my daughter hers, whose only suste- 
 nance it was? And must my son, void of all 
 the advantages of a generous education, must 
 he, I say, consider; and may your lordship 
 be excused from all reflection ? Eternal con- 
 tumely attend that guilty title which claims 
 exemption from thought, and arrogates to its 
 wearers the prerogative of brutes. Ever cursed 
 be its false lustre, which could dazzle my poor 
 daughter to her undoing. Was it for this that 
 the exalted merits and godlike virtues of your 
 great ancestor were honoured with a coronet, 
 that it might be a pander to his posterity, and 
 confer a privilege of dishonouring the innocent 
 and defenceless? At this rate the laws of re- 
 wards should be inverted, and he who is gene- 
 rous and good, should be made a beggar aud 
 a slave ; that industry and honest diligence 
 may keep his posterity unspotted, and preserve 
 them from ruining virgins, and making whole 
 
 families unhappy. Wretchedness is now be- 
 come my everlasting portion ! Your crime, 
 my lord, will draw perdition even upon my 
 head. 1 may not sue for forgiveness of my 
 own failings and misdeeds, for 1 never can for- 
 give yours, but shall curse you with my dying 
 breath ; and at the last tremendous day shall 
 hold forth in my arms my much wronged child, 
 and call aloud for vengeance on her defiler. 
 Undei these present horrors of mind, I could 
 be content to be your chief tormentor, ever 
 paying you mock reverence, and sounding in 
 your ears, to your unutterable loathing, the 
 empty title which inspired you with presump- 
 tion to tempt, and overawed my daughter to 
 comply. • 
 
 " Thus have I given some vent to my sorrow ; 
 nor fear I to awaken you to repentance, so that 
 your sin may be forgiven. The divine laws 
 have been broken ; but much injury, irrepara- 
 ble injury, has been also done to me, and the 
 just Judge will not pardon that until I do. 
 
 " My Lord, 
 " your conscience will help you to my name." 
 
 C3- 
 
 No. 124.] Monday, August 3, 1713. 
 
 Quid freniat in terris violeutius? Juv. &it. \ii;..37 
 
 What roar more dreadful in the world is heard ? 
 MORE ROARINGS OF THE LION. 
 'MR. GUARDIAN, 
 
 1 Before I proceed to maKe you my pro- 
 posals, it will be necessary to inform you, that 
 an uncommon ferocity in my countenance, to- 
 gether with the remarkable flatness of my nose, 
 and extent of my mouth, have long since pro- 
 cured me the name of Lion in this our uni- 
 versity. 
 
 1 The vast emolument that in all probability 
 will accrue to the public from the roarings of 
 my new erected likeness at Button's, hath 
 made me desirous of being as like him in that 
 part of his character, as I am told I already 
 am in all parts of my person. Wherefore I most 
 humbly propose to you, that (as it is impossible 
 for this one lion to roar, either long enough 
 or loud enough against all things that are 
 roar- worthy in these realms) you would appoint 
 him a sub-lion, as a prcef edits provincuc, in 
 every county in Great Britain ; and it is my 
 request, that I may be instituted his umler- 
 roarer in this university, town, and county of 
 Cambridge, as my resemblance does, in some 
 measure, claim that I should. 
 
 1 I shall follow my metropolitan's example, 
 in roaring only against those enormities that 
 are too slight and trivial for the notice or cen- 
 sures of our magistrates ; and shall communi 
 cate my roarings to him monthly, or oftener, 
 if occasion requires, to be inserted in your 
 papers cum privilegio. 
 
No. 124.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 183 
 
 ' I shall not omit giving Informations of the 
 improvement or decay of punning, and may 
 chance to touch upon the rise and fall of 
 tuckers ; but I will roar aloud and spare not, 
 to the terror of, at present, a very flourishing 
 society of people called loungers, gentlemen 
 whose observations are mostly itinerant, and 
 who think they have already too much good 
 sense of their own, to be in need of staying at 
 home to read other people's. 
 
 ' I have, sir, a raven, that shall serve by way 
 of jackall, to bring me in provisions, which I 
 shall chaw and prepare for the digestion of my 
 principal ; and I do hereby give notice to all 
 under my jurisdiction, that whoever are willing 
 to contribute to this good design, if they will 
 affix their information to the leg or neck of 
 the aforesaid raven or jackall, they will be 
 thankfully received by their (but more parti- 
 cularly your) 
 
 humble servant, 
 Erom my den at college ' LEO THE SECOND. 
 
 in Cambridge, July 2y. 
 
 ' N. B. The raven won't bite.' 
 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, 
 
 * Hearing that your unicorn is now in hand, 
 and not questioning but his horn will prove a 
 cornucopiae to you, I desire that in order to 
 introduce it, you will consider the following 
 proposal. 
 
 4 My wife and I intend a dissertation upon 
 horns ; the province she has chosen, is the 
 planting of them, and I am to treat of their 
 growth, improvement, &c. The work is like 
 to swell so much upon our hands, that I am 
 afraid we shall not be able to bear the charge 
 of printing it without a subscription ; wherefore 
 I hope you will invite the city into it, and desire 
 those who have any thing by them relating to 
 that part of natural history, to communicate 
 it to, Sir, 
 
 ' your humble servant, 
 
 < HUMPHREY BINICORN.' 
 • SIR, 
 ' I humbly beg leave to drop a song into 
 your lion's mouth, which will very truly make 
 him roar like any nightingale. It is fallen into 
 my hands by chance, and is a very fine imita- 
 tion of the works of many of our English lyrics. 
 It cannot but be highly acceptable to all those 
 who admire the translations of Italian operas. 
 
 Oli the charming month of May 1 
 Oh the charming month of May ! 
 When the breezes fan the treeses 
 
 Full of blossoms fresh and gay 
 
 Full, &c. 
 
 II. 
 Oh what joys onr prospects yield ! 
 Charming joys our prospects yield .' 
 In a new iivery when we see every 
 
 Bush and meadow, tree and field 
 
 Cu;!>... L Sa. 
 
 II' 
 
 Oh how fresh the morning air. 
 Charming fresh the morning air 
 When the zephyrs and the heifers 
 Their odoriferous breath compare 
 Their, &c. 
 
 IV. 
 Oh how fine our evening walk .' 
 Charming fine onr evening walk ! 
 When the nighting-gale delighting 
 
 With her song, suspends our talk 
 
 With her, &c. 
 
 Oh how sweet at night to dream I 
 Charming sweet at night to dream .' 
 On mossy pillows, by the trilloes 
 
 Of a gentle purling stream 
 
 Of a, &c. 
 
 VI. 
 Oh how kind the country lass 
 Charming kind the country lass I 
 Who, her cow bilking, leaves her milking 
 
 For a green gown on the grass 
 
 For a, &c. 
 
 VII. 
 Oh how sweet it is to spy ! 
 Charming sweet it is to spy ! 
 At the conclusion, her confusion, 
 
 Blushing cheeks, and downcast eye 
 
 Blushing, &c. 
 
 VIII 
 Oh the cooling curds and cream ! 
 Charming cooling curds and cream ! 
 When all is over, she gives her lover, 
 Who on her skimming dish carves her name 
 Who on, &e. 
 
 ' Mil. IRONSIDE, July 30. 
 
 * I have always been very much pleased with 
 the sight of those creatures, which being of a 
 foreign growth, are brought into our island for 
 show. I may say, there has not been a tiger, 
 leopard, elephant, or hyghgeen, for some years 
 past, in this nation, but I have taken their 
 particular dimensions, and am able to give a 
 very good description of them. But 1 must 
 own, I never had a greater curiosity to visit 
 any of these strangers than your lion. Ac- 
 cordingly I came yesterday to town, being able 
 to wait no longer for fair weather, and made 
 what haste I could to Mr. Button's, who readily 
 conducted me to his den of state. He is really 
 a creature of as noble a presence as I have 
 seen; he has grandeur and good-humour in 
 his countenance, which command both our 
 love and respect ; his shaggy mane and whis- 
 kers are peculiar graces. In short, I do not 
 question but he will prove a worthy supporter 
 of the British honour and virtue, especially 
 when assisted by the unicorn. You must think 
 I would not wait upon him without a morsel 
 to gain his favour, and had provided what I 
 hope would have pleased, but was unluckily 
 prevented by the presence of a bear, which 
 constantly as I approached with my present, 
 threw his eyes in my way, and stared me out 
 of my resolution. I must not forget to tell 
 you, my younger daughter and your ward is 
 
184 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 125. 
 
 hard at work, about her tucker, having uever 
 from her infancy laid aside the modesty-piece. 
 ' I am, venerable Nestor, 
 
 4 your friend and servant, 
 
 ' P. N. 
 
 ' I was a little surprised, having read some 
 of your lion's roarings, that a creature of such 
 eloquence should want a tongue ; but he has 
 other qualifications which make good that de- 
 ficiency.' (£?. 
 
 No. 125.] Tuesday, August 4, 1713. 
 
 Nunc f'ormosissimns annus. Virg. Eel. iii. 37. 
 
 Now the gay year in all her charms is drest. 
 
 Men of my age receive a greater pleasure 
 from fine weather than from any other sensual 
 enjoyment of life. In spite of the auxiliary 
 hottle, or any artificial heat, we are apt to 
 droop under a gloomy sky ; atid taste no luxury 
 like a blue firmament, and sunshine. I have 
 often, in a splenetic fit, wished myself a dor- 
 mouse during the winter ; and I never see 
 one of those snug animals, wrapt up close 
 in his fur, and compactly happy in himself, 
 but 1 contemplate him with envy beneath the 
 dignity of a philosopher. If the art of flying 
 were brought to perfection, the use that I 
 should make of it would be to attend the sun 
 round the world, and pursue the spring through 
 every sign of the Zodiac. This love of warmth 
 makes my heart glad at the return of the 
 spring. How amazing is the change in the 
 face of nature ; when the earth, from being 
 bound with frost, or covered with snow, begins 
 to put forth her plants and flowers, to be 
 clothed with green, diversified with ten thou- 
 sand various dies ; and to exhale such fresh 
 and charming odours, as fill every living crea- 
 ture with delight ! 
 
 Full of thoughts like these, I make it a rule 
 to lose as little as I can of that blessed season ; 
 and accordingly rise with the sun, and wander 
 through the fields, throw myself on the banks 
 of little rivulets, or lose myself in the woods. 
 I spent a day or two this spring at a country 
 gentleman's seat, where I feasted my imagina- 
 tion every morning with the most luxurious 
 prospect 1 ever saw. I usually took my stand 
 by the wall of an old castle built upon a high 
 hill. A noble river ran at the foot of it, which 
 after being broken by a heap of misshapen 
 stones, glided away in a clear stream, and 
 wandering through two woods on each side of 
 it in many windings, shone here and there at 
 a great distance through the trees. I could 
 trace the mazes for some miles, until my eye 
 was led through two ridges of hills, and ter- 
 minated by a vast mountain in another county. 
 
 I hope the reader will pardon me for taking 
 
 his eye from our present subject of the spring, 
 
 by this landscape, tince it is at ibis time of the 
 
 year only that prospects excel in beauty. But 
 if the eye is delighted, the ear hath likewise 
 its proper entertainment. The music of the 
 birds at this time of the year, nath something 
 in it so wildly sweet, as makes me less relish 
 the most elaborate compositions of Italy. The 
 vigour which the warmth of the sun pours 
 afresh into their veins, prompts them to renew 
 their species ; and thereby puts the male upon 
 wooing his mate with more mellow warblings, 
 and to swell his throat with more violent mo- 
 dulations. It is an amusement by no means 
 below the dignity of a rational soul, to observe 
 the pretty creatures flying in pairs, to mark the 
 different passions in their intrigues, the curious 
 contexture of their nests, and their care and 
 tenderness of their little offspring. 
 
 I am particularly acquainted with a wagtail 
 and his spouse, and made many remarks upon 
 the several gallantries he hourly used, before 
 the coy female would consent to make him 
 happy. When I saw in how many airy rings 
 he was forced to pursue her ; how sometimes 
 she tripped before him in a pretty pitty-pat 
 step, and scarce seemed to regard the cowering 
 of his wings, and the many awkward and fop- 
 pish contortions into which he put his body to 
 do her homage, it made me reflect upon my 
 own youth, and the caprices of the fair but 
 fantastic Teraminta. Often have I wished 
 that 1 understood the language of birds, when 
 I have heard him exert an eager chuckle at 
 her leaving him; and do not doubt, but that 
 he muttered the same vows and reproaches 
 which 1 often have vented against that unre- 
 lenting maid. 
 
 The sight that gave me the most satisfaction 
 was a flight of young birds, under the conduct 
 of the father, and indulgent directions and as- 
 sistance of the dam. 1 took particular notice 
 of a beau goldfinch, who was picking his plumes, 
 pruning his wings, and with great diligence, 
 adjusting all his gaudy garniture. When he had 
 equipped himself with great trimness and 
 nicety, he stretched his painted neck, which 
 seemed to brighten with new glowings, and 
 strained his throat into many wild notes and 
 natural melody. He then flew about the nest 
 in several circles and windings, and invited his 
 wife and children into open air. It was very 
 entertaining to see the trembling and the flut- 
 tering of the little strangers at their first ap- 
 pearance in the world, and the different care of 
 the male and female parent, so suitable to their 
 several sexes. I could not take my eye quickly 
 from so entertaining on object ; nor could I 
 help wishing, that creatures of a superior rank 
 would so manifest their mutual affection, and 
 so cheerfully concur in providing for their 
 offspring. 
 
 1 shall conclude this tattle about the spring, 
 which 1 usually (all ' the youth aud health of 
 the year,' with some verses which I transcribe 
 
No. 126.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 185 
 
 from a manuscript poem upon hunting. The 
 author gives directions, that hounds should 
 breed in the spring, whence he takes occasion, 
 after the manner of the ancients, to make a 
 digression in praise of that season. The verses 
 here subjoined, are not all upon that subject ; 
 but the transitions slide so easily into one an- 
 other, that I knew not how to leave off until 
 I had writ out the whole digression. 
 
 In spring let loose thy males. Then all things prove 
 The stings of pleasure, and the pangs of love : 
 Ethereal Jove then glads, with genial showers, 
 Earth's mighty womb, and strews her lap with flow'rs; 
 Hence juices mount, and buds, embolden'd, try 
 More kindly breezes, and a softer sky ; 
 Kind Venus revels. Hark ! on ev'ry bough, 
 In lulling strains the feather'd warblers woo. 
 Fell tigers soften in th' infectious flames, 
 And lions fawning, court their brinded dames : 
 Great love pervades the deep ; to please his mate, 
 The whale, in gambols movis his monstrous weight ; 
 Heav'd by his wayward mirth old Ocean roars, 
 And scatter'd navies bulge on distant shores. 
 
 All nature smiles : Come now, nor fear, my love, 
 To taste the odours of the woodbine grove, 
 To pass the evening glooms in harmless play, 
 And sweetly swearing, languish life away. 
 An altar bound with recent flowers, I rear 
 To thee, best season of the various year : 
 All haili such days in beauteous order r,m, 
 So soft, so sweet, when first the world began ; 
 In Eden's bow'rs, when man's great sire assign'd 
 The names and natures of the brutal kind. 
 Then lamb and lion friendly walk'd their round, 
 And hares, undaunted, licked the fondling hound; 
 Wond'rous to tell ! but when with luckless hand, 
 Our daring mother broke the sole command, 
 Then want and envy brought their meagre train, 
 Then wrath came down, and death had leave to reign : 
 Hence foxes earth'd, and wolves abhorr'd the day, 
 And hungry churls ensnar'd the nightly prey. 
 Rude arts at first ; but witty want refin'd 
 The huntsman's wiles, and famine form'd the mind. 
 
 Bold Nimrod first the lion's trophies wore, 
 The pantlver bound, and lanc'd the bristling boar ; 
 He taught to turn the hare, to bay the deer, 
 And wheel the courser in his mid career. 
 Ah! had he there restrain'd his tyrant hand! 
 Let me, ye pow'is, a humbler wreath demand: 
 No pomps I ask, which crowns and sceptres \ ieid ; 
 Nor dang'rous laurels in the dusty fit. Id : 
 Fast by the forest, and the limpid spring, 
 Give me the warfare of the woods to sing, 
 To breed my whelps, and healthful press the game, 
 A mean, inglorious, bat a guiltless name. 
 
 No. 126.] Wednesday, August 5, 1713. 
 
 Homo sum, humani nihil a me alicnum puto. 
 
 Ter. Heaut. Act. i. Sc. 1. 
 
 1 am a man, and have a fellow-feeling of every thing 
 belonging to man. 
 
 If we consider the whole scope of the crea- 
 tion that lies within our view, the moral and 
 intellectual, as well as the natural and cor- 
 poreal, we shall perceive throughout, a certain 
 correspondence of the parts, a similitude of 
 operation, and unity of design, which plainly 
 demonstrate the universe to be the work of one 
 infinitely good and wise being; and that the 
 system of thinking beings is actuated by laws 
 derived from the same divine power which or- 
 
 dained those by which the corporeal system is 
 upheld. 
 
 From the contemplation of the order, mo- 
 tion, and cohesion of natural bodies, philoso- 
 phers are now agreed, that there is a mutual 
 attraction between the most distant parts at 
 least of this solar system. All those bodies 
 that revolve round the sun are drawn toward* 
 each other, and towards the sun, by some secret, 
 uniform, and never-ceasing principle. Hence it 
 is, that the earth (as well as the other planets) 
 without flying off in a tangent line, constantly 
 rolls about the sun, and the moon about the 
 earth, without deserting her companion in so 
 many thousand years. And as the larger sys- 
 tems of the universe are held together by this 
 cause, so likewise the particular globes derive 
 their cohesion and consistence from it. 
 
 Now if we carry our thoughts from the cor- 
 poreal to the moral world, we may observe in 
 the spirits or minds of men, a like principle 
 of attraction, whereby they are drawn together 
 in communities, clubs, families, friendships, 
 and all the various species of society. As in 
 bodies, where the quantity is the same, the 
 attraction is strongest between those which 
 are placed nearest to each other ; so it is like- 
 wise in the minds of men, cceteris paribus, be- 
 tween those which are most nearly related. 
 Bodies that are placed at the distance of many 
 millions of miles, may nevertheless attract and 
 constantly operate on each other, although 
 this action do not show itself by a union ©r 
 approach of those distant bodies so long as 
 they are withheld by the contrary forces of 
 other bodies, which, at the same time, attract 
 them different ways ; but would, on the sup- 
 posed removal of all other bodies, mutually 
 approach and unite with each other. The like 
 holds with regard to the human soul, whose 
 affection towards the individuals of the same 
 species, who are distantly related to it, is ren- 
 dered inconspicuous by its more powerful at- 
 traction towards those who have a nearer rela- 
 tion to it. But as those are removed, the 
 tendency which before lay concealed, doth 
 gradually disclose itself. 
 
 A man who has no family is more strongly 
 attracted towards his friends and neighbours ; 
 and if absent from these, he naturally falls 
 into an acquaintance with those of his own 
 city or country who chance to be in the same 
 place. Two Englishmen meeting at Rome or 
 Constantinople, soon run into a familiarity. 
 And in China or Japan, Europeans would think 
 their being so, a good reason for their uniting 
 in particular converse. Farther, in case we 
 suppose ourselves translated into Jupiter or 
 Saturn, and there to meet a Chinese or other 
 more distant native of our own planet, we 
 should look on him as a near relation, and 
 readily commence a friendship with him. 
 These are natural reflections, and such as rase 
 2 A 
 
186 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 127. 
 
 convince us that we are linked by an imper- 
 ceptible chain to every individual of the human 
 race. 
 
 The several great bodies which compose the 
 -nlar system are kept from joining together at 
 the common centre of gravity by the recti- 
 linear motions the author of nature has im- 
 pressed on each of them; which, concurring 
 with the attractive principle, form their re- 
 spective orbits round the sun ; upon the ceasing 
 of which motions, the general law of gravita- 
 tion that is now thwarted, would show itself 
 by drawing them all into one mass. After (he 
 same manner, in the parallel case of society, 
 private passions and motions of the soul do 
 often obstruct the operation of that benevolent 
 uniting instinct implanted in human nature; 
 which notwithstanding doth still exert, and 
 will not fail to show itself when those obstruc- 
 tions are taken away. 
 
 The mutual gravitation of bodies cannot be 
 explained any other way than by resolving it 
 into the immediate operation of God, who never 
 ceases to dispose and actuate his creatures in 
 a manner suitable to their respective beings. 
 So neither can that reciprocal attraction in the 
 minds of men be accounted for by any other 
 cause. It is not the result of education, law, 
 or fashion ; but is a principle originally in- 
 grafted in the very first formation of the soul 
 by the author of our nature. 
 
 And as the attractive power in bodies is the 
 most universal principle which produceth inu- 
 merable effects, and is a key to explain the 
 various phenomena of nature; so the corres- 
 ponding social appetite in human souls is the 
 great spring and source of moral actions. This 
 it is that inclines each individual to an inter- 
 course with his species, and models every one 
 to that behaviour which best suits with the 
 common well-being. Hence that sympathy 
 in our nature, whereby we feel the pains and 
 joys of our fellow-creatures. Hence that pre- 
 valent love in parents towards their children, 
 which is neither founded on the merit of the 
 object, nor yet on self-interest. It is this that 
 makes us inquisitive concerning the affairs of 
 distant nations, which can have no influence 
 on our own. It is this that extends our care 
 to future generations, and excites us to acts of 
 beneficence towards those who are not yet in 
 being, and consequently from whom we can 
 expect no recompense. In a word, hence arises 
 that diffusive sense of humanity so unaccount- 
 able to the selfish man who is untouched with 
 it, and is indeed a sort of monster, or anoina- 
 lon, production. 
 
 These thought! do naturally suggest the fol- 
 lowing particulars. First, that as social incli- 
 nation, are absolutely necessary to the well- 
 being of the world, it is the duty and interest 
 of each individual to cherish, and improve them 
 
 to 'h- benefit of mankind; the duty, because 
 
 it is agreeable to the intention of the author 
 of our being, who aims at the common good 
 of his creatures, and as an indication of his 
 will, hath implanted the seeds of mutual be- 
 nevolence in our souls; the interest, because 
 the good of the whole is inseparable from that 
 of the parts; in promoting, therefore, the 
 common good, every one doth at the same 
 time promote his own private interest. An- 
 other observation I shall draw from the pre- 
 mises is, that it makes a signal proof of the 
 divinity of the Christian religion, that the 
 main duty which it inculcates above all others 
 is charity. Different maxims and precepts 
 have distinguished the different sects of philo- 
 sophy and religion ; our Lord's peculiar precept 
 is, ' Love thy neighbour as thyself. By this 
 shall all men know that you are my disciples, 
 if you love one another.* 
 
 I will not say, that what is a most shining 
 proof of our religion, is not often a leproach 
 to its professors : but this I think very plain, 
 that whether we regard the analogy of nature, 
 as it appears in the mutual attraction or gra- 
 vitations of the mundane system, in the general 
 frame and constitution of the human soul ; or 
 lastly, in the ends and aptnesses which are dis- 
 coverable in all parts of the visible and intel- 
 lectual world ; we shall not doubt but the pre- 
 cept, which is the characteristic of our religion, 
 came from the author of nature. Some of 
 our modern free-thinkers would indeed insi- 
 nuate the Christian morals to be defective, 
 because, say they, there is no mention made 
 in the gospel of the virtue of friendship. These 
 sagacious men (if I may be allowed the use 
 of that vulgar saying)' cannot see the wood 
 for trees.' That a religion, whereof the main 
 drift is to inspire its professors with the most 
 noble and disinterested spirit of love, charity, 
 and beneficence, to all mankind; or, in other 
 words, with a friendship to every individual 
 man ; should be taxed with the want of that 
 very virtue is surely a glaring evideuce of the 
 blindness and prejudice of its adversaries. 
 
 No. 127.] Thursday, August 6, 1713. 
 
 Lticit amabiliter 
 
 He sported agreeably. 
 
 An agreeable young gentleman, that has a 
 talent for poetry, and does me the favour r^ 
 entertain me with his performances after my 
 more serious studies, read me yesterday the 
 following translation. In this town, where 
 there are so many women of prostituted charms, 
 I am very glad when I gain so much time of 
 reflection from a youth of a gay turn, as is 
 taken up in any composition, though the piece 
 he writes is not foreign to that of his natural 
 inclination. For it is a great step towards 
 gaining upon the passions, that there is a deli- 
 
No. 127.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 187 
 
 cacy in the choice of their object; and to turn 
 the imaginations towards a bride, rather than 
 a mistress, is getting a great way towards being 
 in the interests of virtue. It is a hopeless 
 manner of reclaiming youth, which has been 
 practised by some moralists, to declaim against 
 pleasure in general. No ; the way is, to show 
 that the pleasurable course is that which is 
 limited and governed by reason. In this case 
 virtue is upon equal terms with vice, and has, 
 with all the same indulgences of desire, the 
 advantage of safety in honour and reputation. 
 I have for this reason often thought of exer- 
 cising my pupils, of whom I have several of 
 admirable talents, upon writing little poems, 
 or epigrams, which in a volume I would entitle, 
 The Seeing Cupid. These compositions should 
 be written on the little advances made towards 
 a young lady of the strictest virtue, and all the 
 circumstances alluded to in them, should have 
 something that might please her mind in its 
 purest innocence, as well as celebrate her per- 
 son in its highest beauty. This work would 
 instruct a woman to be a good wife, all the 
 while it is a wooing her to be a bride. Imagi- 
 nation and reason should go hand in hand in 
 a generous amour ; for when it is otherwise, 
 real discontent and aversion in marriage, suc- 
 ceed the groundless anu wild promise of ima- 
 gination in courtship. 
 
 The Court of Venus from Claudian, being 
 part of the Epithalamium on Honorius and 
 Maria. 
 
 In the fain'd Cypiian isle a mountain stands, 
 Thai casts a shadow into distant lands. 
 In vain access by human feet is try'd, 
 Its lofty brow looks down with noble pride 
 On bounteous Nile, thro' seven wide channels spread ; 
 And sees old Proteus in his oozy bed. 
 Along its sides no hoary frosts presume 
 To blast the myrtle shrubs, or nip the bloom, 
 The winds with caution sweep the rising flowers, 
 While balmy dews descend, and vernal showers. 
 The ruling orbs no wintry horrors bring, 
 Fix'd in th' indulgence of eternal spring. 
 Unfading sweets in purple scenes appear, 
 And genial breezes soften all the year. 
 The nice, luxurious soul, uncloy'd may rove, 
 From pleasures still to circling pleasures move ; 
 For endless beauty kindles endless love. 
 
 The mountain, when the summit once you gain, 
 Falls by degrees, and sinks into a plain ; 
 Where the pleas'd eye may flow'ry meads behold, 
 lnclos'd with branching ore, and hedg'd with gold : 
 Or where large crops the gen'rous glebe supplies, 
 And yellow harvests unprovok'd arise. 
 For by mild zephyrs fann'd, the teeming soil 
 Yields ev'ry grain, nor asks the peasant's toil. 
 These were the bribes, the price of heav'nly charms ; 
 These Cytherea won to Vulcan's arms : 
 For such a bliss he such a gift bestow'd ; 
 The rich, th' immortal labours of a god. 
 
 A sylvan scene, in solemn state display'd, 
 Flatters each feather'd warbler with a shade ; 
 But here no bird its painted wings can move, 
 Unless elected by the queen of love. 
 Ere made a member of this tuneful throng, 
 She hears the songster, and approves the song ; 
 The joyous victors hop from spray to spray ; 
 The vanq.'ush'd fly with mournful notes away. 
 
 Branches in branches twin'd, compose the grove 
 And shoot, and spread, and blossom into love. 
 The trembling palms their mutual vows repeat ; 
 And bending poplars bending poplars meet ; 
 The distant plantains seem to press more nigh ; 
 And to the sighing alder, alders sigh. 
 Blue heav'ns above them smile ; and all below, 
 Two murm'ring streams in wild meanders flow. 
 This mix'd with gall ; and that like honey sweet . 
 But ah I too soon th' unfriendly waters meet 1 
 Steep'd in these springs (if verse belief can gain) 
 The darts of love their double power attain : 
 Hence all mankind a bitter sweet have found, 
 A painful pleasure, and a grateful wound. 
 
 Along the grassy banks, in bright array, 
 Ten thousand little loves their wings display : 
 Quivers and bows their usual sports proclaim ; 
 Their dress, their stature, and their looks the same ; 
 Smiling in innocence, and ever young, 
 And tender, as the nymphs from whom they sprung ; 
 For Venus did but boast one only son, 
 And rosy Cupid was that boasted one ; 
 He, uncontrolled, thro' heaven extends his sway, 
 And gods and goddesses by turns obey ; 
 Or if he stoops on earth, great princes burn, 
 Sicken on thrones, and wreath'd with laurels mourn. 
 Th' inferior powers o'er hearts inferior reign, 
 And pierce the rural fair, or homely swain. 
 Here love's imperial pomp is spread around, 
 Voluptuous liberty that knows no bound ; 
 And sudden storms of wrath, which soon decline; 
 And midnight watchings o'er the fumes of wine : 
 Unartful tears and hectic looks, that show 
 With silent eloquence the lover's woe ; 
 Boldness nnfledg'd, and to stol'n raptures new, 
 Half trembling stands, and scarcely dares pursue : 
 Fears that delight, and anxious doubts of joy, 
 Which check our swelling hopes, but not destroy ; 
 And short-breath'd vows, forgot as soon as made, 
 On airy pinions flutter through the glade. 
 Youth with a haughty look, and gay attire, 
 And rolling eyes that glow with soft desire, 
 Shines forth exalted on a pompous seat ; 
 While sullen cares and wither'd age retreal. 
 
 Now from afar the palace seems to blaze, 
 And hither would extend its golden rays; 
 But by reflection of the grove is seen 
 The gold still vary'd by a waving green. 
 For Mulciber with secret pride beheld 
 How far his skill all human wit excell'd ; 
 And grown uxorious, did the work design 
 To speak the artist, and the art divine. 
 Proud columns tow'ring high, support the frame, 
 That hewn from hyacinthian quarries came. 
 The beams are emeralds, and yet scarce adorn 
 The ruby walls on which themselves are born. 
 The pavement, rich with veins of agate lies ; 
 And steps, with shining jasper slippery, rise. 
 
 Here spices in parterres promiscuous blow, 
 Not from Arabia's fields more odours flow, 
 The wanton winds through groves of cassia play, 
 And steal the ripen'd fragrances away ; 
 Here with its load the wild amomum bends ; 
 There cinnamon, in rival sweets, contends ; 
 A rich perfume the ravish'd senses fills, 
 While from the weeping tree the balm distils. 
 
 At these delightful bowers arrives at last 
 The god of love, a tedious journey past ; 
 Then shapes his way to reach the fronting gate. 
 Doubles his majesty, and walks in state. 
 It chane'd, upon a radiant throne reclin'd, 
 Venus her golden tresses did unbind : 
 Proud to be thus employ'd, on either hand 
 Th' Idalian sisters, rang'd in order stand. 
 Ambrosial essence one bestows in showers, 
 And lavishly whole streams of nectar pours ; 
 With ivory combs another's dext'rous care 
 Or curls, or opens the dishevel'd hair ; 
 A third, industrious with a nicer eye. 
 Instructs the ringlets in wbat form to lie, 
 
16S 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 128. 
 
 Yet leaves sonic tew, that, not so c\- m i\ (»< -i, 
 Sport in the wind, .mil mutton Ironi the rest: 
 Bvreel MgUgencel i>y aiffarstndj wrought, 
 A grueftaJ error, and a lovely fault 
 The judgment ot'tlir glass in here unknown ; 
 Hen mlrron .ire supply'd by ev'ry stone. 
 Wheic'cr the goddess turns, her image falls, 
 And a new Venue dances on the walls. 
 Now while she di I her spotless form survey, 
 Tleas'd with Love's empire, and almighty sway, 
 She spy'd her son, and, fir'd with eager joy, 
 Sprung forwards, and embrae'd the tav'rile boy. 
 
 No. 128.] Friday, August 7, 1713. 
 
 Delen&i est Carthago 
 
 Demolish Cartlnge. 
 
 It is usually thought, with great justice, a 
 very impertinent thing in a private man to 
 intermeddle in matters which regard the state. 
 But the memorial which is meutioned in the 
 following letter is so daring, and so apparently 
 designed for the most traitorous purpose ima- 
 ginable, than I do not care what misinterpre- 
 tation I suffer, when I expose it to the resent- 
 ment of all men who value their country, or 
 have any regard to the honour, safety, or glory 
 of their queen. It is certain there is not much 
 danger in delaying the demolition of Dunkirk 
 during the life of his present most Christian 
 majesty, who is renowned for the most invio- 
 lable regard to treaties ; but that pious prince 
 is aged, and in case of his decease, now the 
 power of France and Spain is in the same 
 fannly, it is possible an ambitious successor 
 (or his ministry in a king's minority) might 
 dispute his being bound by the act of his pre- 
 decessor in so weighty a particular. 
 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, 
 1 You employ your important moments, me- 
 thinks, a little too frivolously, when you con- 
 sider so often little circumstances of dress and 
 behaviour, and never make mention of matters 
 wherein you and all your fellow-subjects in 
 general are concerned. I give you now an 
 opportunity, not only of manifesting your 
 loyalty to your queen, but your affection to 
 your country, if you treat an insolence done 
 to them both with the disdain it deserves. The 
 inclosed printed paper in French and English 
 has been handed about the town, and given 
 gratis to passengers in the streets at noon-day. 
 Vou see the title of it is, " A most humble 
 address, or memorial, presented to her majesty 
 the queen of Great Britain, by the deputy of 
 the magistrates of Dunkirk." The nauseous 
 memorialist, with the most fulsome flattery, 
 tells the queen of her thunder, and of wisdom 
 and clemency adored by all the earth ; at the 
 iame time that he attempts to undermine her 
 power, and escape her wisdom, by beseeching 
 her to do an act which will give a well-grounded 
 jealousy to her people. What the sycophant 
 desire* is, That the mole and dikes of Dunkirk 
 
 may be spared ; and it seems the sieur Tugghe 
 for so the petitioner is called, was thunder 
 struck by the denunciation (which he say9j 
 "the lord viscount Bolingbroke made to him," 
 That her majesty did not think to make any 
 alteration in the dreadful sentence she had 
 pronounced against the town. Mr. Ironside, 
 I think you would do an act worthy your ge- 
 neral humanity, if you would put the sieur 
 Tugghe right in this matter ; and let him 
 know, That her majesty has pronounced no 
 sentence against the town, but his most Chris- 
 tian majesty has agreed that the town and 
 harbour shall be demolished. 
 
 * That the British nation expect the imme- 
 diate demolition of it. 
 
 * That the very common people know, that 
 within three months alter the signing of the 
 peace, the works towards the sea, were to be 
 demolished ; and, within three months after 
 it, the works towards the land. 
 
 ' That the said peace was signed the last of 
 March, O. S. 
 
 ' That the parliament has been told from 
 the queen, that the equivalent for it is in the 
 hands of the French king. 
 
 ' That the sieur Tugghe has the impudence 
 to ask the queen to remit the most material 
 part of the articles of peace between her ma 
 jesty and his master. 
 
 * That the British nation received more 
 damage in their trade from the port of Dun- 
 kirk, than from almost all the ports of France, 
 either in the ocean, or in the Mediterranean. 
 
 ' That fleets of above thirty sail have come 
 together out of Dunkirk, during the late war, 
 and taken ships of war as well as merchantmen. 
 
 ' That the pretender sailed from thence to 
 Scotland ; and that it is the ordy port the 
 French have until you come to Brest, for the 
 whole length of St. George's channel, where 
 any considerable naval armament can he made. 
 
 ' That destroying the fortifications of Dun- 
 kirk is an inconsiderable advantage to England, 
 in comparison to the advantage of destroying 
 the mole, dikes, and harbour ; it being the 
 naval force from thence which only can hurt 
 the British nation. 
 
 * That the British nation expect the imme- 
 diate demolition of Dunkirk. 
 
 1 That the Dutch, who suffered equally with 
 us from those of Dunkirk, were probably in- 
 duced to sign the treaty with France from this 
 consideration, That the town and harbour of 
 Dunkirk should be destroyed. 
 
 ' That the situation of Dunkirk is such, as 
 that it may always keep runners to observe ail 
 ships sailing on the Thames and Medway. 
 
 * That all the suggestions which the sieur 
 Tugghe brings concerning the Dutch, are false 
 and scandalous. 
 
 ' That whether it may he advantageous to 
 the trade of Holland or not, that Dunkirk 
 
No. 129.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 189 
 
 should be demolished ; it is necessary for the 
 safety, honour, and liberty of England, that it 
 should be so. 
 
 " That when Dunkirk is demolished, the 
 power of France, on that side, should it ever 
 be turned against us, will be removed several 
 hundred miles further off of Great Britain than 
 it is at present. 
 
 ' That after the demolition, there can be no 
 considerable preparation made at sea by the 
 French on all the channel, but at Brest ; and 
 that Great Britain being an island, which can- 
 not be attacked but by a naval power, we may 
 esteem France effectually removed, by the de- 
 molition, from Great Britain, as far as the 
 distance from Dunkirk to Brest. 
 
 * Pray, Mr. Ironside, repeat this last parti- 
 cular, and put it in a different letter, That 
 the demolition of Dunkirk will remove France 
 many hundred miles farther off" from us ; and 
 
 .then repeat again, That the British nation ex- 
 pects the demolition of Dunkirk. 
 
 ' 1 demand of you, as you love and honour 
 your queen and country, that you insert this 
 letter, or speak to this purpose, your own way; 
 for in this all parties must agree, that however 
 bound in friendship one nation is with another, 
 it is but prudent that in case of a rupture, 
 they should be, if possible, upon equal terms, 
 
 ' Be honest, old Nestor, and say all this ; for 
 whatever half-witted hot whigs may think, we 
 all value our estates and liberties, and every 
 true man of each party must think himself 
 concerned that Dunkirk should be demolished. 
 
 * It lies upon all who have the honour to be 
 iu the ministry to hasten this matter, and not 
 let the credulity of an honest brave people be 
 thus infamously abused in our open streets. 
 
 * I cannot go on for indignation ; but pray 
 God that our mercy to France may not expose 
 us to the mercy of France. 
 
 * Your humbe servant, 
 
 'ENGLISH TORY.' 
 
 No. 129.] Saturday, August 8, 1713. 
 
 Animasquc in vulnere ponunt. 
 
 Virg. Georg. iv. 238. 
 
 And part with life, only to wound their foe. 
 
 Anger is so uneasy a guest in the heart, that 
 he may be said to be born unhappy who is of 
 a rough and choleric disposition. The moral- 
 ists have defined it to be * a desire of revenge 
 for some injury offered.' Men of hot and 
 heady tempers are eagerly desirous of ven- 
 geance, the very moment they apprehend them- 
 selves injured : whereas the cool and sedate 
 watch proper opportunities to return grief for 
 grief to their enemy. By this means it often 
 happens that the cholerieiuflictdisproportioned 
 punishments upon slight and sometimes ima- 
 ginary offences : but the temoerately revenge- 
 
 ful have leisure to weigh the merits of the 
 cause, and thereby either to smother their 
 secret resentments, or to seek proper and ade- 
 quate reparations for the damages they have 
 sustained. Weak minds are apt to speak well 
 of the man of fury ; because, when the storm 
 is over, he is full of sorrow and repentance ; 
 but the truth is, he is apt to commit such 
 ravages during his madness, that when he 
 comes to himself, he becomes tame then, for 
 the same reason that he ran wild before, ' only 
 to give himself ease ;' and is a friend only to 
 himself in both extremities. Men of this un- 
 happy make, more frequently than any others, 
 expect that their friends should bear with their 
 infirmities. Their friends should in return 
 desire them to correct their infirmities. The 
 common excuses, that they cannot help it, that 
 it was soon over, that they harbour no malice 
 in their hearts, are arguments for pardoning 
 a bull or a mastiff; but shall never reconcile 
 me to an intellectual savage. Why indeed 
 should any one imagine, that persons inde- 
 pendent upon him should venture into his 
 society, who hath not yet so far subdued his 
 boiling blood, but that he is ready to do some- 
 thing the next minute which he can never re- 
 pair, and hath nothing to plead in his own 
 behalf, but that he is apt to do mischief as fast 
 as he can ! Such a man may be feared, he may 
 be pitied ; he can never be loved. 
 
 I would not hereby be so understood as if I 
 meant to recommend slow and deliberate ma- 
 lice ; I would only observe, that men of mo- 
 deration are of a more amiable character than 
 the rash and inconsiderate; but if they do not 
 husband the talent that Heaven hath bestowed 
 upon them, they are as much more odious 
 than the choleric, as the devil is more horrible 
 than a brute. It is hard to say which of the 
 two when injured is more troublesome to him- 
 self, or more hurtful to his enemy ; the one is 
 boisterous and gentle by fits, dividing his life 
 between guilt and repentance, now all tempest, 
 again all sunshine. The other hath a smoother 
 but more lasting anguish, lying under a per- 
 petual gloom; the latter is a cowardly man, 
 the former a generous beast. If he may be 
 held unfortunate who cannot be sure but that 
 he may do something the next minute which 
 he shall lament during his life ; what shall we 
 think of him who hath a soul so infected that 
 he can never be happy until he hath made an- 
 other miserable! What wars may we imagine 
 perpetually raging in his breast ! What dark 
 stratagems, unworthy designs, inhuman wishes, 
 dreadful resolutions ! A snake curled in many 
 intricate mazes, ready to sting a traveller, and 
 to hiss him in the pangs of death, is no unfit 
 emblem of such an artful, unsearchable pro- 
 jector. Were I to choose an enemy, whether 
 should I wish for one that would stab me sud- 
 denly, or one that would give me an Italian 
 
100 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 130. 
 
 poison, Subtle and lingering, yet as certainly 
 
 fatal a< the -troke of a stiletto? Let the reader 
 determine tbe doubt in his own mind. 
 
 Tin i > i- yet a third sort of revenge, if it 
 may be called a third, which is compounded of 
 the other two: 1 mean the mistaken honour 
 which hath too often a place in generous breasts. 
 Men of good education, though naturally cho- 
 leric, restrain their wrath so far as to seek con- 
 venient times for vengeance. The single combat 
 seems so generous a way of ending controversies, 
 that until we have stricter laws, the number of 
 widows and orphans, and I wish I could not 
 say of wretched spirits, will be increased. Of 
 all the medals which have been struck in ho- 
 nour of a neighbouring monarch, there is not 
 one which can give him so true renown as that 
 upon the success of his edicts for ' abolishing 
 the impious practice of dueling.' 
 
 What inclined me at present to write upon 
 this suhject, was the sight of the following 
 letters, which 1 can assure the reader to be 
 geuuiue. They concern two noble names 
 among us ; but the crime of which the gen- 
 tlemen are guilty bears too prevalently the 
 name of honour, to need an apology to their 
 relations for reviving the mention of their duel. 
 But the dignity of wrath, and the cool and 
 deliberate preparation (by passing different 
 climes, and waiting convenient seasons) for 
 murdering each other, when we consider them 
 as moved by a sense of honour, must raise in 
 the reader as much compassion as horror. 
 
 * A Monsieur Monsieur Sackville. 
 ' I that am in France hear how much you 
 attribute to yourself in this time, that I have 
 given the world leave to ring your praises 
 ****** * * * * * 
 If you call to memory, whereas I gave you my 
 hand last, I told you I reserved the heart for 
 a truer reconciliation. Now be that noble 
 gentleman my love once spoke you, and come 
 and do him right that could recite the trials 
 you owe your birth and country, were I not 
 confident your honour gives you the same 
 courage to do me right, that it did to do me 
 wrong. Be master of your own weapons and 
 time; the place, wheresoever, 1 will wait on 
 you. By doing this you shall shorten revenge, 
 and clear the idle opinion the world hath of 
 both our worths. 
 
 1 ED. BROCK.' 
 
 ' A Mons. Monsieur le Baron de Kinloss. 
 
 1 As it shall be always far from me to seek 
 a quarrel, so will I always be ready to meet 
 with any that desire to make trial of my valour 
 by so fair a course as you require. A witness 
 whereof yourself shall be, who within a month 
 shall receive a strict account of time, place, 
 and weapon, where you shall find me ready 
 disposed to give you honourable satisfaction 
 by him that shall conduct you thither, 'n the 
 
 mean time be as secret of the appointment as 
 it seems you are desirous of it. 
 
 ' ED. SACKVILLE. 1 
 
 4 A Mons. Monsieur le Baron de Kinloss. 
 I am ready at Tergosa, a town in Zealand, 
 to give you that satisfaction your sword can 
 render you, accompanied with a worthy gen- 
 tleman my second, in degree a knight ; and 
 for your coming I will not limit you a peremp- 
 tory day, but desire you to make a definite and 
 speedy repair for your own honour, and fear 
 of prevention, until which time you shall find 
 me there. 
 Tergosa, Aug. 10, 1613. « ED. SACKVILLR.' 
 
 ' A Mons. Monsieur Sackville. 
 I have received your letter by your man, 
 and acknowledge you have dealt nobly with 
 me, and now I come with all possible haste to 
 meet you. 
 
 « ED. BRUCE. 
 
 No. ISO.] Monday, August 10, 1713. 
 
 — Vacuum sine mente popellum. 
 
 Musa ShgHcartu. 
 
 An empty, thoughtless tribe. 
 
 As the greatest part of mankind are more 
 affected by things which strike the senses, than 
 by excellencies that are to be discerned by 
 reason and thought, they form very erroneous 
 judgments when they compare the one with 
 the other. An eminent instance of this is, that 
 vulgar notion, that men addicted to contem- 
 plation are less useful members of society than 
 those of a different course of life. The business 
 therefore of my present paper shall be to com- 
 pare the distinct merits of the speculative and 
 the active parts of mankind. 
 
 The advantages arising from the labours of 
 generals and politicians are confined to narrow 
 tracts of the earth ; and while they promote 
 the interest of their own country, they lessen 
 or obstruct that of other nations : whereas the 
 light and knowledge that spring From specu- 
 lation are not limited to any single spot, but 
 equally diffused to the benefit of the whole 
 globe. Besides, for the most part, the renown 
 only of men of action is transmitted to distant 
 posterity, their great exploits either dying with 
 themselves, or soon after them ; whereas spe- 
 culative men continue to deserve well of the 
 world thousands of years after they have left 
 it. Their merits are propagated with their 
 fame, which is due to them, but a free gift to 
 those whose beueficence has not outlived their 
 persons. 
 
 What benefit do we receive from the re- 
 nowned deeds of Caesar or Alexander, that we 
 should make them the constant themes of our 
 praise ? while the name of Pythagoras is more 
 Sparingly celebrated, though it be to him that 
 we arc indebted for our trade and riches. This 
 
No. 130.] 
 
 THP2 GUARDIAN. 
 
 191 
 
 may seem strange to a vulgar reader, but the 
 following reflection will make it plain. That 
 philosopher invented the forty-seventh propo- 
 sition of the first book of Euclid, which is the 
 foundation of trigonometry, and consequently 
 of navigation, upon which the commerce of 
 Great Britain depends. 
 
 The mathematics are so useful and orna- 
 mental to human life, that the ingenious sir 
 William Temple acknowledges, in some part 
 of his writings, all those advantages which 
 distinguish polite nations from barbarians to 
 be derived from them. But as these sciences 
 cultivate the exterior parts of life, there are 
 others of a more excellent nature, that endue 
 the heart with rudiments of virtue, and by 
 opening our prospects, and awakening our 
 hopes, produce generous emotions and sublime 
 sentiments in the soul. 
 
 The divine sages of antiquity, who by trans- 
 mitting down to us their speculations upon 
 good and evil, upon Providence, and the dig- 
 nity and duration of thinking beings, have im- 
 printed an idea of moral excellence on the 
 minds of men, are most eminent benefactors 
 to human nature; and however overlooked m 
 the loud and thoughtless applauses that are 
 every day bestowed on the slaughterers and 
 disturbers of mankind, yet they will never 
 want the esteem and approbation of the wise 
 and virtuou?. 
 
 This apologv in behalf of the speculative 
 part of mankind, who make useful truth the 
 end of their being, and its acquisition the bu- 
 siness as well as entertainment of their lives, 
 seems not improper, in order to rectify the 
 mistake of those who measure merit by noise 
 and outward appearance, and are too apt to 
 depreciate and ridicule men of thought and 
 retirement. The raillery and reproaches which 
 are thrown on that species by those who 
 abound in the animal life, would incline one to 
 think the world not sufficiently convinced that 
 whatsoever is good or excellent proceeds from 
 leason and reflection. 
 
 Even those who only regard truth as such, 
 without communicating their thoughts, or ap- 
 plying them to practice, will seem worthy 
 members of the commonwealth, if we compare 
 the innocence and tranquillity with which 
 they pass their lives, with the fraud and im- 
 pertinence of other men. But the number of 
 those who by abstracted thoughts become use- 
 less, is inconsiderable in respect of them who 
 are hurtful to mankind by an active and rest- 
 less disposition. 
 
 As in the distribution of other things, so in 
 this the wisdom of Providence appears, that 
 men addicted to intellectual pursuits bear a 
 small proportion to those who rejoice in ex- 
 erting the force and activity of their corporeal 
 organs ; for operations of the latter sort are 
 limited to a narrow extent of time and place, 
 
 whereas those of the mind are permanent and 
 universal. Plato and Euclid enjoy a sort of 
 immortality upon earth, and at this day read 
 lectures to the world. 
 
 But h to inform the understanding, and 
 regulate the will, is the most lasting and dif- 
 fusive benefit, there will not be found so useful 
 and excellent an institution as that of the Chris- 
 tian priesthood, which is now become the 
 scorn of fools. That a numerous order of men 
 should be consecrated to the study of the most 
 sublime and beneficial truths, with a design 
 to propagate them by their discourses and wri- 
 tings, to inform their fellow-creatures of the 
 being and attributes of the Deity, to possess 
 their minds with the sense of a future state, and 
 not only to explain the nature of every virtue 
 and moral duty, but likewise to persuade 
 mankind to the practice of them by the most 
 powerful and engaging motives, is a thing so 
 excellent and necessary to the well-being of 
 the world, that nobody but a modern free- 
 thinker could have the forehead or folly to turn 
 it into ridicule. 
 
 The light in which these points should be 
 exposed to the view of one who is prejudiced 
 against the names, religion, church, priest, and 
 the like, is to consider the clergy as so many 
 philosophers, the churches as schools, and their 
 sermons as lectures, for the information and 
 improvement of the audience. How would the 
 heart of Socrates or Tully have rejoiced, had 
 they lived in a nation where the law had made 
 provision for philosophers to read lectures of 
 morality and theology every seventh day, in 
 several thousands of schools erected at the 
 public charge throughout the whole country ; 
 at which lectures all ranks and sexes, without 
 distinction, were obliged to be present for 
 their general improvement ! And what wicked 
 wretches would they think those men who 
 would endeavour to defeat the purpose of so 
 divine an institution ? 
 
 It is indeed usual with that low tribe of 
 writers, to pretend their design is only to reform 
 the church, and expose the vices, and not the 
 order of the clergy. The author of a pamphlet 
 printed the other day (which without my 
 mentioning the title, will on this occasion oc- 
 cur to the thoughts of those who have read it) 
 hopes to insinuate by that artifice what he is 
 afraid or ashamed openly to maintain. But 
 there are two points which clearly show what 
 it is he aims at. The first is, that he con- 
 stantly uses the word priests in such a man- 
 ner, as that his reader cannot but observe he 
 means to throw an odium on the clergy of the 
 church of England, from their being called by 
 a name which they enjoy in common with hea- 
 thens and impostors. The other is, his raking 
 together and exaggerating, with great spleen 
 and industry, all those actions of churchmen, 
 which, either by their own illness, or the bad 
 
192 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 I No. 130. 
 
 light in which he places them, tend to give 
 men an ill impression of the dispensers of the 
 gospel ; all which he pathetically addresses to 
 the consideration of his wise and honest coun- 
 trymen of the laity. The sophistry and ill- 
 breeding of these proceedings are so obvious 
 to men who have any pretence to that cha- 
 racter, that 1 need say no more either of them 
 or their author. 
 
 The inhabitants of the earth may properly 
 be ranged under the two general heads of gen- 
 tlemen and mechanics. This distinction arises 
 from the different occupations wherein they 
 exert themselves. The former of these species 
 is universally acknowledged to be more honour- 
 able than the other, who are looked upon as a 
 base and inferior order of men. But if the 
 world is in the right in this natural judgment, 
 it is not generally so in the distribution of 
 particular persons under their respective de- 
 nominations. It is a clear settled point, that 
 the gentleman should be preferred to the me- 
 chanic. But who is the gentleman, and who 
 the mechanic, wants to be explained. 
 
 The philosophers distinguish two parts in 
 human nature; the rational, and the animal. 
 Now, if we attend to the reason of the thing, 
 we shall find it difficult to assign a more just 
 and adequate idea of these distinct species, 
 than by defining the gentleman to be him 
 whose occupation lies in the exertion of his 
 rational faculties ; and the mechanic, him who 
 is employed in the use of his animal parts, or 
 the organic parts of his body. 
 
 The concurring assent of the world, in pre- 
 ferring gentlemen to mechanics seems founded 
 in that preference which the rational part of 
 our nature is entitled to above the animal ; 
 when we consider it in itself, as it is the seat 
 of wisdom and understanding, as it is pure 
 and immortal, and as it is that which, of all 
 the known works of the creation, bears the 
 brightest impress of the Deity. 
 
 It claims thesame dignity and pre-eminence, 
 if we consider it with respect to its object. 
 Mechanical motives or operations are confined 
 to a narrow circle of low and little things : 
 whereas reason inquires concerning the nature 
 of intellectual beings, the great author of our 
 existence, its end, and the proper methods of 
 attaining it. Or, in case that noble faculty 
 submit itself to nearer ohjects, it is not, like 
 the organic powers, confined to a slow and 
 painful manner of action; but shifts the scenes, 
 and applies itself to the most distant objects 
 with incredible ease and despatch. Neither 
 are the operations of the mind, like those of 
 the hands, limited to one individual object, but 
 at once extended to a whole species. 
 
 And as we have shown the intellectual 
 powt FS to be nolder than those of motion, both | 
 in their own nature, and in regard to their 
 kbjectj the same will still hold if we consider | 
 
 their office. It is the province of the former 
 to preside and direct ; of the latter, to execute 
 and obey. Those who apply their hands to 
 the materials appear the immediate builders 
 of an edifice; but the beauty and proportion 
 of it is owing to the architect, who designed 
 the plan in his closet. And in like manner, 
 whatever there is either in art or nature of use 
 or regularity, will be found to proceed from 
 the superior principle of reason and under- 
 standing. These reflections, how obvious soever, 
 do nevertheless seem not sufficiently attended 
 to by those who, being at great pains to im- 
 prove the figure and motions of the body, 
 neglect the culture of the mind. 
 
 From the premises it follows, that a man 
 may descend from an ancient family, wear fine 
 clothes, and be master of what is commonly 
 called good-breeding, and yet not merit the 
 name of gentleman. All those whose principal 
 accomplishments consist in the exertion of the 
 mechanic powers, whether the organ made use 
 of be the eye, the muscles of the face, the 
 fingers, feet, or any other part, are in the eye 
 of reason to be esteemed mechanics. 
 
 I do therefore, by these presents, declare, 
 that all men and women, by what title soever 
 distinguished, whose occupation it is either to 
 ogle with the eye, flirt with the fan, dress, 
 cringe, adjust the muscles of the face, or other 
 parts of the body, are degraded from the rank 
 of gentry ; which is from this time forward 
 appropriated to those who employ the talents 
 of the mind in the pursuit of knowledge and 
 practice of virtue, and are content to take 
 their places as they are distinguished by mora, 
 and intellectual accomplishments. 
 
 The rest of the human species come under 
 the appellation of mechanics, with this dif- 
 ference, that the professed mechanics, who, not 
 pretending to be gentlemen, contain themselves 
 within their proper sphere, are necessary tc 
 the well-being of mankind, and consequently 
 should be more respected in a well-regulated 
 commonwealth, than those mechanics who 
 make a merit of being useless. 
 
 Having hitherto considered the human species 
 as distinguished into gentlemen and mecha- 
 nics, I come now to treat of the machines ; a 
 sort of beings that have the outside or appear- 
 ance of men, without being really such. The 
 free-thinkers have often declared to the world, 
 that they are not actuated by any incorporeal 
 being or spirit ; but that all the operations 
 they exert, proceed from the collision of certain 
 corpuscles, endued with proper figures and 
 motions. It is now a considerable time that 
 1 have been their proselyte in this point. I am 
 even so far convinced that they are in the right, 
 that I shall attempt proving it to others. 
 The min.l being itself invisible, there is no 
 iv to discern its existence, than by the 
 which it produced). Where design, 
 
No. 131.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 l'JS. 
 
 order, and symmetry, are visible in the effects, 
 we conclude the cause to be an intelligent 
 being; but where nothing of these can be 
 found, we ascribe the effect to hazard, neces- 
 sity, or the like. Now I appeal to any one 
 who is conversant in the modern productions 
 of our free-thinkers, if they do not look rather 
 like effects of chance, or at best of mechanism, 
 than of a thinking principle, and consequently, 
 whether the authors of those rhapsodies are 
 not mere machines. 
 
 ;The same point is likewise evident from their 
 own assertion ; it being plain that no one could 
 mistake thought for motion, who knew what 
 thought was. For these reasons I do hereby 
 give it in charge to all Christians, that here- 
 after they speak of free-thinkers in the neuter 
 gender, using the term k for him. They 
 are to be considered as automata, made up of 
 bones and muscles, nerves, arteries, and ani- 
 mal spirits ; not so innocent, indeed, but as 
 destitute of thought and reason, as those little 
 machines which the excellent author from 
 whom 1 take the motto of this paper, has so 
 elegantly described. 
 
 No. 131.] Tuesday, August 11, 1713. 
 
 Iter pigrorum quasi sepes spinarnm. 
 
 Ex. Latin. Prov. 
 
 The way of the slothful man is a hedge of thorns. 
 
 Proverbs, xv. iQ. 
 
 There are two sorts of persons within the 
 consideration of my frontispiece ; the first are 
 the mighty body of lingerers, persons who do 
 not indeed employ their time criminally, but 
 are such pretty innocents, who, as the poet 
 says, 
 
 waste away 
 
 In gmtle inactivity the day. 
 
 The others being something more vivacious, 
 are such as do not only omit to spend their time 
 well, but are in the constant pursuit of cri- 
 minal satisfactions. Whatever the divine may 
 think, the case of the first seems to be the 
 most deplorable, as the habit of sloth is more 
 invincible than that of vice. The first is pre- 
 ferred even when the man is fully possessed of 
 himself, and submitted to with constant de- 
 liberation, and cool thought. The other we 
 are driven into generally through the heat of 
 wine, or youth, which Mr. Hobbes calls a na- 
 tural drunkenness ; and therefore consequently 
 are more excusable for any errors committed 
 during the deprivation or suspension of our 
 reason, than in the possession of it. The irre- 
 gular starts of vicious appetites are in time 
 destroyed by the gratification of them ; but a 
 well-ordered life of sloth receives daily strength 
 from its continuance. ' I went (says Solomon 
 by the field of the slothful, and the vineyard 
 
 of the man void of understanding ; and Io ! it 
 was all grown over with thorns, and nettles 
 had covered the face thereof, and the stone 
 wall thereof was broken down.' To raise the 
 image of this person, the same author adds, 
 ' The slothful man hideth his hand in his bosom, 
 and it grieveth him to bring it again to his 
 mouth.' If there were no future account ex- 
 pected of spending our time, the immediate 
 inconvenience that attends a life of idleness 
 should of itself be persuasion enough to the 
 men of sense to avoid it. I say to the men of 
 sense, because there are of these that give in to 
 it, and for these chiefly is this paper designed. 
 Arguments drawn from future rewards and 
 punishments, are things too remote for the 
 consideration of stubborn sanguine youth. 
 They are affected by such only as propose im- 
 mediate pleasure or pain ; as the strongest 
 persuasive to the children of Israel was a land 
 flowing with milk and honey. I believe I may 
 say there is more toil, fatigue, and uneasiness 
 in sloth, than can be found in any employment 
 a man will put himself upon. When a thought- 
 ful man is once fixed this way, spleen is the 
 necessary consequence. This directs him in- 
 stantly to the contemplation of his health or 
 circumstances, which must ever be found ex- 
 tremely bad upon these melancholy inquiries. 
 If he has any common business upon his 
 hands, numberless objections arise, that make 
 the despatch of it impossible ; and he cries out 
 with Solomon, ' There is a lion in the way, a 
 lion in the streets ;' that is, there is some diffi- 
 culty or other, which to his imagination is as 
 invincible as a lion really would be. The man, 
 on the contrary, that applies himself to books, 
 or business, contracts a cheerful confidence in 
 all his undertakings, from the daily improve- 
 ments of his knowledge or fortune, and instead 
 of giving himself up to 
 
 ' Thick-ey'd musing cursed melancholy' 
 
 Shakspeat e 
 
 has that constant life in his visage and conver- 
 sation, which the idle splenetic man borrows 
 sometimes from the sunshine, exercise, or an 
 agreeable friend. A recluse idle sobriety must 
 be attended with more bitter remorse, than 
 the most active debauchery can at any inter- 
 vals be molested with. The rake, if he is a 
 cautious manager, will allow himself very little 
 time to examine his own conduct, and will 
 bestow as few reflections upon himself, as the 
 lingerer does upon any thing else, unless he has 
 the misfortune to repent. I repeat the mis- 
 fortune to repent, because I have put the great 
 day of account out of the present case, and 
 am now inquiring, not whose life is most irre- 
 ligious, but most inconvenient. A gentleman 
 that has formerly been a very eminent lingerer 
 and something splenetic, informs me, that in 
 one winter he drank six hampers of Spa-water, 
 several gallons of chalybeate tincture, two 
 2 B 
 
i\M 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 131 
 
 hogsheads of bitters, at the rate of sixty pounds 
 a hogshead, laid one hundred and fifty infal- 
 lible schemes, in every one of which he was 
 disappointed, received a thousand affronts du- 
 ring the north-easterly winds, and in short, run 
 through more misery and expense, than the 
 most meritorious bravo could boastof. Another 
 tells me, that he fell into this way at the uni- 
 versity, where the youth are too apt to be lulled 
 into a state of such tranquillity as prejudices 
 them against the bustle of that worldly busi- 
 ness, for which this part of their education 
 should prepare them. As he could with the 
 utmost secrecy be idle in his own chamber, he 
 says he was for some years irrecoverably sunk, 
 and immersed in the luxury of an easy-chair, 
 though at the same time, in the general opi- 
 nion, he passed for a hard student. During 
 this lethargy he had some intervals of applica- 
 tion to books, which rather aggravated than 
 suspended the painful thoughts of a misspent 
 life. Thus his supposed relief became his 
 punishment, and, like the damned in Milton, 
 upon their conveyance at certain revolutions 
 from fire to ice, 
 
 ■— ' He iV It by turns the bilter change 
 
 Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce.' 
 
 When he had a mind to go out, he was so 
 scrupulous as to form some excuse or other 
 which the idle are ever provided with, and 
 could not satisfy himself without this ridi- 
 culous appearance of justice. Sometimes by 
 his own contrivance and insinuation, the wo- 
 man that looked after his chamber would 
 convince him of the necessity of washing his 
 room, or any other matter of the like joyous 
 import, to which he always submitted, after 
 having decently opposed it, and made his exit 
 with much seeming reluctance, and inward 
 delight. Thus did he pass the noon of his life 
 in the solitude of a monk, and the guilt of a 
 libertine. He is since awakened, by application, 
 out of slumber ; has no more spleen than a 
 Dutchman, who, as sir W. Temple observes, 
 is not delicate or idle enough to suffer from 
 this enemy, but * is always well when he is not 
 ill, always pleased when he is not angry.' 
 
 There is a gentleman I have seen at a 
 coffee-house, near the place of my abode, who 
 having a pretty good estate, and a disinclina- 
 tion to books or business, to secure himself 
 from some of the above-mentioned misfortunes, 
 employs himself with much alacrity in the fol- 
 lowing method. Being vehemently disposed 
 to loquacity, he has a person constantly with 
 him, to whom he gives an annual pension for 
 no other merit but being very attentive, and 
 never interrupting him by question and answer, 
 whatever he may utter that may seemingly 
 require it. To secure to himself discourse, his 
 fundamental maxim stems to be, by no means 
 to consider what he is going to say. lie de- 
 
 livers therefore every thought as it first intrudes 
 itself upon him, and then, with all the freedom 
 you could wish, will examine it, and rally the 
 impertinence, or evince the truth of it. In 
 short, he took the same pleasure in confuting 
 himself, as he could have done in discomfiting 
 an opponent: and his discourse was as that of 
 two persons attacking each other with exceed- 
 ing warmth, incoherence, and good nature. 
 There is another, whom I have seen iu the 
 park, employing himself with the same in- 
 dustry, though not with the same innocence. 
 He is very dexterous in taking flies, and fixing 
 one at each end of a horse hair, which his 
 perriwig supplies him with. He hangs them 
 over a little stick, which suspension inclines 
 them immediately to war upon each other, 
 there being no possibility of retreat. From 
 the frequent attention of his eyes to these 
 combats, he perceives the several turns and 
 advantages of the battle, which are altogether 
 invisible to a common spectator. 1 the other 
 day found him in the enjoyment of a couple 
 of gigantic blue-bottles, which were hung out 
 and embattled in the aforesaid warlike appoint- 
 ments. That 1 might enter into the secret 
 shocks of this conflict, he lent me a magnify- 
 ing glass, which presented me with an engage- 
 ment between two of the most rueful monsters 
 I have ever read of even in romance. 
 
 If we cannot bring ourselves to appoint and 
 perform such tasks as would be of considerable 
 advantage to us, let us resolve upon some 
 other, however trifling, to be performed at ap- 
 pointed times. By this we may gain a victory 
 over a wandering unsettled mind, and by this 
 regulation of the impulse of our wills, may in 
 time, make them obedient to the dictates of 
 our reason. 
 
 When 1 am disposed to treat of the ir religion 
 of an idle life, it shall be under this head, pe- 
 reant ct imputantur : which is an inscription 
 upon a sun-dial in one of the inns of court, 
 and is with great propriety placed to public 
 view in such a place, where the inhabitants 
 being in an everlasting hurry of business or 
 pleasure, the busy may receive an innocent 
 admonition to keep theh' appointments, and 
 the idle a dreadful one not to keep theirs. 
 
 Mlt. lUONSIIH", Augn-t 10, 1713. 
 
 1 1 am obliged to you for inserting my let t if 
 concerning the demolition of Dunkirk in your 
 paper of the seventh instant ; but you will 
 find, upon perusal, that you have printed the 
 word three where you should have printed 
 the word two ; which I desire you would 
 amend by inserting the whole paragraph, and 
 that which immediately follows it, in your very 
 next paper. The paragraph runs thus : 
 
 " The very common people know, that within 
 two months after the signing of the peace the 
 works towards the sea were to be demolished, 
 
No. 132.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 195 
 
 and within three months after it, the works 
 towards the land. 
 
 " That the said peace was signed the last of 
 March, O. S." 
 
 ' 1 beg pardon for giving you so much trouble, 
 
 which was only to avoid mistakes, having been 
 
 very much abused by some whiggish senseless 
 
 fellows, that give out I am for the Pretender. 
 
 ' Your most humble servant, 
 
 'ENGLISH TORY.' 
 
 No. 132.] Wednesday, August 12, 1713. 
 Qnisqne snos patimur manes- 
 
 All have their manes 
 
 MR. IRONSIDE, 
 
 Virg. Ma. vi. 743. 
 Dry den. 
 
 * The following letter was really written by 
 a young gentlemen in a languishing illness, 
 which both himself, and those who attended 
 him, thought it impossible for him to outlive. 
 If you think such an image of the state of a 
 man's mind in that circumstance be worth 
 publishing, it is at your service, and take it as 
 follows : 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 " You formerly observed to me, that nothing 
 made a more ridiculous figure in a man's life, 
 than the disparity we often find in him, sick 
 and well. Thus one of an unfortunate con- 
 stitution is perpetually exhibiting a miserable 
 example of the weakness of his mind, or of his 
 body, in their turns. I have had frequent op- 
 portunities of late to consider myself in these 
 different views, and hope I have received some 
 advantage by it. If what Mr. Waller says be 
 true, that, 
 
 ' The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, 
 Lets L. new light thro' chinks that time has made :' 
 
 " Then surely sickness, contributing no less 
 than old age to the shaking down this scaf- 
 folding of the body, may discover the inclosed 
 structure more plainly. Sickness is a sort of 
 early old age ; it teaches us a diffidence in our 
 earthly state, and inspires us with the thoughts 
 of a future, better than a thousand volumes of 
 philosophers and divines. It gives so warning 
 a concussion to those props of our vanity, our 
 strength and youth, that we think of fortifying 
 ourselves within, when there is so little de- 
 pendence on our outworks. Youth at the very 
 best, is but a betrayer of human life in a gen- 
 tler and smoother manner than age. It is like 
 a stream that nourishes a plant upon its bank, 
 and causes it to flourish and blossom to the 
 sight, but at the same time is undermining it 
 at the root in secret. My youth has dealt 
 more fairly and openly with me. It has af- 
 forded several prospects of my danger, and 
 given me an advantage not very common to 
 young men, that the attractions of the world 
 
 have not dazzled me very much j and I began 
 where most people end, with a full conviction 
 of the emptiness of all sorts of ambition, and 
 the unsatisfactory nature of all human plea- 
 sures. 
 
 " When a smart fit of sickness tells me this 
 scurvy tenement of my body will fall in a little 
 time, I am even as unconcerned as was that 
 honest Hibernian, who (being in bed in the 
 great storm some years ago, and told the house 
 would tumble over his head) made answer, 
 ' What care I for the house? I am only a 
 lodger.', I fancy it is the best time to die, 
 when one is in the best humour: and so ex- 
 cessively weak as I now am, I may say with 
 conscience, that I am not at all uneasy at the 
 thought that many men, whom I never had 
 any esteem for, are likely to enjoy this world 
 after me. When I reflect what an inconsider- 
 able little atom every single man is, with re- 
 spect to the whole creation, methinks it is a 
 shame to be concerned at the removal of such 
 a trivial animal as I am. The morning after 
 my exit, the sun will arise as bright as ever, 
 the flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring as 
 green, the world will proceed in its old course, 
 people will laugh as heartily, and marry as 
 fast, as they were used to do. ' The memory 
 of man,' as it is elegantly expressed in the 
 Wisdom of Solomon, ' passeth away as the 
 remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but one 
 day.' There are reasons enough, in the fourth 
 chapter of the same book, to make any young 
 man contented with the prospect of death. 
 ( For honourable age is not that which standeth 
 in length of time, or is measured by number 
 of years. But wisdom is the grey hair to men, 
 and an unspotted life is old age.' He was 
 taken away speedily, lest that " wickedness 
 should alter his understanding, or deceit be- 
 guile his soul.' 
 
 " I am, yours." 
 
 ' To Nestor Ironside, Esq. greeting. 
 
 • OLD DAD. 
 
 * I am so happy as to be the husband of a 
 woman that never is in the wrong, and yet is 
 at continual war with every body, especially 
 with all her servants, and myself. As to her 
 maids, she never fails of having at least a dozen 
 or fourteen in each year, yet never has above 
 one at a time, and the last that comes is always 
 the worst that ever she had in her life ; altho' 
 they have given very good content in better 
 families than mine for several years together. 
 Not that she has the pleasure of turning them 
 away, but she does so ferrit them about, 
 " Forsooth" and Mistress" them up, and 
 so find fault with every thing they do, and 
 talks to them so loud and so long, that they 
 either give her immediate warning, or march 
 off without any wages at all. So that through 
 her great zeal and care to make them better 
 
i or, 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 , r No. 133. 
 
 servants than any in the world, and their ob- 
 stinacy in being no better than they can, our 
 house is a sort of Bedlam, and nothing in order ; 
 for by that time a maid comes to know where 
 things stand, whip, she is gone, and so we 
 have not another in four or five days, and this 
 all the year round. As to myself, all the world 
 believes me to be one of the best of husbands, 
 and I am of the world's mind, until my dear 
 Patient Grizzle comes to give her opinion about 
 me, and then you would believe I am as bad as 
 her maids. Oh, Mr. Ironside, never was a wo- 
 man used as she is. The world does not think 
 how unhappy she is ! I am a wolf in sheep's 
 clothing. And then her neighbours are so ill- 
 natured, that they refuse to suffer her to say 
 what she pleases of their families, without 
 either returning her compliments, or with- 
 drawing from her oratory ; so that the poor 
 woman has scarcely any society abroad, nor 
 any comfort at home, and all through the sau- 
 ciness of servants, and the unkindness of a hus- 
 band that is so cruel to her, as to desire her to 
 be quiet. But she is coming. I am in haste, 
 ' Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ■ NICHOLAS EARRING.' 
 
 « SIR, 
 ' I hope you will not endure this dumb club, 
 for I am the unlucky spouse of one of those 
 gentlemen : and when my dear comes from 
 this joyless society, I am an impertinent, noisy 
 rattie-snake, my maid is a saucy sow, the man 
 is a thick-skull puppy, and founders like a 
 horse ; my cook is a tasteless ass ; and if a 
 child cry, the maid is a careless bear : If I have 
 company, they are a parcel of chattering mag- 
 pies ; if abroad, I am a gaggling goose ; when 
 1 return, you are a fine gallopper; women, 
 like cats, should keep the house. This is a 
 frequent sentence with him. Consider some 
 remedy against a temper that seldom speaks, 
 and then speaks only unkindness. This will 
 be a relief to all those miserable women who 
 are married to the worst of tempers, the sullen, 
 more especially to 
 
 ' Your distressed appellant, 
 
 ' GOODY dump: 
 
 ' FRIIiND NESTOR, 
 1 Our brother Tremble having lately given 
 thee wholesome advice concerning tuckers, I 
 ?cnd thee a word of counsel touching thyself. 
 Verily thou hast found great favour with the 
 godly sifters. I have read in that mysterious 
 book called /Ksop's Fables, how once upon a 
 time an ass arrayed himself in the skin of a 
 lion, thereby designing to appear as one of the 
 mighty. But behold the vanity of this world 
 
 • :is found light, the spirit of untruth became 
 altogether naked. When the vainglorious ani- 
 mal opened liis jaws to roar, the lewd voice 
 .1 m ass braying was heard in the mountains. 
 
 Friend, friend, let the moral of this sink deep 
 
 into thy mind \ the more thou ponderest there- 
 on, the fitter thou wilt become for the fellow- 
 ship of the faithful. We have every day more 
 and more hopes of thee ; but between thee and 
 me, when thou art converted thou must take 
 to thee a scripture name. One of thy writing 
 brethren bore a very good name, he was en- 
 titled Isaac, but now sleepeth. Jacob suiteth 
 thy bookseller well. Verily Nestor soundeth 
 Babylonish in the ears of thy well-wisher and 
 constant reader, 
 The third day of the week, ' RUTH PRIM.' 
 
 profanely called Tuesday. 
 
 ' Notwithstanding your grave advice to the 
 fair sex not to lay the beauties of their necks 
 so open, I find they mind you so little, that we 
 young men are in as much danger as ever. 
 Yesterday, about seven in the evening, I took 
 a turn with a gentleman just come to town, 
 in a public walk. We had not walked above 
 two rounds, when the spark on a sudden pre- 
 tended weariness, and as I importuned him to 
 stay longer, he turned short, and pointing to 
 a celebrated beauty: " What," said he, M do 
 you think I am made of, that I should bear 
 the sight of such snowy breasts! Oh, she is 
 intolerably handsome ! " Upon this we parted, 
 and 1 resolved to take a little more air in the 
 garden, yet avoid the danger, by casting my 
 eyes downwards : but to my unspeakable sur- 
 prise, I discovered, in the same fair creature,' 
 the finest ankle and prettiest foot that ever 
 fancy imagined. If the petticoats, as well as 
 the stays, thus diminish, what shall we do, 
 dear Nestor ? If it is neither safe to look at 
 the head nor the feet of the charmer, whither 
 shall we direct our eyes? I need not trouble 
 you with any further description of her, but 
 I beg you would consider that your wards are 
 frail and mortal. 
 
 ' Your most obedient servant. 
 
 « EPIMETRIUS.' 
 
 No. 133!] Thursday, August 13, 1713. 
 
 Oh, fatal love of fame ! Oh, glorious heat, 
 Only destructive to the brave and great. 
 
 Addison's Campaign. 
 
 The letters which I published in the Guar- 
 dian of Saturday last, are written with such 
 spirit and greatness of mind, that they had 
 excited a great curiosity in my lady Lizard s 
 family, to know what occasioned a quarrel be- 
 twixt the two brave men who wrote them ; and 
 what was the event of their combat. I found 
 the family the other day listening in a circle 
 to Mr. William, the templar,'who was inform- 
 ing the ladies of the ceremonies used in the 
 single combat, when the kings of England 
 permitted such trials to be performed in their 
 presence. He took occasion from the change 
 
No. 133.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 of such judicial proceedings, to relate a cus- 
 tom used in a certain pact of India, to deter- 
 mine lawsuits, which he produced as a parallel 
 to the single combat. The custom is, * That 
 the plaintiff and defendant are thrown into a 
 river, where each endeavours to keep under 
 water as long as he is able ; and he who comes 
 up first loses the cause.' The author adds, 
 * that if they had no other way of deciding 
 controversies in Europe, the lawyers might e'en 
 throw themselves in after them.' 
 
 The mirth occasioned by this Indian law did 
 not hinder the ladies from reflecting still more 
 upon the above-named letters. 1 found they 
 had agreed, that it must be a mistress which 
 caused the duel ; and Mrs. Cornelia had already 
 settled in her mind the fashion of their anus, 
 their colours, and devices. My lady only asked 
 with a sigh, if either of the combatants had a 
 wife and children. 
 
 In order to give them what satisfaction I 
 could, I looked over my papers ; and though 
 I could not find the occasion of the difference, 
 I shall present the world with an authentic 
 account of the fight, written by the surviver 
 to a courtier. The gallant behaviour of the 
 combatants may serve to raise in our minds 
 a yet higher detestation of that false honour 
 which robs our country of men so fitted to sup- 
 port and adorn it. 
 
 Sir Edward Sackvilles relation of the fight 
 betwixt hint and the lord Bruce. 
 
 ' WORTHY SIR, 
 
 ' As I am not ignorant, so ought I to be sen- 
 sible of the false aspersions some authorless 
 tongues have laid upon me, in the report of 
 the unfortunate passage lately happened be- 
 tween the lord Bruce and myself, which as 
 they are spread here, so I may justly fear they 
 reign also where you are. There are but two 
 ways to resolve doubts of this nature ; by oath 
 or by sword. The first is due to magistrates, and 
 communicable to friends ; the other to such 
 as maliciously slander and impudently defend 
 their assertion. Your love, not my merit, assure 
 me you hold me your friend, which esteem I 
 am much desirous to retain. Do me therefore 
 the right to understand the truth of that ; and 
 in my behalf inform others, who either are, or 
 may be infected with sinister rumours, much 
 prejudicial to that fair opinion I desire to hold 
 amongst all worthy persons. And on the faith 
 of a gentleman, the relation I shall give is 
 neither more nor less than the bare truth. 
 The inclosed contains the first citation, sent 
 me from Paris by a Scotch gentleman, who 
 delivered it to me in Derbyshire at my father- 
 in-law's house. After it follows my then an- 
 swer, returned him by the same bearer. The 
 next is my accomplishment of my first promise, 
 being a particular assignation of place and 
 weapons, which I sent by a servant of mine, 
 
 by post from Rotterdam, as soon as I landed 
 there. The receipt of which, joined *itn an 
 acknowledgement of my too fair carriage to 
 the deceased lord, is testified by the last, which 
 periods the business until we met at Tergosa 
 in Zealand, it being the place allotted for ren- 
 dezvous ; where he, accompanied with one 
 Mr. Crawford, an English gentleman, for his 
 second, a surgeon, and a man, arrived with all 
 the speed he could. And there having ren- 
 dered himself, I addressed my second, sir John 
 Heidon, to let him understand, that now all 
 following should be done by consent, as con- 
 cerning the terms whereon we should fight, as 
 also the place. To our seconds we gave power 
 for their appointments, who agreed we should 
 go to Antwerp, from thence to Bergen-op- 
 Zoom, where in the midway but a village di- 
 vides the States' territories from the archduke's. 
 And there was the destined stage, to the end 
 that having ended, he that could, might pre- 
 sently exempt himself from the justice of the 
 country, by retiring into the dominion not 
 offended. It was farther concluded, that in 
 case any should fall or slip, that then the com- 
 bat should cease, and he whose ill fortune had 
 so subjected him, was to acknowledge his life 
 to have been in the other's hands. But in case 
 one party's sword should break, because that 
 could only chance by hazard, it was agreed 
 that the other should take no advantage, but 
 either then be made friends, or else upon even 
 terms go to it again. Thus these ccnclusions 
 being each of them related to his party, was 
 by us both approved, and assented to. Accord- 
 ingly we embarked for Antwerp. And by rea- 
 son my lord as I concieve, because he could 
 not handsomely without danger or discovery, 
 had not paired the sword I sent him to Paris; 
 bringing one of the same length, but twice as 
 broad ; my second excepted against it, and ad- 
 vised me to match my own, and send him the 
 choice, which I obeyed; it being, you know, 
 the challenger's privilege to elect his weapon. 
 At the delivery of the sword, which was per- 
 formed by sir John Heidon, it pleased the lord 
 Bruce to choose my own, and then, past ex- 
 pectation, he told him that he found himself 
 so far behind-hand, as a little of my blood would 
 not serve his turn ; and therefore he was now 
 resolved to have me alone, because he knew 
 (for I will use his own words) " that so worthy 
 a gentleman, and my friend, could not endure 
 to stand by and see him do that which he must, 
 to satisfy himself and his honour." Hereupon 
 sir John Heidon replied, that such intentions 
 were bloody and butcherly, far unfitting so 
 noble a personage, who should desire to bleed 
 for reputation, not for life ; withal adding, he 
 thought himself injured, being come thus far, 
 now to be prohibited from executing those 
 honourable offices he came for. The lord for 
 answer, only reiterated his former resolutions ; 
 
I'JS 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 131, 
 
 "hereupon, tir John leaving him the sword he 
 bad elected, delivered me the other, with his 
 determinations The which, not for matter, 
 but manner, bo nnved me, as though to my 
 remembrance, I had not of a long while eaten 
 mere liberally tbau at dinner, and therefore 
 unfit for such an action (seeing the surgeons 
 hold ;t wound upon a full stomach much more 
 dangerous than otherwise) I requested my 
 second to certify him, I would presently decide 
 the difference, and therefore he should pre- 
 sently meet me on horseback, only waited on by 
 our surgeons, they heing unarmed. Together 
 we rode, but one before the other, some twelve 
 score, about two English miles : and then, 
 passion having so weak an enemy to assail, 
 as my direction, easily became victor, and 
 using his power, made me obedient to his 
 commands. I being verily mad with anger 
 the lord Bruce should thirst after my life with 
 a kind of assuredness, seeing 1 had come so far 
 and needlessly, to give him leave to regain his 
 lost reputation ; I bade him alight, which with 
 all willingness he quickly granted, and there 
 in a meadow ankle deep in water at the least, 
 bidding farewell to our doublets, in our shirts 
 began to charge each other ; having afore com- 
 manded our surgeons to withdraw themselves 
 a pretty distance from us, conjuring them be- 
 sides, as they respected our favours, or their 
 own safeties, not to stir, but suffer us to exe- 
 cute our pleasures : we being fully resolved 
 (God forgive us ! ) to despatch each other by 
 what means we could ; I made a thrust at my 
 enemy, but was short, and in drawing back 
 my arm I received a 'great wound thereon, 
 which I interpreted as a reward for my short 
 shooting ; but in revenge I pressed in to him, 
 though I then missed him also, and then re- 
 ceived a wound in my right pap, which passed 
 level through my body, and almost to my back. 
 And there we wrestled for the two greatest and 
 dearest prizes we could ever expect trial for, 
 honour and life. In which struggling my hand,, 
 having but an ordinary glove on it, lost one of 
 her servants, though the meanest, which hung 
 by a skin, and to sight yet remaineth as before, 
 and I am put in hope one day to recover the 
 use of it again. But at last, breathless, yet 
 keeping our holds, there passed on both sides 
 propositions of quitting each other's sword. 
 But when amity was dead, confidence could 
 not Jive ; and who should quit first was the 
 question; which on neither part either would 
 perform, and restriving again afresh, with a kick 
 and a wrench together, I freed my long cap- 
 tivated weapon. Which incontinently levying 
 at his throat, being master still of his, I de- 
 manded, if he would ask his life, or yield his 
 sword ; both which, though in that imminent 
 danger, he bravely denied to do. Myself being 
 wounded, and feeling loss of blood, having 
 three conduits running on me, began to make 
 
 me faint ; and he courageously persisting not 
 to accord to either of my propositions ; re- 
 membrance of his former bloody desire, and 
 feeling of ray present estate, 1 struck at his 
 heart, but vi iih his avoiding missed my aim, yet 
 passed through the body, and drawing through 
 my sword re-passed it through again, through 
 another place ; when he cried " Oh, 1 am slain !" 
 seconding his speech with all the force he had 
 to cast me. But being too weak, after 1 had 
 defended his assault, 1 easily became master of 
 him, laying him on his back ; when being upon 
 | him, I redemauded if he would request his life, 
 but it seemed he prized it not at so dear a rate 
 i to be beholding for it, bravely replying " he 
 5 scorned it." Which answer of his was so noble 
 j and worthy, as I protest I could not find in my 
 5 heart to offer him any more violence, only 
 \ keeping him down until at length his surgeon 
 afar off, cried out," be would immediately die 
 if his wounds were not stopped." Whereupon 
 I asked if he desired his surgeon should come, 
 which he accepted of; and so being drawn 
 away, I never offered to take his sword, ac- 
 counting it inhuman to rob a dead man, for so 
 I held him to be. This thus ended, I retired 
 to my surgeon, in whose arms after I had re- 
 mained a while for want of blood, I lost my 
 sight, and withal as 1 then thought, my life 
 also. But strong water and his diligence 
 quickly recovered me, when I escaped a great 
 danger. For my lord's surgeon, when nobody 
 dreamt of it, came full at me with his lord's 
 sword; and had not mine with my sword in- 
 terposed himself, I had been slain by those base 
 hands: although my lord Bruce, weltering in 
 his blood, and past all expectation of life, con- 
 formable to all his former carriage, which was 
 undoubtedly noble, cried out " Rascal ! hold 
 thy hand." So may 1 prosper as I have dealt 
 sincerely with you in this relation ; which I 
 pray you, with the inclosed letter, deliver to 
 my lord chamberlain. And so, &c. 
 ' Yours, 
 Louvain, « EDWARD SACKVILLE.' 
 
 the 8th of Sept. 1613. 
 
 No. 134.] Friday, August 14, 1713. 
 
 Matooftae prater taciem nil cernere possis, 
 Caetera, ni Catia est, demiasa vesfe tegentis. 
 
 Ilor. Lib. 1. Sat. ii. 04. 
 
 In virtuous (fames yon sec their face alone : 
 None stiow tlfe rest but women of the town. 
 
 My lion having given over roaring for some 
 time, I find that several stories have been spread 
 abroad in the country to his disadvantage. One 
 of my correspondents tells me, it is confidently 
 reported of him in their parts, that he is silenced 
 by authority ; another informs me, that he 
 hears he was sent for by a messenger, who had 
 orders to bring him away with all his papers, 
 and that upon examination he was found to 
 contain several dangerous things in his maw. 
 
No. 134.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 199 
 
 1 must not omit another report which has been 
 raised by such as are enemies to me and my 
 lion, namely, that he is starved for want of 
 food, and that he has not had a good meal's 
 meat for this fortnight. J do hereby declare 
 these reports to be altogether groundless; arid 
 since I am contradicting common fame, I must 
 likewise acquaint the world, that the story of a 
 two hundred pound bank-bill being conveyed to 
 me through the mouth of my lion has no foun- 
 dation of truth in it. The matter of fact is this, 
 my lion has not roared for these twelve days 
 past, by reason that his prompters have put 
 very ill words in his mouth, and such as he 
 could not utter with common honour and 
 decency. Notwithstanding the admonitions 
 I have given my correspondents, many of 
 them have crammed great quantities of scandal 
 down his throat, others have choked him with 
 lewdness and ribaldry. Some of them have 
 gorged him with so much nonsense that they 
 have made a very ass of him. On Monday last, 
 upon examining, I found him an arrant French 
 tory, and the day after a virulent whig. Some 
 have been so mischievous as to make him fall 
 upon his keeper, and give me very reproachful 
 language ; but as I have promised to restrain 
 him from hurting any man's reputation, so my 
 reader may be assured that I myself shall be 
 the last man whom I will suffer him to abuse. 
 However, that I may give general satisfaction, 
 1 have a design of converting a room in Mr. 
 Button's house to the lion's library, in which 
 1 intend to deposit the several packets of let- 
 ters and private intelligence which I do not 
 communicate to the public. These manu- 
 scripts will in time be very valuable, and may 
 afford good lights to future historians who shall 
 give an account of the present age. In the 
 mean while, as the lion is an animal which 
 has a particular regard for chastity, it has been 
 observed that mine has taken delight in roaring 
 very vehemently against the untuckered neck, 
 and, as far as I can find by him, is still deter- 
 mined to roar louder and louder, until that 
 irregularity be thoroughly reformed. 
 
 « GOOD MR. IRONSIDE, 
 
 I must acquaint you, for your comfort, 
 that your lion is grown a kind of bull-beggar 
 among the women where I live. When my 
 wife comes home late from cards, or commits 
 any other enormity, I whisper in her ear, partly 
 between jest and earnest, that " I will tell the 
 lion of her." Dear sir, do not let them alone 
 until you have made them put en their tuckers 
 again. What can be a greater sign, that they 
 themselves are sensible they have stripped too 
 far, than their pretending to call a bit of linen 
 which will hardly cover a silver groat, their 
 modesty-piece ? It is observed, that this mo- 
 desty-piece still sinks lower and lower ; and 
 who knows where it will fix at last ? 
 
 ' You must know, sir, I am a Turkey mer- 
 chant, and 1 lived several years in a country 
 where the women show nothing but their eyes. 
 Upon my return to England 1 was almost out 
 of countenance to see my pretty country- 
 women laying open their charms with so much 
 liberality, though at that time many of them 
 were concealed under the modest shade of the 
 tucker. I soon after married a very fine 
 woman, who always goes in the extremity of 
 the fashion. I was pleased to think, as every 
 married man must be, that I should make 
 daily discoveries in the dear creature, which 
 were unknown to the rest of the world. But 
 since this new airy fashion is come up, every 
 one's eye is as familiar with her as mine; for 
 I can positively affirm, that her neck is grown 
 eight inches within these three years. And 
 what makes me tremble when I think of it, 
 that pretty foot and ankle are now exposed to 
 the sight of the whole world, which made my 
 very heart dance within me, when I first found 
 myself their proprietor. As in all appearance 
 the curtain is still rising, I find a parcel of 
 rascally young fellows in the neighbourhood 
 are in hopes to be presented with some new 
 scene every day. 
 
 - In short, sir, the tables are now quite 
 turned upon me. Instead of being acquainted 
 with her person more than other men, I have 
 now the least share of it. When she is at home 
 she is continually muffled up, and concealed 
 in mobs, morning gowns, and handkerchiefs ; 
 but strips every afternoon to appear in public. 
 For aught I can find, when she has thrown 
 aside half her clothes, she begins ta think her- 
 self half drest. Now, sir, if I may presume to 
 say so, you have been in the wrong to think 
 of reforming this fashion, ~by showing the im- 
 modesty of it. If you expect to make female 
 proselytes, you must convince them, that if 
 they would get husbands, they must not show 
 all before marriage. I am sure, had my wife 
 been dressed before I married her as she is at 
 present, she would have satisfied a good half 
 of my curiosity. Many a man has been hin- 
 dered from laying out his money on a show, 
 by seeing the principal figure of it hung out 
 before the door. I have often observed a cu- 
 rious passenger so attentive to these objects 
 which he could see for nothing, that he took 
 no notice of the master of the show, who was 
 continually crying out, " Pray, gentlemen walk 
 in." 
 
 ' I have told you at the beginning of this 
 letter, how Mahomet's she- disci pies are obliged 
 to cover themselves ; you have lately informed 
 us from the foreign newspapers of the regula- 
 tions which the pope is now making amongthe 
 Roman ladies in this particular ; and I hope, 
 our British dames, notwithstanding they have 
 the finest skins in the world, will be content 
 to show no more of them than what belongs 
 
200 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 135, 
 
 to the face and to the neck, properly speaking. 
 Their being Wf is no excuse for their being 
 
 naked 
 
 ' You know, sir, that in the beginning of 
 last century, there was a sect of men among 
 us, who called themselves Adamites, and ap- 
 peared in public without clothes. This heresy 
 may spring up in the other sex, if you do not 
 put a timely stop to it, there being so many in 
 all public places, who show so great an incli- 
 nation to be Eveites, 
 
 K2- ' I am, Sir, &c.' 
 
 No. 135.] Saturday, August 15 1713. 
 
 Virtute me involve-— 
 
 Hor. Lib. 3. Oil. xxix. 54. 
 
 Virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. 
 
 Vryden. 
 
 A good conscience is to the soul what health 
 is to the body ; it preserves a constant ease 
 .nd serenity within us, and more than coun- 
 tervails all the calamities and afflictions which 
 can possibly befall us. I know nothing so hard 
 for a generous mind to get over as calumny 
 and reproach, and cannot find any method of 
 quieting the soul under them, besides this 
 single one, of our being conscious to ourselves 
 that we do not deserve them. 
 
 I have been always mightily pleased with 
 that passage in Don Quixote, where the fan- 
 tastical knight is represented as loading a 
 gentleman of good sense with praises and 
 eulogiums. Upon which the gentleman makes 
 this reflection to himself: How grateful is 
 praise to human nature ! I cannot forbear being 
 secretly pleased with the coinmendatious I re- 
 ceive, though I am sensible it is a madman 
 that bestows them on me. In the same man- 
 ner, though we are often sure that the censures 
 which are passed upon us are uttered by those 
 who know nothing of us, and have neither 
 means nor abilities to form a right judgment 
 of us, we cannot forbear being grieved at what 
 they say. 
 
 In order to heal this infirmity, which is so 
 natural to the best and wisest of men, I have 
 taken a particular pleasure in observing the 
 conduct of the old philosophers, how they bore 
 themselves up against the malice and detrac- 
 tion of their enemies. 
 
 The way to silence calumny, says Bias, is 
 to be always exercised in such things as are 
 praise-worthy. Socrates after having received 
 sentence, told his friends, that he had always 
 accustomed himself to regard truth and not 
 censure, and that he was not troubled at his 
 condemnation, because he knew himself free 
 from guilt. It was in the same spirit that be 
 heard the accusations of his two great adver- 
 saries, who had uttered against him the most 
 
 virulent reproaches. Anytus and Melitus, 
 says he, may procure sentence against me, but 
 they cannot hurt me. This divine philosopher 
 was so well fortified in his own innocence, that 
 he neglected all the impotence of evil tongues 
 which were engaged in his destruction. This 
 was properly the support of a good con- 
 science, that contradicted the reports which 
 had been raised against him, and cleared him 
 to himself. 
 
 Others of the philosophers rather choose to 
 retort the injury by a smart reply, than thus 
 to disarm it with respect to themselves. They 
 show that it stung them, though at the same 
 time they had the address to make their ag- 
 gressors suffer with them. Of this kind was 
 Aristotle's reply to one who pursued him with 
 long and bitter invectives. ' You,' says he, 
 1 who are used to suffer reproaches, utter them 
 with delight; I who have not been used to 
 utter them take no pleasure in hearing them.' 
 Diogenes was still more severe on one who 
 spoke ill of him : ' Nobody will believe you 
 when you speak ill of me, any more than 
 they would believe me should 1 speak well of 
 you.' 
 
 In these, and many other instances I could 
 produce, the bitterness of the answer suffi- 
 ciently testifies the uneasiness of mind the 
 person was under who made it. I would ra- 
 ther advise my reader, if he has not in this 
 case the secret consolation, that he deserves no 
 such reproaches as are cast upon him, to follow 
 the advice of Epictetus : ' If any one speaks ill 
 of thee, consider whether he has truth on his 
 side ; and if so, reform thyself, that his cen- 
 sures may not affect thee.' When Anaximander 
 was told, that the very boys laughed at his 
 singing; ' Ay,' says he, ' then I must learn to 
 sing better.' Hut of all the sayings of philo- 
 sophers which I have gathered together for my 
 own use on this occasion, there are none which 
 carry in them more candour and good sense 
 than the two following ones of Plato. Being 
 told that he had many enemies who spoke ill 
 of him ; ' It is no matter,' said he, * I will live 
 so that none shall believe them.' Hearing at 
 another time that an intimate friend of his 
 had spoken detractingly of him ; * I am sure 
 he would not do it,' says he, * if he had not 
 some reason for it.' This is the surest as well 
 as the noblest way of drawing the sting out of 
 a reproach, and a true method of preparing a 
 man for that great and only relief against the 
 pains of calumny, ' a good conscience.' 
 
 I designed in this essay to show that there 
 is no happiness wanting to him who is pos- 
 sessed of this excellent frame of mind, and 
 that no person can be miserable who is in the 
 enjoyment of it : but I find this subject so well 
 treated in one of Dr. Smith's sermons, that I 
 shall fill this Saturday's paper with a passage 
 of it, which cannot but make the man's heart 
 
No. 135. J 
 
 fHE GUARDIAN. 
 
 101 
 
 bum within him, who reads it with due at- 
 tention. 
 
 That admirable author having shown the 
 virtue of a good conscience in supporting a 
 man under the greatest trials and difficulties 
 of life, concludes with representing its force 
 and efficacy in the hour of death. 
 
 ' The third and last instance, in which 
 above all others this confidence towards God 
 does most eminently show and exert itself, is 
 at the time of death. Which surely gives the 
 grand opportunity of trying both the strength 
 and worth of every principle. When a man 
 shall be just about to quit the stage of this 
 world, to put off his mortality, and to deliver 
 up his last accounts to God; at which sad time 
 his memory shall serve him for little else, but 
 to terrify him with a frightful review of his 
 past life, and his former extravagances stripped 
 of all their pleasure, but retaining their guilt : 
 what is it then that can promise him a fair 
 passage into the other world, or a comfortable 
 appearance before his dreadful Judge when he 
 is there ? Not all the friends and interests, all 
 the riches and honours under heaven can speak 
 so much as a word for him, or one word of 
 comfort to him in that condition ; they may 
 possibly reproach, but they cannot relieve 
 him. 
 
 No, at this disconsolate time, when the 
 busy tempter shall be more than usually apt 
 to vex and trouble him, and the pains of a dying 
 body to hinder and discompose him, and the 
 settlement of worldly affairs to disturb and 
 confound him ; and in a word, all things con- 
 spire to make his sick bed grievous and uneasy ; 
 nothing can then stand up against all these 
 ruins, and speak life in the midst of leath, 
 Srt»t a clear conscience. 
 
 1 And the testimony of that shall make the 
 comforts of heaven descend upon his weary- 
 head, like a refreshing dew, or a shower upon a 
 parched ground. It shall give him some lively 
 earnests, and secret anticipations of his ap- 
 proaching joy. It shall bid his soul go out of 
 the body undauntedly, and lift up his head with 
 confidence before saints and angels. Surely 
 the comfort which it conveys at this season, 
 is something bigger than the capacities of 
 mortality, mighty and unspeakable, and not 
 to be understood until it comes to be felt. 
 
 ' And now, who would not quit all the plea- 
 sures, and trash, and trifles, which are apt to 
 captivate the heart of man, and pursue the 
 greatest rigours of piety, and austerities of a 
 good life, to purchase to himself such a con- 
 science, as at the hour of death, when all the 
 friendship in the world shall bid him adieu, 
 and the whole creation turn its back upon 
 him, shall dismiss the soul and close his eyes 
 with that blessed sentence, " well done, thou 
 good and faithful servant, enter thou into the 
 „.oy of thy Lord !" ' - • fc> 
 
 No. 136.} Monday, August 17, 171' 
 
 Noctes atque dies patet atri jauna (litis. 
 
 Virg. Mt*. vi. lit. 
 
 The gates of death are open night and day. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Some of our quaint moralists have pleased 
 themselves with an observation, that there is 
 but one way of coming into the world, but a 
 thousand to go out of it. I have seen a fanciful 
 dream written by a Spaniard, in which he in- 
 troduces the person of Death metamorphosing 
 himself like another Proteus into innumerable 
 shapes and figures. To represent the fatality 
 of fevers and agues, with many other distem- 
 pers and accidents that destroy the life of man, 
 Death enters first of all in a body of fire ; a 
 little after he appears like a man of snow, 
 then rolls about the room like a cannon-ball, 
 then lies on the table like a gilded pill ; after 
 this he transforms himself of a sudden into 
 a sword, then dwindles successively to a dagger, 
 to a bodkin, to a crooked pin, to a needle, to 
 a hair. The Spaniard's design by this allegory, 
 was to show the many assaults to which the 
 life of man is exposed, and to let his reader see 
 that there was scarce any thing in nature so 
 very mean and inconsiderable, but that it was 
 able to overcome him, and lay his head in the 
 dust. I remember monsieur Pascal, in bis re- 
 flections on Providence, has this observation 
 upon Cromwel's death. That usurper, says 
 he, who had destroyed the royal family in his 
 own nation, who had made all the princes of 
 Europe tremble, and struck a terror into Rome 
 itself, was at last taken out of the world by a 
 fit of the gravel. An atom, a grain of sand, 
 says he, that would have oeen of no significancy 
 in any other part of the universe, being lodged 
 in such a particular place, was an instrument 
 of Providence to bring about the most happy 
 revolutions, and to remove from the face of 
 the earth this troubler of mankind. In short, 
 swarms of distempers are every where hovering 
 over us ; casualties, whether at home or abroad, 
 whether we wake or sleep, sit or walk, are 
 planted about us in ambuscade ; every element, 
 every climate, every season, all nature is full 
 of death. 
 
 There are more casualties incident to men 
 than women, as battles, sea-voyages, with se- 
 veral dangerous trades and professions that 
 often prove fatal to the practitioners. 1 have 
 seen a treatise written by a learned physician 
 on the distempers peculiar to those who work 
 in stone or marble. It has been therefore ob- 
 served by curious men, that upon a strict ex- 
 amination there are more males brought into 
 the world than females. Providence, to supply 
 this waste in the species, has made allowances 
 for it by a suitable redundancy in the male 
 sex. Those who have made the nicest calcu 
 lations have found, I think, that taking on* 
 2 C 
 
'202 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 137- 
 
 year With another, there are ahout twenty hoys 
 produced to nineteen girls. This observation 
 is so well grounded, that I will at any time lay 
 five to four, that there appear more male than 
 female infants in every weekly hill of morta- 
 lity. And what can be a more demonstrative 
 argument of the superiutendency of Provi- 
 dence? 
 
 There are casualties incident to every par- 
 ticular station and way of life. A friend of 
 mine was once saying, that he faucied thene 
 would be something new and diverting in a 
 country bill of mortality. Upon communi- 
 cating this hint to a gentleman who was then 
 going down to his seat, which lies at a consi- 
 derable distance from London, he told me he 
 would make a collection, as well as he could, 
 of the several deaths that had happened in his 
 country for the space of a whole year, and 
 send them up to me in the form of such a bill 
 as I mentioned. The reader will here see that 
 he has been as good as his promise. To make 
 it the more entertaining he has set down, 
 among the real distempers, some imaginary 
 ones, to which the country people ascribe the 
 deaths of some of their neighbours. I shall 
 extract out of them such only as seem almost 
 peculiar to the country, laying aside fevers, 
 apoplexies, small-pox, and the like, which they 
 have in common with towns and cities. 
 
 Of a six-bar gate, fox-hunters - 4 
 
 Of a quick-set hedge - 2 
 
 Two duels, viz. 
 
 First, between a frying-pan and a 
 
 pitch-fork 1 
 
 Second, between a joint-stool and a 
 brown jug .... j 
 
 Bewitched ..... 
 Of an evil tongue - 
 Crossed in love - 
 
 Broke his neck in robbing a hen-roost 
 Cut finger turned to a gangrene by an 
 
 old gentlewoman of the parish 
 Surfeit of curds and cream 
 Took cold sleeping at church 
 Of a sprain in bis shoulder by saving his 
 dog at a bull-baiting <- 
 
 Lady B 's cordial water 
 
 Knocked down by a quart bottle 
 Frighted out of his wits by a headless 
 dog with saucer eyes ... 
 
 Of October 
 
 Broke a vein in bawling for a knight of 
 
 the shire - 
 Old women drowned upon trial of witch- 
 craft -..-.. 
 Climbing a crow's nest 
 Chalk and green apples 
 Led into a horse- pond by a will of the wisp 
 Died of a fright in an exercise of the 
 
 trained hands 
 Over-cat himself at a house-warming 
 liv the parson's hull 
 
 Vagrant beggars worried by the squire's 
 house-dog .... g 
 
 Shot by mistake 
 
 Of a mountebank doctor 
 
 Of the merry-andrew 
 
 Caught her death in a wet ditch 
 
 Old age - 
 
 Foul distemper - 
 
 100 
 
 
 No. 137.] Tuesday, August 18, 1713. 
 
 sanctus haberi 
 
 .histitiaeque tenax, factis dictuque mererisT 
 
 Agnosco procerem Juv. Sat. viii. 24. 
 
 Convince the world that you're devout and true, 
 
 Be just in all you say, in all you do ; 
 
 Whatever be your birth, you're sure to be 
 
 A peer of the first quality to me. Stepney. 
 
 Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and indeed the 
 greatest writers in almost every age, have ex- 
 posed with all the strength of wit and good 
 sense, the vanity of a man's valuing himself 
 upon his ancestors, and endeavoured to show 
 that true nobility consists in virtue, not in 
 birth. With submission however to so many 
 great authorities, I think they have pushed 
 this matter a little too far. We ought, in gra- 
 titude, to honour the posterity of those who 
 have raised either the interest or reputation of 
 their country ; and by whose labours we our- 
 selves are more happy, wise, or virtuous, than 
 we should have been without them. Besides, 
 naturally speaking, a man bids fairer for great- 
 ness of soul, who is the descendant of worthy 
 ancestors, and has good blood in his veins, 
 than one who is come of an ignoble and obscure 
 parentage. For these reasons I think a mar: 
 of merit, who is derived from an illustrious 
 line, is very justly to be regarded more than a 
 man of equal merit, who has no claim to here- 
 ditary honours. Nay, 1 think those who are 
 indifferent in themselves, and have nothing else 
 to distinguish them but the virtues of their 
 forefathers, are to be looked upon with a de- 
 gree of veneration even upon that account, 
 and to be more respected than the common 
 run of men who are of low and vulgar extrac- 
 tion. 
 
 After having thus ascribed due honours to 
 birth and parentage, I must however take no- 
 tice of those who arrogate to themselves more 
 honours than are due to them on this account. 
 The first are such who are not enough sensible 
 that vice and ignorance taint the blood, and 
 that an unworthy behaviour degrades and dis- 
 ennobles a man in the eye of the world as much 
 as birth and family aggrandize and exalt him. 
 
 The second are those who believe a new 
 man of an elevated merit is not more to be 
 honoured than an insignificant and worthless 
 man who is descended from a long line of pa- 
 triots and heroes: or in other words, behold 
 with contempt a person who is such a man as 
 
No. 137.. 
 
 THE GUARDJAN. 
 
 203 
 
 the first founder of their family was, upon 
 whose reputation they value themselves. 
 
 But I shall chiefly apply myself to those 
 whose quality sits uppermost in all their dis- 
 courses and behaviour. An empty man of a 
 great family is a creature that is scarce con- 
 versible. You read his ancestry in his smile, 
 in his air, in his eyebrow. He has indeed no- 
 thing but his nobility to give employment to 
 his thoughts. Rank and precedency are the 
 important points which he is always discussing 
 within himself. A gentleman of this turn be- 
 gan a speech in one of king Charles's parlia- 
 ments : ' Sir, I had the honour to be born at 
 a time' — upon which a rough honestgentleman 
 took him up short, ' I would fain know what 
 that gentleman means; is there any one in 
 the house that has not had the honour to be 
 born as well as himself?' The good sense which 
 reigns in our nation has pretty well destroyed 
 this starched behaviour among men who have 
 seen the world, and know that every gentleman 
 will be treated upon a foot of equality. But 
 there are many who have had their education 
 among women, dependants, or flatterers, that 
 loose all the respect which would otherwise be 
 paid them, by being too assiduous in procuring it. 
 
 My lord Froth has been so educated in punc- 
 tilio, that he governs himself by a ceremonial 
 in all the ordinary occurrences of life. He 
 measures out his bow to the degree of the 
 person he converses with. I have seen him in 
 every inclination of the body, from a familiar 
 nod, to the low stoop in the salutation sign. 
 I remember five of us, who were acquainted 
 with one another, met together one morning 
 at his lodgings, when a wag of the company 
 was saying, it would be worth while to observe 
 how he would distinguish us at his first en- 
 trance. Accordingly he no sooner came into 
 the room, but casting his eye about, * My lord 
 such a one,' says he, ' your most humble servant. 
 Sir Richard, your humble servant. Your ser- 
 vant, Mr. Ironside. Mr. Ducker, how do you 
 do ? Ha, Frank, are you there!' 
 
 There is nothing more easy than to discover 
 a man whose heart is full of his family. Weak 
 minds that have imbibed a strong tincture of 
 the nursery, younger brothers that have been 
 brought up to nothing, superannuated re- 
 tainers to a great house, have generally their 
 thoughts taken up with little else. 
 
 I had some years ago, an aunt of my own, 
 by name Mrs. Martha Ironside, who would never 
 marry beneath herself, and is supposed to have 
 died a maid in the four-scorth year of her age. 
 She was the chronicle of our family, and past 
 away the greatest part of the last forty years 
 of her life in recounting the antiquity, mar- 
 riages, exploits, and alliances of the Ironsides. 
 Mrs. Martha conversed generally with a knot 
 of old virgins, who were likewise of good fa- 
 milies, and had been very cruel all the begin* 
 
 ning of the last century. They were every 
 one of them as proud as Lucifer; but said their 
 prayers twice a day, and in all other respects 
 were the best women in the world. If they 
 saw a fine petticoat at church, they imme- 
 diately took to pieces the pedigree of her that 
 wore it, and would lift up their eyes to heaven 
 at the confidence of the saucy minx, when they 
 found she was an honest tradesman's daughter. 
 It is impossible to describe the pious indignation 
 that would rise in them at the sight of a man 
 who lived plentifully on an estate of his own 
 getting. They were transported with zeal be- 
 yond measure, if they heard of a young woman's 
 matching into a great family upon account 
 only of her beauty, her merit, or her money. 
 In short, there was not a female within ten miles 
 of them that was in possession of a gold watch, 
 a pearl necklace, or piece of Mechlin lace, but 
 they examined her title to it. My aunt Martha 
 used to chide me very frequently for not suffi- 
 ciently valuing myself. She would not eat a 
 bll all dinner-time, if at an invitation she found 
 she had been seated below herself; and would 
 frown upon me for an hour together, if she saw 
 me give place to any man under a baronet. As 
 I was once talking to her of a wealthy citizen 
 whom she had refused in her youth, she de- 
 clared to me with great warmth, that she pre- 
 ferred a man of quality in his shirt to the 
 richest man upon the Change in a coach and 
 six. She pretended that our family was nearly 
 related by the mother's side to half a dozen 
 peers; but as none of them knew any thing 
 of the matter, we always kept it as a secret 
 among ourselves. A little before her death 
 she was reciting to me the history of my fore- 
 fathers; but dwelling a little longer than or- 
 dinary upon the actions of sir Gilbert Ironside, 
 who had a horse shot under him at Edgehill- 
 fight, I gave an unfortunate pish, and asked, 
 ' What was all this to me?' Upon which she 
 retired to her closet, and fell a scribbling for 
 three hours together, in which time, as I after- 
 wards found, she struck me out of her will, 
 and left all she had to my sister Margaret, a 
 wheedling baggage, that used to be asking 
 questions about her great-grandfather from 
 morning to night. She now lies buried among 
 the family of the Ironsides, with a stone over 
 her, acquainting the reader, that she died at 
 the age of eighty years, a spinster, and that 
 she was descended of the ancient family of the 
 Ironsides ; after which follows the genealogy 
 drawn up by her own hand. <j3» 
 
 No. 138.] Wednesday, August 19, 1713. 
 
 Incenditque animum famae veuientis amore. 
 
 Virg. -&n. vi. 88&, 
 
 And fires his mind with love of future fame. 
 There is nothing which I study so much in 
 the course of these my daily dissertations as 
 
204 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 [No. 138. 
 
 variety. By this means every one of mv readers 
 is sure some time or other to fiud a subject 
 that pleases him, and almost every paper has 
 some particular set of men for its advocates. 
 Instead of seeing the number of my papers 
 every day increasing, they would quickly lie as 
 a drug upon my hands, did not I take care to 
 keep up the appetite of my guests, and quicken 
 it from time to time by something new and 
 unexpected. In short, I endeavour to treat 
 my reader in the same manner as Eve does the 
 angel in that beautiful description of Milton : 
 
 * So saying, with despatched looks in haste 
 She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent, 
 What choice to choose for delicacy best ; 
 What order, so contrived as not to mix 
 Tastes, not well joined, inelegant ; but bring 
 Taste after taste, upheld with kindliest change. 
 Whatever earth, all-bearing mother, yields 
 In India East or West, or middle shore; 
 In Pontus or the Punic coast, or where 
 Alcinons reigned; fruit of all kinds, in coat 
 Rough or smooth rin'd, or bearded, husk or shell, 
 She gathers, tribute large, and on the board 
 Heaps with unsparing hand' Fifth Book. 
 
 If by this method I can furnish out a Splen- 
 didu fai-rago, according to the compliment 
 lately paid me in a fine poem, published among 
 the exercises of the last Oxford act, I have 
 gained the end which I proposed to myself. 
 
 In my yesterday's paper, I showed how the 
 actions of our ancestors and forefathers should 
 excite us to every thing that is great and vir- 
 tuous. I shall here observe, that a regard to 
 our posterity, and those who are to descend 
 from us, ought to have the same kind of in- 
 fluence on a generous mind. A noble soul 
 would rather die than commit an action that 
 should make his children blush when he is in 
 his grave, and be looked upon as a reproach to 
 those who shall live a hundred years after him. 
 On the contrary, nothing can be a more pleas- 
 ing thought to a man of eminence, than to 
 consider that his posterity, who lie many re- 
 moves from him, shall make their boasts of 
 his virtues, and be honoured for his sake. 
 
 Virgil represents this consideration as an in- 
 centive of glory to /Eneas, when after having 
 shown him the race of heroes who were to de- 
 scend from him, Anchises adds with a noble 
 warmth, 
 
 ' )•'.' dabitamns adbuc vlrtutem extendere faetis'.'" 
 
 IF.h. vi. 806. 
 
 ' And doubt we yet through dangers to pursue 
 The paths of honour? ' Dryden. 
 
 Since I have mentioned this passage in 
 Virgil, where yEneas was entertained with the 
 view of his great descendants, I cannot forbear 
 observing a particular beauty, which I do not 
 know that any one has taken notice of. The 
 list which be has there drawn up was in general 
 to do honour to the Roman name, but more 
 particularly to compliment Augustus. For 
 thil reason Anchises, who shows yEneas most 
 Of the rest of his descendants in the same order 
 
 that they were to make their appearance in 
 the world, breaks his method for the sake of 
 Augustus, whom he singles out immediately 
 after having mentioned Romulus, as the most 
 illustrious person who was to rise in that em- 
 pire which the other had founded. He was 
 impatient to describe his posterity raised to 
 the utmost pitch of glory, and therefore passes 
 over all the rest to come at this great man, 
 whom by this means he implicitly represents 
 as making the most conspicuous figure among 
 them. By this artifice the poet did not only 
 give his emperor the greatest praise he could 
 bestow upon him ; but hindered hi9 reader 
 from drawing a parallel which would have been 
 disadvantageous to him, had he been celebrated 
 in his proper place, that is, after Pompey and 
 Caesar, who each of them eclipsed the other in 
 military glory. 
 
 Though there have been finer things spoken 
 of Augustus than of any other man, all the 
 wits of his age having tried to outrival one 
 another on that subject; he never received a 
 compliment, which, in my opinion, can be com- 
 pared, for sublimity of thought, to that which 
 the poet here makes him. The English reader 
 may see a faint shadow of it in Mr. Drydeu's 
 translation, for the original is inimitable. 
 
 ' Hie vir, hie est,' &c. En. vi. 79L 
 
 ' But next behold the youth of form divine, 
 
 Caesar himself, exalted in his line ; 
 
 Augustus, promis'd oft, and long foretold, 
 
 Sent to the realm that Saturn rul'd of old ; 
 
 Born to restore a better age of gold. 
 
 Afric and India shall his power obey; 
 
 He shall extend his propagated sway 
 
 Beyond the solar year, without the starry way, 
 
 Where Atlas turns the rolling heavens around, 
 
 And his broad shoulders with their lights are ciown'd. 
 
 At his foreseen approach, already quake 
 
 The Caspian kingdoms and Maeotian lake. 
 
 Their seers behold the tempest from afar ; 
 
 And threatening oracles denounce the war. 
 
 Mile hears him knocking at his sevenfold gates, 
 
 And seeks his hidden spring, and fears his nephews' tales. 
 
 Nor I Jet cities more lands or labours knew, 
 
 Not though the brazen-footed hind he slew ; 
 
 Freed Erymanthus from the foaming boar, 
 
 And dipp'd his arrows in Lernatan gore. 
 
 Nor Bacchus turning from his Indian war, 
 
 By tigers drawn triumphant in his car, 
 
 From Nisa's top descending on the plains, 
 
 With curling vines around his purple reius. 
 
 And doubt we yet through dangers to pursue 
 
 The paths of honour 1 ' 
 
 I could show out of other poets the same 
 kind of vision as this in Virgil, wherein the 
 chief persons of the poem have been enter 
 tained with the sight of those who were to de- 
 scend from them : but instead of that, I shall 
 conclude with a rabbinical story which has in 
 it the oriental way of thinking, and is there- 
 fore very amusing. 
 
 Adam, say the rabbins, a little after his 
 creation, was presented with a view of all those 
 souls who were to be united to human bodies, 
 and take their turn after him upon the earth. 
 Among others the vision set before him the soul 
 
No. 139.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 205 
 
 of David. Our great ancestor was transported 
 at the sight of so beautiful an apparition ; but 
 to his unspeakable grief was informed, that it 
 was not to be conversant among men the space 
 of one year. 
 
 * Ostendent terris hnnc tantfun fata, neque ultra. 
 Esse siijent' JEn. vi. 869. 
 
 « This youth (the blissful vision of a day) 
 Shall just be shown on earth, and snatch'd away.' 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Adam, to procure a longer life for so fine a 
 piece of human nature, begged that three-score 
 and ten years (which he heard would be the 
 age of man in David's time) might be taken 
 out of his own life, and added to that of David. 
 Accordingly, say the rabbins, Adam falls short 
 of a thousand years, which was to have been 
 the complete term of his life, by just so many 
 years as make up the life of David. Adam 
 having lived nine hundred and thirty years, 
 and David seventy. 
 
 This story was invented to show the high 
 opinion which the rabbins entertained of this 
 man after God's own heart, whom the prophet, 
 who was his own contemporary, could not 
 mention without rapture, where he records the 
 last poetical composition of David, ' of David, 
 the son of Jesse, of the man who was raised up 
 on high, of the anointed of the God of Jacob, 
 of the sweet psalmist of Israel.' 
 
 03- 
 
 No. 139.] Thursday, August 20, 1713. 
 
 pnsca fides facto, sed fama percmiis. 
 
 Virg. &n. ix. 79. 
 ——The fact, thro' length of time obscure, 
 Is hard to fai;h : yet shall the same endure. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 ' MOST VENERABLE NESTOR, 
 
 'I find that every body is very much de- 
 lighted with the voice of your lion. His roar- 
 ings against the tucker have been most melo- 
 dious and emphatical. It is to be hoped, that 
 the ladies will take warning by them, and not 
 provoke him to greater outrages ; for I ob- 
 serve, that your lion, as you yourself have told 
 us, is made up of mouth and paws. For my 
 own part, I have long considered with myself 
 how I might express my gratitude to this noble 
 animal that has so much the good of our country 
 at his heart. After many thoughts on this 
 subject, I have at length resolved to do honour 
 to him, by compiling a history of his species, 
 and extracting out of all authors whatever may 
 redound to his reputation. In the prosecution 
 of this design, I shall have no manner of regard 
 to what JEsop has said upon the subject, whom 
 I look upon to have been a republican, by the 
 unworthy treatment which he often gives to 
 the king of beasts, and whom, if I had time, 
 I could convict of falsehood and forgery, in 
 almost every matter of fact which he has re- 
 
 lated of this generous animal. Your romance 
 writers are likewise a set of men whose authority 
 I shall build upon very little in this case. They 
 all of them are born with a particular antipathy 
 to lions, and give them no more quarter than 
 they do giants, wherever they chance to meet 
 them. There is not one of the seven cham- 
 pions, but when he has nothing else to do, 
 encounters with a lion, and you may be sure 
 always gets the better of him. In short, a 
 knight errant lives in a perpetual state of 
 enmity with this noble creature, and hates him 
 more than all things upon the earth, except a 
 dragon. Had the storjes recorded of them by 
 these writers been true, the whole species would 
 have been destroyed before now. After having 
 thus renounced all fabulous authorities, I shall 
 begin my memoirs of the lion with a story re- 
 lated of him by Aulus Gellius, and extracted 
 by him out of Dion Cassius, a historian of 
 undoubted veracity. It is the famous story of 
 Androcles the Roman slave, which I premise 
 for the sake of my learned reader, who needs 
 go no farther in it, if he has read it already. 
 
 ' Androcles was the slave of a noble Roman 
 who was proconsul of Afric. He had been 
 guilty of a fault, for which his master would 
 have put him to death, had not he found an 
 opportunity to escape out of his hands, and fled 
 into the deserts of Numidia. As he was wan- 
 dering among the barren sands, and almost 
 dead with heat and hunger, he saw a cave in 
 the side of a rock. He went into- it, and find- 
 ing at the farther end of it a place to sit down 
 upon, rested there for some time. At length, 
 to his great surprise, a huge overgrown lion 
 entered at the mouth of the cave, and seeing 
 a man at the upper end of it, immediately 
 made towards him. Androcles gave himself 
 for gone; but the lion, instead of treating him 
 as he expected, laid his paw upon his lap, and 
 with a complaining kind of voice fell a licking 
 his hand. Androcles, after having recovered 
 himself a little from the fright he was in, ob- 
 served the lion's paw to be exceedingly swelled 
 by a large thorn that stuck in it. He imme- 
 diately pulled it out, and by squeezing the paw 
 very gently made a great deal of corrupt mat- 
 ter run out of it, which probably freed the lion 
 from the great anguish he had felt some time 
 before. The lion left him upon receiving this 
 good office from him, and soon after returned 
 with a fawn which he had just killed. This 
 he laid down at the feet of his benefactor, and 
 went off again in pursuit of his prey. An- 
 drocles, after having sodden the flesh of it by 
 the sun, subsisted upon it until the lion had 
 supplied him with another. He lived many 
 days in this frightful solitude, the lion catering 
 for him with great assiduity. Being tired at 
 length with this savage society, he was re- 
 solved to deliver himself up into his master s 
 hands, and suffer the worst effects of his dis- 
 
2^)6 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 140. 
 
 pleasure, rather than be thus driven nut from 
 mankind. His master, as was customary fur 
 the proconsul of Afric, was at that time get- 
 ting together a present of all the largest lions 
 that could be found in the country, in order 
 to stud them to Rome, that they might furnish 
 out a show to the Roman people. Upon his 
 poor slave's surrendering himself into his hands, 
 he ordered him to be carried away to Rome as 
 soon as the lions were in readiness to be sent, 
 and that for his crime he should be exposed to 
 fight with one of the lions in the amphitheatre, 
 as usual, for the diversion of the people. This 
 was all performed accordingly. Androcles, 
 after such a strange run of fortune, was now 
 in the area of the theatre amidst thousands of 
 spectators, expecting every moment when his 
 antagonist would come out upon him. At 
 leugth a huge monstrous lion leaped out from 
 the place where he had been kept hungry for 
 the show. He advanced with great rage to- 
 wards the man, but on a sudden, after having 
 regarded him a little wistfully, fell to the ground, 
 and crept towards his feet with all the signs of 
 blandishment and caress. Androcles, after a 
 short pause, discovered that it was his old 
 Numidian friend, and immediately renewed 
 his acquaintance with him. Their mutual con- 
 gratulations were very surprising to the be- 
 holders, who, upon hearing an account of the 
 whole matter from Androcles, ordered him to 
 be pardoned, and the lion to be given up into 
 his possession. Androcles returned at Rome 
 the civilities which he ,had received from him 
 in the deserts of Afric. Dion Cassius says, 
 that he himself saw the man leading the lion 
 about the streets of Rome, the people every 
 where gathering about them, and repeating 
 to one another, " Hie est leo hospes hominis, 
 hie est homo medicus leonis." " This is the 
 lion who was the man's host, this is the man 
 who was the lion's physician." ' fey. 
 
 No. 140.] Friday, August 21, 1713. 
 
 qiiibus inct-ndi jam d igidus scvo 
 
 Laomedontiadcj, vol Mestoris hernia possit. 
 
 JtlV. Sat. vi. 324. 
 A sight, might thaw old Priam's frozen aee, 
 And warm < v'n Nestor into amorous rage. 
 
 I have lately received a letter from an as- 
 trologer in Moorfields, which I have read with 
 great satisfaction. He observes to me, that my 
 linn at Button's coffee-house was very luckily 
 erected in the very month when the sun was 
 in Leo. He further adds, that upon convers- 
 ing with the above-mentioned Mr. Button, 
 whose other name he observes is Daniel (a 
 good omen still with regard to the nou, his 
 cohabitant,) he had discovered the very hour 
 in which the said linn was set up ; and that by 
 the help of other lights, which he had received 
 trom the said Mr. Button, he had been enabled 
 
 to calculate the nativity of the lion. This 
 mysterious philosophtr acquaints me, that the 
 sign of Leo in the heavens immediately pre- 
 cedes that of Virgo, by which, says he, is sig- 
 nified the natural love and friendship the lion 
 bears to virginity ; and not only to virginity, 
 but to such matrons likewise as are pure and 
 unspotted ; from whence he foretells the good 
 influence which the roarings of my lion are 
 likely to have over the female world, for the 
 purifying of their behaviour, and bettering of 
 their manners. He then proceeds to inform 
 me, that in the most exact astrological schemes, 
 the lion is observed to affect, in a more parti- 
 cular manner, the legs and the neck, as well 
 as to allay the power of the scorpion in those 
 parts which are allotted to that fiery constel- 
 lation. From hence he very naturally prog- 
 nosticates, that my lion will meet with great 
 success in the attacks he has made on the 
 untuckered stays and short petticoat ; and 
 that, in a few months, there will not be a female 
 bosom or ankle uncovered in Great Britain. 
 He concludes, that by the rules of his art he 
 foresaw five years ago, that both the pope and 
 myself should about this time unite our endea- 
 vours in this particular, and that sundry mu- 
 tations and revolutions would happen in the 
 female dress. 
 
 I have another letter by me from a person 
 of a more volatile and airy genius, who finding 
 this great propension in the fair sex to go un- 
 covered, and thinking it impossible to reclaim 
 them entirely from it, is for compounding the 
 matter with them, and finding out a middle 
 expedient between nakedness and clothing. 
 He proposes, therefore, that they should imi- 
 tate their great-grandmothers, the Briths or 
 Picts, and paint the parts of their bodies which 
 are uncovered with such figures as shall be 
 most to their fancy. The bosom of the coquette, 
 says he, may bear the figure of a Cupid, with 
 a bow in his hand, and his arrow upon the 
 string. The prude might have a Pallas, with 
 a shield and gorgon's head. In short, by this 
 method, he thinks every woman might make 
 very agreeable discoveries of herself, and at the 
 same time show us what she would be at. But 
 by my correspondent's good leave, I can by no 
 means consent to spoil the skin of my pretty 
 countrywomen. They could find no colours 
 half so charming as those which are natural 
 to them ; and though, like the old Picts, they 
 painted the sun itself upon their bodies, they 
 would still change for the worse, and conceal 
 something more beautiful than what they ex- 
 hibited. 
 
 I shall therefore persist in my first design, 
 and endeavour to bring about the reformation 
 in neck and legs, which I have so long aimed 
 at. Let them but raise their stays and let 
 down their petticoats, and I have done. How- 
 ever, as I will give them space to consider of it, 
 
No. 140.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 207 
 
 I design this for the last time that my lion shall 
 roar upon the subject during this season, which 
 I give public notice of for the sake of my cor- 
 respondents, that they may not be at an un- 
 necessary trouble or expense in furnishing me 
 with any informations relating to the tucker 
 before the beginning of next winter, when 
 1 may again resume that point, if I find occa- 
 sion for it. I shall not, however, let it drop 
 without acquainting my reader, that I have 
 written a letter to the pope upon it, in order 
 to encourage him in his present ^ood inten- 
 tions, and that we may act by con ert in this 
 matter. Here follows the copy of 1 y letter. 
 
 ' To Pope Clement the Eighth, A-.* tor Iron- 
 side, greeting. 
 
 ' DEAR BROTHER, 
 ' I have heard with great satisfaction, that 
 you have forbidden your priests to confess any 
 woman who appears before them without a 
 tucker, in which you please me well. I do 
 agree with you, that it is impossible for the 
 good man to discharge his office as he ought, 
 who gives an ear to those alluring penitents 
 that discover their hearts and necks to him at 
 the same time. I am labouring as much as in 
 me lies to stir up the same spirit of modesty 
 among the women of this island, and should 
 be glad we might assist one another in so good 
 a work. In order to it, I desire that you would 
 send me over the length of a Roman lady's neck, 
 as it stood before your late prohibition. We 
 have some here who have necks of one, two, 
 and three foot in length ; some that have necks 
 which reach down to their middles, and indeed, 
 some who may be said to be all neck, and no 
 body. I hope, at the same time you observe 
 the stays of your female subjects, that you have 
 also an eye to their petticoats, which rise in 
 this island daily. When the petticoat reaches 
 but to the knee, and the stays fall to the fifth 
 rib (whi-ch I hear is to be the standard of each, 
 as it has been lately settled in a junto of the 
 sex), I will take care to send you one of either 
 sort, which I advertise you of beforehand, that 
 you may not compute the stature of our En- 
 glish women from the length of their garments. 
 In the mean time I have desired the master of 
 a vessel, who tells me that he shall touch at 
 Civita Vecchia, to present you with a certain 
 female machine which, I believe, will puzzle 
 your infallibility to discover the use of it. Not 
 to keep you in suspense, it is what we call in 
 this country a hooped petticoat. I shall only 
 beg of you to let me know, whether you find 
 any garment of this nature among all the re- 
 lics of your female saints, and in particular, 
 whether it was ever worn by any of your twenty 
 thousand virgin martyrs. 
 
 ' Yours, usque ad aras, 
 
 •1SESTOR IRONSIDkY 
 
 I must not dismiss this letter without de- 
 claring myself a good protestant, as I hint 
 in the subscribing part of it. This I think 
 necessary to take notice of, lest I should be 
 accused by an author of unexampled stupidity,* 
 for corresponding with the head of the Romish 
 church. 83- 
 
 No. 141.] Saturday, August 22, 1713. 
 
 Frange, miser, calamos, vigilataque praelia dele, 
 Qui facis in parvS. sublimia carmina cella, 
 Ut dignus venius hederis, et imagine macra. 
 
 Juv. Sat. vii. 27 
 Let flames on your unlucky papers prey 
 Or moths through written pages eat their way ; 
 Your wars, your loves, your praises be forgot ; 
 
 And make of all a universal blot 
 
 The rest is empty praise, an ivy crown, 
 
 Or the lean statue of a mean renown. Ch. Dryden. 
 
 ' Wit,' saith the bishop of Rochester in his 
 elegant sermon against the scorner, * as it im- 
 plies a certain uncommon reach and vivacity 
 of thought, is an excellent talent, very fit to 
 be employed in the search of truth, and very 
 capable of assisting us to discern and embrace 
 it.' I shall take leave to carry this observation 
 farther into common life, and remark, that it 
 is a faculty, when properly directed, very fit to 
 recommend young persons to the favour of 
 such patrons, as are generously studious to pro- 
 mote the interest of politeness, and the honour 
 of their country. I am therefore much grieved 
 to hear the frequent complaints of some rising 
 authors whom I have taken under my guar- 
 dianship. Since my circumstances will not 
 allow me to give them due encouragement, I 
 must take upon me the person of a philosopher, 
 and make them a present of my advice. I 
 would not have any poet whatsoever, who is 
 not born to five hundred a year, deliver himself 
 up to wit, but as it is subservient to the im- 
 provement of his fortune. This talent is useful 
 in all professions, and should be considered 
 not as a wife, but as an attendant. Let them 
 take an old man's word ; the desire of fame 
 grows languid in a few years, and thoughts of 
 ease and convenience erase the fairy images of 
 glory and honour. Even those who have suc- 
 ceeded both in fame and fortune, look back on 
 the petty trifles of their youth with some re- 
 gret, when their minds are turned to more ex- 
 alted and useful speculations. This is admirably 
 expressed in the following lines, by an author -j- 
 whom I have formerly done justice to on the 
 account of his pastoral poems. 
 
 In search of wisdom, far from wit I fly ; 
 Wit is a harlot beauteous to the eye, 
 In whose bewitching arms oar early time 
 We waste, and vigour of our youthful prime* 
 But when reflection comes with riper years, 
 And manhood with a thoughtful brow appears ; 
 We cast the mistress off to take a wife, 
 And, wed to wisdom, lead a happy life. 
 
 * Tire writer nf the Examiner is here alluded to. 
 t Mr. Ambrose Philips. 
 
208 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. Ml. 
 
 A passage which happened to me some years 
 ago confirmed several maxims of frugality in 
 my mind. A woollen-draper of my acquaint- 
 ance, remarkable for his learning and good- 
 nature, pulled out his pocket-book, whereiu 
 he showed me at the one end several well-chosen 
 mottos, and several patterns of cloth at the 
 other. — J, like a well-bred man, praised both 
 sorts of goods ; whereupon he tore out the 
 mottos, and generously gave them to me : but, 
 with great prudence, put up the patterns in 
 his pocket again. 
 
 I am sensible that any accounts of my own 
 secret history can have but little weight with 
 young meu of sanguine expectations. I shall 
 therefore take this opportunity to present my 
 wards with the history of an ancient Greek 
 poet, which was sent me from the library of 
 Fez, and is to be found there in the end of a 
 very ancient manuscript of Homer's works 
 which was brought by the barbarians from 
 Constantinople. The name of the poet is torn 
 out, nor have the critics yet determined it. I 
 have faithfully translated part of it, and desire 
 that it may be diligently perused by all men 
 who design to live by their wits. 
 
 I was born at the foot of a certain moun- 
 tain in Greece called Parnassus, where the 
 country is remarkably delicious. My mother, 
 while she was with child of me longed for 
 laurel leaves ; and as I lay in my cradle, a 
 swarm of bees settled about my mouth, with- 
 out doing me any injury. These were looked 
 upon as presages of my being a great man ; and 
 the early promises I gave of a quick wit, and 
 lively fancy, confirmed the high opinion my 
 friends had conceived of me. It would be an 
 idle tale to relate the trifling adventures of my 
 youtli, until I arrived at my twentieth year. 
 It was then that the love I bore to a beautiful 
 young virgin, with whom I had innocently and 
 familiarly conversed from my childhood, be- 
 came the public talk of our village. I was so 
 taken up with my passion, that I entirely 
 neglected all other affairs: and though the 
 daughter of Machaon the physician, and a rich 
 heiress, the daughter of a famous Grecian 
 orator, were offered me in marriage, I peremp- 
 torily refused both the matches, and rashly 
 vowed to live and die with the lovely Poly- 
 hymnia. In vain did my parents remonstrate 
 to me, that the tradition of her being descended 
 from the gods was too poor a portion for one 
 of my narrow fortunes ; that except her fine 
 green -house and garden, she had not one foot 
 of land ; and though she should gain the law- 
 suit about the summit of Parnassus, (which 
 yet bad many pretenders to it) that the air 
 was so bleak there, and the ground so barren, 
 that it would certainly starve the possessor. 
 I fear my obstinacy in this particular broke my 
 mother's heart, who died a short time after, 
 and was soon followed by my father. 
 
 ' I now found myself at liberty, and notwith- 
 standing the opposition of a great many rivals, 
 I won and enioyed Polyhymnia. Our amour 
 was known to 1 lie whole country, and all wbu 
 saw, extolled t'je beauty of my mistress, and 
 pronounced me happy in the possession of so 
 many charms. We lived in great splendour and 
 gayety, I being persuaded that high living was 
 necessary to keep up my reputation, aud the 
 beauty of my mistress ; from whom 1 had daily 
 expectations given me of a post in the govern- 
 ment, or some lavish present from the great 
 men of our commonwealth. 1 was so proud 
 of my partner, that I was perpetually bringing 
 company to see her, and was a little tiresome 
 to my acquaintance, by talking continually of 
 her several beauties. She herself had a most 
 exalted conceit of her charms, and often in- 
 vited the ladies to ask their opinions of her 
 dress; which if they disapproved in any parti- 
 cular, she called them a pack of envious in- 
 sipid things, and ridiculed them in all com- 
 panies. She had a delicate set of teeth, which 
 appeared most to advantage when she was 
 angry ; and therefore she was very often in a 
 passion. By this imprudeut behaviour, when 
 we had run out of our money, we had no living 
 soul to befriend us ; and every body cried out, 
 it was a judgment upon me for being a slave to 
 such a proud minx, such a conceited hussy. 
 
 * I loved her passionately, and exclaimed 
 against a blind and injudicious world. Besides 
 I had several children by her, and was likely 
 still to have more ; for I always thought the 
 youngest the most beautiful. I must not forget 
 that a certain great lord offered me a consi- 
 derable sum in my necessity, to have the re- 
 putation offarheringoneofthem;but I rejected 
 his offer with disdain. In order to support her 
 family aud vanities, she carried me to Athens ; 
 where she put me upon a hundred pranks to 
 get money. Sometimes she drest me in an an- 
 tique robe, and placed a diadem on my head, 
 and made me gather a mob about me by talk- 
 ing in a blustering tone, and unintelligible 
 language. Sometimes she made me foam at 
 the month, roll my eyes, invoke the gods, and 
 act a sort of madness which the Athenians call 
 the Pindarism. At another time she put a 
 sheep-hook into my hand, and drove me round 
 my garret, calling it the plains of Arcadia 
 When these projects failed, she gave out, with 
 good success, that I was an old astrologer ; 
 after that a dumb man ; and last of all she 
 made me pass for a lion. 
 
 1 It may seem strange, that after so tedious 
 a slavery, I should ever get my freedom. But 
 so it happened, that during the three last 
 transformations, I grew acquainted with the 
 lady Sophia, whose superior charms cooled my 
 passion for Polyhymnia ; insomuch that some 
 envious dull fellows gave it out, my mistress 
 had jilted and left me. But the slanders of 
 
\o. 142.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 209 
 
 iiy enemies were silenced by my public es 
 pousal of Sophia; who, with a greatness of 
 «oul, void of all jealousy, hath taken Poly- 
 hymnia for her woman, and is dressed by her 
 every day.' 
 
 No. 142.] Monday, August '24, 1713. 
 
 Pacis mala ; saevior armis 
 
 Uixuria iucubuit, victumque ulciscitur — 
 
 Juv. Sat. vi. 291. 
 
 Th' inveterate ills of peace, 
 
 And wasteful riot ; whose destructive charms 
 Revenge the vanquish'd Dryden. 
 
 Being obliged, at present, to attend a par- 
 ticular affair of my own, 1 do empower my 
 
 rinter to look into the arcana of the lion, 
 and select out of them such as may be of public 
 utility ; and Mr. Button is hereby authorised 
 and commanded to give my said printer free 
 
 tigress and egress to the lion, without any hin- 
 derance, let, or molestation whatsoever, until 
 Such time as he shall receive orders to the con- 
 trary. And for so doing this shall be his warrant. 
 MESTOR IRONSIDE. 
 
 1 By virtue of the foregoing order, the lion 
 has been carefully examined, and the two fol- 
 lowing papers being found upon him, are 
 thought very proper for public use.' 
 
 Given in at the lions mouth at six of the 
 clock in the morning. 
 ' Mil. IRONSIDE, 
 
 ' I came very early this morning to rouse 
 vour lion, thinking it the properest time to 
 offer him trash when his stomach was empty 
 and sharp set ; and being informed too that 
 ne is so very modest, as to be shy of swallowing 
 any thing before much company, and not 
 without some other politic views, the principal 
 of which was, that his digestion being then 
 the most keen and vigorous, it might probably 
 refiue this raw piece from several of its cru- 
 dities, and so make it proper food for his mas- 
 ter ; for as great princes keep their taster, so 
 I perceive you keep your digester, having an 
 appetite peculiarly turned for delicacies. If a 
 fellow-feeling and similitude of employment 
 are any motives to engage your attention, I may 
 for once promise myself a favourable hearing. 
 By the account you have given us of the 
 Sparkler, and your other female wards, I am 
 pretty confideut you cannot be a stranger to 
 the many great difficulties there are in weaning 
 a young lady's inclination from a frolic which 
 she is fully bent upon. I am guardian to a 
 young heiress, whose conduct 1 am more than 
 ordinary solicitous to keep steady in the slip- 
 pery age we live in. I must confess miss hath 
 hitherto been very tractable and toward, con- 
 sidering she is an heiress, and now upon the 
 brink of fifteen: but here of late Tom Whir- 
 ligig has so turned her head with the gallan- 
 
 tries of a late masquerade, (which no doubt 
 Tom, according to his usual vivacity, set forth 
 in all its gayest colours) that the young crea- 
 ture has been perfectly giddy ever since, and 
 so set agog with the thoughts of it, that I am 
 teased to death by her importuning me to let 
 her go to the next. In the mean time, I have 
 surprised her more than once or twice very busy 
 in pulling all her clothes to pieces, in order to 
 make up a strange dress, and with much ado 
 have reprieved them from her merciless scis- 
 sars. Now you must understand, old Iron, 1 
 am very loth to trust her all alone into such 
 an ocean of temptations. I have made use of 
 all manner of dissuasives to her, and have suf- 
 ficiently demonstrated to her, that the devil 
 first addressed himself to Eve in a mask, and 
 that we owe the los? of our first happy state to 
 a masquerade, which that sly intriguer made 
 in the garden, where he seduced her ; but she 
 does not at all regard all this ; the passion of 
 curiosity is as predominant in her as ever it was 
 in her predecessor. Therefore I appeal, sage 
 Nestor, to your experienced age, whether these 
 nocturnal assemblies have not a bad tendency, 
 to give a loose turn to a young lady's imagi- 
 nation. For the being in disguise takes away 
 the usual checks and restraints of modesty; 
 and consequently the beaux do not blush to 
 talk wantonly, nor the belles to listen ; the one 
 as greedily sucks in the poison, as the other 
 industriously infuses it ; and I am apt to think 
 too, that the ladies might possibly forget their 
 own selves in such strange dresses, and do that 
 in a personated character which may stain 
 their real ones. A young milk-maid may in- 
 dulge herself in the innocent freedom of a green 
 gown ; and a shepherdess, without thinking 
 any harm, may lie down with a shepherd on a 
 mossy-bank; and all this while poor Sylvia 
 may be so far lost in the pleasing thoughts of 
 her new romantic attire, and Damon's soft 
 endearing language, as never once to reflect 
 who she is, until the romance is completed. 
 Besides, do but consider, dear Nestor, when a 
 young lady's spirits are fermented with spark- 
 ling champaign, her heart opened and dilated 
 by the attractive gayety of every thing about 
 her, her soul melted away by the soft airs of 
 music, and the gentle powers of motion ; in a 
 word, the whole woman dissolved in a luxury 
 of pleasure ; I say, in such critical circum- 
 stances, in such unguarded moments, how easy 
 is it for a young thing to be led aside by her 
 stars. Therefore, good Mr. Ironside, set your 
 lion a roaring against these dangerous assem- 
 blies : I can assure you, one good loud roar 
 will be sufficient to deter my ward from them, 
 for she is naturally mighty fearful, and has been 
 always used from ber childhood to be frightened 
 into good behaviour. And it may prove too some 
 benefit to yourself in the management of your 
 own females, who, if they are not already, 1 do 
 2 D 
 
J10 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 143. 
 
 not .»t all question, but they will be very shortly 
 gadding alter those midnight gambols. There- 
 fore, to promote your own peace and quietness, 
 as well as mine, and the safety of all young 
 virgins, pray orck'ryour lion to exert his loudest 
 notes against masquerades ; I am sure it would 
 be a perfect coneert to all good mothers, and 
 particularly charm the ears of 
 
 1 Your faithful friend and companion, 
 
 'OLD RUSTISIDES.' 
 
 ' MOST WORTHY sin, 
 
 1 Being informed that the Eveites daily in- 
 crease, and that fig-leaves are shortly coming 
 into fashion ; I have hired me a piece of ground 
 and planted it with fig-trees, the soil being 
 naturally productive of them. I hope, good 
 sir, you will so far encourage my new project, 
 as to acquaint the ladies, that 1 have now by 
 me a choice collection of fig-leaves of all sorts 
 and sizes, of a delicate texture, and a lovely 
 bright verdure, beautifully scolloped at the ex- 
 tremities, and most curiously wrought with 
 variety of slender fibres, ranged in beautiful 
 meanders and windiugs. I have some very cool 
 ones for summer, so transparently thin, that 
 you may see through them, and others of a 
 thicker substance for winter; I have likewise 
 some very small ones of a particular species for 
 little misses. So that 1 do not question but to 
 give general satisfaction to all ladies whatso- 
 ever, that please to repair to me at the sign of 
 the Adam and Eve, near Cupid's-gardens. If 
 you will favour me with the insertion of this 
 in your Guardian, I will make your favourite, 
 the Sparkler, a present of some of the choicest 
 fi 4- leaves I have, and lay before her feet the 
 primitia? of my new garden ; and if you bring 
 me a great mauy customers for my leaves, 
 I promise you my figs shall be at your service. 
 
 ' I am, worthy Sir, 
 
 1 your worship's most obedient 
 1 humble servant, 
 
 ' ANTHONY EVERGRF.EN. 
 
 * N. B. I am now rearing up a set of fine 
 f'urbelowed dock-leaves, which will be exceed- 
 ing proper for old women, and superannuated 
 maids; those plants having two excellent good 
 properties ; the one, that they flourish best in 
 dry ground ; the other, that being clothed with 
 several integuments of downy surfaces, they 
 are exceeding warm and cherishing:.' 
 
 No. 143.] Tuesday, August 25, 1713. 
 
 Qnis fnit, liorrcDdos primus qui protnlit emesT 
 Ouim (eras, ct vire fcrreus ille luit .' 
 
 7i ,'/. Lib. 1. Eleg. x. l. 
 
 Who first, with skill inhiim.in, did produce, 
 And teach mankind the sword's destructive use? 
 VV li.it icnae ol pity could the monster feel! 
 liimx II i i : i ii (be niuid'ioiis Mill ! 
 
 Notwithstanding the levity of the pui 
 which is iu th>- secund line of mv motto, ,: i 
 
 subject I am going upon is of the most serious 
 consequence, and concerns no less than the 
 peace and quiet, and(for aught 1 know) the very 
 life and safety, of every inoffensive and well- 
 disposed inhabitant of this city. Frequent 
 complaints have been made to me, by men of 
 discretion and sobriety, in most of the coffee- 
 houses from St. James's to Jonathan's, that 
 there is sprung up of late a very numerous race 
 of young fellows about the town, who have the 
 confidence to walk the streets, and come into 
 all public places in open day-light, with swords 
 of such immoderate length, as strike terror 
 into a great many of her majesty's good sub- 
 jects. Besides this, half a dozen of this frater- 
 nity in a room or a narrow street, are as in- 
 convenient as so many turn-stiles, because you 
 can pass neither backward nor forward, until 
 you have first put their weapons aside. When 
 Jack Lizard made his first trip to town from 
 the university, he thought he could never bring 
 up with him too much of the gentleman; this 
 1 soon perceived in the first visit he made me, 
 when 1 remember, he came scraping in at the 
 door, encumbered with a bar of cold iron so 
 irksomely long, that it banged against his calf 
 and jarred upon his right heel, as he walked, 
 and came rattling behind him as he ran down 
 the stairs. But his sister Annabella's raillery 
 soon cured him of this awkward air, by telling 
 him that his sword was only fit for going up 
 stairs, or walking up hill, and that she shrewdly 
 suspected he had stolen it out of the college 
 kitchen. 
 
 But to return to the public grievance of this 
 city ; it is very remarkable, that these ' brothers 
 of the blade* began to appear upon the first 
 suspension of arms ; and that since the con- 
 clusion of the peace the order is very much in- 
 creased, both as to the number of the men, 
 and the size of their weapons. I am informed, 
 that these men of preposterous bravery, who 
 affect a military air in a profound peace, and 
 dare to look terrible amongst their friends and 
 fellow-citizens, have formed a plan to erect 
 themselves into a society, under the name of 
 the Terrible Club ; and that they entertain 
 hopes of getting the great armory-hall in the 
 tower for their club-room, Upon this I have 
 made it my business to inquire more particu- 
 larly into the cabals of these Hectors ; and by 
 the help of my lion, I have got such informa- 
 tions as will enable me to countermine their 
 designs, together with a copy of some funda- 
 mental articles drawn up by three of their 
 ringleaders; the which it seems, are to be 
 augmented and assented to by the rest of the 
 gang, on the first of January next, (if not 
 timely prevented) at a general meeting in the 
 sword-cutlers' hall. I shall at present (to let 
 them see that they are not unobserved 1 * con- 
 tent myself with publishing only the said ar- 
 ticles. 
 
No. 143.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 211 
 
 Articles to be agreed upon by the Members of 
 the Terrible Club. 
 Imprimis, That the club do meet at mid- 
 night in the great armory-hall in the tower, 
 (if leave can be obtained) the first Monday in 
 every month. 
 
 II. That the president be seated upon a drum 
 at the upper end of the table, accoutred with 
 a helmet, a basket-hilt sword, and a buff belt. 
 
 III. That the president be always obliged to 
 provide, for the first and standing dish of the 
 club, a pasty of bull beef, baked in a target 
 made for that purpose. 
 
 JV. That the members do cut their meat 
 with bayonets instead of knives. 
 
 V. That every member do sit to the table, 
 and eat with his hat, his sword, and his gloves 
 on. 
 
 VI. That there be no liquor drank but 
 rack-punch, quickened with brandy and gun- 
 powder. 
 
 VII. That a large mortar be made use of for 
 a punch -bowl. 
 
 In all appearance it could be no other than 
 a member of this club, who came last week to 
 Button's, and sat over-against the lion with 
 such a settled fierceness in his countenance, 
 as if he came to vie with that animal in stern- 
 ness of looks. His stature was somewhat low; 
 his motions quick and smart, and might be 
 mistaken for starlings and convulsions. He 
 wore a broad stiff hat, cudgel proof, with an 
 edging three fingers deep, trussed up into the 
 fierce trooper's cock. To this was added a 
 dark wig, very moderately curled, and tied in 
 two large knots up to his ears ; his coat was 
 short, and rich in tarnished lace ; his nostrils 
 and his upper lip were all begrimed with snuff. 
 At first I was in hopes the gentleman's friends 
 took care not to intrust him with any weapon ; 
 until looking down, I could perceive a sword 
 of a most unwarrantable size, that hung care- 
 lessly below his knee, with two large tassels at 
 the hilt, that played about bis ankles. 
 
 I must confess I cannot help shrewdly sus- 
 pecting the courage of the Terribles. I beg 
 pardon if I am in the wrong when I think, that 
 the long sword, and the swaggering cock, are 
 the ordinary disguises of a faint heart. These 
 men while they think to impose terror upon 
 others, do but render themselves contemptible; 
 their very dress tells you that they are sur- 
 rounded with fears, that they live in Hobbes's 
 state of nature, and that they are never free 
 from apprehensions. I dare say, if one were 
 to look into the hearts of these champions, one 
 should find there a great tendency to go cased 
 in armour, and that nothing but the fear of a 
 stronger ridicule restrains them from it. A 
 brave man scorns to wear any thing that may 
 give him an advantage over his neighbour; his 
 
 great glory is neither to fear, not to be feared. 
 I remember, when I was abroad, to have seen 
 a buffoon in an opera, whose excessive cowardice 
 never failed to set the whole audience into a 
 loud laughter ; but the scene which seemed to 
 divert them most, was that in which he came 
 on with a sword that reached quite across the 
 stage, and was put to flight by an adversary, 
 whose stature was not above four foot high, 
 and whose weapon was not three foot long. 
 This brings to my mind what I have formerly 
 read of a king of Arabia, who showing a rich 
 sword, that had been presented to him, his 
 courtiers unanimously gave their opinion, that 
 it had no other fault, but that of being too 
 short ; upon which the king's son said, that 
 there was no weapon too short for a brave man, 
 since there needed no more but to advance one 
 step to make it long enough. To this I shall 
 subjoin, by way of corollary, that there is no 
 weapon long enough for a coward, who nevei 
 thinks himself secure while he is within sight 
 of his adversary's point. I would therefore 
 advise these men of distant courage, as they 
 tender their honour, to shorten their dimen- 
 sions, and reduce their tilters to a more repu- 
 table, as well as a more portable size. 
 
 No. 144.] Wednesday, August 26, 1713. 
 
 Sua cuique quum sit animi cogitatio, 
 
 Colorque proprius? Phcedr. Prol. Lib. v. 7 
 
 Every man has his peculiar way of thinking and acting. 
 
 It is a very just, and a common observation 
 upon the natives of this island, that in their 
 different degrees, and in their several professions 
 and employments, they abound as much and 
 perhaps more, in good sense than any people ; 
 and yet, at the same time there is scarce an 
 Englishman of any life and spirit, that has not 
 some odd cast of thought, some original humour 
 that distinguishes him from his neighbour. 
 Hence it is that our comedies are enriched 
 with such a diversity of characters, as is not 
 to be &een upon any other theatre in Europe. 
 Even in the masquerades that have been lately 
 given to the town (though they are diversions 
 we are not accustomed to) the singularities of 
 dress were carried much farther then is usual 
 in foreign countries, where the natives are 
 trained up, as it were, from their infancy, to 
 those amusements. The very same measure 
 of understanding, the very same accomplish- 
 ments, the very same defects, shall, amongst us, 
 appear under a quite different aspect in one 
 man, to what they do in another. This makes 
 it as impracticable to foreigners to enter into 
 a thorough knowledge of the English, as it 
 would be to learn the Chinese language, in 
 which there is a different character for every 
 individual word. I know not how to explain 
 
'2\'2 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 145. 
 
 this vein of humour so obvious in my country- 
 men, better than by comparing it to what the 
 French call Le goilt du terroir in wines, by 
 which they mean the different flavour one and 
 the same grape shall draw from the different 
 sods in which it is planted. This national 
 mark is visible amongst us in every rank and 
 degree of men, from the persons of the first 
 quality and politest sense, down to the rudest 
 and most ignorant of the people. Every me- 
 chanic has a peculiar cast of head and turn of 
 wit, or some uncommon whim, as a character- 
 istic that distinguishes him from others of his 
 trade, as well as from the multitudes that are 
 upon a level with him. We have a small-coal- 
 man, who from beginning with two plain 
 notes, which made up his daily cry, has made 
 himself master of the whole compass of the 
 gamut, and has frequent concerts of music 
 at his own house, for the entertainment of 
 himself and his friends. There is a person of 
 great hospitality, who lives in a plastered 
 cottage upon the road to Hampstead, and gets 
 a superfluity of wealth, by accommodating holi- 
 day passengers with ale, brandy, pipes, tobacco, 
 cakes, gingerbread, apples, pears, and other 
 small refreshments of life ; and on work-days 
 takes the air in his chaise, and recreates him- 
 self with the elegant pleasures of the beau- 
 monde. The shining men amongst our mob, 
 dignified by the title of ringleaders, have an 
 inexhaustible fund of archness and raillery; 
 as likewise have our sailors and watermen. 
 Our very street-beggars are not without their 
 peculiar oddities, as the schoolmen term them. 
 The other day u a tattered wag followed me 
 across the Mews with ' one farthing or half- 
 penny, good your honour, do your honour ; and 
 I shall make bold to pray for you.' 
 
 Sbakspeare (who was a great copier of na- 
 ture) whenever he introduces any artisans or 
 low characters into his plays, never fails to 
 dash them strongly with some distinguishing 
 stain of humour, as may be seen more re- 
 markably in the scene of the grave-diggers in 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Though this singularity of temper, which 
 runs through the generality of us, may make 
 us seem whimsical to strangers ; yet it fur- 
 nishes out a perpetual change of entertainment 
 to ourselves, and diversifies all our conver- 
 sations with such a variety of mirth, as is not 
 to be met with in any other country. Sir 
 William Temple, in his Essay upon Poetry, 
 endeavours to account for the British humours 
 in the following manner : 
 
 ' This may proceed from the native plenty 
 of our soil, the uuequalness of our climate, as 
 well as the ease of our government, and the 
 liberty of professing opinions and factions, 
 which perhaps our neighbours have about them, 
 but are forced to disguise, and thereby may 
 
 come '•)) time in he extinguished. Thus we 
 come to have more originals, and more that 
 appear what they are. We have more humour, 
 because every man fellows his own, and takes 
 a pleasure, perhaps a pride, to show it. On the 
 contrary, where the people are generally poor, 
 and forced to hard labour, their actions and 
 lives are all of a piece. Where they serve 
 hard masters, they must follow their examples, 
 as well as commands, and are forced upon imi- 
 tation in small matters, as well as obedience 
 in great : so that some nations look as if they 
 were cast all by one mould, or cut out all by 
 one pattern, at least the common people in 
 one, and the gentlemen in another. They 
 seem all of a sort in their habits, their customs, 
 and even their talk and conversation, as well 
 as in the application and pursuit of their ac- 
 tions, and their lives. Besides all this, there 
 is another sort of variety amongst us, which 
 arises from our climate, and the dispositions it 
 naturally produces. We are not only more 
 unlike one another, than any nation I know; 
 but we are more unlike ourselves too, at se- 
 veral times, and owe to our very air some ill 
 qualities, as well as many good.' 
 
 Ours is the only country, perhaps, in the 
 whole world, where every man, rich and poor, 
 dares to have a humour of his own, and to 
 avow it upon all occasions. I make no doubt, 
 but that it is to this great freedom of temper, 
 and this unconstrained manner of living, that 
 we owe in a great measure, the number of 
 shining geniuses, which rise up amongst us 
 from time to time, in the several arts and 
 sciences, for the service and for the ornament 
 of life. This frank and generous disposition 
 in a people, will likewise never fail *o keep up 
 iii their minds an aversion to slavery, and be, 
 as it were, a standing bulwark of their liberties. 
 So long as ever wit and humour continue, and 
 the generality of us will have their own way of 
 thinking, speaking, and acting, this nation is 
 not like to give any quarter to an invader, and 
 much less to bear with the absurdities of po- 
 pery, in exchange for an established and a 
 reasonable faith. 
 
 No. f45.] Thursday, August 27, 1713. 
 
 Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arrogot arniis. 
 
 Hor. Ars Poet. ver. IOC 
 
 Scorning all judges and all law, but arms. 
 
 Roscommon. 
 
 Amongst the several challenges and letters 
 which my paper of the twenty-fifth has brought 
 upon me, there happens to be one, which I 
 know not well what to make of. I am doubt- 
 ful whether it is the archness of some wag, or 
 the serious resentment of a coxcomb that vents 
 his indignation with an insipid pertness. In 
 
No. 145.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 213 
 
 either of these two lights I think it may divert 
 nriy readers, for which reason I shall make no 
 scruple to comply with the gentleman's request, 
 and make his letter public. 
 
 « OLD TESTY, Tilt-yard Coffee-house. 
 
 ' Your grey hairs for once shall be your pro- 
 tection, and this billet a fair warning to you 
 tor your audacious raillery upon the dignity of 
 long swords. Look to it for the future ; consi- 
 der we brothers of the blade are men of a*' long 
 reach :" think betimes, 
 
 " How many perils do environ 
 The m;in that meddles with cold iron." 
 
 * It has always been held dangerous to play 
 with edge-tools. I grant you, we men of valour 
 are but awkward jesters ; we know not how 
 to repay joke for joke ; but then we always 
 make up in point what we want in wit. He 
 that shall rashly attempt to regulate our hilts, 
 or reduce our blades, had need to have a heart 
 of oak, as well as *' sides of iron." Thus 
 much for the present. In the mean time Bilbo 
 is the word, remember that, and tremble. 
 
 ' THO. SWAGGER.' 
 
 This jocose manner of bullying an old man, 
 so long as it affords some entertainment to my 
 friends, is what I shall not go about to dis- 
 courage. However my witty antagonist must 
 give me leave, since he attacks me in proverbs, 
 to exchange a thrust or two with him at the 
 same weapons; and so let me tell Mr. Swag- 
 ger, ' There is no catching old birds with chaff;' 
 and that ' Brag is a good dog, but Hold-fast is 
 a better.' 4 Fore-warned, fore-armed.' Hav- 
 ing despatched this combatant, and given him 
 as good as he brings, I proceed to exhibit the 
 case of a person who is the very reverse of the 
 former: the which he lays before me in the 
 following epistle. 
 
 « WORTHY SIR, 
 
 * I am the most unfortunate of men, if you 
 do not speedily interpose with your authority 
 in behalf of a gentleman, who by his own ex- 
 ample, has for these six months endeavoured, 
 at the peril of his life, to bring little swords 
 into fashion, in hopes to prevail upon the gen- 
 try by that means (winning them over inch by 
 inch) to appear without any swords at all. It 
 was my misfortune to call in at Tom's last 
 night, a little fuddled, where I happened only 
 to point towards an odd fellow with a mon- 
 strous sword, that made a ring round him as 
 he turned upon his heel to speak to one or 
 other in the room. Upon this peceadillo> the 
 bloody-minded villain has sent me a challenge 
 this morning. I tremble at the very thought 
 of it, and am sick with the apprehension of 
 seeing that weapon naked, which terrified me 
 in the scabbard. The unconscionable ruffian 
 desires, in the most civil terms, he may have 
 the honour of measuring swords with me. Alas . 
 
 sir, mine is not (hilt and all) above a foot and 
 a half. I take the liberty of inclosing it to 
 you in my wig box, and shall be eternally 
 obliged to you, if upon sight of it, your com- 
 passion may be so far moved, as to occasion you 
 to write a good word for me to my adversary, 
 or to say any thing that may shame him into 
 reason, and save at once the life and reputation 
 of, * Sir, your most devoted slave, 
 
 ' TIMOTHY BODKIN. 
 GOOD MR. BODKIN, 
 
 The perusal of this paper will give you to 
 understand, that your letter, together with 
 the little implement you sent me in the band- 
 box, came safe to my hands. From the dimen- 
 sions of it I perceive your courage lies in a 
 narrow compass. Suppose you should send 
 this bravo the fellow to it, and desire him to 
 meet you in a closet, letting him know at the 
 same time, that you fight all your duels under 
 lock and key, for the sake of privacy. But if 
 this proposal seems a little too rash, I shall 
 send my servant with your sword to the person 
 offended, and give him instructions to tell him 
 you are a little purblind, and dare not for that 
 reason trust to a longer weapon, and that an 
 inch in his body will do your business as well 
 as an ell. Or, if you would have me proceed 
 yet more cautiously, my servant shall let him 
 know, as from me, that he should meddle with 
 his match ; and that alone, if he be a man of 
 honour, will make him reflect; if otherwise, 
 (as I am very inclinable to doubt it) you need 
 give yourself no farther unnecessary fears ; but 
 rely upon the truth of my remarks upon the 
 terribles. I have bethought myself of one ex- 
 pedient more for you, which seems to be the 
 most likely to succeed. Send your own ser- 
 vant to wait upon the gentleman : let him 
 carry with him your sword and a letter, in 
 which you tell him, that admiring the magni- 
 ficence and grandeur of his weapon at Tom's, 
 you thought it great pity so gallant a cavalier 
 should not be completely armed ; for which 
 reason you humbly request, that you may have 
 the honour of presenting him with a dagger. 
 I am, Sir, 
 
 your faithful servant, 
 
 NESTOR IRONSIDE, 
 
 I received a letter last week from one of my 
 female wards, who subscribes herself Teraminta. 
 She seems to be a lady of great delicacy, by 
 the concern she shows for the loss of a small 
 covering, which the generality of the sex have 
 laid aside. She is in pain, and full of those 
 fears which are natural in a state of virginity, 
 lest any, the smallest part of her linen, should 
 be in the possession of a man. In compliance 
 therefore with her request, and to gratify her 
 modesty so far as lies in my power, I have given 
 orders to my printer to make room for he' 
 advertisement in this day's paper. 
 
>M4 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 116*. 
 
 ADVnRTISKMINT. 
 
 August 19. ' Whereas a modesty-piece was 
 lost at the masquerade last Monday night, 
 being the seventeenth instant, between the 
 hours of twelve and one, the author of this 
 paper pivea notice, that if any person will put 
 it into the hands of Mr. Daniel Button, to he 
 returned to the owner, it shall by her be ac- 
 knowledged as the last favour, and no cpjestions 
 asked. 
 
 * N. B. It is of no use but to the owner.' 
 
 No. 146.] Friday, August 28, 1713. 
 
 Pi -i'iimis hoininum leonem maim tractare ausus, ct osten- 
 dcre mansiiefactnm, llanno e clarissimis Pcenonim tra- 
 
 I [anno, a noble Carthagenian, is reported to have been 
 Hie first man who ventured to handle a lion, and bring 
 him up tame. 
 
 The generality of ray readers, I find, are so 
 well pleased with the story of the lion, in my 
 paper of the twentieth instant, and with my 
 friend's design of compiling a history of that 
 noble species of animals, that a great many 
 ingenious persons have promised me their as- 
 sistance to bring in materials for the work, 
 from all the storehouses of ancient and modern 
 learning, as well as from oral tradition. For 
 a farther encouragement of the undertaking, 
 a considerable number of virtuosi have offered, 
 when my collection shall swell into a reason- 
 able bulk, to contribute very handsomely, by 
 way of subscription, towards the printing of 
 them in folio, on a large royal paper, curiously 
 adorned with variety of forests, deserts, rocks, 
 and caves, and lions of all sorts and sizes upon 
 copper- plates, by the best hands. A rich old 
 bachelor of Lion's-inn (who is zealous for the 
 honour of the place in which he was educated) 
 sends me word I may depend upon a hundred 
 pounds from him, towards the embellishing of 
 the work ; assuring me, at the same time, that 
 he will set his clerk to search the records, and 
 inquire into the antiquities of that house, that 
 there may be no stone left unturned to make 
 the book complete. Considering the volumes 
 that have been written upon insects and rep- 
 tiles, and the vast expense and pains some phi- 
 losophers have been at to discover, by the help 
 of glasses, their almost imperceptible qualities 
 and perfections ; it will not, I hope, be thought 
 unreasonable, if the lion (whose majestic form 
 lies open to the naked eve) should take up a 
 first-rate folio. 
 
 A worthy merchant, and a friend of mine, 
 sends me the following letter, to be inserted in 
 my commentaries: upon lions. 
 
 Since one of your correspondents has of 
 late entertained the public with a very re- 
 markable and ancient piece of history, in ho- 
 
 nour of the grandees of the forest ; and since 
 it is probable you may in time collect a great 
 many curious records and amazing circum- 
 stances, which may contribute to make these 
 animals respected over the face of the whole, 
 earth ; I am not a little ambitious to have the 
 glory of contributing somewhat to so generous 
 an undertaking. If you throw your work into 
 the form of chronicle, I am in hopes I may 
 furnish out a page in it towards the latter end 
 of the volume, by a narration of a modern 
 date, which I had in the year 1700, from the 
 gentleman to whom it happened. 
 
 ' About sixty years ago, when the plague 
 raged at Naples, sir George Davis (consul there 
 for the English nation) retired to Florence. It 
 happened one day he went out of curiosity to 
 see the great duke's lions. At the farther end, 
 in one of the dens, lay a lion, which the keepers 
 in three years' time could not tame, with all 
 the art and gentle usage imaginable. Sir 
 George no sooner appeared at the grates of the 
 den, but the lion ran to him with all the 
 marks of joy and transport he was capable of 
 expressing. He reared himself up and licked 
 his hand, which this gentleman put in through 
 the grates. The keeper, affrighted, took him 
 by the arm and pulled him away, begging him 
 not to hazard his life by going so near the 
 fiercest creature of that kind that ever entered 
 those dens. However, nothing would satisfy 
 sir George, notwithstanding all that could be 
 said to dissuade him, but he must go into the den 
 to him. The very instant he entered, the lion 
 threw his paws upon his shoulders, and licked 
 his face, and ran to and fro in the den, fawn- 
 ing, and full of joy, like a dog at the sight of 
 his master. After several embraces and salu- 
 tations exchanged on both sides, they parted 
 very good friends. The rumour of this inter- 
 view between the lion and the stranger rung 
 immediately through the whole city, and sir 
 George was very near passing for a saint among 
 the people. The great duke, when he heard 
 of it, sent for sir George, who waited upon his 
 highness to the den, and to satisfy his curiosity, 
 gave him the following account of what seeme 
 so strange to the duke and his followers. 
 
 " A captain of a ship from Barbary gave m 
 this lion when he was a young whelp. 1 brought 
 him up tame; but when I thought him too 
 large to be suffered to run about the house, I 
 built a den for him in my court-yard; from 
 that time he was never permitted to go loose, 
 except when 1 brought him within doors to 
 show him to my friends. When he was five 
 years old, in his gamesome tricks, he did some 
 mischief by pawing and playing with people. 
 Having griped a man one day a little too hard, 
 I ordered him to be shot, for fear of incurring 
 the guilt of what might happen; upon this a 
 friend who was then at dinner with me, begged 
 him: how he came here I know not." 
 
No. 147.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 215 
 
 Here sir George Davis ended, and there- 
 upon the duke of Tuscany assured him, that 
 he had the lion from that very friend of his. 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 ' your most obedient servant, 
 
 * and constant reader, &c.' 
 
 No. 147.] Saturday, August 29, 1713. 
 
 Hoiiuui est t'ugicnda aspicere alieno in malo. 
 
 Publ. Syr. 
 
 It is a good thin j to learn caution by the misfortunes 
 0/ others. 
 
 Having in my paper of the twenty-first of 
 July, showed my dislike of the ridiculous cus- 
 tom of garnishing a new-married couple, and 
 setting a gloss upon their persons which is to 
 last no longer than the honey- moon; I think 
 it may be much for the emolument of my dis- 
 ciples of both sexes, to make them sensible in 
 the next place, of the folly of launching out 
 into extravagant expenses, and a more magni- 
 ficent way of living immediately upon marriage. 
 If the bride and bridegroom happen to be per- 
 sons of any rank, they come into all public 
 places, and go upon all visits with so gay an 
 equipage, and so glittering an appearance, as 
 if they were making so many public entries. 
 But to judicious minds, and to men of expe- 
 rience in this life, the gilt chariot, the coach 
 and six, the gaudy liveries, the supernumerary 
 train of servants, the great house, the sump- 
 tuous table, the services of plate, the embroi- 
 dered clothes, the rich brocades, and the pro- 
 fusion of jewels, that upon this occasion break 
 out at once, are so many symptoms of madness 
 in the happy pair, and prognostications of their 
 future misery. 
 
 I remember a country neighbour of my lady 
 Lizard's, squire Wiseacre by name, who enjoyed 
 a very clear estate of five hundred pounds 
 per annum, and by living frugally upon it was 
 beforehand in the world. This gentleman un- 
 fortunately fell iu love with Mrs. Fanny Flip- 
 pant, the then reigning toast in those parts. 
 In a word, he married her, and to give a lasting 
 proof of his affection, consented to make both 
 her and himself miserable by setting out in 
 the high mode of wedlock. He, in less than 
 the space of five years, was reduced to starve 
 in prison for debt ; and his lady, with a son 
 and three daughters, became a burden to the 
 parish. The conduct of Frank Foresight was 
 the very reverse to squire Wiseacre's. He had 
 lived a bachelor some years about this town, 
 in the best of companies ; kept a chariot, and 
 four footmen, besides six saddle-horses ; he did 
 not exceed, but went to the utmost stretch of 
 his income; but when he married the beautiful 
 Clarinda (who brought him a plentiful fortune) 
 he dismissed two of his footmen, four of the 
 saddle-horses, and his chariot ; and kept only 
 
 a chair for the use of his lady. Embroidered 
 clothes and laced linen were quite laid aside ; 
 ne was married in a plain drugget, and from 
 that time forward, in all the accommodations 
 of life, never coveted any thing beyond clean- 
 liness and conveniency. When any of bis ac- 
 quaintance asked him the reason of this sudden 
 change, he would answer, £ In single life I could 
 easily compute my wants, and provide against 
 them ; but the condition of life I am now en- 
 gaged in, is attended with a thousand unfore- 
 seen casualties, as well as a great many distant, 
 but unavoidable expenses. The happiness or 
 misery, in this world, of a future progeny, will 
 probably depend upon my good or ill husbandry. 
 I shall never think I have discharged my duty 
 until I have laid up a provision for three or 
 four children at least.' ' But, pr'ythee, Frank,' 
 says a pert coxcomb that stood by, ' why shouldst 
 
 thou reckon thy chickens before' upon 
 
 which he cut him short, and replied, ' It is 
 no matter ; a brave man can never want heirs, 
 while there is one man of worth living.' This 
 precautious way of reasoning and acting has 
 proved to Mr. Foresight and his lady an unin- 
 terrupted source of felicity. Wedlock sits 
 light and easy upon them ; and they are at 
 present happy in two sons and a daughter, 
 who a great many years hence will feel the 
 good effects of their parents' prudence. 
 
 My memory fails me in recollecting where 
 I have read, that in some parts of Holland it 
 is provided by law, that every man, before he 
 marries, shall be obliged to plant a certain 
 number of trees, proportionable to his circum- 
 stances, as a pledge to the government for the 
 maintenance of his children. Every honest as 
 well as every prudent man should do some- 
 thing equivalent to this, by retrenching all 
 superfluous and idle expenses, instead of fol- 
 lowing the extravagant practice of persons, 
 who sacrifice every thing to their present vanity, 
 and never are a day beforehand in thought. 
 I know not what delight splendid nuptials may 
 afford to the generality of the great world : I 
 could never be present at any of them without 
 a heavy heart. It is with pain I refrain from 
 tears, when I see the bride thoughtlessly jigging 
 it about the room, dishonoured with jewels, and 
 dazzling the eyes of the whole assembly at the 
 expense of her children's future subsistence. 
 How singular, in the age we live in, is the 
 moderate behaviour of young Sophia, and how 
 amiable does she appear in the eyes of wise 
 men ! Her lover, a little before marriage, ac- 
 quainted her, that he intended to lay out a 
 thousand pounds for a present in jewels ; but 
 before he did it, desired to know what sort 
 would be most acceptable to her. ' Sir,' re- 
 plied Sophia, ' I thank you for your kind and 
 generous intentions, and only beg they may be 
 executed in another manner : be pleased only 
 to give me the money, and I will try to lay it 
 
1M6 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 148. 
 
 out to a better advantage. I am not,' conti- 
 nues she, ' at all fond of those expensive trifles ; 
 neither do I think the wearing of diamonds 
 can be any addition, nor the absence of them 
 any diminution, to my happiness. I should be 
 ashamed to appear in public for a few days in 
 a dress which does not become me at all times. 
 Besides, I see by that modest plain garb of 
 yours, that you are not yourself affected with 
 the gayety of apparel. When I am your wife, 
 my only care will be to keep my person clean 
 and neat for you, and not to make it fine for 
 others.' The gentleman, transported with this 
 excellent turn of mind in his mistress, pre- 
 sented her with the money in new gold. She 
 purchased an annuity with it ; out of the in- 
 come of which, at every revolution of her 
 wedding-day, she makes her husband some 
 pretty present, as a token of her gratitude, 
 and a fresh pledge of her love ; part of it she 
 yearly distributes among her indigent and best 
 deserving neighbours ; and the small remainder 
 she lays out in something useful for herself, or 
 the children. 
 
 No. 148.] Monday, August 31, 1713. 
 
 F.is est ct ab hoste tlnceri. 
 
 Ovid. Met. Lib. iv. 428. 
 'Tis good to learn even from an enemy. 
 
 There is a kind of apophthegm, which I 
 have frequently met with in my reading, to 
 this purpose: ' That there are few, if any 
 books, out of which a man of learning may 
 not extract something for his use.' I have 
 often experienced the truth of this maxim, 
 when calling in at my bookseller's, I have 
 taken the book next to my hand off the coun- 
 ter, to employ the minutes I have been obliged 
 to linger away there, in waiting for one friend 
 or other. Yesterday when I came there, the 
 Turkish tales happened to lie in my way ; upon 
 opening of that amusing author, 1 happened to 
 dip upon a short tale, which gave me a great 
 many serious reflections. The very same fable 
 may fall into the hands of a great many men 
 of wit and pleasure, who, it is probable, will 
 read it with their usual levity ; but since it 
 may as probably divert and instruct a great 
 many persons of plain and virtuous minds, I 
 shall make no scruple of making it the enter- 
 tainment of this day's paper. The moral to 
 be drawn from it is entirely Christian, and is 
 so very obvious, that I shall leave to every 
 reader the pleasure of picking it out for him- \ 
 self. I shall only premise, to obviate any | 
 offence that may be taken, that a great many 
 notions in tin Mahometan religion arc bor- 
 rowed from the holy scriptures. 
 
 The History of Santon Barsisa. 
 There was formerly a santon whose name 
 
 years, very fervently applied himself to prayers ; 
 and scarce ever went out of the grotto in which 
 he made his residence, for fear of exposing 
 himself to tbe danger of offending God. He 
 fasted in the day-time, and watched in the 
 night. All the inhabitants of the country had 
 such a great veneration for him, and so highly 
 valued his prayers, that they commonly applied 
 to him when they had any favour to beg of 
 Heaven. When he made vows for the health 
 of a sick person, the patient was immediately 
 cured. 
 
 It happened that the daughter of the king 
 of that country fell into a dangerous distemper, 
 the cause of which the physicians could not 
 discover, yet they continued prescribing re- 
 medies by guess ; but instead of helping the 
 princess, they only augmented her disease. In 
 the mean time the king was inconsolable, for 
 he passionately loved his daughter ; wherefore, 
 one day, finding all human assistance vain, he 
 declared it as his opinion that the princess 
 ought to be sent to the santon Barsisa. 
 
 All the beys applauded his sentiment, and 
 the king's officers conducted her to the santon , 
 who, notwithstanding his frozen age, could noi 
 see such a beauty without being sensibly moved. 
 He gazed on her with pleasure; and the devil 
 taking this opportunity, whispered in his ear 
 thus : ' O santon ! don't let slip such a fortu- 
 nate minute: tell the king's servants that it is 
 requ^ite for the princess to pass this night in 
 the grotto, to see whether it will please God to 
 cure her ; that you will put up a prayer for 
 her, and that they need only come to fetch her 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 How weak is man ! the santon followed the 
 devil's advice, and did what he suggested to 
 him. But the officers, befi re they would yield 
 to leave the princess, sent one of their number 
 to know the king's pleasure. That monarch, 
 who had an entire confidence in Barsisa, never 
 in the least scrupled the trusting of his daugh- 
 ter with him. ' I consent,' said he, * that she 
 stay with that holy man, and that he keep her 
 as long as he pleases : I am wholly satisfied on 
 that head.' 
 
 When the officers had received the king's 
 answer, they all retired, and the princess re- 
 mained alone with the hermit. Night being 
 come, the devil presented himself to the santon, 
 saying, * Canst thou let slip so favourable an 
 opportunity w ith so charming a creature ? Fear 
 not her telling of the violence you offer her; 
 if she were even so indiscreet as to reveal it, 
 who will believe her? The court, the city, and 
 all the world, are too much prepossessed in 
 your favour, to give any credit to such a report. 
 Vou may do any thing unpunished, when armed 
 by the great reputation for wisdom which you 
 have acquired.' The unfortunate Barsisa was 
 so weak as to hearken to the enemy of man- 
 
 was Barilla, which fir the space of a hundred | kind. He approached the princess, took her 
 
No. 148.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 '17 
 
 into his arms, and in a moment cancelled a 
 virtue of a hundred years duration. 
 
 He had no sooner perpetrated his crime, 
 than a thousand avenging horrors haunted him 
 night and day. He thus accosts the devil: 
 * Oh, wretch,' says he, ' it is thou which hast 
 destroyed me ! Thou hast encompassed me for 
 a whole age, and endeavoured to seduce me ; 
 and now at last thou hast gained thy end.' 
 *Oh, santon !' answered the devil, * do not re- 
 proach me with the pleasure thou hast enjoyed. 
 Thou mayst repent ; hut what is unhappy for 
 thee is, that the princess is impregnated, and 
 thy sin will hecome public. Thou wilt become 
 the laughing-stock of those who admire and 
 reverence thee at present, and the king will 
 put thee to an ignominious death.' 
 
 Barsisa, terrified by this discourse, says to 
 the devil, ' What shall I do to prevent the 
 publication of my shame ?' ' To hinder the 
 knowledge of your crime, you ought to commit 
 a fresh one,' answered the devil. ' Kill the 
 princess, bury her at the corner of the grotto, 
 and when the king's messengers come to-mor- 
 row, tell them you have cured her, and that 
 she went from the grotto very early in the 
 morning. They will believe you, and search 
 for her all over the city and country; and the 
 king her father will be in great pain for her, 
 but after several vain searches it will wear off.' 
 
 The hermit, abandoned by God, pursuant to 
 this advice, killed the princess, buried her in 
 a corner of the grotto, and the next day told 
 the officers what the devil bid him say. They 
 made diligent inquiry for the king's daughter, 
 but not being able to hear of her, they despaired 
 of finding her, when the devil told them that 
 all their search for the princess was vain ; and 
 relating what had passed betwixt her and the 
 santon, he told them the place where she was 
 interred. The officers immediately went to the 
 grotto, seized Barsisa, and found the princess's 
 body in the place to which the devil had directed 
 them ; whereupon they took up the corpse, 
 and carried that and the santon to the palace. 
 
 When the king saw his daughter dead, and 
 was informed of the whole event, he broke out 
 into tears and bitter lamentations; and as- 
 sembling the doctors, he laid the santon's crime 
 before them, and asked their advice how he 
 should be punished. All the doctors condemned 
 him to death, upon which the king ordered 
 him to be hanged. Accordingly, a gibbet was 
 erected: the hermit went up the ladder, and 
 when he was going to be turned off, the devil 
 whispered in his ear these words : * O, santon ! 
 if you will worship me, I will extricate you 
 out of this difficulty, and transport you two 
 thousand leagues from hence, into a country 
 where you shall be reverenced by men as much 
 as you were before this adventure.' ' I am 
 content,' says Barsisa ; ' deliver me, and I will 
 worship thee.' ' Give me first a sign of ado- 
 
 ration,' replies the devil. Whenupon the 
 santon bowed his head, and said, ' 1 give myself 
 to you.' The devil then raising his voice, said ; 
 ' O, Barsisa, I am satisfied ; I have obtained 
 what I desired ;' and with these words, spitting 
 in his face, he disappeared; and the deluded 
 santon was hanged. 
 
 No. 149.] Tuesday, September 1, 1713. 
 
 Uiatur vestis amore tusr. 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 Your very dress shall captivate his heart. 
 
 I have in a former precaution endeavoured 
 to show the mechanism of an epic poem, and 
 given the reader prescriptions whereby he may, 
 without the scarce ingredient of a genius, 
 compose the several parts of that great work. 
 I shall now treat of an affair of more general 
 importance, and make dress the subject of the 
 following paper. 
 
 Dress is grown of universal use in the con- 
 duct of life. Civilities and respect are only 
 paid to appearance. It is a varnish that gives 
 a lustre to every action, a passe par tout that 
 introduces us into all polite assemblies, audi 
 the only certain method of making most of the 
 youth of our nation conspicuous. 
 
 There was formerly an absurd notion among 
 the men of letters, that to establish themselves 
 in the character of wits, it was absolutely ne- 
 cessary to show a contempt of dress. This 
 injudicious affectation of theirs flattened all 
 their conversation, took off the force of every 
 expression, and incapacitated a female audience 
 from giving attention to any thing they said. 
 While the man of dress catches their eyes as 
 well as ears, and at every ludicrous turn ob- 
 tains a laugh of applause by way of compli- 
 ment. 
 
 I shall lay down as an established maxim, 
 which hath been received in all ages, that no 
 person can dress without a genius. 
 
 A genius is never to be acquired by art, but 
 is the gift of nature ; it may be discovered even 
 in infancy. Little master will smile when you 
 shake his plume of feathers before him, and 
 thrust its little knuckles in papa's full-bottom ; 
 miss will toy with her mother's Mechlin lace, 
 and gaze on the gaudy colours of a fan ; she 
 smacks her lips for a kiss at the appearance of 
 a gentleman in embroidery, and is frighted at 
 the indecency of the house-maid's blue apron: 
 as she grows up, the dress of her baby begins 
 to be her care, and you will see a genteel 
 fancy open itself in the ornaments of the little 
 machine. 
 
 We have a kind of sketch of dress, if I may 
 so call it, among us, which, as the invention 
 was foreign, is called a dishabille : every thing 
 is thrown on with a loose and careless air; yet 
 a genius discovers itself even through this neg- 
 ligence of dress, just as vou may &ee the mas* 
 2 K 
 
218 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 149. 
 
 t.rly hand of a painter in three or four swift 
 strokes of the pencil. 
 
 The most fruitful in geniuses is the French 
 nation ; we owe most of our janty fashions 
 now in vogue, to some adept beau among them, 
 l'heir ladies exert the whole scope of their 
 fannes upon every new petticoat; every head- 
 dress undergoes a change ; and not a lady of 
 genius will appear in the same shape two days 
 together; so that we may impute the scarcity 
 of geniuses in our climate to the stagnation of 
 fashions. 
 
 The ladies among us have a superior genius 
 to the men ; which hare for some years past 
 shot, out in several exorbitant inventions for 
 the greater consumption of our manufacture. 
 While the men have contented themselves with 
 the retrenchment of the hat, or the various 
 scallop of the pocket, the ladies have sunk the 
 head-dress, inclosed themselves in the circum- 
 ference of the hoop-petticoat; furbelows and 
 flounces have been disposed of at will, the stays 
 have been lowered behind, for the better dis- 
 playing the beauties of the neck ; not to men- 
 tion the various rolling of the sleeve, and those 
 other nice circumstances of dress upon which 
 every lady employs her fancy at pleasure. 
 
 The sciences of poetry and dress have so 
 near an alliance to each other, that the rules 
 of the one, with very little variation, may serve 
 for the other. 
 
 As in a poem all the several parts of it must 
 have a harmony with the whole ; so to keep to 
 the propriety of dress, the coat, waistcoat, and 
 breeches, must be of the same piece. 
 
 As Aristotle obliges all dramatic writers to 
 a strict observance of time, place, and action, 
 in order to compose a just work of this kind 
 of poetry ; so it is absolutely necessary for a 
 person that applies himself to the study of 
 dress, to have a strict regard to these three 
 particulars. 
 
 To begin with the time. What is more 
 absurd than the velvet gown in summer? and 
 what is more agreeable in the winter? The 
 muff and fur are preposterous in Jane, which 
 are charmingly supplied by the Turkey hand- 
 kerchief and the fan. Every thing must be suit- 
 able to the season, and there can be no pro- 
 priety in dress without a strict regard to time. 
 You must have no less respect to place. 
 What gives a lady a more easy air than the 
 wrapping gown in the morning at the tea-table? 
 The Bath countenances the men of dress in 
 showing themselves at the pump in their In- 
 dian night-gowns, without the least inilceorum. 
 Action is what gives the spirit both to writing 
 and dress. Nothing appears graceful without 
 action; the head, the arms, the legs, must all 
 conspire to give a habit a genteel air. What 
 distinguishes the air of the court from that of 
 t he country but action ? A lady, by the careless 
 ti .if he? head, will show a set of ribands to 
 
 advantage; by a pinch of snuff judiciously 
 taken will display the glittering ornament of 
 her little finger ; by the new modelling her 
 tucker, at one view present you with a fine 
 turned hand, ami a rising bosom. In order to 
 be a proficient in action, I cannot sufficiently 
 recommend the science of dancing: this wil". 
 give the feet an easy gait, and the aims a 
 gracefulness of motion. If a person have not 
 a strict regard to these three above-mentioned 
 rules of antiquity, the richest dress will appear 
 stiff and affected, and the most gay habit fan- 
 tastical and tawdry. 
 
 As different sorts of poetry require a different 
 style: the elegy, tender and mournful; the 
 ode, gay and sprightly ; the epic, sublime, &c. 
 so must the widow confess her grief in the veil; 
 the bride frequently makes her joy and exulta- 
 tion conspicuous in the silver brocade ; and 
 the plume and the scarlet die is requisite to 
 give the soldier a martial air. There is another 
 kind of occasional dress in use among the ladies ; 
 I mean the riding-habit, # whieh some have not 
 injudiciously styled the hermaphroditical, by 
 reason of its masculine and feminine compo- 
 sition ; but I shall rather choose to call it the 
 Pindaric, as its first institution was at a New- 
 market horse-race, and as it is a mixture of 
 the sublimity of the epic with the easy softness 
 of the ode. 
 
 There sometimes arises a great genius in 
 dress, who cannot content himself with merely 
 copying from others, but will, as he sees occa- 
 sion, strike out into the long pocket, slashed 
 sleeve, or something particular in the disposition 
 of his lace, or the flourish of his embroidery. 
 Such a person, like the masters of other sciences, 
 will show that he hath a manner of his own. 
 
 On the contrary, there are some pretenders 
 to dress who shine out but by halves ; whether 
 it be for want of genius or money. A dancing- 
 master of the lowest rank seldom fails of the 
 scarlet stocking and the red heel ; and shows 
 a particular respect to the leg and foot, to 
 which he owes his subsistence; when at the 
 same time perhaps all the superior ornament 
 of his body is neglected. We may say of these 
 sort of dressers what Horace says of his patch- 
 work poets : 
 
 ' Purpurens l;tt£ qui splendeat nntu et alter 
 
 Assnitiir pannus' Ars Poet. ver. 15. 
 
 ' A few florid lines 
 
 Shine thro' tli' insipid dulness of the rest.' 
 
 Roscommon, 
 
 Others who lay the stress of beauty in their 
 face, exert all their extravagance in the periwig, 
 which is a kind of index of the mind; the 
 full-bottom formally combed all before, denotes 
 the lawyer and the politician; the smart tie- 
 wig with the black riband shows a man of fierce- 
 ness of temper; and he that burdens himself 
 with a superfluity of white hair which flo vs 
 down the back, and mantles in waving cu Is 
 
No. 14'J.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 219 
 
 over the shoulders, is generally observed to be 
 less curious in the furniture of the inward re- 
 cesses of the scull, and lays himself open to the 
 application of that censure which Milton ap- 
 plies to the fair sex, 
 
 ' of outward form 
 
 Elaborate, of inward, less exact.' 
 
 A lady of genius will give a genteel air to 
 her whole dress by a well-fancied suit of knots, 
 as a judicious writer gives a spirit to a whole 
 sentence by a single expression. As words 
 grow old, and new ones enrich the language, 
 so there is a constant succession of dress ; the 
 fringe succeeds the lace, the stays shorten or 
 extend the waist, the riband undergoes divers 
 variations, the head-dress receives frequent 
 rises and falls every year ; and in short, the 
 whole woman throughout, as curious observers 
 of dress have remarked, is changed from top 
 to toe, in the period of five years. A poet 
 will now and then, to serve his purpose, coin 
 a word, so will a lady of genius venture at an 
 innovation in the fashion; but as Horace ad- 
 vises, that all new-minted words should have-a 
 Greek derivation to give them an indisputable 
 authority, so I would counsel all our improvers 
 of fashion always to take the hiut from France, 
 which may as properly be called the * fountain 
 of dress,' as Greece was of literature. 
 
 Dress may bear a parallel to poetry with 
 respect to moving the passions. The greatest 
 motive to love, as daily experience shows us, is 
 dress. I have known a lady at sight fly to a 
 red feather, and readily give her hand to a 
 fringed pair of gloves. At another time I have 
 seen the awkward appearance of her rural 
 humble servant move her indignation ; she 
 is jealous every time her rival hath a new 
 suit; and in a rage when her woman pins her 
 mantua to disadvantage. Unhappy, unguarded 
 woman ! alas ! what moving rhetoric has she 
 often found in the seducing full-bottom ! who 
 can tell the resistless eloquence of the em- 
 broidered coat, the gold snuff-box, and the 
 amber-headed cane! 
 
 I shall conclude these criticisms with some 
 general remarks upon the milliner, the mantua- 
 maker, and the lady's woman, these being the 
 three chief on which all the circumstances of 
 dress depend. 
 
 The milliner must be thoroughly versed in 
 physiognomy ; in the choice of ribands she 
 must have a particular regard to the com- 
 plexion, and must ever be mindful to cut the 
 head-dress to the dimensions of the face. 
 When she meets with a countenance of large 
 diameter, she must draw the dress forward to 
 the face, and let the lace encroach a little upon 
 the cheek, which casts an agreeable shade, and 
 takes off from its masculine figure; the little 
 oval face requires the diminutive commode, 
 ust on the tip of the crown of the head : she 
 
 must have a regard to the several ages of 
 women : the head-dress must give the mother 
 a more sedate mien than the virgin ; and age 
 must not be made ridiculous with the flaunt- 
 ing airs of youth. There is a beauty that is 
 peculiar to the several stages of life, and as 
 much propriety must be observed in the dress 
 of the old, as the young. 
 
 The mantua-maker must be an expert ana- 
 tomist; and must, if judiciously chosen, have 
 a name of French termination ; she must know 
 how to hide all the defects in the proportions 
 of the body, and must be able to mould the 
 shape by the stays, so as to preserve the intes- 
 tines, that while she corrects the body, she 
 may not interfere with the pleasures of the 
 palate. 
 
 The lady's woman must have all the quali- 
 ties of a critic in poetry ; as her dress, like the 
 critic's learning, is at second-hand, she must, 
 like him, have a ready talent at censure, and 
 her tongue must be deeply versed in detraction ; 
 she must be sure to asperse the characters of 
 the ladies of most eminent virtue and beauty, 
 to indulge her lady's spleen ; and as it hath 
 been remarked, that critics are the most fawn- 
 ing sycophants to their patrons, so must our 
 female critic be a thorough proficient in flat- 
 tery : she must add sprightliness to her lady's 
 air, by encouraging her vanity ; give graceful- 
 ness to her step, by cherishing her pride ; and 
 make her show a haughty contempt of her 
 admirers, by enumerating her imaginary con- 
 quests. As a critic must stock his memory 
 with the names of all the authors of note, she 
 must be no less ready in the recital of all the 
 beaus and pretty fellows in vogue; like the 
 male critic, she asserts, that the theory of any 
 science is above the practice, and that it is not 
 necessary to be able to set her own person off 
 to advantage, in order to be a judge of the 
 dress of others ; and besides all those qualifi- 
 cations, she must be endued with the gift of 
 secrecy, a talent very rarely to be met with in 
 her profession. 
 
 By what I have said, I believe my reader 
 will be convinced, that notwithstanding the 
 many pretenders, the perfection of dress can- 
 not be attained without a genius; and shall 
 venture boldly to affirm, that in all arts and 
 sciences whatever, epic poetry excepted, (of 
 which I formerly showed the knack or mecha- 
 nism) a genius is absolutely necessary. 
 
 No. 150.] Wednesday, September 2, 1713. 
 
 — Nescio qui dulcedine lseti, 
 
 Progeniem nidosque fovent— Virg. Georg. iv. 55. 
 
 with secret joy, 
 
 Their young succession all their cares employ. 
 
 Iiryden. 
 
 I went the other day to visit Eliza, who in 
 the perfect bloom of beauty is the mother of 
 
22U 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 No. 150. 
 
 •everal children. She bad a little prating girl 
 upon her lap, "ho was begging to be very fine, 
 that she might go abroad; and the indulgent 
 mother, at her little daughter's request, had 
 just taken the knots off her own head, to adorn 
 the hair of the pretty trifler. A smiling boy 
 was at the same time aressing^ a lap-dog, 
 which is their mother's favourite, because it 
 pleases the children ; and she, with a delight 
 in her looks, which heightened her beauty, so 
 divided her conversation with the two pretty 
 prattlers, as to make them both equally cheer- 
 ful. 
 
 As I came in, she said with ablush, Mr. Iron- 
 side, though you are an old bachelor, you must 
 not laugh at my tenderness to my children.' 
 I need not tell my reader what civil things I 
 said in answer to the lady, whose matron- like 
 behaviour gave me infinite satisfaction ; since 
 I myself take great pleasure in playing with 
 children, and am seldom unprovided of plums 
 or marbles, to make my court to such enter- 
 taining companions. 
 
 Whence is it, said I to myself when I was 
 alone, that the affection of parents is so intense 
 to their offspring ? Is it because they generally 
 find such resemblances in what they have pro- 
 duced, as that thereby they think themselves 
 renewed in their children, and are willing to 
 transmit themselves to future times? Or is it, 
 because they think themselves obliged, by the 
 dictates of humanity, to nourish and rear what 
 is placed so immediately under their protec- 
 tion ; and what by their means is brought into 
 this world, the scene of misery, of necessity ? 
 These will not come up to it. Is it not rather 
 v .he good providence of that being, who in a 
 nupereminent degree protects and cherishes 
 the whole race of mankind, his sons and crea- 
 tures ? How shall we, any other way, account 
 for this natural affection, so signally displayed 
 throughout every species of the animal crea- 
 tion, without which the course of nature would 
 quickly fail, and every various kind be extinct? 
 instances of tenderness in the most savage 
 orutes are so frequent, that quotations of that 
 kind are altogether unnecessary. 
 
 If we, who have no particular concern in 
 them, take a secret delight in observing the 
 gentle dawn of reason in babes ; if our ears 
 are soothed with their half-forming and aiming 
 at articulate sounds; if we are charmed with 
 their pretty mimicry, and surprised at the 
 unexpected starts of wit ami cunning in these 
 miniatures of man; what transport may we 
 imagine in the breasts of those, into whom 
 natural instinct hath poured tenderness and 
 lewdness for them! how amiable is such a 
 weakness in human nature ! or rather, how 
 Kieat a weakness is it, to give humanity so 
 reproachful a name ! The bare consideration 
 of paternal affection should methinks create a 
 more grateful tenderness in children toward 
 
 their parents, than we generally see; and the 
 silent whispers of nature be attended to, though 
 the laws of God and man did not call aloud. 
 
 These silent whispers of nature have had a 
 marvellous power, even when their cause hath 
 been unknown. There are several examples 
 in story of tender friendships formed betwixt 
 men who knew not of their near relation. 
 Such accounts confirm me in an opinion I have 
 long entertained, that there is a sympathy be- 
 twixt souls, which cannot be explained by the 
 prejudice of education, the sense of duty, or 
 any other human motive. 
 
 The memoirs of a certain French nobleman, 
 which now lie before me, furnish me with a 
 very entertaining instance of this secret attrac- 
 tion implanted by Providence in the human 
 soul. It will be necessary to inform the 
 reader, that the person whose story I am going 
 to relate, was one whose roving and romantic 
 temper, joined to a disposition singularly 
 amorous, had led him through a vast variety 
 of gallantries and amours. He had, in Lis 
 youth, attended a princess of France into Po- 
 land, where he had been entertained by the 
 king her husband, and married the daughter 
 of a grandee. Upon her death he returned 
 into his native country ; where his intrigues 
 and other misfortunes having consumed his 
 paternal estate, he now went to take care of 
 the fortune his deceased wife had left him in 
 Poland. In his journey he was robbed before 
 he reached Warsaw, and lay ill of a fever, 
 when he met with the following adventure* 
 which he shall relate in his own words. 
 
 ' I had been in this condition for four days, 
 when the countess of Venoski pas'sed that way. 
 She was informed that a stranger of good 
 fashion lay sick, and her charity led her to see 
 me. I remembered her, for I had often seen 
 her with my wife, to whom she was nearly re- 
 lated ; but when I found she knew not me, I 
 thought fit to conceal my name. I told her 
 I was a German ; that I had been robbed; and 
 that if she had the charity to send me to War- 
 saw, the queen would acknowledge it; I having 
 the honour to be known to her majesty. The 
 countess had the goodness to take compassion 
 of me ; and ordering me to be put in a litter, 
 carried me to Warsaw, where 1 was lodged in 
 her house until my health should allow me to 
 wait on the queen. 
 
 ' My fever increased after my journey was 
 over, and I was confined to my bed for fifteen 
 days. When the countess first saw me, she 
 had a young lady with her about eighteen years 
 of age, who was much taller and better shaped 
 than the Polish women generally are. She 
 was very fair, her skin exceeding fine, and hci 
 hair and shape inexpressibly beautiful. I was 
 not so sick as to overlook this young beauty ; 
 and I felt in my heart such emotions at the 
 first view, as made me fear that all my inis- 
 
No. 150.J 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 221 
 
 fortunes had not armed me sufficiently against 
 the charms of the fair sex. The amiable crea- 
 ture seemed afflicted at my sickness ; and she 
 appeared to have so much concern and care 
 for me, as raised in me a great inclination and 
 tenderness for her. She came every day into 
 my chamber to inquire after my health ; I 
 asked who she was, and I was answered, that 
 she was niece to the countess of Venoski. 
 
 ' I verily believe that the constant sight of 
 this charming maid, and the pleasure I received 
 from her careful attendance, contributed more 
 to my recovery than all the medicines the 
 physicians gave me. In short, my fever left 
 me, and I had the satisfaction to see the lovely 
 creature overjoyed at my recovery. She came 
 to see me oftener as I grew better ; and I 
 already felt a stronger and more tender affec- 
 tion for her than I ever bore to any woman in 
 my life ; when I began to perceive that ber 
 constant care of me was only a blind, to give 
 her an opportunity of seeing a young Pole, 
 whom I took to be her lover. He seemed to 
 be much about her age, of a brown complexion, 
 very tall, but finely shaped. Every time she 
 came to see me, the young gentleman came to 
 find her out ; and they usually retired to a 
 corner of the chamber, where they seemed to 
 converse with great earnestness. The aspect 
 of the youth pleased me wonderfully ; and if 
 I had not suspected that he was my rival, I 
 should have taken delight in his person and 
 friendship. 
 
 ' They both of them often asked me if I 
 were in reality a German ; which when I con- 
 tinued to affirm, they seemed very much 
 troubled. One day, I took notice that the 
 young lady and gentleman, having retired to 
 a window, were very intent upon a picture ; 
 and that every now and then they cast their 
 eyes upon me, as if they had found some re- 
 semblance betwixt that and my features. I 
 cou!d not forbear to ask the meaning of it ; 
 upon which the lady answered, that if I had 
 been a Frenchman, she should have imagined 
 that I was the person for whom the picture 
 was drawn, because it so exactly resembled 
 me. I desired to see it ; but how great was 
 my surprise, when I found it to be the very 
 painting which I had sent to the queen five 
 years before, and which she commanded me 
 to get drawn to be given to my children. After 
 I had viewed the piece, I cast my eyes upon 
 the young lady, and then upon the gentleman 
 I had thought to be her lover. My heart beat, 
 and I felt a secret emotion which filled me 
 with wonder. I thought I traced in the two 
 young persons some of my own features, and 
 at that moment I said to myself, " Are not 
 these my children?" The tears came into my 
 eyes, and I was about to run and embrace 
 them ; but constraining myself with pain, I 
 asked whose picture it was ? The maid, per- 
 
 ceiving that I could not speak without tears 
 fell a weeping. Her tears absolutely confirmed 
 me in my opinion, and falling upon her neck, 
 " Ah, my dear child," said I, " yes, I am your 
 father." I could say no more. The youtb 
 seized my hands at the same time, and kissing 
 bathed them with his tears. Throughout my 
 life, I never felt a joy equal to this ; and it 
 must be owned, that nature inspires more 
 lively emotions and pleasing tenderness than 
 the passions can possibly excite.' 
 
 No. 151.] Thursday, September 3, 1713. 
 
 Accipiat sane mercedem sanguinis, et sic 
 Palleat, ut nudis pressit qoi calcibus anguem. 
 
 Juv. Sat. i. 42. 
 A dear-bought bargain, all things duly weigh'd, 
 For which their thrice -concocted blood is paid; 
 With looks as wan, as he who, in the brake, 
 At unawares has trod upon a snake. Dryden. 
 
 To the Guardian. 
 
 •OLD NESTOR, 
 
 * I believe you distance me not so much 
 in years as in wisdom, and therefore since you 
 have gained so deserved a reputation, I beg 
 your assistance in correcting the manners of 
 an untoward lad, who perhaps may listen to 
 your admonitions, sooner than to all the severe 
 checks, and grave reproofs of a father. With- 
 out any longer preamble, you must know, sir, 
 that about two years ago, Jack, my eldest son 
 and heir, was sent up to London, to be ad- 
 mittod-of the Temple, not so much with a view 
 of his studying the law, as a desire to improve 
 his breeding. This was done out of complai- 
 sance to a cousin of his, an airy lady, who was 
 continually teasing me, that the boy would 
 shoot up into a mere country booby, if he did 
 not see a little of the world. She herself was 
 bred chiefly in town, and since she was married 
 into the country, neither looks, nor talks, nor 
 dresses like any of her neighbours, and is grown 
 the admiration of every one but her husband. 
 The latter end of last month some important 
 business called me up to town, and the first thing 
 I did, the next morning about ten, was to pay 
 a visit to my son at his chambers ; but as I be- 
 gan to knock at the door, I was interrupted by 
 the bed-maker in the staircase, who told me 
 her master seldom rose till about twelve, and 
 about one I might be sure to find him drinking 
 tea. I bid her somewhat hastily hold her 
 prating, and open the door, which accordingly 
 she did. The first thing I observed upon the 
 
 table was the secret amours of , and 
 
 by it stood a box of pills : on a chair lay a 
 snuff-box with a fan half broke, and on the 
 floor a pair of foils. Having seen this furniture, 
 1 entered his bed-chamber, not without some 
 noise ; whereupon he began to swear at his 
 bed-maker (as he thought) for disturbing him 
 so soon, and was turning about for the other 
 
222 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 152. 
 
 nap, when he discovered such a thin, pale, 
 sickly visage, that had I not heard his voice, 
 I should never have guessed him to have been 
 my son. How different was this countenance 
 from that ruddy, hale complexion, which he 
 had at parting with me from home ! After I had 
 waked him, he gave me to understand, that he 
 was but lately recovered out of a violent fever, 
 and the reason why he Mid not acquaint me 
 with it, was, lest the melancholy news might 
 occasion too many tears among his rela- 
 tions, and be an unsupportable grief to his 
 mother. To be short with you, old Nestor, 
 I hurried my young spark down into the country 
 along with me, and there am endeavouring to 
 plump him up, so as to be no disgrace to his 
 pedigree ; for I assure you it was never known 
 in the memory of man, that any one of the 
 family of the Ringwoods ever fell into a con- 
 sumption, except Mrs. Dorothy Ringwood, who 
 died a maid at forty-five. In order to bring 
 him to himself, and to be one of us again, I 
 make him go to bed at ten, and rise half an 
 hour past five ; and when he is puling for 
 bohea tea and cream, 1 place upon a table a 
 jolly piece of cold roast beef, or well powdered 
 ham, and bid him eat and live ; then take him 
 into the fields to observe the reapers, how the 
 harvest goes forwards. There is nobody pleased 
 with his present constitution but his gay cousin, 
 who spirits him up, and tells him, he looks 
 fair, and is grown well-shaped ; but the honest 
 tenants shake their heads, and cry, " Lack-a- 
 day, how thin is poor young master fallen !" 
 The other day, when I told him of it, he had 
 the impudence to reply, " I hope, sir, you 
 
 would not have me as fat as Mr. . 
 
 Alas! what would then become of me? how 
 would the ladies pish at such a great monstrous 
 thing IV — If you are truly, what your title im- 
 ports, a Guardian, pray, sir, be pleased to con- 
 sider what a noble generation must in all 
 probability ensue from the lives which the 
 town-bred gentlemen too often lead. A friend 
 of mine, not long ago, as we were complaining 
 of the times, repeated two stanzas out of my 
 lord Roscommon, which I think may here be 
 applicable : 
 
 " Twas not the spawn of such as these, 
 That <ly'<l with Punic blood the coruuicr'd seas, 
 
 And quash'd the stern iEacidcs ; 
 Made the proud Asian monarch fee) 
 How weak his gold was against Europe s steel ; 
 
 Forc'fJ e'en dire Hannibal to yield, 
 And won ihe long-disputed world at Zama's fatal field; 
 
 But soldiers of a rustic mould, 
 Rough, hardy, season'd, manly, bold. 
 
 Either tiny dag Hie stubborn ground, 
 Or iin <»' hewn woods their weighty strokes did sound: 
 
 And after the declining sun 
 Had changed the shadows, and their task was done, 
 Home with their weary team they took their way, 
 And drowu'd in friendly howls the labours of the day." 
 
 1 1 am Sir, 
 ' Your very humble servant, 
 
 •JONATHAN RINGWOOD. 
 
 ' P. S. I forgot to tell you, that while I 
 waited in my son's anti-chamber, I found upon 
 the table the following bill. 
 
 }■' 
 
 18 
 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 
 
 Sold to Mr. Jonathan Ring- 
 wood, a plain muslin head and 
 ruffles, with colbertine lace, 
 
 Six pair of white kid gloves') 
 for madam Sally, J 
 
 "Three handkerchiefs for ma-1 
 dam Sally, J° 
 
 1 In his chamber window I saw his shoe 
 maker's bill, with this remarkable article. 
 
 For Mr. Ringwood, three pair") 
 of laced shoes, J 
 
 ' And in the drawer of the table was the fol- 
 lowing billet. 
 
 " MR. RINGWOOD, 
 
 ft I desire, that because you are such a 
 country booby, that you forget the use and 
 care of your snuff-box, you would not call me 
 thief. Pray see my face no more. 
 
 ' Your abused friend, 
 
 « SARAH GALLOP." 
 
 ' Under these words my hopeful heir had 
 writ, '* Memorandum, To send her word I have 
 found my box, though I know she has it." ' 
 
 No. 152.] Friday , September 4, 1713. 
 
 Quin potitis pacem seternam pactosque hyrnenseos 
 Exercemus Virg. JF,n. iv. 99. 
 
 Rather in leagues of endless peace unite, 
 And celebrate the hymeneal rite. 
 
 There is no rule in Longinus which 1 more 
 admire than that wherein he advises an author 
 who would attain to the sublime, and writes 
 for eternity, to consider, when he is engaged 
 in his composition, what Homer, or Plato, or 
 any other of those heroes in the learned world, 
 would have said or thought upon the same oc- 
 casion. I have often practised this rule, with 
 regard to the best authors among the ancients, 
 as well as among the moderns. With what 
 success, I must leave to the judgment of others. 
 I may at least venture to say with Mr. Dryden, 
 where he professes to have imitated Shak- 
 speare's style, that in imitating such great au- 
 thors I have always excelled myself. 
 
 I have also by this means revived several 
 antiquated ways of writing, which though very 
 instructive and entertaining, had been laid 
 aside and forgotten for some ages. I shall in 
 this place only mention those allegories wherein 
 virtues, vices, and human passions are intro- 
 duced as real actors. Though this kind o I 
 composition was practised by the finest authors 
 among the ancients, our countryman Spenser 
 is the last writer of note who has applied him- 
 self to it with success. 
 
 That an allegory may be both delightful 
 
No. 152.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 223 
 
 and instructive ; in the first place, the fable of 
 it ought to be perfect, and if possible to be filled 
 with surprising turns and incidents. In the 
 next, there ought to be useful morals and re- 
 flections couched under it, which still receive 
 a greater value from their being new and uncom- 
 mon ; as also from their appearing difficult to 
 have been thrown into emblematical types and 
 shadows. 
 
 I was once thinking to have written a whole 
 canto in the spirit of Spenser, and in order to 
 it, contrived a fabie of imaginary persons and 
 characters. 1 raised it on that common dis- 
 pute between the comparative perfections and 
 pre-eminence of the two sexes, each of which 
 have very frequently had their advocates among 
 the men of letters. Since I have not time to 
 accomplish this work, I shall present tny reader 
 with the naked fable, reserving the embellish- 
 ments of verse and poetry to another oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 The two sexes contending for superiority, 
 were once at war with each other, which was 
 chiefly carried on by their auxiliaries. The 
 males were drawn up on the one side of a very 
 spacious plain, the females on the other; be- 
 tween them was left a very large interval for 
 their auxiliaries to engage in. At each ex- 
 tremity of this middle space lay encamped se- 
 veral bodies of neutral forces, who waited for 
 the event of the battle before they would de- 
 clare themselves, that they might then act as 
 they saw occasion. 
 
 The main body of the male auxiliaries was 
 commanded by Fortitude ; that of the female 
 by Beauty. Fortitude begun the onset on 
 Beauty, but found to his cost, that she had 
 such a particular witchcraft in her looks, as 
 withered all his strength. She played upon 
 him so many smiles and glances that she quite 
 weakened and disarmed him. 
 
 In short, he was ready to call for quarter, 
 had not Wisdom come to his aid : this was the 
 commander of the male right wing, and would 
 have turned the fate of the day, had not he 
 been timely opposed by Cunning, who com- 
 manded the left wing of the female auxiliaries. 
 Cunning was the chief engineer of the fair 
 army ; but upon this occasion was posted, as 
 I have here said, to receive the attacks of Wis- 
 dom. It was very entertaining to see the 
 workings of these two antagonists ; the conduct 
 of the one, and the stratagems of the other. 
 Never was there a more equal match. Those 
 who beheld it, gave the victory sometimes to 
 the one, and sometimes to the other, though 
 most declared the advantage was on the side 
 of the female commander. 
 
 In the mean time the conflict was very great 
 in the left wing of the army, where the battle 
 began to turn to the male side. This wing 
 was commanded by an old experienced officer 
 calle 1 Patience, and on the female side by a 
 
 general known by the name of Scorn. The 
 latter, that fought after the manner of the 
 Parthians, had the better of it all the beginning 
 of the day ; but being quite tired out with the 
 long pursuits, and repeated attacks of the 
 enemy, who had been repulsed above a hundred 
 times, and rallied as often, began to think of 
 yielding; when on a sudden a body of neutral 
 forces began to move. The leader was of an 
 ugly look, and gigantic stature. He acted like 
 a drawcansir, sparing neither friend nor foe. 
 His name was Lust. On the female side he 
 was opposed by a select body of forces, com- 
 manded by a young officer that had the face 
 of a cherubim, and the name of Modesty. 
 This beautiful young hero was supported by 
 one of a more masculine turn, and fierce be- 
 haviour, called by men, Honour, and by the 
 gods, Pride. This last made an obstinate de- 
 fence, and drove back the enemy more than 
 once, but at length resigned at discretion. 
 
 The dreadful monster, after having over- 
 turned whole squadrons in the female army, 
 fell in among the males, where he made a more 
 terrible havoc than on the other side. He 
 was here opposed by Reason, who drew up all 
 his forces against him, and held the fight in 
 suspense for some time, but at length quitted 
 the field. 
 
 After a great ravage on both sides, the two 
 armies agreed to join against this common foe. 
 And in order to it, drew out a small chosen 
 band, whom they placed by consent under the 
 conduct of Virtue, who in a little time drove 
 this foul ugly monster out of the field. 
 
 Upon his retreat, a second neutral leader, 
 whose name was Love, marched in between 
 the two armies. He headed a body of ten 
 thousand winged boys, that threw their darts 
 and arrows promiscuously among both armies. 
 The wounds they gave were not the wounds of 
 an enemy. They were pleasing to those that 
 felt them ; and had so strange an effect, that 
 they wrought a spirit of mutual friendship, 
 reconciliation, and good-will in both sexes. 
 The two armies now looked with cordial love 
 on each other, and stretched out their arms 
 with tears of joy, as longing to forget old ani- 
 mosities, and embrace one another. 
 
 The last general of neutrals that appeared 
 in the field, was Hymen, who marched imme- 
 diately after Love, and seconding the good in- 
 clinations which he had inspired, joined the 
 hands of both armies. Love generally ac- 
 companied him, and recommended the sexes, 
 pair by pair, to his good offices. 
 
 But as it is usual enough for several persons 
 to dress themselves in the habit of a great 
 leader, Ambition ana Avarice had taken on 
 them the garb and habit of Love, by which 
 means they often imposed on Hymen, by put- 
 ting into his hands several couples whom he 
 would never have joined together, had it not 
 
224 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 153. 
 
 been brought about by the delusion of these 
 two impostors. & 
 
 No. 153.] Saturday, September 5, 1713. 
 
 Admiramla tibi leyinm spectacula rerum. 
 
 Firg. Georg iv. 3. 
 
 A mighty pomp, though made of little things. 
 
 Drydcn. 
 
 There is no passion which steals into the 
 heart more imperceptibly, and covers itself 
 under more disguises, than pride. For my 
 own part, J think if there is any passion or vice 
 which 1 am wholly a stranger to, it is this ; 
 though at the same time, perhaps this very 
 judgment which I form of myself proceeds in 
 some measure from this corrupt principle. 
 
 I have been always wonderfully delighted 
 with that sentence in holy writ, — ' Pride was 
 not made for man.' There is not indeed any 
 single view of human nature under its present 
 condition, which is not sufficient to extinguish 
 in us all the secret seeds of pride ; and, on the 
 contrary, to sink the soul into the lowest state 
 of humility, and what the school-men oall self- 
 annihilation. Pride was not made for man, as 
 he is, 
 
 1. A sinful, 
 
 2. An ignorant, 
 
 3. A miserable being. 
 
 There is nothing in his understanding, in his 
 will, or in his present condition that can tempt 
 any considerate creature to pride or vanity. 
 
 These three very reasons why he should not 
 be proud, are, notwithstanding, the reasons why 
 he is so. Were not he a sinful creature, he 
 would not be subject to a passion which rises 
 from the depravity of his nature ; were he 
 not an ignorant creature, he would see that he 
 has nothiug to be proud of; and were not the 
 whole species miserable, he would not have 
 those wretched objects of comparison before 
 his eyes, which are the occasions of his passion, 
 and which make one man value himself more 
 than another. 
 
 A wise man will be contented that his glory 
 be deferred until such time as he shall be truly 
 glorified ; when his understanding shall be 
 cleared, his will rectified, and his happiness 
 assured ; or in other words, when he shall be 
 neither sinful, nor ignorant, nor miserable. 
 
 If there be any thing which makes human 
 nature appear ridiculous to beings of superior 
 faculties, it must be pride. They know so 
 well the vanity of tho6e imaginary perfections 
 that swell the heart of man, and of those little 
 supernumerary advantages, whether in birth, 
 fortune, or title, which one man enjoys above 
 another, that it must certainly very much as- 
 tonish, if it does not very much divert them, 
 when they see a mortal puffed up, and valuing 
 
 himself above his neighbours on any of these ac- 
 counts, at the same time that he is obnoxious 
 to all the common calamities of the species. 
 
 To set this thought in its true light, we will 
 fancy, if you please, that yonder mole-hill is 
 inhabited by reasonable creatures, and that 
 every pismire (his shape and way of life oidy 
 excepted) is endowed with human passions. 
 How should we smile to hear one give us an 
 accountof the pedigrees, distinctions, and titles 
 that reign among them ! Observe how the 
 whole swarm divide and make way for the pis- 
 mire that passes through them ! You must un- 
 derstand he is an emmet of quality, and has bet- 
 ter blood in his veins than any pismire in the 
 mole-hill. Do not you see how sensible he is of 
 it, how slow he marches forward, how the whole 
 rabble of ants keep their distance ? Here you 
 may observe one placed upon a little eminence, 
 and looking down on a long row of labourers. 
 He is the richest insect on this side the hillock, 
 he has a walk of half a yard in length, and 
 a quarter of an inch in breadth, he keeps a 
 hundred menial servants, and has at least fif- 
 teen barley-corns in his granary. He is now 
 chiding and beslaving the emmet that stands 
 before him, and who, for all that we can dis- 
 cover, is as good an emmet as himself. 
 
 But here comes an insect of figure ! Do not 
 you take notice of a little white straw that he 
 carries in his mouth ? That straw, you must 
 understand, he would not part with for the 
 longest tract about the mole-hill : did you but 
 know what he has undergone to purchase it ! 
 See how the ants of all qualities and conditions 
 swarm about him ! Should this straw drop out 
 of his mouth, you would see all this numerous 
 circle of attendants follow the next that took 
 it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run 
 over his back to come at his successor. 
 
 If now you have a mind to see all the ladies 
 of the mole-hill, observe first the pismire that 
 listens to the emmet on her left hand, at the 
 same time that she seems to turn away her 
 head from him. He tells this poor insect that 
 she is a goddess, that her eyes are brighter 
 than the sun, that life and death are at her 
 disposal. She believes him, and gives herself 
 a thousand little airs upon it. Mark the vanity 
 of the pismire on your left hand. She can 
 scarce crawl with age ; but you must know she 
 values herself upon her birth ; and if you mind, 
 spurns at every one that comes within hei 
 reach. The little nimble coquette that is run- 
 ning along by the side of her, is a wit. She 
 has broke many a pismire's heart. Do but ob- 
 serve what a drove of lovers are running after 
 her. 
 
 We will here finish this imaginary scene ; 
 but first of all, to draw the parallel closer, will 
 suppose, if you please, that death comes down 
 upon the mole hill, in the shape of a cock- 
 sparrow, who picks up, without distinction, 
 
No. 154. 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 225 
 
 the pismire of quality and his flatterers ; the 
 pismire of substance and day-labourers ; the 
 white-straw officer and his sycophants ; with all 
 tne goddesses, wits, and beauties of the mole- 
 hill. 
 
 May we not imagine that beings of superior 
 natures and perfections, regard all the instances 
 of pride and vanity, among our own species, in 
 the same kind of view, when they take a survey 
 of those who inhabit the earth : or in the lan- 
 guage of an ingenious French poet ; of those 
 pismires that people this heap of dirt, which 
 human vanity has divided into climates and 
 regions. 63- 
 
 No. 154.] Monday, September 7, 1713. 
 
 Omnia transformant sese In miracula reruin. 
 
 Virg. Geor£. iv. 441. 
 
 AH shapes, the most prodigious, they assume. 
 
 I question not but the following letter will 
 be entertaining to those who were present at 
 the late masquerade, as it will recall into their 
 minds several merry particulars that passed in 
 it, and at the same time, be very acceptable 
 to those who were at a distance from it, as 
 they may form from hence some idea of this 
 fashionable amusement. 
 
 * To Nestor Ironside, Esq. Per via leonis. 
 •SIR, 
 
 * I could scarce ever go into good company, 
 but the discourse was on the ambassador, the 
 politeness of his entertainments, the goodness 
 of his Burgundy and Champaign, the gayety 
 of his masquerades, with the odd fantastical 
 dresses which were made use of in those mid- 
 night solemnities. The noise these diversions 
 made, at last raised my curiosity, and for once 
 I resolved to be present at them, being at the 
 same time provoked to it by a lady I then 
 made my addresses to, one of a sprightly hu- 
 mour, and a.great admirer of such novelties. 
 In order to it I hurried my habit, and got it 
 ready a week before the time, for I grew im- 
 patient to be initiated in these new mysteries. 
 Every morning I drest myself in it, and acted 
 before the looking glass, so that I am vain 
 enough to think I was as perfect in my part 
 as most who had oftener frequented those di- 
 versions. You must understand I personated 
 a devil, and that for several weighty reasons. 
 First, because appearing as one of that fra- 
 ternity, I expected to meet with particular 
 civilities from the more polite and better-bred 
 part of the company. Besides, as from their 
 usual reception, they are called familiars, 1 
 fancied I should in this character be allowed 
 the greatest liberties, and soonest he led into 
 the secrets of the masquerade. To recommend 
 and distinguish me from the vulgar, I drew a 
 very long tail after me. But to speak the 
 
 truth, what persuaded me most to this disguise 
 was, because I heard an intriguing lady say, 
 in a large company of females, who unani- 
 mously assented to it, that she loved to con- 
 verse with such, for that generally they were 
 very clever fellows who made choice of that 
 shape. At length, when the long-wished-for 
 evening came, which was to open to us such 
 vast scenes of pleasure, I repaired to the place 
 appointed about ten at night, where I found 
 nature turned topsy-turvy, women changed 
 into men, and men into women, children in 
 leading-strings seven foot high, courtiers trans- 
 formed into clowns, ladies of the night into 
 saints, people of the first quality into beasts or 
 birds, gods or goddesses. I fancied 1 had all 
 Ovid's Metamorphoses before me. Among 
 these were several monsters to which I did not 
 know how to give a name; 
 
 Than fables yet have feigned, or fear conceived, 
 Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire." Milton. 
 
 ' In the middle of the first room I met with 
 one drest in a shroud. This put me in mind 
 of the old custom of serving up a death's 
 head at a feast. I was a little angry at the 
 dress, and asked the gentleman whether he 
 thought a dead man was fit company for such 
 an assembly ; but he told me, that he was one 
 who loved his money, and that he considered 
 this dress would serve him another time. This 
 walking coarse* was followed by a gigantic 
 woman with a high-crowned hat, that stood 
 up like a steeple over the heads of the whole 
 assembly. I then chanced to tread upon the 
 foot of a female quaker, to all outward appear- 
 ance ; but was surprised to hear her cry out, 
 " D — n you, you son of a — !" upon which I 
 immediately rebuked her, when all of a sudden 
 resuming her character, " Verily," says she, 
 " I was to blame ; but thou hast bruised me 
 sorely." A few moments after this adventure 
 I had like to have been knocked down by a 
 shepherdess for having run my elbow a little 
 inadvertently into one of her sides. She swore 
 like a trooper, and threatened me with a very 
 masculine voice ; but I was timely taken off 
 by a presbyterian parson, who told me in a very 
 soft tone, that he believed I was a pretty fellow, 
 and that he would meet me in Spring-gardens 
 to-morrow night. The next object I saw was 
 a chimney-sweeper made up of black crape and 
 velvet, with a huge diamond in his mouth, 
 making love to a butterfly. On a sudden I 
 found myself among a flock of bats, owls, and 
 lawyers. But what took up my attention most, 
 was one drest in white feathers that represented 
 a swan. He would fain have found out a Leda 
 among the fair sex, and indeed was the most 
 unlucky bird in the company. I was then en- 
 gaged in a discourse with a running-footman ; 
 
 » Corpse. 
 
 2 r 
 

 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 155. 
 
 [>ut .1- I treated him like, what he appeared to 
 he, ,i Turkish emperor whispered me in the 
 :-.ir, desiring me " to use him civilly, for that 
 it w;vs his master." I was here interrupted by 
 the famous large figure of a woman hung with 
 little looking-glasses. She had a great many 
 th.it followed her as she passed by me, but I 
 would not have her value herself upon that ac- 
 count, since it was plain they did not follow so 
 much to look upon her as to see themselves. 
 The next I observed was a nun making an as- 
 signation with a heathen god ; for 1 heard 
 them mention the Little Piazza in Covent- 
 garden. I was by this time exceeding hot and 
 thirsty ; so that I made the best of my way to 
 the place where wine was dealt about in great 
 quantities. I had no sooner presented myself 
 before the table, but a magician seeing me, 
 made a circle over my head with his wand, and 
 seemed to do me homage. I was at a loss to 
 account for his behaviour, until I recollected 
 who 1 was ; this however drew the eyes of the 
 servants upon me, and immediately procured 
 me a glass of excellent Champaign. The 
 magician said I was a spirit of an adust and 
 dry constitution ; and desired that I might 
 have another refreshing glass : adding withal, 
 that it ought to be a brimmer. I took it in 
 my hand and drank it off to the magician. 
 This so enlivened me, that I led him by the 
 hand into the next room, where we danced a 
 rigadoon together. I was here a little offended 
 at a jackanapes of a scaramouch, that cried 
 out, " Avaunt Satan ;" and gave me a little 
 tap on my left shoulder with the end of his 
 lath sword. As I was considering how I ought 
 to resent this affront, a well-shaped person 
 that stood at my left-hand, in the figure of a 
 bell-man, cried out with a suitable voice, 
 " Past twelve o'clock." This put me in mind 
 of bed-time. Accordingly I made my way to- 
 wards the door, but was intercepted by an In- 
 dian king, a tall, slender youth, dressed up in 
 a most beautiful party-coloured plumage. He 
 regarded my habit very attentively, and after 
 having turned me about once or twice, asked 
 me " whom 1 had been tempting ?" I could 
 not tell what was the matter with me, but my 
 heart leaped as soon as he touched me, and 
 was still in greater disorder, upon my hearing his 
 voice. In short, I found after a little discourse 
 with him, that his Indian majesty was my dear 
 Leonora, who knowing the disguise I had put 
 on, would not let me pass by her unobserved. 
 Her awkward manliness made me guess at her 
 sex, and her own confession quickly let me 
 know the rest. This masquerade did more for 
 me than a twelvemonth's courtship: for it in- 
 spired her with such tender sentiments, that I 
 married her the next morning. 
 
 ' How happy I shall be in a wife taken out 
 of a masquerade, 1 cannot yet tell ; hut I have 
 reason to hope the best, Leonora having assured 
 
 me it was the first, and shall be the last time 
 of her appearing at such an entertainment. 
 
 ' And now, sir, having given you the history 
 of this strange evening, which looks rather like 
 a dream than a reality, it is my request to you, 
 that you will oblige the world with a disserta- 
 tion on masquerades in general, that we may 
 know how far they are useful to the public, 
 and consequently how far they ought to be 
 encouraged. I have heard of two or three very 
 odd accidents that have happened upon this 
 occasion, as in particular of a lawyer's being 
 now big-bellied, who was present at the first 
 of these entertainments ; not to mention (what 
 is still more strange) an old man with a long 
 beard, who was got with child by a milk-maid. 
 But in cases of this nature, where there is such 
 a confusion of sex, age, and quality, men are 
 apt to report rather what might have hap- 
 pened, than what really came to pass. With- 
 out giying credit therefore to any of these 
 rumours, I shall only renew my petition to you, 
 that you will tell us your opinion at large of 
 these matters, and am, Sir, &c. 
 83- ' LUCIFER.' 
 
 No. 155.] Tuesday, September 8, 1713. 
 
 Libclii stoici inter sericos 
 
 Jacere pnlvillos ainant. Hor. Epod. viii. 15. 
 
 The books of stoics ever chose 
 On silken cushions to repose. 
 
 I have often wondered that learning is uot 
 thought a proper ingredient in the education 
 of a woman of quality or fortune. Since they 
 have the same improveable minds as the male 
 part of the species, why should they not he 
 cultivated by the same method ? Why should 
 reason be left to itself in one of the sexes, and 
 be disciplined with so much care in the other? 
 
 There are some reasons why learning seems 
 more adapted to the female world, than to the 
 male, As in the first place, because they have 
 more spare time upon their hands, and lead a 
 more sedentary life. Their employments are 
 of a dosmestic nature, and not like those of 
 the other sex, which are often inconsistent with 
 study and contemplation. The excellent lady, 
 the lady Lizard, in the space of one summer, fur- 
 nished a gallery with chairs and couches of her 
 own and her daughters' working ; and at the 
 same time heard all doctor Tillotson's sermons 
 twice over. It is always the custom for one 
 of the young ladies to read, while the others 
 are at work ; so that the learning of the family 
 is not at all prejudicial to its manufactures. 
 I was mightily pleased the other day to find 
 them all busy in preserving several fruits of 
 the season, with the Sparkler in the midst of 
 them, reading over the Plurality of Worlds. 
 It was very entertaining to me to see them 
 dividing their speculations between jellies and 
 
No. 155.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 227 
 
 stars, and making a sudden transition from 
 the sun to an apricot, or from the Corpernican 
 system to the figure of a cheesecake. 
 
 A second reason why women should apply 
 themselves to useful knowledge rather than 
 men, is because they have that natural gift of 
 speech in greater perfection. Since they have 
 so excellent a talent, such a copia verborum, 
 or plenty of words, it is pity they should nut 
 put it to some use. If the female tongue will 
 be in motion, why should it not be set to go 
 right ? Could they discourse about the spots in 
 the sun, it might divert them from publishing 
 the faults of their neighbours. Could they talk 
 of the different aspects and conjunctions of the 
 planets, they need not be at the pains to com- 
 ment upon oglings and clandestine marriages. 
 In short, were they furnished with matters of 
 fact, out of arts and sciences, it would now 
 and then be a great ease to their inven- 
 tion. 
 
 There is another reason why those especially 
 who are women of quality, should apply them- 
 selves to letters, namely, because their hus- 
 bands are generally strangers to them. 
 
 It is great pity there should be no knowledge 
 in a family. For my own part, I am concerned, 
 when 1 go into a great house, where perhaps 
 there is not a single person that can spell, un- 
 less it be by chance the butler, or one of the 
 footmen. What a figure is the young heir 
 likely to make, who is a dunce both by father 
 and mother's side ! 
 
 If we look into the histories of famous wo- 
 men, we find many eminent philosophers of 
 this sex. Nay, we find that several females 
 have distinguished themselves in those sects of 
 philosophy which seem almost repugnant to 
 their natures. There have been famous female 
 Pythagoreans, notwithstanding most of that 
 philosophy consisted in keeping a secret, and 
 that the disciple was to hold her tongue five 
 years together. I need not mention Portia, 
 who was a stoic in petticoats ; nor Hipparchia, 
 the famous she cynic, who arrived at such a 
 perfection in her studies, that she conversed 
 with her husband, or man -planter, in broad 
 day-light, and in the open streets. 
 
 Learning and knowledge are perfections in 
 us, not as we are men, but as we are reasonable 
 creatures, in which order of beings the female 
 world is upon the same level with the male. 
 We ought to consider in this particular, not 
 what is the sex, but what is the species to which 
 they belong. At least I believe every one wili 
 allow me, that a female philosopher is not so 
 absurd-a character, and so opposite to the sex, 
 as a female gamester; and that it is more ir- 
 rational for a woman to pass away half a dozen 
 hours at cards or dice, than in getting up stores 
 of useful learning. This therefore is another 
 reason why I would recommend the studies of 
 knowledge to the female world, that they may 
 
 not be at a loss how to employ those hours 
 that lie upon their hands. 
 
 I might also add this motive to my fair rea- 
 ders, that several of their sex who have im- 
 proved their minds by books and literature, 
 have raised themselves to the highest posts of 
 honour and fortune. A neighbouring nation 
 may at this time furnish us with a very re- 
 markable instance of this kind ; but I shall 
 conclude this head with the history of Athe- 
 nais, which is a very signal example to my 
 present purpose. 
 
 The emperor Theodosius being about the 
 age of one-and-twenty, and designing to take 
 a wife, desired his sister Pulcheria and his 
 friend Paulinus to search bis whole empire for 
 a woman of the most exquisite beauty and 
 highest accomplishments. In the midst of this 
 search, Athenais, a Grecian virgin, accidentally 
 offered herself. Her father, who was an emi- 
 nent philosopher of Athens, and had bred her 
 up in all the learning of that place, at his death 
 left her but a very small portion, in which also 
 she suffered great hardships from the injustice 
 of her two brothers. This forced her upon 
 a journey to Constantinople, where she had a 
 relation who represented her case to Pulcheria 
 in order to obtain some redress from the em- 
 peror. By this means that religious princess 
 became acquainted with Athenais, whom she 
 found the most beautiful woman of her age, 
 and educated under a long course of philosophy 
 in the strictest virtue, and most unspotted in- 
 nocence. Pulcheria was charmed with her 
 conversation, and immediately made her re- 
 ports to the emperor, her brother Theodosius. 
 The character she gave, made such au impres- 
 sion on him, that he desired his sister to bring 
 her away immediately to the lodgings of his 
 friend Paulinus, where he found her beauty 
 and her conversation beyond the highest idea 
 he had framed of them. His friend Paulinus 
 converted her to Christianity, and gave her 
 the name of Eudosia ; after which the emperor 
 publicly espoused her, and enjoyed all the hap- 
 piness in his marriage which he promised him- 
 self from such a virtuous and learned bride. 
 She not only forgave the injuries which her two 
 brothers had done her, but raised them to great 
 honours ; and by several works of learning, as 
 well as by an exemplary life, made herself so 
 dear to the whole empire, that she had many 
 statues erected to her memory, and is cele- 
 brated by the fathers of the church, as the 
 ornament of her sex. g^. 
 
 No. 156.] Wednesday, September 9, 1713. 
 
 — Magni formica laboris 
 
 Ore tnihit quodcnnqne potest, atqne addit acervo, 
 
 Quern strnit hand ignara, ac non incanta nituri. 
 
 Quae, simul inversum contristat Aquarius annum, 
 
 Non iisquam prorepit, et il Sis ntkur aiMe 
 
 Qiiaisitis nations— Ilor. Lib. 1. Sat. i. 33. 
 
228 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 156. 
 
 Ai the sm:ill ant (h>r she instructs the man, 
 And preaches labour) gathers all the can, 
 Ami brlngaii to increase her heap al liome, 
 
 I iIil- winter, which the knows will come : 
 But, when tint conies she creeps abroad no more, 
 Hut lid ;it hone, and feasts upon her store. Creech. 
 
 In my last Saturday's paper I supposed a 
 mole-hill inhabited by pismires or ants, to be 
 a lively image of the earth, peopled by human 
 creatures. This supposition will not appear 
 too forced or strained to those who are ac- 
 quainted with the natural history of these lit- 
 tle insects; in order to which I shall present 
 my reader with the extract of a letter upon 
 this curious subject, as it was published by the 
 members of the French academy, and since 
 translated into English. I must confess I was 
 never in my life better entertained than with 
 this narrative, which is of undoubted credit 
 and authority. 
 
 ' In a room next to mine, which had been 
 empty for a long time, there was upon a win- 
 dow a box full of earth, two feet deep, and fit 
 to keep flowers in. That kind of parterre had 
 been long uncultivated ; and therefore it was 
 covered with old plaster, and a great deal of 
 rubbish that fell from the top of the house and 
 from the walls, which, together with the earth 
 formerly imbibed with water, made a kind of 
 a dry and barren soil. That place lying to the 
 south, and out of the reach of the wind and 
 rain, besides the neighbourhood of a granary, 
 was a most delightful spot of ground for ants ; 
 and therefore they had made three nests there, 
 without doubt for the same reason that men 
 build cities in fruitful and convenient places, 
 near springs and rivers. 
 
 Having a mind to cultivate some flowers, 
 I took a view of that place, and removed a tulip 
 out of the garden into that box ; but casting 
 my eyes upon the ants, continually taken up 
 with a thousand cares, very inconsiderable with 
 respect to us, but of the greatest importance 
 for them, they appeared to me more worthy of 
 my curiosity than all the flowers in the world. 
 I quickly removed the tulip, to be the admirer 
 and restorer of that little commonwealth. This 
 was the only thing they wanted ; for their policy 
 and the order observed among them, are more 
 perfect than those of the wisest republics : and 
 therefore they have nothing to fear, unless a 
 new legislator should attempt to change the 
 form of their government. 
 
 ' I made it my business to procure them all 
 sorts of conveniencies. I took out of the box 
 every thing that might be troublesome to them ; 
 and frequently visited my ants, and studied all 
 their actions. Ik-ins used to go to bed very 
 inte, I went to see them work in a moon-shiny 
 ni^hi 5 and 1 did frequently get up in the 
 night, to take a view of their labours. 1 always 
 found some going up and down, and very busy : 
 one would think that they never sleep. Every 
 body knows that ants come out of their holes 
 
 in the day-time, and expose to the 6un the 
 corn, which they keep under ground in the 
 night. Those who have seen ant-hillocks, 
 have easily perceived those small heaps of corn 
 about their nests. What surprised me at first 
 was, that my ants never brought out their corn 
 but in the night, when the moon did shine, and 
 kept it under ground in the day-time: which 
 was contrary to what I had seen, and saw still 
 practised by those insects in other places. 1 
 quickly found out the reason of it : there was 
 a pigeon-house not far from thence: pigeons 
 and birds would have eaten their corn, if they 
 had brought it out in the day time. It is highly 
 probable they knew it by experience; and I 
 frequently found pigeons and birds in that 
 place, when I went to it in a morning. I quickly 
 delivered them from those robbers: I frighted 
 the birds away with some pieces of paper tied 
 to the end of a string over the window. As for 
 the pigeons, I drove them away several times ; 
 and when they perceived that the place was 
 more frequented than before, they never came 
 to it again. What is most admirable, and what 
 I could hardly believe, if I did not know it by 
 experience, is, that those ants knew some days 
 after that they had nothing to fear, and began 
 to lay out their corn in the sun. However, 1 
 perceived they were not fully convinced of 
 being out of all danger; for they durst not 
 bring out their provisions all at once, but by 
 de-grees, first in a small quantity, and without 
 any great order, that they might quickly carry 
 them away, in case of any misfortune, watching, 
 and looking every way. At last, being per- 
 suaded that they had nothing to fear, they 
 brought out all their corn, almost every day, 
 and in good order, and carried it in at night. 
 
 * There is a straight hole in every ant's nest, 
 about half an inch deep, and then it goes down 
 sloping into a place where they have their ma- 
 gazine, which 1 take to be a different place 
 from that where they rest and eat. For it is 
 highly improbable that an ant, which is a very 
 cleanly insect, and throws out of her nest all 
 the small remains of the corn on which she 
 feeds, as I have observed a thousand times, 
 would fill up her magazine, and mix her corn 
 with dirt and ordure. 
 
 ' The corn that is laid up by ants, would 
 shoot under ground, if those insects did not 
 take care to prevent it. They bite off all the 
 buds before they lay it up ; and therefore the 
 corn that has lain in their nests will produce 
 nothing. Any one may easily make this ex- 
 periment, and even plainly see that there is 
 no bud in their corn. But though the bud be 
 bitten off, there remains another inconvenience, 
 that corn [must needs swell and rot under 
 ground ; and therefore it could be of no use for 
 the nourishment of ants. Those insects pre- 
 vent that inconvenience by their labour and 
 iudustry, and contrive the matter so, that corn 
 
No. 156.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 229 
 
 will keep as dry in their nests as in our gra- 
 naries. 
 
 * They gather many small particles of dry 
 earth, which they bring every day out of their 
 holes, and place them round to heat them in 
 the sun. Every ant brings a small particle of 
 that earth in her pincers, lays it by the hole, 
 and then goes and fetches another. Thus, in 
 less than a quarter of an hour, one may see a 
 vast number of such small particles of dry 
 earth, heaped up round the hole. They lay their 
 corn under ground upon that earth, and cover 
 it with the same. They perform this work al- 
 most every day, during the heat of the sun ; 
 and though the sun went from the window 
 about three or four o'clock in the afternoon, 
 they did not remove their corn and their par- 
 ticles of earth, because the ground was very hot, 
 until the heat was over. 
 
 ' If any one should think that those animals 
 should use sand, or small particles of brick or 
 stone, rather than take so much pains about 
 dry earth ; I answer, that upon such an occa- 
 sion nothing can be more proper than earth 
 heated in the sun. Corn does not keep upon 
 sand : besides, a grain of corn that is cut, being 
 deprived of its bud, would be filled with small 
 sandy particles that could not easily come out. 
 To which I add, that sand consists of such small 
 particles, that an ant could not take them up 
 one after another ; and therefore those insects 
 are seldom to be seen near rivers, or in a very 
 sandy ground. 
 
 * As for the small particles of brick or stone, 
 the least moistness would join them together, 
 and turn them into a kind of mastic, which 
 those insects could not divide. Those particles 
 sticking together could not come out of an 
 ant's nest, and would spoil its symmetry. 
 
 * When ants have brought out those par- 
 ticles of earth, they bring out their corn after 
 the same manner, and place it round the earth. 
 Thus one may see two heaps surrounding their 
 hole, one of dry earth, and the other of corn ; 
 and then they fetch out a remainder of dry 
 earth, on which doubtless their corn was laid 
 up. 
 
 Those insects never go about this work but 
 when the weather is clear, and the sun very 
 hot. I observed, that those little animals hav- 
 ing one day brought out their corn at eleven 
 o'clock in the forenoon, removed it, against 
 their usual custom, before one in the afternoon. 
 The sun being very hot, and sky very clear, I 
 could perceive no reason for it. But half an 
 hour after, the sky began to be overcast, and 
 there fell a small rain, which the ants foresaw ; 
 whereas the Milan almanack had foretold there 
 would be no rain upon that day. 
 
 * I have said before, that those ants which 
 I did so particularly consider, fetched their 
 corn out of a garret. I went very frequently 
 into that garret, There was some old corn in 
 
 it; and because every grain was not alike, I 
 observed that they chose the best. 
 
 * I know, by several experiments, that those 
 little animals take great care to provide them- 
 selves with wheat when they can find it, and 
 always pick out the best ; but they can make 
 shift without it. When they can get no wheat, 
 they take rye, oats, millet, and even crumbs 
 of bread ; but seldom any barley, unless it be 
 in a time of great scarcity, and when nothing 
 else can be had. 
 
 ' Being willing to be more particularly in- 
 formed of their forecast and industry, I put a 
 small heap of wheat in a corner of the room 
 where they kept ; and to prevent their fetching 
 corn out of the garret, I shut up the window, 
 and stopped all the holes. Though ants are 
 very knowing, I do nut take them to be con- 
 jurers j and therefore they could not guess 
 that J had put some corn in that room. I 
 perceived for several days that they were very 
 much perplexed, and went a great way to fetch 
 their provisions. I was not willing for some 
 time to make them more easy; for I had a 
 mind to know whether they would at last find 
 out the treasure, and see it at a great distance ; 
 and whether smelling enabled them to know 
 what is good for their nourishment. Thus 
 they were some time in great trouble, and took 
 a great deal of pains. They went up and down 
 a great way, looking out for some grains of 
 corn : they were sometimes disappointed, and 
 sometimes they did not like their corn, after 
 many long and painful excursions. What ap- 
 peared to me wonderful was, that none of them 
 came home without bringing something: one 
 brought a grain of wheat, another a grain of 
 rye or oats, or a particle of dry earth, if she 
 could get nothing else. 
 
 * The window upon which those ants had 
 made their settlement, looked into a garden, 
 and was two stories high. Some went to the 
 farther end of the garden, others to the fifth 
 story, in quest of some corn. It was a very 
 hard journey for them, especially when they 
 came home loaded with a pretty large grain 
 of corn, which must needs be a heavy burden 
 for an ant, and as much as she can bear. The 
 bringing of that grain from the middle of the 
 garden to the nest, took up four hours; 
 whereby one may judge of the strength and 
 prodigious labour of those little animals. It 
 appears from thence, that an ant works as 
 hard as a man who should carry a very heavy 
 load on his shoulders almost every day for the 
 space of four leagues. It is true, those insects 
 do not take so much pains upon a flat ground : 
 but then how great is the hardship of a poor 
 ant, when she carries a grain of corn to the 
 second story, climbing up a wall with her head 
 downwards, and her backside upwards ! None 
 can have a true notion of it, unless they see 
 those little animals at work in such a situation. 
 
230 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 157 
 
 1 In frequent stops they made in the most 
 i onvenient planes, are a plain indication of 
 their weariness. Some of them were strangely 
 perplexed, and could not get to their journey's 
 end. In such a case, the strongest ants, or 
 those that are not so weary, having carried 
 their corn to their nests, came down again to 
 help them. Some are so unfortunate as to fall 
 down with their load, when they are almost 
 comic home. When this happens they seldom 
 lose their corn, but carry it up again. 
 
 i saw one of the smallest carrying a large 
 grain of wheat with incredible pains. When 
 she came to the box where the nest was, she 
 made so much haste that she fell down with 
 her load, after a very laborious march. Such 
 an unlucky accident would have vexed a philo- 
 sopher. 1 went down, and found her with the 
 same corn in her paws. She was ready to 
 climb up again. The same misfortune hap- 
 pened to her three times. Sometimes she fell 
 in the middle of her way, and sometimes 
 higher ; but she never let go her hold, and was 
 not discouraged. At last her strength failed 
 her : she stopt ; and another ant helped her 
 to carry her load, which was one of the largest 
 and finest grains of wheat that an ant can 
 carry. It happens sometimes, that a corn slips 
 out of their paws when they are climbing up; 
 they take hold of it again, when they can find 
 t ; otherwise they look for another, or take 
 something else, being ashamed to return to 
 ' bear nest without bringing something. This I 
 have experimented, by taking away the grain 
 v. hich they looked for. All those experiments 
 may easily be made by any one that has patience 
 enough: they do not require so great a pa- 
 tieuce as that of ants ; but few people are 
 capable of it.' g^ 
 
 No. 157.] Thursday, September 10, 1713. 
 
 Go to llic ant, thon sluggard ; consider her ways and 
 t* wise. p nw . vi. 6. 
 
 It has been observed by writers of morality, 
 that in order to quicken human industry, Pro- 
 vidence has so contrived it, that our daily food 
 is not to be procured without much pains and 
 labour. The chace of birds and beasts, the 
 several arts of fishing, with all the different kinds 
 of agriculture, are necessary scenes of business, 
 and give employment to the greatest part of 
 mankind. If we look into the brute creation, 
 ive find all its individuals engaged in a painful 
 and laborious way of life, to procure a neces- 
 sary subsistence for themselves, or those that 
 giow up under them. The preservation of their 
 being is the whole business of it. An idle 
 man is therefore a kind of monster in the cre- 
 ationv All nature is busy about him; every 
 animal he sees reproaches hiin. Let such a 
 man, who lies as u burden or dead weight upon 
 
 the species, and contributes nothing either to 
 the riches of the commonwealth, or to the 
 maintenance of himself and family, consider 
 that instinct with which Providence has en- 
 dowed the ant, and by which is exhibited an 
 example of industry to rational creatures. This 
 is set forth under many surprising instances in 
 the paper of yesterday, and in the conclusion 
 of that narrative, which is as follows : 
 
 * Thus my ants were forced to make shift 
 for a livelihood, when I had shut up the garret, 
 out of which they used to fetch their provisions. 
 At last being sensible that it would be a long 
 time before they could discover the small heap 
 of corn which 1 had laid up for them, I re- 
 solved to show it to them. 
 
 ' In order to know how far their industry 
 could reach, I contrived an expedient, which 
 had good success. The thing will appear in- 
 credible to those who never considered that all 
 animals of the same kind, which form a society, 
 are more knowing than others. I took one of 
 the largest ants, and threw her upon that 
 small heap of wheat. She was so glad to find 
 herself at liberty, that she ran away to her 
 nest, without carrying off a grain ; but she 
 observed it: for an hour after, all my ants had 
 uotice given them of such a provision; and I 
 saw most of them very busy in carrying away 
 the corn I had laid up in the room. I leave it to 
 you to judge, whether it may not be said, that 
 they have a particular way of communicating 
 their knowledge to one another ; for otherwise, 
 how could they know, one or two hours after, 
 that there was corn in that place ? It was 
 quickly exhausted ; and I put in more, but in 
 a small quantity, to know the true extent of 
 their appetite or prodigious avarice ; for I make 
 no doubt but they lay up provisions agaiust 
 the winter. We read it in holy scripture ; a 
 thousand experiments teach us the same ; and 
 I do not believe that any experiment has been 
 made that shows the contrary. 
 
 ' I have said before, that there were three 
 ants' nests in that box or parterre, which 
 formed, if I may say so, three different cities, 
 governed by the same laws, and observing the 
 same order, and the same customs. However 
 there was this difference, that the inhabitants 
 of one of those holes seemed to be more know- 
 ing and industrious than their neighbours. 
 The ants of that nest were disposed in a better 
 order ; their corn was finer ; they had a greater 
 plenty of provisions; their nest was furnished 
 with more inhabitants, and they were bigger 
 and stronger. It was the principal and the 
 capital nest. Nay, I observed that those ants 
 were distinguished from the rest, and had some 
 pre-eminence over them. 
 
 ' Though the box full of earth, where the 
 ants had made their settlement, was generally 
 free from rain, yet it rained sometimes upon 
 it, when a certain wind blew. It was a great 
 
No. J 57.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 231 
 
 inconvenience for those insects. Ants are afraid 
 of water ; and when they go a great way in 
 quest of provisions, and are surprised by the 
 rain, they shelter themselves under some tile, 
 or something else, and do not come out until 
 the rain is over. The ants of the principal 
 nest found o«t a wonderful expedient to keep 
 out the rain : there was a small piece of a flat 
 slate, which they laid over the hole of their nest 
 in the day-time, when they foresaw it would 
 rain, and almost every night. Ahove fifty of 
 those little animals, especially the strongest, 
 surrounded that piece of slate, and drew it 
 equally in a wonderful order. They removed it 
 in the morning; and nothing could be more cu- 
 rious than to see those little animals about such 
 a work. They had made the ground uneven 
 about their nest, insomuch that the slate did 
 not lie flat upon it, but left a free passage un- 
 derneath. The ants of the two other nests did 
 not so well succeed in keeping out the rain : 
 they laid over their holes several pieces of 
 old and dry plaster, one upon the other ; but 
 they were still troubled with the ram, and the 
 next day they took a world of pains ""o repair 
 the damage. Hence it is, that those insects 
 are so frequently to be found under tiles, where 
 they settle themselves to avoid the rain. Their 
 nests are at all times covered with those tiles, 
 without any encumbrance, and they lay out 
 their corn and their dry earth in the sun about 
 the tiles, as one may see every day. I took care 
 to cover the two ants' nests that were troubled 
 with the rain. As for the capital nest, there was 
 no need of exercising my charity towards it. 
 
 M. de la Loubere says, in his relation of 
 Siam, that in a certain part of that kingdom, 
 which lies open to great inundations, all the 
 ants make their settlements upon trees. No 
 ants' nests are to be seen any where else. I 
 need not insert here what that author says 
 about those insects: you may see his relation. 
 ' Here follows a curious experiment, which 
 I made upon the same ground, where I had 
 three ants' nests. 1 undertook to make a 
 fourth, and went about it in the following 
 maimer. In a corner of a kind of a terrace, at 
 a considerable distance from the box, I found 
 a hole swarming with ants, much larger than 
 all those I had already seen ; but they were 
 not so well provided with corn, nor under so 
 good a government. I made a hole in the box 
 like that of an ants' nest, and laid, as it were, 
 the foundations of a new city. Afterwards I 
 got as many ants as I could out of the nest in 
 the terrace, and put them into a bottle, to give 
 them a new habitation in my box ; and because 
 I was afraid they would return to the terrace, 
 I destroyed their old nest, pouring boiling wa- 
 ter into the hole, to kill those ants that re- 
 mained in it. In the next place, I filled the 
 new hole with the ants that were in the bottle ; 
 but none of t>i»m would stay in it. They went 
 
 away in less than two hours ; which made me 
 believe that it was impossible to make a fourth 
 settlement in my box. 
 
 'Two or three days after, going accidentally 
 over the terrace, 1 was much surprised to see 
 the ants' nest which I had destroyed, very art- 
 fully repaired. I resolved then to destroy it 
 entirely, and to settle those ants in my box. 
 To succeed in my design, I put some gunpow- 
 der and brimstone into their hole, and sprung 
 a mine, whereby the whole nest was over- 
 thrown ; and then I carried as many ants as I 
 could get, into the place which 1 designed for 
 them. It happened to be a very rainy day, and 
 it rained all night ; and therefore they remained 
 in the new hole all that time. In the morning 
 when the rain was over, most of them went 
 away to repair their old habitation ; but find- 
 ing it impracticable by reason of the smell of 
 the powder and brimstone, which kHls them, 
 they came back again, and settled in the place 
 I had appointed for them. They quickly grew 
 acquainted with their neighbours, and received 
 from them all manner of assistance out of their 
 holes. As for the inside of their nest, none 
 but themselves were concerned in it, according 
 to the inviolable laws established among those 
 animals. 
 
 An ant never goes into any other nest but 
 her own ; and if she should venture to do it, 
 she would be turned out, and severely punished. 
 I have often taken an ant out of one nest, to 
 put her into another ; but she quickly came 
 out, being warmly pursued by two or three 
 other ants. I tried the same experiment se- 
 veral times with the same ant ; but at last the 
 other ants grew impatient, and tore her to 
 pieces. 1 have often frighted some ants with 
 my fingers, and pursued them as far as another 
 hole, stopping all the passages to prevent their 
 going to their own nest. It was very natural 
 for them to fly into the next hole. Many a 
 man would not be so cautious, and would 
 throw himself out of the windows, or into a 
 well, if he were pursued by assassins. But the 
 ants I am speaking of avoided going into any 
 otber hole but their own, and rather tried all 
 other ways of making their escape. They never 
 fled into another nest, but at the last extre- 
 mity ; and sometimes chose rather to be taken, 
 as I have often experienced. It is therefore 
 asi inviolable custom among those insects, not 
 to go into any other hole but their own. They 
 do not exercise hospitality ; but they are very 
 ready to help one another out of their holes. 
 They put down their loads at the entrance of 
 a neighbouring nest ; and those that live in it 
 carry them in. 
 
 ' They keep up a sort of trade among them- 
 selves ; and it is not true that those insects are 
 not for lending: I know the contrary. They 
 lend their corn ; they make exchanges ; they 
 are *-lwavs ready to serve one another; and f 
 
232 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 158. 
 
 can assure you, that more time and patience 
 would have enabled me to observe a thousand 
 things more curious and wonderful than what 
 I have mentioned. For instance, how they lend 
 ami recover their loans ; whether it be in the 
 same quantity, or with usury; whether they 
 pay the strangers that work for them, &c. 
 I do not think it impossible to examine all 
 those things : and it would be a great curiosity 
 to know by what maxims they govern -them- 
 selves. Perhaps such a knowledge might he 
 of some use to us. 
 
 1 They are never attacked by any enemies 
 in a body, as it is reported of bees. Their only 
 fear proceeds from birds, which sometimes eat 
 their corn when they lay it out in the sun ; 
 but they keep it under ground when they are 
 afraid of thieves. Il is said that some birds 
 eat them ; but I never saw any instance of it. 
 They are also infested by small worms; but 
 they turn them out and kill them. I observed 
 that they punish those ants which probably 
 had been wanting to their duty ; nay, some- 
 times they killed them ; which they did in the 
 following manner : Three or four ants fell 
 upon one, and pulled her several ways, until 
 she was torn in pieces. Generally speaking, 
 they live very quietly ; from whence I infer 
 that they have a very severe discipline among 
 themselves, to keep so good an order ; or that 
 they are great lovers of peace if they have no 
 occasion for any discipline. 
 
 ' Was there ever a greater union in any com- 
 monwealth ? Every thing is common among 
 them ; which is not to be seen any where else. 
 Bees, of which we are told so many wonderful 
 things, have each of them a hole in their hives ; 
 their honey is their own ; every bee minds her 
 own concerns. The same may be said of all 
 other animals. . They frequently fight, to de- 
 prive one another of their portion. It is not 
 so with ants : they have nothing of their own ; 
 a grain of corn which an ant carries home, is 
 deposited in a common stock. It is not de- 
 signed for her own use, but for the whole com- 
 munity ; there is no distinction between a pri- 
 vate and a common interest. An ant never 
 works for herself, but for the society. 
 
 Whatever misfortune happens to them, 
 their care and industry find out a remedy for 
 it ; nothing discourages them. If you destroy 
 their nests, they will be repaired in two days. 
 Any body may easily see how difficult it is to 
 drive them out of their habitations, without 
 dest toying the inhabitants ; for as long as there 
 are any left, they will maintain their ground. 
 I had almost forgot to tell you, sir, that 
 mercury has hitherto proved a mortal poison 
 for them; and that it is the most effectual 
 way of destroying those insects. I can do 
 something for them in this case : perhaps you 
 will hear in a little time that I have reconciled 
 them to mercury.' Co- 
 
 No. 158.] Friday, September tl, 1713. 
 
 Gnossius haec Ehadamanthtu habet durissima regna , 
 Castagatque, auclifjnc dolos ; subigilque f.iteri 
 Quae qnis apud superos, furto lactams iuani, 
 Dismlk in scram commissa piacula mortem. 
 
 Virg. X.n. vi. 566. 
 
 These are the realms of unrelenting fate : 
 
 And awful Ithadam.inthus rules the Btate. 
 
 He hears and judges each committed crime ; 
 
 Inquires into the manner, place, and time. 
 
 The conscious wretch must all his acts reveal, 
 
 Loath to confess, unable to conceal, 
 
 From the first moment of liis vital breath, 
 
 To the last hour of unrepeuting death. Dryden. 
 
 I was yesterday pursuing the hint which 
 I mentioned in my last paper, and comparing 
 together the industry of man with that of 
 other creatures ; in which I could not but ob- 
 serve, that notwithstanding we are obliged by 
 duty to keep ourselves in constant employ, 
 after the same manner as inferior animals are 
 prompted to it by instinct, we fall very short 
 of them in this particular. We are here the 
 more inexcusable, because there is a greater 
 variety of business to which we may apply our- 
 selves. Reason opens to us a large field of 
 atfairs, which other creatures are not capable of. 
 Beasts of prey, and I believe of all other kinds, 
 in their natural state of being, divide their 
 time between action and rest. They are 
 always at work, or asleep. In short their 
 waking hours are wholly taken up in seeking 
 after their food, or in consuming it. The human 
 species only, to the great reproach of our na- 
 tures, are filled with complaints, that ' the day 
 hangs heavy on them,' that ' they do not know 
 what to do with themselves,' that ' they are at 
 a loss how to pass away their time,' with many 
 of the like shameful murmurs, which we often 
 find in the mouths of those who are styled 
 reasonable beings.' How monstrous are such 
 expressions among creatures who have the 
 labours of the mind, as well as those of the 
 body, to furnish them with proper employ- 
 ments ! Who, besides the business of their 
 proper callings and professions, can apply them- 
 selves to the duties of religion, to meditation, 
 to the reading of useful books, to discourse ! 
 In a word, who may exercise themselves in 
 the unbounded pursuits of knowledge and 
 virtue, and every hour of their lives make them- 
 selves wiser or better than they were before ! 
 
 After having been taken up for some time in 
 this course of thought, I diverted myself with 
 a book according to my usual custom, in order 
 to unbend my mind before I went to sleep. 
 The book I made use of on this occasion was 
 Lucian, where I amused my thoughts for about 
 an hour among the dialogues of the dead, 
 which in all probability produced the follow- 
 ing dream. 
 
 I was conveyed, methought, into the en- 
 frame if the infernal regions, where I saw 
 Khudanianthus, one of the judges of the dead. 
 
No. 158.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 233 
 
 seated in his tribunal. On his left-hand stood 
 the keeper of Erebus, on his right the keeper 
 of Elysium. I was told he sat upon women 
 that day, there being several of the sex lately 
 .arrived who had not yet their mansions assigned 
 them. I was surprised to hear him ask every 
 one of them the same question, namely, ' What 
 they had been doing ?' Upon this question 
 being proposed to the whole assembly, they 
 stared one upon another, as not knowing what 
 to answer. He then interrogated each of them 
 separately. ' Madam,' says he to the first of 
 them, ' you have been upon the earth about 
 fifty years : what have you been doing there 
 all this while?' 'Doing!' says she, 'really 
 1 do not know what I have been doing : 1 de- 
 sire I may have time given me to recollect.' 
 After about half an hour's pause she told him, 
 that she had been playing at crimp ; upon which 
 Rhadamanthus beckoned to the keeper on his 
 left-hand, to take her into custody. ' And 
 you, madam,' says the judge, ' that look with 
 such a soft and languishing air ; I think you 
 set out for this place in your nine-and-twen- 
 tieth year; what have you beec doing all this 
 while ?' ' I had a great deal of business on my 
 hands,' says she, ' being taken up the first 
 twelve years of my life, in dressing a jointed 
 baby, and all the remaining part of it in read- 
 ing plays and romances.' 4 Yery well,' says he, 
 ' you have employed your time to good purpose. 
 Away with her !' The next was a plain country- 
 woman. ' Well, mistress,' says Rhadamanthus, 
 ' and what have you been doing ?' ' An't please 
 your worship,' says she, ' I did not* live quite 
 forty years ; and in that time brought my hus- 
 band seven daughters, made him nine thousand 
 cheesjes, and left my eldest girl with him, to 
 look after his house in my absence, and who, 
 J may venture to say, is as pretty a housewife 
 as any in the country.' Rhadamanthus smiled 
 at the simplicity of the good woman, and or- 
 dered the keeper of Elysium to take her into 
 his care. ' And you, fair lady,' says he, ' what 
 have you been doing these five-and-thirty years?' 
 ' I have been doing no hurt, I assure you sir,' 
 said she. ' That is well,' said he ; ' but what 
 good have you been doing?' The lady was in 
 great confusion at this question, and not know- 
 ing what to answer, the two keepers leaped 
 out to seize her at the same time; the one took 
 her by the hand to convey her to Elysium, the 
 other caught hold of her to carry her away to 
 Erebus. But Rhadamanthus observing an in- 
 genuous modesty in her countenance and be- 
 haviour, bid them both let her loose, and set 
 her aside for a re-examination when he was 
 more at leisure. An old woman, of a proud 
 and sour look, presented herself next at the bar, 
 and being asked, what she had been doing ? 
 ' Truly,' says she, ' J lived three-score and ten 
 years in a very wicked world, and was so 
 angry at the behaviour of a parcel of young 
 
 flirts, that I passed most of my last years in 
 condemning the follies of the times; I was 
 every day blaming the silly conduct of people 
 about me, in order to deter those I conversed 
 with from falling into the like errors and mis- 
 carriages.' ' Very well,' says Rhadamanthus, 
 ' but did you keep the same watchful eye over 
 your own actions ?' ' Why truly,' says she, 
 ' I was so taken up with publishing the faults 
 of others, that 1 had no time to consider my 
 own.' ' Madam,' says Rhadamanthus, ' be 
 pleased to file off to the left, and make room 
 for the venerable matron that stands behind 
 you.' ' Old gentlewoman,' says he, * I think 
 you are four-score. You have heard the ques- 
 tion, What have you been doing so long in the 
 world ?' ' Ah, sir,' says she, ' I have been doing 
 what I should not have done, but I had made 
 a firm resolution to have changed my life, if 
 I had not been snatched off by an untimely 
 end.' ' Madam,' says he, ' you will please to 
 follow your leader;' and spying another of the 
 same age, interrogated her in the same form. 
 To which the matron replied, ' I have been the 
 wife of a husband who was as dear to me in 
 his old age as in his youth. I have been a 
 mother, and very happy in my children, whom 
 1 endeavoured to bring up in every thing that 
 is good. My eldest son is blest by the poor, and 
 beloved by every one that knows him. I lived 
 within my own family, and left it much more 
 wealthy than 1 found it.' Rhadamanthus, who 
 knew the value of the old lady, smiled upon 
 her in such a manner, that the keeper of 
 Elysium, who knew his office, reached out his 
 hand to her. He no sooner touched her but 
 her wrinkles vanished, her eyes sparkled, her 
 cheeks glowed with blushes, and she appeared 
 in full bloom and beauty. A young woman 
 observing that this officer, who conducted the 
 happy to Elysium, was so great a beautifier, 
 longed to be in his hands ; so that pressing 
 through the crowd, she was the next that ap- 
 peared at the bar ; and being asked what she 
 had been doing the five-and- twenty years that 
 she had passed in the world, ' I have endea- 
 voured,' says she, * ever since I came to years 
 of discretion, to make myself lovely, and gain 
 admirers. „In order to it, I passed my time in 
 bottling up May-dew, inventing white-washes, 
 mixing colours, cutting out patches, consulting 
 my glass, suiting my complexion, tearing off 
 rny tucker, sinking my stays — ' Rhadamanthus, 
 without hearing her out, gave the sign to take 
 her off. Upon the approach of the keeper o. 
 Erebus her colour faded, her face was puckerea 
 up with wrinkles, and her whole person lost in 
 deformity. 
 
 I was then surprised with a distant sound of 
 a whole troop of females that came forward, 
 laughing, singing, and dancing. I was very 
 desirous to know the reception they would 
 meet with, and withal was very apprehensive 
 2 G 
 
234 
 
 THU GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 159, 
 
 that Rhadamanthus would spoil their mirth: 
 but at tbeir nearer approach the noise grew so 
 very great that it awakened me. 
 
 I lay some time, reflecting in myself on the 
 oddness of this dream, and could not forbear 
 asking my own heart, what I was doing? I 
 answered myself, that I was writing Guardians. 
 If my readers make as good a use of this work 
 as I design they should, I hope it will never be 
 imputed to me as a work that is vain and un- 
 profitable. 
 
 I shall conclude this paper with recommend- 
 ing to them the same short self-examination. 
 If every one of them frequently lays his hand 
 upon his heart, and considers what he is doing, 
 it will check him in all the idle, or what is 
 worse, the vicious moments of life; lift up his 
 mind when it is running on in a series of in- 
 different actions, and encourage him when he 
 is engaged in those which are virtuous and 
 laudable. In a word, it will very much alle- 
 viate that guilt which the best of men have 
 reason to acknowledge in their daily confessions, 
 of * leaving undone those things which they 
 ought to have done, and of doing those things 
 which they ought not to have done.' , ^ 
 
 No. 159.] Saturday, September 12, 1713. 
 
 Prsesens vet imo tollere de grailu 
 Mortale corpus, vel snperbos 
 Vertcre funeribus trinmphos. 
 
 Hot: Lib. 1. Od. xxxv. 2. 
 
 Whose force is strong, and quick to raise 
 The lowest to the highest place ; 
 
 Or with a wond'rous fall 
 
 To bring ilie hausrhty lower, 
 And turn proud triumphs to a funeral. Creech. 
 
 ' SIR, 
 4 Having read over your paper of Tuesday 
 last, in which you recommend the pursuits of 
 wisdom and knowledge to those of the fair sex, 
 who have much time lying upon their hands, 
 and among other motives make use of this, 
 that several women, thus accomplished, have 
 raised themselves by it to considerable posts 
 of honour and fortune : I shall beg leave to 
 give you an instance of this kind, which many 
 now living can testify the truth of, and which 
 I can assure you is matter of fact. 
 
 About twelve years ago, I was familiarly 
 acquainted with a gentleman who was in a 
 post that brought him a yearly revenue, suf- 
 ficient to live very handsomely upon. He hat! 
 a wife, and no child but a daughter, wliom he 
 bred up, as I thought, too high for one that 
 could expect no other fortune than such a one 
 as her father could raise out of the income of 
 his place ; which as they managed it was scarce 
 sufficient for their ordinary expenses. Miss 
 Betty had always the best sort of clothes, and 
 was hardly allowed to keep company but with 
 those above her rank ; so that it was no won- 
 der she grew proud and haughty towards those 
 
 she looked upon as her inferiors. There lived 
 by them a barber who had a daughter about 
 miss's age, that could speak French, had read 
 several books at her leisure hours, and was a 
 perfect mistress of her needle, and in all kinds 
 of female manufacture. She was at the same 
 time a pretty, modest, witty girl. She was 
 hired to come to miss an hour or two every 
 day, to talk French with her, and teach her to 
 work ; but miss always treated her with great 
 contempt ; and when Molly gave her any ad- 
 vice, rejected it with scorn. 
 
 1 About the same time several young fellows 
 made their addresses to miss Betty, who had 
 indeed a great deal of wit and beauty, had they 
 not been infected with so much vanity and 
 self-conceit. Among the rest was a plain sober 
 young man, who loved her almost to distrac- 
 tion. His passion was the common talk of 
 the neighbourhood, who used to he often dis- 
 coursing of Mr. T 's angel, for that was 
 
 the name he always gave her in ordinary con- 
 versation. As his circumstances were very 
 indifferent, he being a younger brother, Mrs. 
 Betty rejected him with disdain. Insomuch, 
 that the young man, as is usual among those 
 who are crossed in love, put himself aboard 
 the fleet, with a resolution to seek his fortune, 
 and forget his mistress. This was very happy 
 for him, for in a very few years, being con- 
 cerned in several captures, he brought home 
 with him an estate of about twelve thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 Meanwhile days and years went on, miss 
 lived high, and learnt but little, most of her 
 time being employed in reading plays and 
 practising to dance, in which she arrived at 
 great perfection. When of a sudden, at a 
 change of ministry, her father lost his place, 
 and was forced to leave London, where he 
 could no longer live upon the foot he had for- 
 merly done. Not many years after, I was told 
 the poor gentleman was dead, and had left his 
 widow and daughter in a very desolate condi- 
 tion, but I could not learn where to find them, 
 though I made what inquiry I could ; and I 
 must own, I immediately suspected their pride 
 would not suffer them to be seen or relieved by 
 any of their former acquaintance. I had left 
 inquiring after them for some years, when I 
 happened, not long ago, as I was asking at a 
 house for a gentleman I bad some business 
 with, to be led into a parlour by a handsome 
 young woman, who I presently fancied was 
 that wry daughter I had so long sought in 
 vain. My suspicion increased, when I ob- 
 served her to blush at the sight of me, and to 
 avoid, as much as possible, looking upon, or 
 speaking to me : " Madam," said I, " are not 
 you Mrs. such-a-one ?" At which words the 
 tears ran down her cheeks, and she would fain 
 have retired without giving me an answer ; 
 hut I stopped her, and being to wait a while 
 
No. 159.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 235 
 
 for the gentleman I was to speak to, I resolved 
 net to lose this opportunity of satisfying ray 
 curiosity. I could not well discern hy her 
 dress, which was genteel though not fine, whe- 
 ther she was the mistress of the house, or only 
 a servant ; but supposing her to be the first, 
 " I am glad, madam," said I, " after having 
 long inquired after you, to have so happily 
 met with you, and to find you mistress of so 
 fine a place." These words were like to have 
 spoiled all, and threw her into such a disorder, 
 that it was some time before she could recover 
 herself; but as soon as she was able to speak, 
 " Sir," said she, " you are mistaken; I am 
 but a servant." Her voice fell in these last 
 words, and she burst a^ain into tears. I was 
 sorry to have occasioned in her so much grief 
 and confusion, and said what 1 could to com- 
 fort her. " Alas, sir,' said she, "my condition 
 is much better than I deserve, I have the 
 kindest and best of women for my mistress. 
 She is wife to the gentleman you come to speak 
 withal. You know her very well, and have 
 often seen her with me." To make my story 
 short, 1 found that my late friend's daughter 
 was now a servant to the barber's daughter, 
 whom she had formerly treated so disdainfully. 
 The gentleman at whose house I now was, fell 
 in love with Moll, and being master of a great 
 fortune, married her, and lives with her as 
 happily, and as much to his satisfaction as he 
 could desire. He treats her with all the friend- 
 ship and respect possible, but not with more 
 than her behaviour and good qualities deserve. 
 And it was with a great deal of pleasure I heard 
 her maid dwell so long upon her commendation. 
 She informed me, that after her fathers death, 
 her mother and she lived for a while together 
 in great poverty. But her mother's spirit could 
 not bear the thoughts of asking relief of any 
 of her own, or her husband's acquaintance, so 
 they retired from all their friends, until they 
 were providentially discovered by this new- 
 married woman, who heaped on them favours 
 upon favours. Her mother died shortly after, 
 who, while she lived, was better pleased to see 
 her daughter a beggar, than a servant ; but 
 being freed by her death, she was taken into 
 this gentlewoman's family, where she now 
 lived, though much more like a friend or a 
 companion, than like a servant. 
 
 ' I went home full of this strange adventure; 
 and about a week after chancing to be in com- 
 pany with Mr. T. the rejected lover, whom I 
 mentioned in the beginning <>f my letter, I told 
 him the whole story of his angel, not question- 
 ing hut he would feel on this occasion, the 
 usual pleasures of a resenting lover, when he 
 hears that fortune has avenged him of the 
 cruelty of his mistress. As I was recounting 
 to him at large these several particulars, I ob- 
 served that he covered his face with his hand, 
 and that his breast heaved as though it would 
 
 have bursted, which I took at first to have 
 been a fit of laughter ; but upon lifting up his 
 head, I saw his eyes all red with weeping. He 
 forced a smile at the end of my story, and we 
 parted. 
 
 * About a fortnight after, 1 received from him 
 the following letter. 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 I am infinitely obliged to you for bringing 
 me news of my angel. I have since married 
 her, and think the low circumstances she was 
 reduced to a piece of good luck to both of us, 
 since it has quite removed that little pride and 
 vanity, which was the only part of her character 
 that I disliked, and given me an opportunity 
 of showing her the constant and sincere affec- 
 tion which I professed to her in the time of 
 her prosperity." 
 
 ' Yours, 
 <fc^ • R. TV 
 
 No. 160.] Monday, September 14, 1713. 
 
 Solveiitur risu taoulse, (a missus abibis. 
 
 Hot. Lib. 2. Sat. i. ver. ull. 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 M> lords the judges laugh, and you're dismiss'd. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 From writing the history of lions, I lately 
 went off to that of ants ; but to my great sur- 
 prise, I find that some of my good readers have 
 taken this last to be a work of invention, which 
 was only a plain narrative of matter of fact. 
 They will several of them have it that my last 
 Thursday and Friday's papers are full of con- 
 cealed satire, and that I have attacked people 
 in the shape of pismires, whom I durst not 
 meddle with in the shape of men. I must 
 confess that I write with fear and trembling, 
 ever since that ingenious person the Examiner, 
 in his little pamphlet, which was to make way 
 for one of his following papers, found out 
 treason in the word expect. 
 
 But I shall for the future leave my friend 
 to manage the controversy in a separate work, 
 being unwilling to fill with disputes a paper 
 which was undertaken purely out of good-will 
 to my countrymen. I must therefore declare 
 that those jealousies and suspicions, which have 
 been raised in some weak minds, by means of 
 the two above-mentioned discourses concerning 
 ants or pismires, ace altogether groundless. 
 There is not an emmet in all that whole nar- 
 rative who is either whig or tory ; and 1 could 
 heartily wish, that the individuals of all parties 
 among us, had the good of their country at 
 heart, and endeavoured to advance it by the 
 same spirit of frugality, justice, and mutual 
 benevolence, as are visibly exercised by mem- 
 bers of those little commonwealths. 
 
 After this short preface, I shall lay before 
 rav reader a letter or two which occasioned it. 
 
23(> 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 160. 
 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, 
 1 1 have laid a wager with a friend of mine 
 about the pigeons that used to peck up the 
 com which belonged to the ants. I say that 
 by these pigeons you meant the Palatines. He 
 will needs have it that they were the Dutch. 
 We both agree that the papers upon the strings 
 which frighted them away were pamphlets, Ex- 
 aminers, and the like. We beg you will satisfy 
 us in this particular, because the wager is very 
 considerable, and you will much oblige two of 
 
 your 
 
 DAILY READERS.' 
 
 'OLD IRON, 
 
 ' Why so rusty ? will you never leave your 
 
 innuendoes ? Do you think it hard to find out 
 
 who is the tulip in your last Thursday's paper? 
 
 Or can you imagine that three nests of ants is 
 
 such a disguise, that the plainest reader cannot 
 
 see three kingdoms through it? The blowing 
 
 up of a neighbouring settlement, where there 
 
 wa9 a race of poor beggarly ants, under a worse 
 
 form of government, is not so difficult to be 
 
 explained as you imagine. Dunkirk is not yet 
 
 demolished. Your ants are enemies to rain, 
 
 are they ! old Birmingham : no more of your 
 
 ants, if you don't intend to stir up a nest of 
 
 hornets. 
 
 •WILL WASP.' 
 
 « DEAR GUARDIAN, 
 ' Calling in yesterday at a coffee-house in 
 the city, I saw a very short, corpulent, angry 
 man reading your paper about the ants. I ob- 
 served that he reddened and swelled over every 
 sentence of it. After having perused it through- 
 out, he laid it down upon the table, called the 
 woman of the coffee-house to him, and asked 
 her in a magisterial voice, if she knew what 
 she did in taking in such papers ! The woman 
 was in such a confusion, that I thought it a 
 piece of charity to interpose in her behalf, and 
 asked him whether he had found any thing in 
 it of dangerous import ? " Sir," said he, " it 
 is a republican paper from one end to the 
 other, and if the author had his deserts" — He 
 here grew so exceeding choleric and fierce, 
 that he could not proceed ; till after having 
 recovered himself, he laid his finger upon the 
 following sentence, and read it with a very 
 stern voice — " Though ants are very knowing, 
 I do not take them to be conjurers : and there- 
 fore they could not guess that I had put some 
 corn in that room. I perceived for several days 
 that they were very much perplexed, and went 
 a great way to fetch their provisions. I was 
 not willing for some time to make them more 
 easy : for I had a mind to know whether they 
 would at last find out the treasure, and see it 
 at a great distance, and whether smelling en- 
 abled them to know what is good for their 
 nourishment." Then throwing the paper upon 
 the table — " Sir,' says he, " these things are 
 uot to be suffered — 1 would engage out of this j 
 
 sentence to draw up an indictment that" — He 
 here lost his voice a second time in the ex- 
 tremity of his rage ; and the whole company, 
 who were all of them tories, bursting out into a 
 sudden laugh, he threw down his penny in great 
 wrath, and retired with a most formidable frown. 
 
 * This, sir, I thought fit to acquaint you with, 
 that you may make what use of it you please. 
 I only wish thtttyou would sometimes diversify 
 your papers with many other pieces of natural 
 history, whether of insects or animals; this 
 being a subject which the most common reader 
 is capable of understanding, and which is very 
 diverting in its nature; besides that, it highly 
 redounds to the praise of that Being who has 
 inspired the several parts of the sensitive world 
 with such wonderful and different kinds of in- 
 stinct as enable them to provide for them- 
 selves, and preserve their species in that state 
 of existence wherein they are placed. There 
 is no party concerned in speculations of this 
 nature, which, instead of inflaming those un- 
 natural heats that prevail among us, and take 
 up most of our thoughts, may divert our minds 
 to subjects that are useful, and suited to rea- 
 sonable creatures. Dissertations of this kind 
 are the more proper for your purpose, as they 
 do not require any depth of mathematics, or 
 any previous science to qualify the reader for 
 the understanding of them. To this I might 
 add, that it is a shame for men to be ignorant 
 of these worlds of wonders which are transacted 
 in the midst of them, and not be acquainted 
 with those objects which are every where be- 
 fore their eyes. To which I might further add, 
 that several are of opinion, there is no other 
 use in many of these creatures than to furnish 
 matter of contemplation and wonder to those 
 inhabitants of the earth, who are its only crea- 
 tures that are capable of it. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 
 * Your constant reader, 
 
 * and humble servant.' 
 
 After having presented my reader with this 
 set of letters, which are all upon the same sub- 
 ject, I shall here insert one that has no relation 
 to it. But it has always been my maxim, never 
 to refuse going out of my way to do any honest 
 man a service, especially when I have an in- 
 terest in it myself. 
 
 ■ MOST VENERABLE NESTOR, 
 
 * As you are a person that very eminently 
 distinguish yourself in the promotion of the 
 public good, I desire your friendship in signi- 
 fying to the town what concerns the greatest 
 good of life, health. I do assure you, sir, there 
 is in a vault under the Exchange in Cornhill, 
 over-against Pope's-head-alley, a parcel of 
 French wines, full of the seeds of good humour, 
 cheerfulness, and friendly mirth. I have been 
 told, the learned of our nation agree, there is 
 
No. 161.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 237 
 
 no such thing as bribery in liquors ; therefore 
 I shall presume to send you of it, lest you 
 should think it inconsistent with integrity to 
 recommend what you do not understand hy 
 experience. In the mean time please to insert 
 this, that every man may judge for himself. 
 03» ' 1 am, Sir, &c.' 
 
 No. 161.] Tuesday, September 15, 1713. 
 
 — Incoctum generoso pectus honesto. 
 
 Pers. Sat. ii. 74. 
 
 A genuine virtue of a vigorous kind, 
 
 Pure in the last recesses of the mind. Dryden. 
 
 Every principle that is a motive to good 
 actions ought to be encouraged, since men are 
 of so different a make, that the same principle 
 does not work equally upon all minds. What 
 some men are prompted toby conscience, duty, 
 or religion, which are only different names for 
 the same thing, others are prompted to by 
 honour. 
 
 The sense of honour is of so fine and delicate 
 a nature, that it is only to be met with in 
 minds which are naturally noble, or in such as 
 have been cultivated by great examples, or a 
 refined education. This paper therefore is 
 chiefly designed for those who by means of any 
 of these advantages are, or ought to be actuated 
 by this glorious principle. 
 
 But as nothing is more pernicious than a 
 principle of action, when it is misunderstood, 
 I shall consider honour with respect to three 
 sorts of men : First of all, with regard to those 
 who have a right notion of it: Secondly, with 
 regard to those who have a mistaken notion of 
 it : and Thirdly, with regard to those who 
 treat it as chimerical, and turn it into ridicule. 
 
 In the first place, true honour, though it be 
 a different principle from religion, is that which 
 produces the same effects. The lines of action, 
 though drawn from different parts, terminate 
 in the same point. Religion embraces virtue, 
 as it is enjoined by the laws of God ; honour, as 
 it is graceful and ornamental to human nature. 
 The religious man fears, the man of honour 
 scorns to do an ill action. The latter considers 
 vice as something that is beneath him, the other 
 as something that is offensive to the Divine Be- 
 ing. The one, as what is unbecoming ; the other, 
 as what is forbidden. Thus Seneca speaks in the 
 natural and genuine language ef a man of 
 honour, when he declares, that were there no 
 God to see or punish vice, he would not com- 
 mit It, because it is of so mean, so base, and so 
 vile a nature. 
 
 I shall conclude this head with the descrip- 
 tion of honour in the part of young Juba : 
 
 ' Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings, 
 The noble mind's distinguishing perfection, 
 That aids and strengthens virtue where it meets her, 
 And imitates her actions where she is not. 
 It ought not to be sported with.' Cato. 
 
 In the second place, we are to consider those 
 who have mistaken notions of honour. And 
 these are such as establish any thing to them- 
 selves for a point of honour, which is contrary 
 either to the laws of God, or of their country ; 
 who think it more honourable to revenge than 
 to forgive an injury ; who make no scruple of 
 telling a lie, but would put any man to death 
 that accuses them of it ; who are more careful 
 to guard their reputation by their courage, than 
 by their virtue. True fortitude is indeed so 
 becoming in human nature, that he who wants 
 it scarce deserves the name of a man ; but we 
 find several who so much abuse this notion, 
 that they place the whole idea of honour in a 
 kind of brutal courage; by which means we 
 have had .nany among us who have called 
 themselves men of honour, that would have 
 been a disgrace to a gibbet. In a word, the 
 man who sacrifices any duty of a reasonable 
 creature to a prevailing mode or fashion, who 
 looks upon any thing as honourable that is dis- 
 pleasing to his Maker, or destructive to society, 
 who thinks himself obliged by this principle 
 to the practice of some virtues and not of 
 others, is by no means to be reckoned among 
 true men of honour. 
 
 Timogenes was a lively instance of one ac- 
 tuated by false honour. Timogenes would 
 smile at a man's jest who ridiculed his Maker, 
 and at the same time run a man through the 
 body that spoke ill of his friend. Timogenes 
 would have scorned to have betrayed a secret 
 that was intrusted with him, though the fate 
 of his country depended upon the discovery of 
 it. Timogenes took away the life of a young 
 fellow in a duel, for having spoken ill of Be- 
 linda, a lady whom he himself had seduced in 
 her youth, and betrayed into want and igno- 
 miny. To close his character, Timogenes, after 
 having ruined several poor tradesmen's families 
 who had trusted him, sold his estate to satisfy 
 his creditors ; but, like a man of honour, dis- 
 posed of all the money he could make of it, in 
 the paying off his play debts, or to speak in his 
 own language, his debts of honour. 
 
 In the third place, we are to consider those 
 persons, who treat this principle as chimerical, 
 and turn it into ridicule. Men who are pro- 
 fessedly of no honour, are of a more profligate 
 and abandoned nature than even those who are 
 actuated by false notions of it, as there is 
 more hopes of a heretic than of an atheist. 
 These sons of infamy consider honour with old 
 Syphax, in the play before-mentioned, as a fine 
 imaginary notion that leads astray young un- 
 experienced men, and draws them into real 
 mischiefs, while they are engaged in the pur- 
 suits of a shadow. These are generally persons 
 who, in Shakspeare's phrase, * are worn and 
 hackneyed in the ways of men ;' whose imagi- 
 
 I nations are grown callous, and have lost all 
 those delicate sentiments which are natural to 
 
238 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 162. 
 
 minds that are innocent and undepraved. Such 
 old battered miscreant* ridicule every thing as 
 romantic that eoaaea in competition with their 
 present interest, and treat those persons a* 
 visionaries, who dare stand up in a corrupt 
 age for what has not its immediate reward 
 joined to it. The talents, interest, or experience 
 of such men, make them very often useful in 
 all parties, and at all times. But whatever 
 wealth and dignities they may arrive at, they 
 ought to consider, that every one stands as a 
 blot in the annals of his country who arrives 
 at the temple of honour by any other way than 
 through that of virtue. (£> 
 
 No. 162.] Wednesday, September 16, 1713. 
 
 Propnnrn hoc esse prndentias, conciliate sibi ammo? 
 honiinum, et ad umis siios adjungere. Cicero. 
 
 The art of prudence lies in gaining the esteem of the 
 world, and turning it to a man's own advantage. 
 
 I was the other day in company at my lady 
 Lizard's, when there came in among us their 
 cousin Tom, who is one of those country squires 
 that set up for plain honest gentlemen who 
 speak their minds. Tom is in short a lively 
 impudent clown, and has wit enough to have 
 made him a pleasant companion, had it been 
 polished and rectified by good manners. Tom 
 had not been a quarter of an hour with us 
 before he set every one in the company a 
 blushing, by some blunt question, or unlucky 
 observation. He asked the Sparkler if her wit 
 had yet got her a husband ; and told her eldest 
 sister she looked a little wan under the eyes, 
 and that it was time for her to look about her, 
 if she did not design to lead apes in the other 
 world. The good lady Lizard, who suffers 
 more than her daughters on such an occasion, 
 desired her cousin Thomas with a smile, not 
 to be so severe on his relations ; to which the 
 booby replied, with a rude country laugh, ' If 
 I be not mistaken, aunt, you were a mother at 
 fifteen, and why do you expect that your 
 daughters should be maids till five-and-twenty !' 
 ] endeavoured to divert the discourse ; when 
 without taking notice of what I said, ' Mr. 
 Ironside,' says he, ' you fill my cousins' heads 
 with your fine notions, as you call them; can 
 you teach them to make a pudding?' I must 
 confess he put me out of countenance with his 
 rustic raillery, so that I made some excuse, 
 and left the room. 
 
 This fellow's behaviour made me reflect on 
 the usefulness of complaisance, to make all 
 mnversation agreeable. This, though in itself 
 it be scarce reckoned in the number of moral 
 virtues, is that which gives a lustre to every 
 talent a man can be possessed of. It was Plato's 
 advice to an unpolished writer, that he should 
 Sacrifice to the (.races. In the same manner 
 
 I would advise every man of learning, who 
 would not appear in the world a mere scholar 
 or philosopher, to make himself master of the 
 social virtue which I have here mentioned. 
 
 Complaisance renders a superior amiable, 
 an equal agreeable, and an inferior acceptable. 
 It smooths distinction, sweetens conversation, 
 and makes every one in the company pleased 
 with himself. It produces good nature and 
 mutual benevolence, encourages the timorous, 
 sooths the turbulent, humanizes the fierce, and 
 distinguishes a society of civilized persons from 
 " a confusion of savages. In a word, complaisance 
 is a virtue that blends all orders of men to- 
 gether in a friendly intercourse of words and 
 actions, and is suited to that equality in human 
 nature which every one ought to consider, so 
 far as is consistent with the order and economy 
 of the world. 
 
 If we could look into the secret anguish and 
 affliction of every man's heart, we should often 
 find that more of it arises from little imaginary 
 distresses, such as checks, frowns, contradic- 
 tions, expressions of contempt, and (what 
 Shakspeare reckons among other evils under 
 the sun) 
 
 ' The proud man's contumely, 
 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 Ihat patient merit of the unworthy takes/ 
 
 than from the more real pains and calamities 
 of life. The only method to remove these 
 imaginary distresses as much as possible out 
 of human life, would be the universal practice 
 of such an ingenuous complaisance as I have 
 been here describing, which, as it is a virtue, 
 may be defined to be, ' a constant endeavour 
 to please those whom we converse with, so far 
 as we may do it innocently.' I shall here add, 
 that I know nothing so effectual to raise a 
 man's fortune as complaisance ; which recom* 
 mends more to the favour of the great, than 
 wit, knowledge, or any other talent whatsoever. 
 1 find this consideration very prettily illustrated 
 by a little wild Arabian tale, which I shall 
 here abridge, for the sake of my reader, after 
 having again warned him, that I do not recom- 
 mend to him such an impertinent or vicious 
 complaisance as is not consistent with honour 
 and integrity. 
 
 ' Schacahac beiug reduced to great poverty, 
 and having eat nothing for two days together, 
 made a visit to a noble barmecide in Persia, 
 who was very hospitable, but withal a great 
 humorist. The barmecide was sitting at his 
 table that seemed ready covered for an enter 
 tainment. Upon hearing Schacabac's com- 
 plaint, he desired him to sit down and fall on. 
 He then gave him an empty plate, and asked 
 him how he liked his rice soup. Schacabae, 
 who was a man of wit, and resolved to comply 
 with the barmecide in all his humours, told 
 him it was admirable, and at the same time, 
 in imitation of the other, lifted up the empty 
 
No. 162.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 239 
 
 spoon to his mouth with great pleasure. The 
 6armecide then asked him if he ever saw whiter 
 ftread ? Schaeahac, who saw neither bread nor 
 meat, " if I did not like it, you may be sure," 
 says he, " I should not eat so heartily of it." 
 " You oblige me mightily," replied the bar- 
 mecide, " pray let me help you to this leg of a 
 goose." Schaeahac reached out his plate, and 
 received nothing on it with great cheerfulness. 
 
 As he was eating very heartily on this ima- 
 ginary goose, and crying up the sauce to the 
 skies, the barmecide desired him to keep a 
 corner of his stomach for a roasted lamb fed 
 with pistachio nuts, and after having called for 
 it, as though it had really been served up, 
 " here is a dish," says he, " that you will see 
 at nobody's table but my own." Schacabac 
 was wonderfully delighted with the taste of it, 
 " which is like nothing," says he, " I ever eat 
 before." Several other nice dishes were served 
 up in idea, which both of them commended, 
 and feasted on after the same manner. This 
 was followed by an invisible dessert, no part of 
 which delighted Schacabac so much as a cer- 
 tain lozenge, which the barmecide told him* 
 was a sweet-meat of his own invention. Scha- 
 cabac at length being courteously reproached 
 by the barmecide, that he had no stomach, 
 and that he eat nothing, and at the same time 
 being tired with moving his jaws up and down 
 to no purpose, desired to be excused, for that 
 really he was so full he could not eat a hit 
 more. " Come then," says the, barmecide, 
 
 the cloth shall be removed, and you shall 
 taste of my wines, which I may say, without 
 vanity, are the best in Persia." He then filled 
 both their glasses out of an empty decanter. 
 Schacabac would have excused himself from 
 drinking so much at onee, because he said he 
 was a little quarrelsome in his liquor ; however, 
 being prest to it, he pretended to take it off, 
 having beforehand praised the colour, and af- 
 terwards the flavour. Being plied with two 
 or three other imaginary bumpers of different 
 wines, equally delicious, and a little vexed with 
 this fantastic treat, he pretended to grow flus- 
 tered, and gave the barmecide a good box on 
 the ear, but immediately recovering himself, 
 " Sir," says he, " I beg ten thousand pardons, 
 but I told you before, that it was my misfortune 
 to be quarrelsome in my drink." The bar- 
 mecide could not but smile at the humour of 
 his guest, and, instead of being angry at him, 
 " I find," says he, " thou art a complaisant 
 fellow, and deservest to be entertained in my 
 house. Since thou canst accommodate thyself 
 to my humour, we will now eat together in 
 good earnest." Upon which, calling for his 
 supper, the rice soup, the goose, the pistachio 
 lamb, the several other nice dishes, with the 
 dessert, the lozenges, and all the variety of 
 Persian wines, were served up successively, one 
 after another : and Schacabac was feasted in 
 
 reality with those very things which he had 
 before been entertained with in imagination/ 
 
 <G- 
 
 No. 163.] Thursday, September 17, 1713. 
 
 miser um est aliena vivere quadra 
 
 Juv. Sat. v. 2. 
 How wretched he, by cruel fortune crost, 
 Who never dines but at another's cost. 
 
 When I am disposed to give myself a day's 
 rest, I order the lion to be opened, and search 
 into that magazine of intelligence for such 
 letters as are to my purpose. The first I looked 
 into comes to me from one who is chaplain to 
 a great family. He treats himself in the be- 
 ginning of it, after such a manner, as I am 
 persuaded no man of sense would treat him. 
 Even the lawyer and the physician to a man 
 of quality, expect to be used like gentlemen, 
 and much more may any one of so superior 
 a profession. I am by no means for encou- 
 raging that dispute, whether the chaplain or 
 the master of the house be the better man, 
 and the more to be respected. The two learned 
 authors, doctor Hickes and Mr. Collier, to 
 whom 1 might add several others, are to be 
 excused, if they have carried the point a little 
 too high in favour of the chaplain, since in so 
 corrupt an age as that we live in, the popular 
 opinion runs so far into the other extreme. 
 The only controversy, between the patron and 
 the chaplain, ought to be, which should pro- 
 mote the good designs and interests of each 
 other most, and for my own part, I think it is 
 the happiest circumstance in a great estate or 
 title, that it qualifies a man for choosing out 
 of such a learned and valuable body of men as 
 that of the English clergy, a friend, a spiritual 
 guide, and a companion. The letter I have 
 received from one of this order, is as follows : 
 
 • MR. GUARDIAN, 
 
 ' I hope you will not only indulge me in the 
 liberty of two or three questions, but also in 
 the solution of them. 
 
 1 have had the honour many years of being 
 chaplain to a noble family, and of being ac- 
 counted the highest servant in the house, 
 either out of respect to my cloth, or because 
 I lie in the uppermost garret. 
 
 * Whilst my old lord lived, his table was al- 
 ways adorned with useful learning and innocent 
 mirth, as well as covered with plenty. I was 
 not looked upon as a piece of furniture fit only 
 to sanctify and garnish a feast, but treated as a 
 gentleman, and generally desired to fill up the 
 conversation an hour after I had done my duty. 
 But now my young lord is come to the estate, 
 I find I am looked upon as a censor morum. 
 an obstacle to mirth and talk, and suffered ta 
 retire constantly with " Prosperity to tne 
 church" in my mouth. I declare solemnly, sir, 
 
210 
 
 HE GUARDIAN. 
 
 No. I 63. 
 
 that I have heard nothing from all the fine 
 gentlemen who visit us, more remarkable, for 
 half a year, than that one young lord was seven 
 times drunk at Genoa, and another had an 
 affair with a famous courtesan at Venice. I 
 have lately taken the liberty to stay three or 
 four rounds beyond the church, to see what 
 topics of discourse they went upon, but to my 
 great surprise, have hardly heard a word all 
 the time besides the toasts. Then they all stare 
 full in my face, and show all the actions of 
 uneasiness till I am gone. Immediately upon 
 my departure, to use the words in an old co- 
 medy, " 1 find by the noise they make, that 
 they had a mind to be private." I am at a 
 loss to imagine what conversation they have 
 among one another, which I may not be present 
 at ; since I love innocent mirth as much as 
 any of them, and am shocked with no freedoms 
 whatsoever, which are consistent with Chris- 
 tianity. I have, with much ado, maintained 
 my post hitherto at the dessert, and every day 
 eat tart in the face of my patron ; but how 
 long I shall be invested with this privilege I 
 do not know. For the servants, who do not 
 see me supported as I was in my old lord's time, 
 begin to brush very familiarly by me, and 
 thrust aside my chair when they set the sweet- 
 meats on the table. I have been born and 
 educated a gentleman, and desire you will 
 make the public sensible, that the Christian 
 priesthood was never thought, in any age or 
 country, to debase the man who is a member 
 of it. Among the great services which your 
 useful papers daily do to religion, this perhaps 
 will not be the least, and will lay a very great 
 obligation on vour unknown servant, 
 
 ' G. WV 
 
 ' VENERABLE NESTOR, 
 * I was very much pleased with your paper 
 of the seventh instant, in which you recom- 
 mend the study of useful knowledge to women 
 of quality or fortune. 2 have since that met 
 with a very elegant poem, written by the fa- 
 mous sir Thomas More. It is inscribed to a 
 friend of his who was then seeking out a wife ; 
 he adviset him on that occasion to overlook 
 wealth and beauty, and if he desires a happy 
 life, to join himself with a woman of virtue and 
 knowledge. His words on this last head are 
 as follow : 
 
 " Proculque stulta sit, 
 Parvis lahellulis, 
 Semper loquacitas ; 
 Proculque rusticum 
 Semper silentium. 
 Sit ilia, vel niorio 
 Instructs Uteris ; 
 Vel talis, ut modb 
 Sit apta literis, 
 Felix quaevis bene 
 Piisci3 ab omnibus 
 
 Possit libellulis 
 Vitam beantia 
 Haurire dogmata: 
 Armata cum quibus, 
 Nee ilia prosperis 
 Superba turgeat ; 
 Nee ilia turbidis 
 Misella lugeat, 
 Prostrata casibus. 
 Jucunda sic erit 
 Semper nee unquam erit 
 
 Gravis, molestave 
 Vitffi comes tuae ; 
 Quae docta parvulos 
 Docebit, et tuos 
 Cum lacte literas 
 Olim nepotulos. 
 .Jam te juvaverit 
 Virus relinquere, 
 Doctaeque conjugis 
 Sinu quiescere : 
 Dum grata te fovet ; 
 Mauuque mohili 
 Dum plectra personat 
 Et voce (qua nee est, 
 Progne, sororculae 
 Tuae suavior) 
 Amoena cantillat, 
 Apollo quae velit 
 Audire carmina. 
 Jam te juvaverit 
 Sermone blandulo 
 Docto tamen, dies 
 Noctesque ducere ; 
 Notare verbula 
 Mellitta, maximis 
 Non absque gratiis, 
 Ab ore melleo 
 Semper fluentia: 
 Quibus coerceat, 
 Si quando te levet 
 Inane gaudium ; 
 
 Quibus levaverit, 
 Si quando depriraat 
 Te moeror anxius. 
 Certabit in quibus 
 Summa eloquentia, 
 Jan. cum omnium gravi 
 Rerum Scientia. 
 Talem olim ego putem 
 Et vatis Oiphei 
 Fuisse conjugem; 
 Nee unquam ab inferis 
 Curasset improbo 
 Lahore foeminam 
 Referre rusticam : 
 Talemque credimus 
 Nasonis inclvtam, 
 Quae vel patrem queat 
 Square carmine, 
 Fuisse filiam : 
 Talemque suspicor 
 (Qu& nulla charior 
 Unquam fuit patri, 
 Quo nemo doctior) 
 Fuisse Tulliam : 
 Talisque, quae tulit 
 Gracchos duos, fuit ; 
 Quae quos tulit, bonis 
 Instruxit artibus ; 
 Nee profuit minus 
 Magistra, quam pa- 
 rens." 
 
 1 The sense of this elegant description is as 
 follows : 
 
 " May you meet with a wife who is not al- 
 ways stupidly silent, not always prattling non- 
 sense ! May she be learned, if possible, or at 
 least capable of being made so ! A woman thus 
 accomplished will be always drawing sentences 
 and maxims of virtue out of the best authors 
 of antiquity. She will be herself in all changes 
 of fortune, neither blown up in prosperity, 
 nor broken with adversity. You will find in 
 her an even, cheerful, good-humoured friend, 
 and an agreeable companion for life. She will 
 infuse knowledge into your children with their 
 milk, and from their infancy train them up to 
 wisdom. Whatever company you are engaged 
 in you will long to be at home, and retire with 
 delight from the society of men into the bo- 
 som of one who is so dear, so knowing, and so 
 amiable. If she touches her lute, or sings to 
 it any of her own compositions, her voice will 
 sooth you in your solitudes, and sound more 
 sweetly in your ear than that of the nightingale. 
 You will waste with pleasure whole days and 
 nights in her conversation, and be ever finding 
 out new beauties in her discourse. She will 
 keep your mind in perpetual serenity, restrain 
 its mirth from being dissolute, and prevent its 
 melancholy from being painful. 
 
 " Such was doubtless the wife of Orpheus; 
 for who would have undergone what he did to 
 
No. 164.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 241 
 
 have recovered a foolish bride? Such was the 
 daughter of Ovid, who was his rival in poetry. 
 Such was Tullia, as she is celebrated by the 
 most learned and the most fond of fathers. 
 And such was the mother of the two Gracchi, 
 who is no less famous for having been their 
 instructor, than their parent."' 63- 
 
 No. 164.] Friday, September 18, 1713. 
 
 simili frondescit virga metallo. 
 
 Vlrg. Kit. vi. 144. 
 The same rich metal glitters on the tree. 
 
 An eminent prelate of our church observes, 
 that ' there is no way of writing so proper for 
 the refining and polishing a language, as the 
 translating of books into it, if he who under- 
 takes it has a competent skill of theone tongue, 
 and is a master of the other. When a man 
 writes his own thoughts, the heat of his fancy, 
 and the quickness of his mind, carry him so 
 much after the notions themselves, that for 
 the most part he is too warm to judge of the 
 aptness of words, and the justness of figures - 3 
 so that he either neglects these too much, or 
 overdoes them : but when a man translates, he 
 has none of these heats about him ; and there- 
 fore the French took no ill method, when they 
 intended to reform and beautify their language, 
 in setting their best writers on work to trans- 
 late the Greek and Latin authors into it.' Thus 
 far this learned prelate. 
 
 And another, lately deceased, tells us, that 
 * the way of leaving verbal translations, and 
 chiefly regarding the sense and genius of the 
 author, was scarce heard of in England before 
 this present age.' 
 
 As for the difficulty of translating well, every 
 one, I believe, must allow my lord Roscommon 
 to be in the right, when he says, 
 
 'Tis true, composing is the nobler part, 
 
 But good translation is no easy art : 
 
 For tho' materials have long since been found, 
 
 Yet both your fancy, and your hands are bound ; 
 
 And by improving what was writ before, 
 
 Invention labours less, but judgment more.' 
 
 Dryden judiciously remarks, that ' a translator 
 b to make his author appear as charming as 
 possibly he can, provided he maintains his 
 character, and makes him not unlike himself.' 
 And a too close and servile, imitation, which 
 the same poet calls ' treading on the heels of 
 an author,' is deservedly laughed at by sir John 
 Denham; ' I conceive it,' says he, 'a vulgar 
 error in translating poets, to affect being fdus 
 interpres. Let that care be with them who 
 deal in matters of fact, or matters of faith ; but 
 whosoever aims at it in poetry, as he attempts 
 what is not required, so shall he never per- 
 form what he attempts ; for it is not his busi- 
 ness alone to translate language into language, 
 but poesy into poesy ; and poesy is of so subtle 
 
 a spirit, that in pouring out of one language 
 into another, it will all evaporate, and if a new 
 spirit is not added in the transfusion, there 
 will remain nothing but a caput mortuum, 
 there being certain graces and happinesses 
 peculiar to every language, which give life and 
 energy to the words , and whosoever offers at 
 verbal translation, shall have the misfortune 
 of that young traveller, who lost his own lan- 
 guage abroad, and brought home no other in- 
 stead of it. For the grace of the Latin will be 
 lost by being turned into English words, and 
 the grace of the English by being turned into 
 the Latin phrase.' 
 
 After this collection of authorities out of 
 some of our greatest English writers, I shall 
 present my reader with a translation, in which 
 the author has conformed himself to the opi- 
 nion of these great men. The beauty of the 
 translation is sufficient to recommend it to 
 the public, without acquainting them that the 
 translator is Mr. Eusden of Cambridge: who 
 obliged them in the Guardian of August the 
 sixth, with the Court of Venus out of the same 
 Latin poet, which was highly applauded by the 
 be»t judges in performances of this nature. 
 
 The Speech of Pluto to Proserpine, from the 
 second book of her Rape, by Claudian. 
 
 ' Cease, cease, fair nymph, to lavish precious tears, 
 And discompose your soul with airy fears. 
 Look on Sicilia's glitt'ring courts with scorn ; 
 A nobler sceptre shall that hand adorn. 
 Imperial pomp shall sooth a gen'rous pride ; 
 The bridegroom never will disgrace the bride. 
 If you above terrestrial thrones aspire, 
 From heaven I spring, and Saturn was my sire. 
 The power of Pinto stretches all around, 
 Uncircumscrib'd by nature's utmost bound ; 
 Where matter mould'ring dies, where forms decay 
 Thro' the vast trackless void extends my sway. 
 Mark not with mournful eyes the fainting light, 
 Nor tremble at this interval of night ; 
 A fairer scene shall open to your view, 
 An earth more verdant, and a heaven more blue; 
 Another Phoebus gilds those happy skies, 
 And other stars, with purer flames, arise. 
 There chaste adorers shall their praises join, 
 And with the choicest gifts enrich your shrine. 
 The blissful climes no change of ages knew, 
 The golden first began, and still is new. 
 That golden age 5 T our world a while could boast, 
 But here it flourish'd and was never lost. 
 Perpetual zephyrs breathe thro' fragrant bowers; 
 And painted meads smile with unbidden flowers ; 
 Flow'rs of immortal bloom and various hue ; 
 No rival sweets in your own Enna grew. 
 In the recess of a cool sylvan glade 
 A monarch-tree projects no vulgar shade. 
 Encumber'd with their wealth, the branches bene?, 
 And golden apples to their reach descend. 
 Spare not the fruit, but pluck the blooming ore, 
 The yellow harvest will increase the more. 
 But I too long on trifling themes explain, 
 Nor speak th' unbounded glories of your reign. 
 Whole nature owns your pow'r : Whate'er have birth 
 And live, and move o'er all the face of earth ; 
 Or in old Ocean's mighty caverns sleep, 
 Or sportive roll along the foamy deep; 
 Or on stiff pinions airy journeys take 
 Or cut the floating stream or stagnant lake : 
 In vain they labour to preserve their breath 
 And soon fall victims to vour subject, Deatn. 
 2 H 
 
2A2 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 L Xo. 165. 
 
 Unnamber'd triumphs swift 10 yon he brings, 
 11 a : ;,,.m, s, of all sublunary thj'ngsl 
 l mpiresi tun sink above, here mm- again, 
 
 ■ ilds unpeopled crowd lh' i;i\si.m plain, 
 the rich, the poor, the monarch* and the slave, 
 Know do superior h nonrs in the grave. 
 Proud tyrants once, mid lanrel'd chiefs shall come, 
 And kneel, and trembling wait from yon their doom. 
 J lie impious, fore'd, shall then their crimes disclose, 
 And see past pleasures teem with future woes ; 
 Deplore iu darkness your impartial sway, 
 While spotless souls enjoy the fields of day. 
 When ripe for second birth, the dead shall stan ', 
 Th shiVring throngs on the Lethean Btraud, 
 That shatfe whom you approve shall first be brought 
 To quaff oblivion in the pleasing draught, 
 Whose thread of life, just spun, you would renew, 
 Bat nod, and Clotho shall rewind the clue. 
 Let no distrust of power your joys abate, 
 Speak what you wish, and what you speak is fate. 
 
 The ravisher thus sooth'd the weeping fair, 
 And check'd the fury of his steeds with care: 
 Possessed of beauty's charms, he calmly rode, 
 And love first soften'd the relentless god.' 
 
 No. 165.] Saturday, September 19, 1713. 
 
 Decipit exemplar, vitiis imitabile 
 
 Hor. Lib. 1. Ep. xix. 17. 
 
 Examples, vice can imitate, deceive. 
 
 Creech. 
 
 It is a melancholy thing to see a coxcomb 
 at the head of a family. He scatters infection 
 through the whole house. His wife and children 
 have always their eyes upon him ; if they have 
 more sense than himself, they are out of coun- 
 tenance for him ; if less, they submit their 
 understandings to him, and make daily im- 
 provements in folly and impertinence. I have 
 been very often secretly concerned, when I have 
 seen a circle of pretty children cramped in 
 their natural parts, aud prattling even below 
 themselves, while they are talking after a 
 couple of silly parents. The dulness of a father 
 often extinguishes a genius in the son, or gives 
 such a wrong cast to his mind as it is hard 
 for him ever to wear off. In short, where the 
 liead of a family is weak, you hear the repeti- 
 tions of his insipid pleasantries, shallow con- 
 ceits, and topical points of mirth, in every 
 member of it. His table, his fire-side, his 
 parties of diversion, are all of them so many 
 Standing scenes of folly. 
 
 This is one reason why I would the more 
 recommend the improvements of the mind to 
 my female readers, that a family may have a 
 double chance for it; and if it meets with 
 weakness in one of the heads, may have it 
 made up in the other. It is indeed au un- 
 happy circumstance in a family, where the 
 wife has more knowledge than the husband; 
 but it is better it should be so, than that there 
 should be no knowledge in the whole house. It 
 . highly expedient that at least one of the per- 
 sons, who sits at the helm of affairs, should give 
 n i tuple of good sense to those who are un- 
 der Ihem in these little domestic governments. 
 I' folly is of ill consequence in the head of a 
 family, vice is nuch more so, as ii i of a more 
 
 pernicious and of a more contagious nature. 
 When the master is a profligate, the rake runs 
 through the house. You hear the sons talkiug 
 loosely, and swearing after the father, aud see 
 the daughters either familiarized to his dis- 
 course, or every moment blushing for him. 
 
 The very footman will be a fine gentleman 
 in his master's way. He improves by his table- 
 talk, and repeats in the kitchen what he learns 
 in the parlour. Invest him with the same title 
 and ornaments, and you would scarce ktvow him 
 from his lord. He practises the same oaths, 
 the same ribaldry, the same way of joking. 
 
 It is therefore of very great concern to a 
 family, that the ruler of it should be wise and 
 virtuous. The first of these qualifications does 
 not indeed lie within his power; but though a 
 man cannot abstain from being weak, he may 
 from being vicious. It is in his power to give 
 a good example of modesty, of temperance, of 
 frugality, of religion, and of all other virtues, 
 which though the greatest ornaments of human 
 nature, may be put in practice by men of the 
 most ordinary capacities. 
 
 As wisdom and virtue are the proper quali- 
 fications in the master of a house, if he is not 
 accomplished iu both of them, it is much better 
 that he should be deficient iu the former than 
 in the latter, since the consequences of vice 
 are of an infinitely more dangerous nature 
 than those of folly. 
 
 When I read the histories that are left us of 
 Pythagoras, I cannot but take notice of the 
 extraordinary influence which that great philo- 
 sopher, who was an illustrious pattern of virtue 
 and wisdom, had on his private family. This 
 excellent man, after having perfected himself in 
 the learning of his own country, travelled into 
 all the known parts of the world, on purpose 
 to converse with the most learned men of every 
 place; by which means he gleaned up all the 
 knowledge of the age, and is still admired by 
 the greatest men of the present times as a 
 prodigy of science. His wife Theano wrote 
 several books, and after his death taught his 
 philosophy in his public school, which was fre- 
 quented by numberless disciples of different 
 countries. There are several excellent sayings 
 recorded of her. I shall only mention one, 
 because it does honour to her virtue, as well 
 as to her wisdom. Being asked by some of 
 her sex, in how long a time a woman might 
 be allowed to pray to the gods, after having 
 conversed with a man ? * If it were her bus- 
 band,' says she, * the next day; if a stranger, 
 never.' Pythagoras had by this wife two sons 
 and three daughters. His two sons, Telauges 
 and Mnesarchus, were both eminent philo- 
 sophers, and were joined with their mother in 
 the government of the Pythagorean school. 
 Arignote was one of the daughters, whose wri- 
 tings were extant, and very much admired, ill 
 the age of Porphyrius. Damo was another of 
 
No. 166.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 243 
 
 his daughters, in whose hands Pythagoras left 
 his works, with a prohibition to communicate 
 them to strangers, which she observed to the 
 hazard of her life ; and though she was offered 
 a great sum for them, rather chose to live in 
 poverty, than not obey the commands of her 
 beloved father. Myla was the third of the 
 daughters, whose works and history were very 
 famous, even in Lucian's time. "She was so 
 signally virtuous, that for her unblemished be- 
 haviour in her virginity, she was chosen to 
 lead up the chorus of maids in a national 
 solemnity ; and for her exemplary conduct in 
 marriage, was placed at the head of all the 
 matrons, in the like public ceremony. The 
 memory of this learned woman was so precious 
 among her countrymen, that her house was 
 after her death converted into a temple, and 
 the street she lived in called by the name of 
 the Musseum. Nor must I omit, whilst I am 
 mentioning this great philosopher, under his 
 character as the master of a family, that two of 
 his servants so improved themselves under him, 
 that they were instituted into his sect, and 
 make an eminent figure in the list of Pytha-. 
 goreans. The names of these two servants 
 were Astraeus and Zamolxes. This single ex- 
 ample sufficiently shows us both the influence 
 and the merit of one who discharges as he 
 ought the office of a good master of a family ; 
 which, if it were well observed in every house, 
 would quickly put an end to that universal 
 depravation of manners, by which the present 
 age is so much distinguished, and which it is 
 more easy to lament than to reform. $3- 
 
 No. 166.] Monday) September 21, 1713. 
 
 — aliquisque malo fuit usus in illo. 
 
 Olid. Met. Lib. ii. 332. 
 Some comfort from the mighty mischief rose, 
 
 Addison, 
 
 Charity is a virtue of the heart, and not of 
 the hands, says an old writer. Gifts and alms 
 are the expressions, not the essence, of this 
 virtue. A man may bestow great sums on the 
 poor and indigent without being charitable, 
 and may be charitable when he is not able to 
 bestow any thing. Charity is therefore a habit 
 of good-will, or benevolence in the soul, which 
 disposes us to the love, assistance, and relief of 
 mankind, especially of those who stand in need 
 of it. The poor man who has this excellent 
 frame of mind, is no less entitled to the reward 
 of this virtue than the man who founds a col- 
 lege. For my own part, I am charitable to 
 an extravagance this way. I never saw an in- 
 digent person in my life, without reaching out 
 to him some of this imaginary relief. 1 cannot 
 but sympathize with every one I meet that 
 is in affliction : and if my abilities were equal 
 to my wishes, there should be neither nain nor 
 poverty in the world. 
 
 To give my reader a right notion of myself 
 in this particular, I shall present him with the 
 seciet history of one of the most remarkable 
 parts of my life. 
 
 I was once engaged in search of the philo- 
 sopher's stone. It is frequently observed of 
 men who have been busied in this pursuit, that 
 though they have failed in their principal de- 
 sign, they have however made such discoveries 
 in their way to it, as have sufficiently recom- 
 pensed their inquiries. In the same manner, 
 though I cannot boast of my success in that 
 affair, I do not repent of my engaging in it, 
 because it produced in my mind such an habi- 
 tual exercise of charity, as made it much better 
 than perhaps it would have been, had I never 
 been lost in so pleasing a delusion. 
 
 As I did not question but I should soon have 
 a new Indies in my possession, I was perpe- 
 tually taken up in considering how to turn it 
 to the benefit of mankind. In order to it I 
 employed a whole day in walking about this 
 great city, to find out proper places for the 
 erection of hospitals. I had likewise entertained 
 that project, which has since succeeded in an- 
 other place, of building churches at the court 
 end of the town, with this only difference, that 
 instead of fifty, I intended to have built a 
 hundred, and to have seen them all finished in 
 less than one year. 
 
 I had with great pains and application got 
 together a list of all the French protestants ; 
 and by the best accounts I could come at, had 
 calculated the value of all those estates and 
 effects which every one of them had left in his 
 own country for the sake of his religion, being 
 fully determined to make it up to him, arid 
 return some of them the double of what they 
 had lost. 
 
 As I was one day in my laboratory, my ope- 
 rator, who was to fill my coffers for me, and 
 used to foot it from the other end of the town 
 every morning, complained of a sprain in his 
 leg, that he had met with over-against Saint 
 Clement's church. This so affected me, that as 
 a standing mark of my gratitude to h'nn, and 
 out of compassion to the rest of my fellow* 
 citizens, I resolved to new pave every street 
 within the liberties, and entered a memorandum 
 in my pocket book accordingly. About the 
 same time I entertained some thoughts of 
 mending all the highways on this side the 
 Tweed, and of making all the rivers in Eng- 
 land navigable. 
 
 But the project I had most at heart was the 
 settling upon every man in Great Britain three 
 pounds a year (in which sum may be comprised, 
 according to sir William Petty's observations, 
 all the necessities of life), leaving to them 
 whatever else they could get by their own in- 
 dustry, to lay out on superfluities. 
 
 I was above a week debating in myself what 
 I should do in the matter of impropriations ; 
 
Jll 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 167. 
 
 but at length came to a resolution to buy them 
 all up, and restore them to the church. 
 
 As I was one clay walking near St. Paul's, 
 I took some time to survey that structure, and 
 not being entirely satisfied with it, though I 
 could not tell why, 1 had some thoughts of 
 pulling it down, and building it up anew at 
 my own expense. 
 
 For my own part, as I have no pride in me, 
 I intended to take up with a coach and six, 
 half a dozen footmen, and live like a private 
 gentleman. 
 
 It happened about this time that puoiic 
 matters looked very gloomy, taxes came hard, 
 the war went on heavily, people complained of 
 the great burdens that were laid upon them. 
 This made me resolve to set aside one morning, 
 to consider seriously the state of the nation. 
 I was the more ready to enter on it, because 
 I was obliged, whether I would or no, to sit at 
 home in my morning gown, having, after a 
 most incredible expense, pawned a new suit of 
 clothes, and a full-bottomed wig, for a sum of 
 money, which my operator assured me was the 
 last he should want to bring all our matters to 
 bear. After having considered many projects, 
 1 at length resolved to beat the common enemy 
 at his own weapons, and laid a scheme which 
 would have blown him up in a quarter of a 
 year, had things succeeded to my wishes. As 
 I was in this golden dream, somebody knocked 
 at my door. I opened it, and found it was a 
 messenger that brought me a letter from the 
 laboratory. The fellow looked so miserably 
 poor, that I was resolved to make his fortune 
 before he delivered his message: but seeing he 
 brought a letter from my operator, I concluded 
 1 was bound to it in honour, as much as a 
 prince is to give a reward to one that brings 
 him the first news of a victory. I knew this 
 was the long-expected hour of projection, and 
 which I had waited for with great impatience, 
 above half a year before. In short, I broke 
 open my letter in a transport of joy, and found 
 )t as follows : 
 
 ' SIR, 
 ' After having got out of you every thing you 
 can conveniently spare, I scorn to trespass upon 
 your generous nature, ami therefore must iu- 
 geuuously confess to you, that 1 know no more 
 of the philosopher's stone than you do. I shall 
 only tell you for your comfort, that I could 
 never yet bubble a blockhead out of his money. 
 They must he men of wit and parts who are 
 for my purpose. This made me apply myself 
 to a person of your wealth and ingenuity. How 
 I have succeeded you yourself can best tell. 
 4 Your humble servant to command, 
 
 • ihomas White. 
 
 ' I have locked up the laboratory, and laid 
 the key under the door.' 
 
 I was very much 6hocked at the unworthy 
 treatment of this man, and not a little mor- 
 tified at my disappointment, though not so 
 much for what I myself, as what the public 
 suffered by it. I think however I ought to let 
 the world know what I designed for them, aud 
 hope that such of my readers who find they 
 had a share in my good intentions, will accept 
 of the will for the deed. ^ 
 
 No. 167.] Tuesday, September 22, 1713. 
 
 Fata viain invenient— Virg. XLn. iii. 395. 
 
 — Fate the way will find. Dryden. 
 
 The following story is lately translated out 
 of an Arabian manuscript, which 1 think has 
 very much the turn of an oriental tale ; and 
 as it has never before been printed, I question 
 not but it will be highly acceptable to my 
 reader. 
 
 The name of Helim is still famous through 
 all the eastern parts of the world. He is called 
 among the Persians, even to this day, Helim 
 the great physician. He was acquainted with 
 all the powers of 6imples, understood all the 
 influences of the stars, and knew the secrets 
 that were engraved ou the seal of Solomon the 
 son of David. Helim was also governor of the 
 Black Palace, and chief of the physicians to 
 Alnareschin the great king of Persia. 
 
 Alnareschin was the most dreadful tyrant 
 that ever leigned in this country. He was of 
 a fearful, suspicious, and cruel nature, having 
 put to death, upon very slight jealousies and 
 surmises, five-and-thirty of his queens, and 
 above twenty sons whom he suspected to have 
 conspired against his life. Being at length 
 wearied with the exercise of so many cruelties 
 in his own family, and fearing lest the whole 
 race of caliphs should be entirely lost, he one 
 day sent for Helim, and spoke to him after 
 this manner: ' Helim,' said he, ' I have long 
 admired thy great wisdom, and retired way of 
 living. I shall now show thee the entire confi- 
 dence which I place in thee. 1 have only two 
 sons remaining, who are as yet but infants. It 
 is my design that thou take them home with 
 thee, and educate them as thy own. Train 
 them up in the humble unambitious pursuits 
 of knowledge. By this means shall the line of 
 caliphs be preserved, and my children succeed 
 after me, without aspiring to my throne whilst 
 I am yet alive.' ' The words of my lord the 
 king shall be obeyed,' said Helim; after which 
 he bowed, and went out of the king's presence. 
 He then received the children into his own 
 house, and from that time bred them up with 
 him in the studies of knowledge and virtue. 
 The young princes loved and respected Helim 
 as their father, and made such improvements 
 under him, that by the age of one-and-twenty 
 they were instructed in all the learning of the 
 
No. 167.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 245 
 
 East. The name of the eldest was Ibrahim, and 
 of the youngest Abdallah. They lived together 
 in such a perfect friendship, that to this day it 
 is said of intimate friends, that they live toge- 
 ther like Ibrahim and Abdallah. Helim had 
 an only child, who was a girl of a fine soul, and 
 a most beautiful person. Her father omitted 
 nothing in her education that might make her 
 the most accomplished woman of her age. As 
 the young princes were in a manner excluded 
 from the rest of the world, they frequently 
 conversed with this lovely virgin, who had been 
 brought up by her father in the same course of 
 knowledge and of virtue. Abdallah, whose 
 mind was of a softer turn than that of his 
 brother, grew by degrees so enamoured of her 
 conversation, that he did not think he lived 
 when he was not in company with his beloved 
 Balsora, for that was the name of the maid. 
 The fame of her beauty was so great, that at 
 length it came to the ears of the king, who 
 pretending to visit the young princes his sons, 
 demanded of Helim the sight of Balsora, his 
 fair daughter. The king was so inflamed with 
 her beauty and behaviour, that he sent for 
 Helim the next morning, and told him it was 
 now his design to recompense him for all his 
 faithful services ; and that in order to it, he 
 intended to make his daughter queen of Persia. 
 Helim, who knew very well the fate of all those 
 unhappy women who had been thus advanced, 
 and could not but be privy to the secret love 
 which Abdallah bore his daughter, ' Far be 
 it,' says he, ' from the king of Persia to con- 
 taminate the blood of the caliphs, and join 
 himself in marriage With the daughter of his 
 physician.' The king, however, was so impa- 
 tient for such a bride, that without hearing 
 any excuses, he immediately ordered Balsora 
 to be sent for into his presence, keeping the 
 father with him, in order to make her sensible 
 of the honour which he designed her. Balsora, 
 who was too modest and humble to think her 
 beauty had made such an impression on the 
 king, was a few moments after brought into 
 his presence as he had commanded. 
 
 She appeared in the king's eve as one of the 
 virgins of Paradise. But upon hearing the 
 honour which he intended her, she fainted 
 away, and fell down as'dead at his feet. Helim 
 wept, and after having recovered her out of 
 the trance into which she was fallen, repre- 
 sented to the king, that so unexpected an 
 honour was too great to have been commu- 
 nicated to her all at once ; but that, if he 
 pleased, he would himself prepare her for it. 
 The king bid him take his own way, and dis- 
 missed him. Balsora was conveyed again to 
 her father's house, where the thoughts of Ab- 
 dallah renewed her affliction every moment ; 
 insomuch that at length she fell into a raging 
 fever. The king was informed of her condition 
 by those*that saw her. Helim finding no other 
 
 means of extricating her from the difficulties 
 she was in, after having composed her mind, 
 and made her acquainted with his intentions, 
 gave her a certain potion, which he knew would 
 lay her asleep for many hours ; and afterwards, 
 in all the seeming distress of a disconsolate 
 father, informed the king she was dead. The 
 king, who never let any sentiments of humanity 
 come too near his heart, did not much trouble 
 himself about the matter; however, for his 
 own reputation, he told the father, that since 
 it was known through the empire that Balsora 
 died at a time when he designed her for his 
 bride, it was his intention that she should be 
 honoured as such after her death, that her 
 body should be laid in the Black Palace, among 
 those of his deceased queens. 
 
 In the mean time Abdallah, who had heard 
 of the king's design, was not less afflicted than 
 his beloved Balsora. As for the several cir- 
 cumstances of his distress, as also how the king 
 was informed of an irrecoverable distemper 
 into which he was fallen, they are to be found 
 at length in the history of Helim. It shall 
 suffice to acquaint the reader, that Helim, some 
 days after the supposed death of his daughter, 
 gave the prince a potion of the same nature 
 with that which had laid asleep Balsora. 
 
 It is the custom among the Persians, to con- 
 vey in a private manner the bodies of all the 
 royal family, a little after their death, into the 
 Black Palace : which is the repository of all 
 who are descended from the caliphs, or any 
 way allied to them. The chief physician is al- 
 ways governor of the Black Palace; it being 
 his office to embalm and preserve the holy fa- 
 mily after they are dead, as well as to take care 
 of them while they are yet living. The Black 
 Palace is so called from the colour of the build- 
 ing, which is all of the finest polished black 
 marble. There are always burning in it five 
 thousand everlasting lamps. It has also a 
 hundred folding doors of ebony, which are each 
 of them watched day and night by a hundred 
 negroes, who are to take care that nobody en- 
 ters besides the governor. 
 
 Helim, after having conveyed the body of his 
 daughter into this repository, and at the ap- 
 pointed time received her out of the sleep into 
 which she was fallen, took care some time after 
 to bring that of Abdallah into the same place. 
 Balsora watched over him till such time as the 
 dose he had taken lost its effect. Abdallah 
 was not acquainted with Helim's design when 
 he gave him this sleepy potion. It is impossible 
 to describe the surprise, the joy, the transport 
 he was in at his first awaking. He fancied 
 himself in the retirements of the blest, and 
 that the spirit of his dear Balsora, who he 
 thought was just gone before him, was the first 
 who came to congratulate his arrival. She 
 soon informed him of the place he was in, 
 which, notwithstanding all its horrors, appeared 
 
MC> 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 167. 
 
 to him more sweet than the bower of Mahomet, 
 in the company of his Balsora. 
 
 Helim, v\ho was supposed to be taken up 
 in the embalming of the bodies, visited the 
 place very frequently. His greatest perplexity 
 was how to get the lovers out of it, the gates 
 being watched in such a manner as I have be- 
 fore related. This consideration did not a little 
 disturb the two interred lovers. At length 
 Helim bethought himself, that the first day of 
 the full moon of the month Tizpa was near at 
 hand. Now it is a received tradition among 
 the Persians, that the souls of those of the 
 royal family, who are in a state of bliss, do, on 
 the first full moon after their decease, pass 
 through the eastern gate of the Black Palace, 
 which is therefore called the gate of Paradise, 
 in order to take their flight for that happy 
 place. Helim therefore having made due pre- 
 paration for this night, dressed each of the 
 lovers in a robe of azure silk, wrought in the 
 finest looms of Persia, with a long train of 
 linen whiter than snow, that floated on the 
 ground behind them. Upon Abdallah's head 
 he fixed a wreath of the greenest myrtle, and 
 on Balsora's a garland of the freshest roses. 
 Their garments were scented with the richest 
 perfumes of Arabia. Having thus prepared 
 every thing, the full moon was no sooner up, 
 and shining in all its brightness, but he pri- 
 vately opened the gate of Paradise, and shut it 
 after the same manner as soon as they had 
 passed through it. The band of negroes who 
 were posted at a little distance from the gate, 
 seeing two such beautiful apparitions, that 
 showed themselves to advantage by the light 
 of the full moon, and being ravished with the 
 odour that flowed from their garments, im- 
 mediately concluded them to be the ghosts of 
 the two persons lately deceased. They fell 
 upon their faces as they passed through the 
 midst, of them, and continued prostrate on the 
 earth until such time as they were out of sight. 
 They reported the next day what they had 
 seen ; but this was looked upon by the king 
 himself, and most others, as the compliment 
 that was usually paid to any of the deceased of 
 his family. Helim had placed two of his own 
 mules at about a mile's distance from the 
 Black Temple, on the spot which they had 
 agreed upon for their rendezvous. Here he 
 met them, and conducted them to one of his 
 own houses, which was situated on mount 
 Khacan. The air of this mountain was so very 
 healthful, that Helim had formerly transported 
 the king thither, in order to recover him out 
 of a long fit of sickness; which succeeded so 
 well that the king made him a present of the 
 whole mountain, with a beautiful house and 
 gardens that were on the top of it. In this re- 
 tirement lived Abdallah and Balsora. They 
 were both so fraught with all kinds of know- 
 ledge, and possessed with so constant and mu- 
 
 tual a passion for each other, that their solitude 
 never lay heavy on them. Abdallah applied 
 himself to those arts which were agreeable to 
 his manner of living, and the situation of the 
 place ; insomuch that in a few years he con- 
 verted the whole mountain into a kind of 
 garden, aud covered every part of it with plan- 
 tations or spots of flowers. Helim was tuo 
 good a father to let him want any thing that 
 might conduce to make his retirement plea- 
 sant. 
 
 In about ten years after their abode in this 
 place, the old king died, and was succeeded by 
 his son Ibrahim, who, upon the supposed death 
 of his brother, had been called to court, and 
 entertained there as heir to the Persian empire. 
 Though he was some years inconsolable for the 
 death of his brother, Helim durst not trust 
 him with the secret, which he knew would 
 have fatal consequences, should it by any means 
 come to the knowledge of the old king. Ibra- 
 him was no sooner mounted to the throne, but 
 Helim sought after a proper opportunity of 
 making a discovery to him, which he knew 
 would be very agreeable to so good-natured 
 and generous a prince. It so happened, that 
 before Helim found such an opportunity as he 
 desired, the new king Ibrahim, having been 
 separated from his company in a chase, and 
 almost fainting with heat and thirst, saw him- 
 self at the foot of mount Khacan. He imme- 
 diately ascended the hill, and coming to Helim's 
 house, demanded some refreshments. Helim 
 was very luckily there at that time ; and after 
 having set before the king the choicest of wines 
 and fruits, finding him wonderfully pleased 
 with so seasonable a treat, told him that the 
 best part of his entertainment was to come. 
 Upon which he opened to him the whole his- 
 tory of what had passed. The king was at 
 once astonished and transported at so strange 
 a relation, and seeing his brother enter the 
 room with Balsora in his hand, he leaped off 
 from the sofa on which he sat, and cried out, 
 ' It is he ! it is my Abdallah ! Having said 
 this, he fell upon his neck, and wept. The 
 whole company, for some time, remained silent 
 and shedding tears of joy. The king at length, 
 having kindly reproached Helim for depriving 
 him so long of such a brother, embraced Bal- 
 sora with the greatest tenderness, and told her 
 that she should now be a queen indeed, for 
 that he would immediately make his brother 
 king of all the conquered nations on the other 
 side the Tigris. He easily discovered in the 
 eyes of our two lovers, that instead of being 
 transported with the offer, they preferred their 
 present retirement to empire. At their request 
 therefore he changed his intentions, and made 
 them a present of all the open country as far 
 as they could see from the top of mount Kha- 
 can. Abdallah continuing to extend his former 
 improvements! beautified this whole prospect 
 
No. 168.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN 
 
 247 
 
 with groves and fountains, gardens and seats 
 of pleasure, until it became the most delicious 
 6pot of ground within the empire, and is there- 
 fore called the garden of Persia. This caliph, 
 Ihrahim, after a long and happy reign, died 
 without children, and was succeeded by Ab- 
 dallah, a son of Abdallah and Balsora. This 
 was that king Abdallah, who afterwards fixed 
 the imperial residence upon mount Khacan, 
 which continues at this time to be the favourite 
 palace of the Persian empire. G^= 
 
 No. 168.] Wednesday j September 23, 1713. 
 
 loca jam recitata revolvimus- 
 
 Hor. Lib. 2. Ep. i. 223. 
 The same subjects we repeat 
 
 ' SIB., 
 1 I observe that many of your late papers 
 have represented to us the characters of ac- 
 complished women ; but among all of them 
 I do not find a quotation which I expected to 
 have seen in your works ; I mean the character 
 of the mistress of a family as it is drawn out 
 at length in the book of Proverbs. For my 
 part, considering it only as a human compo- 
 sition, I do not think that there is any cha- 
 racter in Theophrastus, which has so many 
 beautiful particulars in it, and which is drawn 
 with such elegance of thought and phrase. 
 I wonder that it is not written in letters of 
 gold in the great hall of every country gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Who can find a virtuous woman ? for her 
 price is far above rubies. 
 
 ** The heart of her husband doth safely trust 
 in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. 
 '* She will do him good and not evil all the 
 days of her life. 
 
 " She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh 
 willingly with her hands. 
 
 " She is like the merchants' ships, she 
 bringeth her food from afar. 
 
 " She riseth also while it is yet night, and 
 giveth meat to her household, and a portion to 
 her maidens. 
 
 * 4 She considereth a field, and buyeth it; 
 with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vine- 
 yard. 
 
 " She girdeth her loins with strength, and 
 strengthened her arms. 
 
 " She perceiveth that her merchandise is 
 gx^rd ; her candle goeth not out by night. 
 
 " She layeth her hands to the spindle, and 
 her hands hold the distaff. 
 
 " She stretcheth out her hand to the poor ; 
 yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy. 
 " She is not afraid of the snow for her house- 
 hold, for all her household are clothed with 
 scarlet. 
 
 " She maketh herself coverings of tapestry, 
 her clothing i* silk and purple. 
 
 " Her husband is known in the gates, when 
 he sitteth among the elders of the land. 
 
 " She maketh fine linen, and selleth it, and 
 delivereth girdles unto the merchant. 
 
 " Strength and honour are her clothing, and 
 she shall rejoice in time to come. 
 
 " She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and 
 in her tongue is the law of kindness. 
 
 " She looketh well to the ways of her house- 
 hold, and eateth not the bread of idleness. 
 
 " Her children arise up, and call her blessed ; 
 her husband also, and he praiseth her. 
 
 " Many daughters have done virtuously, but 
 thou excellest them all. 
 
 " Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but 
 a woman that feareth the Lord she shall be 
 praised. 
 
 " Give her of the fruit of her hanas, and let 
 her own works praise her in the gates." 
 
 * Your humble servant/" 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' I ventured to your lion with the following 
 lines, upon an assurance, that if you thought 
 them not proper food for your beast, you would 
 at least permit him to tear them. 
 
 'FROM ANACREON. 
 
 " Aye fayBpcvpuiv aptrf," &C. 
 * Best and happiest artisan, 
 
 Best of painters, if you can 
 
 With your many-coloured art 
 
 Paint the mistress of my hearty 
 
 Describe the charms you hear from me, 
 
 (Her charms you could not paint and see) 
 
 And make the absent nymph appeal 
 
 As if her lovely self was here. 
 
 First draw her easy-flowing hair 
 
 As soft and black as she is fair ; 
 
 And, if your art can rise so high, 
 
 Let breathing odours round her fly: 
 
 Beneath the shade of flowing jet 
 
 The iv'ry forehead smoothly set. 
 
 With care the sable brows extend, 
 
 And in two arches nicely bend ; 
 
 That the fair space which lies between 
 
 The melting shade may scarce be seen. 
 
 The eye must be uncommon fire ; 
 
 Sparkle, languish, and desire : 
 
 The flames unseen must yet be felt ; 
 
 Like Pallas kill, like Venus melt. 
 
 The rosy cheeks must seem to glow 
 
 Amidst the white of new fall'n snow. 
 
 Let her lips persuasion wear, 
 
 In silence elegantly fair ; 
 
 As if the blushing rivals strove, 
 
 Breathing and inviting love. 
 
 Below her chin be sure to deck 
 
 With every grace her polish'd neck ; 
 
 While all that's pretty, soft, and sweet 
 
 In t-he swelling bosom meet. 
 
 The rest in purple garments veil ; 
 
 Her body, not her shape conceal : 
 
 Enough— the lovely work is done, 
 
 The breathing paint will speak anon. 
 
 1 I am Sir, your humble servant.' 
 
 ' MK. IRONSIDE, 
 
 ' The letter which I sent you some time ago, 
 
 and was subscribed English Tory, has made,as 
 
 you must have observed, a very great bustle in 
 
 \ town. There are come out against me two 
 
243 
 
 THE GUARDIAN, 
 
 [No. 1G9. 
 
 pamph.ets and two Examiners ; but there are 
 printed on my side a letter to the Guardian 
 about Dunkirk, and a pamphlet called, Dunkirk 
 or Dover. I am no proper judge who has the 
 better of the argument, the Examiner or myself : 
 but I am sure my seconds are better than his. 
 1 have addressed a defence against the ill treat- 
 ment I have received for my letter (which 
 ought to have made every man in England my 
 friend) to the bailiff of Stockbridge, because, 
 as the world goes, I am to think myself very 
 much obliged to that honest mau, and esteem 
 him my patron, who allowed that fifty was a 
 greater number than one-and-twenty, and 
 returned me accordingly to serve for that 
 borough. 
 
 * There are very many scurrilous things said 
 against me, but I have turned them to my ad- 
 vantage, by quoting them at large, and by that 
 means swelling the volume to a shilling price. 
 If I may be so free with myself, I might put 
 you in mind upon this occasion of one of those 
 animals which are famous for their love of 
 mankind, that, when a bone is thrown at them, 
 fall to eating it, instead of flying at the person 
 who threw it. Please to read the account of 
 the channel, by the map at Wills, and you will 
 find what I represent concerning the impor- 
 tance of Dunkirk, as to its situation, very just. 
 1 I am, Sir, 
 ' very often your great admirer, 
 
 ■ RICHARD STEELE.' 
 
 No. 169.] Thursday, September 24, 1713. 
 
 Coeltimque tueri 
 
 Jussk— Ovid. Met. Lib. i. 85. 
 
 And bade him lift to heaven his wond'ring eyes. 
 
 In fair weather, when my heart is cheered, 
 and I feel that exaltation of spirits which re- 
 sults from light and warmth, joined with a 
 beautiful prospect of nature ; 1 regard myself 
 as one placed by the hand of God in the midst 
 of an ample theatre, in which the sun, moon, 
 and stars, the fruits also, and vegetables of the 
 earth, perpetually changing their positions, or 
 their aspects, exhibit an elegant entertainment 
 to the understanding, as well as to the eye. 
 
 Thunder and lightning, rain and hail, the 
 painted bow, and the glaring comets, are de- 
 corations of this mighty theatre. And the 
 sable hemisphere studded with spangles, the 
 blue vault at noon, the glorious gildings and 
 rich colours in the horizon, I look on as so 
 many successive scenes. 
 
 When I consider things in this light, me- 
 thinks it is a sort of impiety to have no atten- 
 tion to the course of nature, and the revolu- 
 tions of the heavenly bodies. To be regardless 
 of those phenomena that are placed within out- 
 view, on purpose to entertain our faculties, 
 
 and display the wisdom and power of their 
 Creator, is an affront to Providence of the same 
 kind, (I hope it is not impious to make such 
 a simile) as it would be to a good poet, to fit 
 out his play without minding the plot or 
 beauties of it. 
 
 And yet how few are there who attend to 
 the drama of nature, its artificial structure, 
 and those admirable machines, whereby the 
 passions of a philosopher are gratefully agitated, 
 and his soul affected with the sweet emotions 
 of joy and surprise! 
 
 How many fox-hunters and rural squires are 
 to be found in Great Britain, who are ignorant 
 that they have all this while lived on a planet ; 
 that the sun is several thousand times bigger 
 than the earth ; and that there are other 
 worlds within our view greater and more glo- 
 rious than our own ! c Ay, but,' says some illi- 
 terate fellow, ' I enjoy the world, aud leave 
 others to contemplate it.' Yes, you eat and 
 drink, and run about upon it, that is, you en- 
 joy it as a brute ; but to enjoy it as a rational 
 being, is to know it, to be sensible of its 
 greatness and beauty, to be delighted with its 
 harmony, and by these reflections to obtain 
 just sentiments of the Almighty mind that 
 framed it. 
 
 The man who, unembarrassed with vulgar 
 cares, leisurely attends to the flux of things in 
 heaven, and things on earth, and observes the 
 laws by which they are governed, hath secured 
 to himself an easy and convenient seat, where 
 he beholds with pleasure all that passes on the 
 stage of nature, while those about him are, 
 some fast asleep, and others struggling for the 
 highest places, or turning their eyes from the 
 entertainment prepared by Providence, to play 
 at push-pin with one another. 
 
 Within this ample circumference of the 
 world, the glorious lights that are hung on high, 
 the meteors in the middle region, the various 
 livery of the earth, and the profusion of good 
 things that distinguish the seasons, yield a 
 prospect which annihilates all human grandeur. 
 But when we have seen frequent returns of the 
 same things, when we have often viewed the 
 heaven and the earth in all their various array, 
 our attention flags, and our admiration ceases. 
 All the art and magnificence in nature could 
 not make us pleased with the same entertain- 
 ment, presented a hundred years successively 
 to our view. 
 
 I am led into this way of thinking by a ques- 
 tion started the other night, viz. Whether it 
 were possible that a man should be weary of a 
 fortunate and healthy course of life ? My opi- 
 nion was, that the bare repetition of the same 
 objects, abstracted from all other inconveni- 
 encies, was sufficient to create in our minds a 
 distate of the world ; and that the abhorrence 
 old men have of death, proceeds rather from 
 a distrust of what may follow, than from the 
 
No. 170.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 249 
 
 prospect of losing any present enjoyments. 
 For (as an ancient author somewhere expresses 
 it) when a man has seen the vicissitudes of 
 night and day, winter and summer, spring and 
 autumn, there turning faces of the several parts 
 of nature, what is there further to detain his 
 fancy here below ? 
 
 The spectacle indeed is glorious, and may 
 bear viewing several times. But in a very few 
 scenes of revolving years, we feel a satiety of 
 the same images ; the mind grows impatient 
 to see the curtain drawn, and behold new 
 scenes disclosed ; and the imagination is in 
 this life, filled with a confused idea of the next. 
 
 Death, considered in this light, is no more 
 than passing from one entertainment to an- 
 other. If the present objects are grown tire- 
 some and distasteful, it is in order to prepare 
 our minds for a more exquisite relish of those 
 which are fresh and new. If the good things 
 we have hitherto enjoyed are transient, they 
 will be succeeded by those which the inex- 
 haustible power of the Deity will supply to 
 eternal ages. If the pleasures of our present 
 state are blended with pain and uneasiness, 
 our future will consist of sincere unmixed de-' 
 lights. Blessed hope! the thought whereof 
 turns the very imperfections of our nature into 
 occasions of comfort and joy. 
 
 But what consolation is left to the man who 
 hath no hope or prospect of these things ? View 
 him in that part of life, when the natural de- 
 cay of his faculties concurs with the frequency 
 of the same objects to make him weary of this 
 world, when like a man who hangs upon a 
 precipice, his present situation is uneasy, and 
 the moment that he quits his hold, he is sure 
 of sinking into hell or annihilation. 
 
 There is not any character so hateful as his 
 who invents racks and tortures for mankind. 
 The free-thinkers make it their business to in» 
 troduce doubts, perplexities, and despair, into 
 the minds of men, and, according to the poet's 
 rule, are most justly punished by their own 
 schemes. 
 
 No. 170.] Friday, September 25, J 713. 
 
 Timeo Danaos, et dona ferentes. 
 
 Virg. ^£n. ii. 49. 
 
 I fear your Creeks, with presents in their hands. 
 
 London, Sept. 28. 
 * MOST VENERABLE NESTOR, 
 
 ' The plan laid down in your first paper 
 gives me a title and authority to apply to you 
 in behalf of the trading world. According to 
 the general scheme you proposed in your said 
 first paper, you have not professed only to en- 
 tertain men of wit and polite taste, but also 
 to be useful to the trader and the artificer. You 
 cannot do your country greater service than by 
 informing all ranks of men amongst us, that the 
 
 greatest benefactor to them all is the merchant. 
 The merchant advances the gentleman's rent, 
 gives the artificer food, and supplies the cour- 
 tier's luxury. But give me leave to say, that 
 neither you, nor all your clan of wits, can 
 put together so useful and commodious a 
 treatise for the welfare of your fellow- subjects 
 as that which an eminent merchant of the 
 city has lately written. It is called, General 
 Maxims of Trade, particularly applied to the 
 Commerce between Great Britain and France. 
 I have made an extract of it, so as to bring it 
 within the compass of your paper, which take 
 as follows : 
 
 * I. That trade which exports manufactures 
 made of the product of the country, is un- 
 doubtedly good; such is the sending abroad 
 our Yorkshire cloth, Colchester baize, Exeter 
 serges, Norwich stuffs, &c. ; which being made 
 purely of British wool, as much as those exports 
 amount to, so much is the clear gain of the 
 nation. 
 
 ' II. That trade which helps off the con- 
 sumption of our superfluities, is also visibly 
 advantageous ; as the exporting of allum, cop- 
 peras, leather, tin, lead, coals, &c. So much 
 as the exported superfluities amount unto, so 
 much also is the clear national profit. 
 
 * III. The importing of foreign materials to 
 be manufactured at home, especially when the 
 goods, after they are manufactured, are mostly 
 sent abroad, is also, without dispute, very be- 
 neficial ; as for instance, Spanish wool, which 
 for that reason is exempted from paying any 
 duties. 
 
 * IV. The importation of foreign materials, 
 to be manufactured here, although the manu- 
 factured goods are chiefly consumed by us, may 
 be also beneficial ; especially when the said 
 materials are procured in exchange for our 
 commodities ; as raw silk, grogram-yarn, and 
 other goods brought from Turkey. 
 
 ' V. Foreign materials, wrought up here into 
 such goods as would otherwise be imported 
 ready manufactured, is a means of saving 
 money to the nation : such is the importation 
 of hemp, flax, and raw silk; it is therefore to 
 be wondered at, that these commodities are not 
 exempt from all duties, as well as Spanish wool. 
 
 * VI. A trade may be called good which ex- 
 changes manufactures for manufactures, and 
 commodities for commodities. Germany takes 
 as much in value of our woollen and other 
 goods, as we do of their linen : by this means 
 numbers of people are employed on both sides, 
 to their mutual advantage. 
 
 ' VII. An importation of commodities, bought 
 partly for money and partly for goods, may be 
 of national advantage ; if the greatest part of 
 the commodities thus imported, are again ex- 
 ported, as in the case of East India goods, and 
 generally all imports of goods which are re^ 
 exported, are beneficial to a nation. 
 
250 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 170. 
 
 * VIII. The carrying of goods from one fo- 
 reign country to another, is a profitable article 
 in trade. Our ships are often thus employed 
 between Portugal, Italy, and the Levant, and 
 sometimes in the East Indies. 
 
 * IX. When there is a necessity to import 
 goods which a nation cannot be without, al- 
 though such goods are chiefly purchased with 
 money, it cannot he accounted a bad trade, as 
 our trade to Norway and other parts, from 
 whence are imported naval stores, and materials 
 for building. 
 
 1 But a trade is disadvantageous to a nation : 
 ' 1. Which brings in things of mere luxury 
 and pleasure, which are entirely, or for the 
 most part, consumed among us ; and such I 
 reckon the wine trade to be, especially when 
 the wine is purchased with money, and not in 
 exchange for our commodities. 
 
 1 2. Much worse is that trade which brings 
 in a commodity that is not only consumed 
 amongst us, but hinders the consumption of 
 the like quantity of ours. As is the importa- 
 tion of brandy, which hinders the spending of 
 our extracts of malt and molasses ; therefore 
 very prudently charged with excessive duties. 
 
 * 3. That trade is eminently bad, which sup- 
 plies the same goods as we manufacture our- 
 selves, especially if we can make enough for 
 our consumption : and I take this to be the 
 case of the silk manufacture ; which, with 
 great labour and industry, is brought to per- 
 fection in London, Canterbury, and other places. 
 
 ' 4. The importation upon easy terms of such 
 manufactures as are already introduced in a 
 country, must be of bad consequence, and check 
 their progress ; as it would undoubtedly be the 
 ease of the linen and paper manufactures in 
 Great .Britain, (which are of late very much 
 improved) if those commodities were suffered 
 to be brought in without paying very high 
 duties. 
 
 ' Let us now judge of our trade with France 
 by the foregoing maxims. 
 
 ' I. The exportation of our woollen goods to 
 France, is so well barred against, that there is 
 not the least hope of reaping any benefit by 
 this article. They have their work done for 
 half the price we pay for ours. And since they 
 send great quantities of woollen goods to Italy, 
 Spain, Portugal, Turkey, the Rhine, and other 
 places, although they pay a duty upon expor- 
 tation, it is a demonstration, that they have 
 more than is sufficient for their own wear, and 
 consequently no great occasion for any of ours. 
 The French cannot but be so sensible of the 
 advantage they have over us in point of cheap- 
 ness, that I do not doubt they will give us 
 leave to import into France not only woollen 
 goods, but all other commodities whatsoever, 
 upon very easy duties, provided we permit them 
 to import iuto Great Britain, wines, brandies, 
 •ilk, linen, and paper, upon paying the same 
 
 duties as others do. And when that is done, 
 you will send little more to France than now 
 you do, and they will import into Great Britain, 
 ten times more than now they can. 
 
 "II. As to our superfluities, it must be owned 
 the French have occasion for some of them, as 
 lead, tin, leather, copperas, coals, allum, and 
 several other things of small value, as also 
 some few of our plantation commodities ; but 
 these goods they will have whether we take 
 any of theirs or no, because they want them. 
 All these commodities together, that the French 
 want from us, may amount to about two hun- 
 dred thousand pounds yearly. 
 
 III. As to materials ; I do not know of any 
 one sort useful to us that ever was imported 
 from France into England. They have indeed 
 hemp, flax, and wool in abundance, and some 
 raw silk ; but they are too wise to let us have 
 any, especially as long as they entertain any 
 hopes we shall be so self-denying, as to take 
 those materials from them after they are ma- 
 nufactured. 
 
 * IV. Exchanging commodities for commo- 
 dities (if for tb.e like value on both sides) might 
 be beneficial ; but it is far from being the case 
 between us and France. Our ships went con- 
 stantly in ballast (except now and then some 
 lead) to St. Malo, Morlaix, Nantes, Rochelle, 
 Bourdeaux, Bayonne, &c. and ever came back 
 full of linen, wines, brandy, and paper; and if 
 it was so before the revolution, when one of 
 our pounds sterling cost the French but thir- 
 teen livres, what are they like to take from us 
 (except what they of necessity want) now that 
 for each pound sterling they must pay us 
 twenty livres, which enhances the price of all 
 British commodities to the French above fifty 
 per cent. 
 
 ' V. Goods imported to be re-exported, is 
 certainly a national advantage; but few or no 
 French goods are ever exported from Great 
 Britain, except to our plantations, but all are 
 consumed at home ; therefore no benefit can 
 be reaped this way by the French trade. 
 
 ' VI. Letting ships to freight cannot but be 
 of some profit to a nation : but it is very rare 
 if the French ever make use of any other ships 
 than their own ; they victual and man cheaper 
 than we, therefore nothing is to be got from 
 them by this article. 
 
 ' VII. Things that are of absolute necessity 
 cannot be reckoned prejudical to a nation; but 
 France produces nothing that is necessary, or 
 even convenient, or but which we had better 
 be without, except claret. 
 
 ' VIII. If the importation of commodities of 
 mere luxury, to be consumed amongst us, be 
 a sensible disadvantage, the French trade in 
 this particular might be highly pernicious to 
 this nation ; for if the duties on French wines 
 be lowered to a considerable degree, the least 
 we can suppose would be imported into Eog- 
 
No. 170.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 251 
 
 land and Scotland is eighteen thousand tons a 
 year, which being most clarets, at a moderate 
 comp»tation,would cost in France four hundred 
 and fifty thousand pounds. 
 
 ' IX. As to brandy ; since we hate laid high 
 duties upon it, the distilling of spirits from 
 malt and molasses is much improved and in- 
 creased, by means of which a good sum of 
 money is yearly saved to the nation ; for very 
 little brandy hath been imported either from 
 Italy, Portugal, or Spain, by reason that our 
 English spirits are near as good as those coun- 
 tries' brandies. But as French brandy is 
 esteemed, and is indeed very good, if the ex- 
 traordinary duty on that liqour be taken off, 
 there is no doubt but great quantities will be 
 imported. We will suppose only three thousand 
 tons a year, which will cost Great Britain about 
 seventy thousand pounds yearly, and prejudice 
 besides the extracts of our own malt spirits. 
 
 ' X. Linen is an article of more consequence 
 that many people are aware of: Ireland, Scot- 
 laud, and several counties in England, have 
 made large steps towards the improvement of 
 that useful manufacture, both in quantity and 
 quality ; and with good encouragement would 
 doubtless, in a few years, bring it to perfection, 
 and perhaps make sufficient for our own con- 
 sumption ; which besides employing great num. 
 bers of people, and improving many acres of 
 land, would save us a good sum of money, 
 which is yearly laid out abroad in that com- 
 modity. As the case stands at present, it im- 
 proves daily; but if the duties on French linen 
 be reduced, it is to be feared it will come over 
 so cheap, that our looms must be laid aside, 
 and six or seven hundred thousand pounds a 
 year be sent over to France for that commodity. 
 ' XI. The manufacture of paper is very near 
 akin to that of linen. Since the high duties 
 laid on foreign paper, and that none bath been 
 imported from France, where it is cheapest, 
 the making of it is increased to such a degree 
 in England, that we import none of the lower 
 sorts from abroad, and make them all our- 
 selves; but if the French duties be taken off, 
 undoubtedly most of the mills which are em- 
 ployed in the making of white paper, must 
 leave off their work, and thirty or forty thou- 
 sand pounds a year be remitted over to France 
 for that commodity. 
 
 * XII. The last article concerns the silk ma- 
 nufacture. Since the late French wars, it is 
 increased to a mighty degree. Spitalfields 
 alone manufactures to the value of two millions 
 a year, and were daily improving, till the late 
 fears about lowering the French duties. What 
 pity that so noble a manufacture, so exten- 
 sive, and so beneficial to an infinite number of 
 people, should run the hazard of being ruined! 
 It is however to be feared, that if the French 
 «an import their wrought silks upon easy terms, 
 they outdo us so much in cheapness of labour, 
 
 and they have Italian and Levant raw silk upon 
 so much easier terras than we, besides great 
 quantities of their own in Provence, Languedoc, 
 and other provinces, that in all probability half 
 the looms in Spitalfields would be laid down, 
 and our ladies be again clothed in French silks. 
 The loss that would accrue to the nation by so 
 great a mischief, cannot be valued at less than 
 five hundred thousand pounds a year. 
 
 c To sum up all, if we pay to France yearly 
 For their wines - - - £ 450,000 
 For their brandies - 70,000 
 
 For their linen - 600,000 
 
 For their paper - 30,000 
 
 For their silks - 500,000 
 
 £ 1,650,000 
 ' And they take from us in lead,^ 
 tin, leather, allum, copperas, coals, 1 ono nn , 
 horn, plates, &c. and plantation goods J* 200 ' 000 
 to the value of - - - J 
 
 1 Great Britain loses by the ba- } 
 lance of that trade yearly - 5 1 > 450 ' 000 
 
 All which is humbly submitted to yojr 
 consideration by, 
 
 * Sir, your most humble servant, 
 
 ' GENEROSITY THRIFT.' 
 ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 For the Protection of Honour, Truth, Virtue, 
 and Innocence. 
 
 Mr. Ironside has ordered his amanuensis to 
 prepare for his perusal whatever he may have 
 gathered, from his table-talk, or otherwise, 
 a volume to be printed in twelves, called, The 
 Art of Defamation discovered. This piece 
 is to consist of the true characters of all per- 
 sons calumniated by the Examiner; and after 
 such characters, the true and only method of 
 sullying them set forth in examples from the 
 ingenious and artificial author, the said Exa- 
 miner. 
 
 N. B. To this will be added the true cha- 
 racters of persons he has commended, with 
 observations to show, that panegyric is not 
 that author's talent. 
 
 No. 171.] Saturday, September 26, 1713. 
 
 Fuit ista quondam in hac republica virtus, ut vin fortes 
 acrioribns suppliciis civem pemiciosum, quam acerbissi- 
 mum hostem coercerent. Cicer. in Catilin. 
 
 There was once that virtue in this commonwealth, that 
 a bad feilow-citizen was thought to deserve a severer cor 
 rection than the bitterest enemy. 
 
 I have received letters of congratulation 
 and thanks from several of the most eminent 
 chocolate-houses and coffee-houses, upon my 
 late gallantry and success in opposing myself 
 to the long swords. One tells me, that whereas 
 his rooms were too little before, now his cus- 
 tomers can saunter up and down from corner 
 
2f>2 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 171 
 
 Co corner, and table to table, without any let 
 or molestation. I find I have likewise cleared 
 a great many alleys and by-lanes, made the 
 public walks about town more spacious, and 
 all the passages about the court and the Ex- 
 change more free and open. Several of my 
 female wards have sent me the kindest billets 
 upon this occasion, in which they tell me, that 
 J have saved tbem some pounds in the year, 
 by freeing their furbelows, flounces, and hoops, 
 from the annoyance both of hilt and point. 
 A scout whom I sent abroad to observe the 
 posture, and to pry into the intentions of the 
 enemy, brings me word, that the Terrible club 
 is quite blown up, and that I have totally routed 
 the men that seemed to delight in arms. My 
 lion, whose jaws are at all hours open to intel- 
 ligence, informs me, that there are a few enor- 
 mous weapons still in being ; but that they 
 are to be met with only in gaming-houses, and 
 some of the obscure retreats of lovers in and 
 about Drury-lane and Covent-garden. I am 
 nighly delighted with an adventure that befell 
 my witty antagonist, Tom Swagger, captain of 
 the band of long swords. He had the misfor- 
 tune three days ago to fall into company with 
 a master of the noble science of defence, who 
 taking Mr. Swagger by his habit, and the 
 airs he gave himself, to be one of the profes- 
 sion, gave him a fair invitation to Mary-le- 
 bone, to exercise at the usual weapons. The 
 captain thought this so foul a disgrace to a 
 gentleman, that he slunk away in the greatest 
 confusion, and has never been seen since at the 
 Tilt-yard coffee-house, nor in any of his usual 
 haunts. 
 
 As there is nothing made in vain, and as 
 every plant and every animal, though never 
 so noisome, has its use in the creation ; so 
 these men of terror may be disposed of, so as 
 to make a figure in the polite world. It was 
 in this view, that I received a visit last night 
 from a person, who pretends to be employed 
 here from several foreign princes in negotiating 
 matters of less importance. He tells me, that 
 the continual wars in Europe have in a man- 
 ner quite drained the cantons of Switzerland 
 of their supernumerary subjects, and that he 
 forsees there will be a great scarcity of them 
 to serve at the entrance of courts, and the 
 palaces of great men. He is of opinion this 
 want may very seasonably be supplied out of 
 the great numbers of such gentlemen, as I have 
 given notive of in my paper of the twenty-fifth 
 past, and that his design is in a few weeks, 
 when the town fills, to put out public adver- 
 tisements to this effect, not questioning but it 
 may turn to a good account : ' That if any 
 person of good stature and fierce demeanor, 
 as well members of the Terrible club, as others 
 of the like exterior ferocity, whose ambition 
 is to cock and look big, without exposing them- 
 selves to any bodily danger, will repair to his 
 
 lodgings, they 6hall, (provided they bring their 
 swords with them) be furnished with shoulder- 
 belts, broad hats, red feathers, and halberts, 
 and be transported without farther trouble 
 into several courts and families of distinction, 
 where they may eat, and drink, and strut, at 
 free cost.' As this project was not communi- 
 cated to me for a secret, I thought it might 
 be for the service of the abovesaid persons to 
 divulge it with all convenient speed ; that those 
 who are disposed to employ their talents to the 
 best advantage, and to shine in the station of 
 life for which they seem to be born, may have 
 time to adorn their upper lip, by raising a 
 quickset beard there in the form of whiskers, 
 that they may pass to all intents and purposes 
 for true Switzers. 
 
 • INDEFATIGABLE NESTOR, 
 ' Give me leave to thank you, in behalf of 
 myself and my whole family, for the daily diver- 
 sion and improvement we receive from your 
 labours. At the same time I must acquaint 
 you, that we have all of us taken a mighty 
 liking to your lion. His roarings are the joy 
 of my heart, and I have a little boy, not three 
 years old, that talks of nothing else, and who, 
 I hope, will be more afraid of him as he grows 
 up. That your animal may be kept in good 
 plight, and not roar for want of prey, I shall, 
 out of my esteem and affection for you, contri- 
 bute what I can towards his sustenance ; " Love 
 me, love my lion," says the proverb. I will not 
 pretend, at any time, to furnish out a full meal 
 for him ; but 1 shall now and then send him 
 a savory morsel, a tid bit. You must know, 
 I am but a kind of holiday writer, and never 
 could find in my heart to set my pen to a work 
 of r.bove five or six periods long. My friends 
 tell me my performances are little and pretty. 
 As they have no manner of connexion one 
 with the other, I write them upon loose pieces 
 of paper, and throw them into a drawer by 
 themselves ; this drawer I call the lion's pantry. 
 I give you my word, I put nothing into it but 
 what is clean and wholesome nourriture. 
 Therefore remember me to the lion, and let 
 him know, that I shall always pick and cull 
 the pantry for him ; and there are morsels rn 
 it, I can assure you, will make his chaps to 
 water. 
 
 ' I am, with the greatest respect, Sir, 
 * your most obedient servant, 
 
 * and most assiduous reader.' 
 
 I must ask pardon of Mrs. Dorothy Care, 
 that 1 have suffered her billet to lie by me these 
 three weeks without taking the least notice of 
 it. But 1 believe the kind warning in it, to 
 our sex, will not be now too late. 
 
 • GOOD MR. IRONSIDE. 
 1 I have waited with impatience for that 
 same unicorn you promised should be erected 
 
No. 172.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 253 
 
 for the fair sex. My business is, before winter 
 comes on, to desire you would precaution your 
 own sex against being Adamites, by exposing 
 their bare breasts to the rigour of the season. 
 It was this practice amongst the fellows, which 
 at first encouraged our sex to show so much of 
 their necks. The downy dock-leaves you speak 
 of would make good stomachers for the beaux. 
 In a word, good Nestor, so long as the men 
 take a pride in showing their hairy skins, we 
 may with a much better grace set out our 
 snowy chests to view. We are, we own, the 
 weaker, but at the same time, you must own, 
 much the more beautiful sex. 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 
 * your humble reader, 
 
 « DOROTHY CARE.' 
 
 No. 172.] Monday, September 28, 1713. 
 
 — Vitam excoluere per artes. Virg. 2En. vi. 66Z. 
 
 They grac'd their age with new invented arts. 
 
 Dryden. 
 ' MR. IRONSIDE, 
 
 ' I have been a long time in expectation of 
 something from you on the subject of speech 
 and letters. I believe the world might be as 
 agreeably entertained on that subject, as with 
 any thing that ever came into the lion's mouth. 
 For this end I send you the following sketch ; 
 and am, yours, 
 
 « PHILOGRAM. 
 
 ' Upon taking a view of the several species 
 of living creatures our earth is stocked with, 
 we may easily observe, that the lower orders 
 of them, such as insects and fishes, are wholly 
 without a power of making known their wants 
 and calamities. Others, which are conversant 
 with man, have some few ways of expressing 
 the pleasure and pain they undergo by certain 
 sounds and gestures ; but mau has articulate 
 sounds whereby to make Know his inward sen- 
 timents and affections, though his organs of 
 speech are no other than what he has in com- 
 mon with many other less perfect animals. 
 But the use of letters, as significative of these 
 sounds, is auch an additional improvement to 
 them, that I know not whether we ought not 
 to attribute the invention of them to the as- 
 sistance of a power more than human. 
 
 * There is this great difficulty which could 
 not but attend the first invention of letters, 
 to wit, that all the world must conspire in 
 affixing steadily the same signs to their sounds, 
 which affixing was at first as arbitrary as pos- 
 sible ; there being no more connexion between 
 the letters and the sounds they are expressive 
 of, than there is between those sounds and the 
 ideas of the mind they immediately stand for. 
 Notwithstanding which difficulty, and the 
 variety of languages, the powers of the letters 
 in each are very nearly the same, being in all 
 places about twenty-four. 
 
 ' But be the difficulty of the invention as great 
 as it will, the use of it is manifest, particularly 
 in the advantage it has above the method of 
 conveying our thoughts by words or sounds, 
 because this way we are confined to narrow 
 limits of place and time : whereas we may- 
 have occasion to correspond with a friend at a 
 distance ; or a desire,upon a particular occasion, 
 to take the opinion of an honest gentleman 
 who has been dead this thousand years. Both 
 which defects are supplied by the noble inven- 
 tion of letters. By this means we materialize 
 our ideas, and make them as lasting as the 
 ink and paper, their vehicles. This making 
 our thoughts by art visible to the eye, which 
 nature had made intelligible only by the ear, 
 is next to the adding a sixth sense, as it is a 
 supply in case of the defect of one of the five 
 nature gave us, namely, hearing, by making 
 the voice become visible. 
 
 Have any of any school of painters gotten 
 themselves an immortal name, by drawing a 
 face, or painting a landscape ; by laying down 
 on a piece of canvass a representation only of 
 what nature had given them originals ? What 
 applauses will he merit, who first made his 
 ideas sit to his pencil, and drew to his eye 
 the picture of his mind ! Painting represents 
 the outward man, or the shell; but cannot 
 reach the inhabitant within, or the very organ 
 by which the inhabitant is revealed. This art 
 may reach to represent a face, but cannot 
 paint a voice. Kneller can draw the majesty 
 of the queen's person ; Kneller can draw her 
 sublime air, and paint her bestowing hand as 
 fair as the lily : but the historian must inform 
 posterity, that she has one peculiar excellence 
 above all other mortals, that her ordinary 
 speech is more charming than song. 
 
 ' But to drop the comparison of this art with 
 any other, let us see the benefit of it in itself. 
 By it the English trader may hold commerce 
 with the inhabitants of the East or West In- 
 dies, without the trouble of a journey. Astro- 
 nomers seated at a distance of the earth's 
 diameter asunder, may confer ; what is spoken 
 and thought at one pole, may be heard and 
 understood at the other. The philosopher 
 who wished he had a window in his breast, to 
 lay open his heart to all the world, might as 
 easily have revealed the secrets of it this 
 way, and as easily left them to the world, as 
 wished it. This silent art of speaking by let- 
 ters, remedies the inconvenience arising from 
 distance of time, as well as place ; and is much 
 beyond that of the Egyptians, who could pre- 
 serve their mummies for ten centuries. This 
 preserves the works of the immortal part of 
 men, so as to make the dead still useful to the 
 living. To this we are beholden for the works 
 of Demosthenes and Cicero, of Seneca and 
 Plato ; without it the Iliad of Homer, and 
 jEneid of Virgil, had died with their authors 5 
 
25 i 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 1/3. 
 
 hut by this art those excellent meu still speak 
 to us. 
 
 4 1 shall he glad if what I have said on this 
 art, gives you any new hints for the more use- 
 ful or agreeable application of it. 
 
 1 I am, Sir, &c.' 
 
 I shall conclude this paper with an extract 
 from a poem in praise of the invention of wri- 
 ting, ' written by a lady.' I am glad of such a 
 quotation, which is not only another instance 
 how much the world is obliged to this art, but 
 also a shining example of what I have hereto- 
 fore asserted, that the fair sex are as capable 
 as men of the liberal sciences ; and indeed 
 there is no very good argument against the 
 frequent instruction of females of condition 
 this way, but that they are but too powerful 
 without that advantage. The verses of the 
 charming author are as follow: 
 
 ' Rlrst be the man ! his memory at least. 
 Who found the art thus to unfold his breast 
 And taught succeeding times an easy way 
 Their secret thoughts by letters to convey, 
 ' r o baffle absence, and secure delight, 
 Which till that time was limited to sight. 
 The parting farewel spoke, the last arlieu, 
 The less'ning distance past, then loss of view, 
 The friend was gone which s >me kind moments gave, 
 And absence separated, like the grave. 
 When for a wife the youthful patriarch sent, 
 '•'he camels, jewels, and the steward went, 
 And wealthy equipage, though grave and slow, 
 But not a line that might the lover show. 
 The ring and bracelets woo'd her hands and arms, 
 But h id she known of melting words the charms 
 That under secret seals in ambush lie, 
 To catch the soul, when drawn into the eye ; 
 The t.iir Assyrian had not took his guide, 
 Nor her soft heart in chains of pearl been ty'd.' 
 
 No. 173.] Tuesday, September 29, 1713. 
 
 — Nee sera comantem 
 
 Narcissuwi, aitt flexi tacuissem vimen acanthi, 
 
 Pallentesque hederas, et amantes littora myrtoi. 
 
 Virg. Georg. iv. 122. 
 The late narcissus, and the winding trail 
 Of bear's-foot, myrtles green, and ivy pale. 
 
 Drydtn. 
 
 I lately took a particular friend of mine to 
 my house in the country, not without some 
 apprehension that it could afford little enter- 
 tainment to a man of his polite taste, particu- 
 larly in architecture and gardening, who had 
 so long been conversant with all that is beau- 
 tiful and great in either. But it was a plea- 
 sant surprise to me, to hear him often declare, 
 he had found in my little retirement that 
 beauty which he always thought wanting in 
 the most celebrated seats, or, if you will, villas, 
 of tin- nation. This he described to me in 
 those verses, with which Martial begins one of 
 his epigrams: 
 
 ' ; aiana QOItri villa, Basse, Faustini, 
 Koii ntjo-is onliii.it. i mvrtitis. 
 Viriaaaaa pi itano, tnoatUque Santo, 
 Ingram i.m ipatia detlnel oampi ; 
 Scd rorc vero barbaroque laetatur:' Lib. iii. Ep. 58. 
 
 ' Our friend Faustinns' country «cat I've seen : 
 No myrtles, plac'd in rows, and idly green, 
 No widow'd plantain, nor clip'd box-tree, there, 
 The useless soil unprofitably share ; 
 But simple nature's baud, with nobler grace, 
 Diffuses artless beauties o'er the place. 
 
 There is certainly something in the amiable 
 simplicity of unadorned nature that spreads 
 over the mind a more noble sort of tranquillity, 
 and a loftier sensation of pleasure, that can be 
 raised from the nicer scenes of art. 
 
 This was the taste of the ancients in their 
 gardens, as we may discover from the descrip- 
 tions extant of them. The two most celebrated 
 wits of the world have each of them left us a 
 particular picture of a garden ; wherein those 
 great masters, being wholly unconfined, and 
 painting at pleasure, may be thought to have 
 given a full idea of what they esteemed most 
 excellent in this way. These (one may observe) 
 consist entirely of the useful part of horticul- 
 ture, fruit-trees, herbs, water, &c. The pieces 
 1 am speaking of, are Virgil's account of the 
 garden of the old Corycian, and Homer's of 
 that of Alcinous. The first of these is already 
 known to the English reader, by the excellent 
 versions of Mr. Dryden and Mr. Addison. The 
 other having never been attempted in our 
 language with any elegance, and being the 
 most beautiful plan of this sort that can be 
 imagined, I shall here present the reader with 
 a translation of it. 
 
 The Garden of Alcinous, from Homer s Odyssey, 
 Book 7. 
 
 Close to the gates a spacious garden lies, 
 From storms defended and inclement skies ; 
 Fonr acres was the allotted space of ground, 
 Fi.nc'd with a green inclosure all around. 
 Tall thriving trees confess the fruitful mould ; 
 The redd'ning apple ripens here to gold ; 
 Here the blue fig with luscious juice o'erflows, 
 With deeper red the full pomegranate glows : 
 The branch here bends beneath the weighty pear, 
 And verdant olives flourish round the year. 
 The balmy spirit of the western gale 
 Eternal breathes on fruits untaught to fail : 
 Each dropping pear a following pear supplies, 
 On apples apples, figs on figs arise ; 
 The same mild season gives the blooms to blow 
 The buds to harden, and the fruits to grow. 
 
 Here order'd vines in equal ranks appeal 
 With all the united labours of the year. 
 Some to unload the fertile branches run, 
 Some dry the black'ning clusters in the sun. 
 Others to tread the liquid harvest join, 
 The gioaning presses foam with floods of wine. 
 Here are the vines in early flow'r descry'd, 
 Here grapes discolow'd on the sunny side, 
 And there in Autumn's richest purple dy'cl. 
 
 Beds of all various herbs for ever green, 
 In beauteous order terminate the scene. 
 
 Two plenteous fountains the whole prospect crown d ; 
 This through the gardens leads its streams around. 
 Visits each plant, and waters all the ground : 
 While that in pipes beneath the palace flows, 
 And thence its current on the town bestows; 
 To various use their various streams they bring, 
 The people one, and one supplies the king. 
 
No. 173.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 255 
 
 Sir William Temple has remarked, that this 
 description contains all the justest rules and 
 provisions which can go toward composing the 
 best gardens. Its extent was four acres, which 
 in those times of simplicity was looked upon 
 as a large one, even for a prince; it was in- 
 closed all round for defence ; and for conve- 
 niency joined close to the gates of the palace. 
 
 He mentions next the trees, which were 
 standards, and suffered to grow to their full 
 height. The fine description of the fruits that 
 never failed, and the eternal zephyrs, is only 
 a more noble and poetical way of expressing 
 the continual succession of one fruit after 
 another, throughout the year. 
 
 The vineyard seems to have been a plantation 
 distinct from the garden ; as also the beds of 
 greens mentioned afterwards at the extremity 
 of the inclosure, in the nature and usual place 
 of our kitchen gardens. 
 
 The two fountains are disposed very remark- 
 ably. They rose within the inclosure, and were 
 brought by conduits, or ducts, one of them to 
 water all parts of the gardens, and the other 
 underneath the palace into the town for the 
 service of the public. 
 
 How contrary to this simplicity is the mo- 
 dern practice of gardening! We seem to make 
 it our study to recede from nature, not only in 
 the various tonsure of greens into the most 
 regular and formal shapes, but even in mon- 
 strous attempts beyond the reach of the art 
 itself. We run into sculpture, and are yet 
 better pleased to have our trees in the most 
 awkward figures of men and animals, than in 
 the most regular of their own. 
 
 ' Huic et nexilibns videas e frondibus hortos, 
 Implexos late mnros, et moenia circuni 
 Porrigere, ct latas e rands snrgere turres ; 
 Deflexam et myrtum in puppes, atqne aerea rostra : 
 In buxisque undare fretum, atque e rore rudentes. 
 Parte alii frondere suis tentoria casti is ; 
 Scntaque spiculaque et jaculantia citria vallos.' 
 
 Here interwoven branches form a wall, 
 And from the living fence green turrets rise ; 
 There ships of myrtle sail in seas of box ; 
 A green encampment yonder meets the eye, 
 And loaded citrons bearing shields and spears. 
 
 I believe it is no wrong observation, that 
 persons of genius, and those who are most ca- 
 pable of art, are always most fond of nature: 
 as such are chiefly sensible, that all art con- 
 sists in the imitation and study of nature. On 
 the contrary, people of the common level of 
 understanding are principally delighted with 
 the little niceties and fautastical operations of 
 art, and constantly think that finest which is 
 least natural. A citizen is no sooner proprietor 
 of a couple of yews, but he entertains thoughts 
 of erecting them into giants, like those of 
 Guildhall. I know an eminent cook, who 
 beautified his country seat with a coronation 
 dinner in greens ; where you see the cham- 
 
 pion flourishing on horseback at one end of 
 the table, and the queen in perpetual youth 
 at the other. 
 
 For the benefit of all my loving countrymen 
 of this curious taste, I shall here publish a ca- 
 talogue of greens to be disposed of by an emi- 
 nent town gardener, who has lately applied to 
 me upon this head. He represents, that for 
 the advancement of a politer sort of ornament 
 in the villas and gardens adjacent to this great 
 city, and in order to distinguish those places 
 from the mere barbarous countries of gross 
 nature, the world stands much in need of a 
 virtuoso gardener who has a turn to sculpture, 
 and is thereby capable of improving upon the 
 ancients of his profession in the imagery of 
 evergreens. My correspondent is arrived to 
 such perfection, that he cuts family pieces of 
 men, women, or children. Any ladies that 
 please may have their own effigies in myrtle, 
 or their husbands' in hornbeam. He is a pu- 
 ritan wag, and never fails when he shows his 
 garden, to repeat that passage in the Psalms, 
 ' Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine, and thy 
 children as olive branches round thy table.' 
 I shall proceed to his catalogue, as he sent it 
 for my recommendation. 
 
 * Adam and Eve in yew ; Adam a little shat- 
 tered by the fall of the tree of knowledge in 
 the great storm : Eve and the serpent very 
 flourishing. 
 
 ' The tower of Babel, not yet finished. 
 St. George in box ; his arm scarce long 
 enough, but will be in a condition to stick the 
 dragon by next April. 
 
 ' A green dragon of the same, with a tail of 
 ground-ivy for the present. 
 
 * N. B. These two not to be sold separately. 
 ' Edward the Black Prince in cypress. 
 
 ' A laurestine bear in blossom, with a jumper 
 hunter in berries, 
 
 * A pair of giants, stunted, to be sold cheap. 
 ' A queen Elizabeth in phylyraea, a little 
 
 inclining to the green-sickness, but of full 
 growth. 
 
 ' Another queen Elizabeth in myrtle, which 
 was very forward, but miscarried by being too 
 near a savine. 
 
 * An old maid of honour in wormwood. 
 
 * A topping Ben Jonson in laurel. 
 
 * Divers eminent modern poets in bays, 
 somewhat blighted, to be disposed of, a penny- 
 worth. 
 
 * A quickset hog, shot up into a porcupine, 
 by its being forgot a week in rainy weather. 
 
 ' A lavender pig, with sage growing in his 
 belly. 
 
 ' Noah's ark in holly, standing on the mount ; 
 the ribs a little damaged for want of water. 
 
 ' A pair of maidenheads in fir, in great for- 
 wardness. 
 
256 THE GUARDJAN. 
 
 No. 174.] Wednesday, September 30, 1713. 
 
 Salve PBOnlas larglfor nobilis undse, 
 
 Salve Dardanii gloria magna soli : 
 Publica morboruin requies, commune medentuin 
 
 Atixilium, pnvscus nunit'i), inempta salus. 
 
 Claud. 
 Hail, gieitcst good Dardanian fields bestow, 
 At whose command Paeooian waters How, 
 Unpurchas'd heaithl that dost thy aid impart 
 Both to the patient, and the doctor's art ! 
 
 In public assemblies there are generally some 
 envious splenetic people, who having no merit 
 to procure respect, are ever finding fault with 
 those who distinguish themselves. This hap- 
 pens more frequently at those places, where 
 this season of the year calls persons of both 
 sexes together for their health. I have had 
 reams of letters from Bath, Epsom, Tunbridge, 
 and St. Wenefrede's well ; wherein I could ob- 
 serve that a concern for honour and virtue, 
 proceeded from the want of health, beauty, or 
 fine petticoats. A lady who subscribes herself 
 Eudosia, writes a bitter invective against Chloe, 
 the celebrated dancer; but I have learned, 
 that she herself is lame of the rheumatism. 
 Another, who hath been a prude ever since she 
 had the small-pox, is very bitter against the 
 coquettes and their indecent airs ; and a sharp 
 wit hath sent me a keen epigram against the 
 gamesters ; but I took notice, that it was not 
 written upon gilt paper. 
 
 Having had several strange pieces of intel- 
 ligence from the Bath ; as, that more consti- 
 tutions were weakened there than repaired; 
 that the physicians were not more busy in de- 
 stroying old bodies, than the young fellows in 
 producing new ones ; with several other com- 
 mon-place strokes of raillery; I resolved to 
 look upon the company there, as I returned 
 lately out of the country. It was a great jest 
 to see such a grave ancient person as I am, in 
 an embroidered cap and brocade night-gown. 
 But, besides the necessity of complying with 
 the custom, by these means I passed undis- 
 covered, and had a pleasure I much covet, of 
 being alone in a crowd. It was no little satis- 
 faction to me, to view the mixed mass of all 
 ages and dignities upon a level, partaking of 
 the same benefits of nature, and mingling in 
 the same diversions. I sometimes entertained 
 myself by observing what a large quantity of 
 ground was hid under spreading petticoats ; 
 and what little patches of earth were covered 
 by creatures with wigs and hats, in comparison 
 to those spaces that were distinguished by 
 flounces, fringes, and furbelows. From the 
 earth my fancy was diverted to the water, 
 where the distinctions of sex and condition are 
 concealed ; and where the mixture of men and 
 women hath given occasion to some persons of 
 light imaginations, to compare the Bath to the 
 fountain of Salmacis, which had the virtue of 
 •oining the two sexes into one person ; or to 
 
 [No. 174. 
 
 the stream wherein Diana washed herself 
 when she bestowed horns on Actrcon ; but bv 
 one of a serious turn, these healthful springs 
 may rather be likened to the Stygian waters, 
 which made the body invulnerable ; or to the 
 river of Lethe, one draught of which washed 
 away all pain and anguish in a moment. 
 
 As I have taken upon me a name which ought 
 to abound in humanity, I shall make it my bu- 
 siness, in this paper, to cool and assuage those 
 malignant humours of scandal which run 
 throughout the body of men and women there 
 assembled ; and after the manner of those fa- 
 mous waters, I will endeavour to wipe away 
 all foul aspersions, to restore bloom and vigour 
 to decayed reputations, and set injured cha- 
 racters upon their legs again. I shall herein 
 regulate myself by the example of that good 
 man, who used to talk with charity of the 
 greatest villains; nor was ever heard to speak 
 with rigour of any one, until he affirmed with 
 severity that Nero was a wag. 
 
 Having thus prepared thee, gentle reader, 
 1 shall not scruple to entertain thee with a pa- 
 negyric upon the gamesters. I have indeed 
 spoken incautiously heretofore of that class of 
 men ; but I should forfeit all titles to modesty, 
 should I any longer oppose the common sense 
 of the nobility and gentry of the kingdom. 
 Were we to treat all those with contempt, who 
 are the favourites of blind chance, few levees 
 would be crowded. It is not the height of 
 sphere in which a man moves, but the manner 
 in which he acts, that makes him truly valu- 
 able. When therefore I see a gentleman lose 
 his money with serenity, I recognise in him all 
 the great qualities of a philosopher. 
 
 If he storms, and invokes the gods, I lament 
 that he is not placed at the head of a regiment. 
 The great gravity of the countenances round 
 Harrison's table, puts me in mind of a council 
 board ; and the indefatigable application of 
 the several combatants furnishes me with an 
 unanswerable reply to those gloomy mortals, 
 who censure this as an idle life. In short, I 
 cannot see any reason why gentlemen should 
 be hindered from raising a fortune by those 
 means, which at the same time enlarge their 
 minds. Nor shall I speak dishonourably of 
 some little artifice and finesse used upon these 
 occasions ; since the world is so just to anv 
 man who is become a possessor of wealth, as 
 not to respect him the less, for the methods he 
 took to come by it. 
 
 Upon considerations like these, the ladies 
 share in these diversions. I must own, that 
 I receive great pleasure in seeing my pretty 
 countrywomen engaged in an amusement which 
 puts them upon producing so many virtues. 
 Hereby they acquire such a boldness, as raises 
 them near the lordly creature man. Here 
 they are taught such contempt of wealth, as 
 
No. 174.] 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 257 
 
 may dilate their minds, and prevent many cur- 
 tain lectures. Their natural tenderness is a 
 weakness here easily unlearned ; and I find 
 my soul exalted, when I see a lady sacrifice 
 the fortune of her children with as little con- 
 cern as a Spartan or a Roman dame. In such 
 a place as the Eath I might urge, that the 
 casting of a die is indeed the properest exercise 
 for a fair creature to assist the waters; not to 
 mention the opportunity it gives to display the 
 well-turned arm, and to scatter to advantage 
 the rays of the diamond. But I am satisfied, 
 that the gamester ladies have surmounted the 
 little vanities of showing their beauty, which 
 they so far neglect, as to throw their features 
 into violent distortions, and wear away their 
 lilies and roses in tedious watching, and restless 
 lucubrations. I should rather observe that 
 their chief passion is an emulation of manhood ; 
 which I am the more inclined to believe, be- 
 cause, in spite of all slanders, their confidence 
 in their virtue keeps them up all night, with 
 the most dangerous creatures of our sex. It 
 is to me an undoubted argument of their ease 
 of conscience, that they go directly from church, 
 to the gaming-table ; and so highly reverence 
 play, as to make it a great part of their exer- 
 cise on Sundays. 
 
 The water poets are an innocent tribe, and 
 deserve all the encouragement I can give them. 
 It would be barbarous to treat those authors 
 with bitterness, who never write out of the 
 season, and whose works are useful with the 
 waters. I made it my care therefore to sweeten 
 some sour critics who were sharp upon a few 
 sonnets, which, to speak in the language of the 
 Bath, were mere alkalies. I took particular 
 notice of a lenitive electuary, which was 
 wrapped up in some of these gentle composi- 
 tions; and am persuaded that the pretty one 
 who took it, was as much relieved by the cover 
 as the medicine. There are a hundred ge- 
 neral topics put into metre every year, viz. 
 ' The lover is inflamed in the water; or, he 
 finds his death where he sought his cure; or, 
 the nymph feels her own pain, without regard- 
 ing her lover's torment.' These being for ever 
 repeated, have at present a very good effect ; 
 and a physician assures me, that laudanum is 
 almost out of doors at the Bath. 
 
 Thy physicians here are very numerous, but 
 very good-natured. To these charitable gen- 
 tlemen I owe, that I was cured, in a week's 
 time, of more distempers than I ever had in 
 my life. They had almost killed me with their 
 humanity. A learned fellow-lodger prescribed 
 me a little something, at my first coming, to 
 keep up my spirits ; and the next morning I 
 was so much enlivened by another, as to have 
 an order to bleed for my fever. I was proffered 
 a cure for the scurvy by a third, and had a re- 
 cipe for the dropsy gratis before night. In 
 vain did I modestly decline these favours ; for j 
 
 I was awakened early in the morning by an 
 apothecary, who brought me a dose from one 
 of my well-wishers. I paid him, but withal 
 told him severely, that I never took physic. 
 My landlord hereupon took me for an Italian 
 merchant that suspected poison ; but the apo- 
 thecary, with more sagacity, guessed that I was 
 certainly a physician myself. 
 
 The oppression of civilities which I under- 
 went from the sage gentlemen of the faculty, 
 frightened me from making such inquiries into 
 the nature of these springs, as would have 
 furnished out a nobler entertainment upon the 
 Bath, than the loose hints I have now thrown 
 together. Every man who hath received any 
 benefit there, ought, in proportion to his abili- 
 ties, to improve, adorn, or recommend it. A 
 prince should found hospitals, the noble and 
 rich may diffuse their ample charities. Mr. 
 Tompion gave a clock to the Bath ; and I, 
 Nestor Ironside, have dedicated a Guardian. 
 
 No. 17.5.] Thursday, October 1, 1713. 
 
 Qnique sui memores alios fecere merendo. 
 
 Virg. Mm. vi. 664. 
 
 Who rais'd by merit an immortal name. 
 
 The noble genius of Virgil would have been 
 exalted still higher, had he had the advantage 
 of Christianity. According to our scheme of 
 thoughts, if the word memores in the front of 
 this paper were changed into similes, it would 
 have very much heightened the motive to virtue 
 in the reader. To do good and great actions 
 merely to gain reputation, and transmit a name 
 to posterity, is a vicious appetite, and will cer- 
 tainly ensnare the person who is moved by it, 
 on some occasions, into a false delicacy for fear 
 of reproach ; and at others, into artifices which 
 taint his mind, though they may enlarge his 
 fame. The endeavour to make men like you, 
 rather than mindful of you, is not subject to 
 such ill consequences, but moves with its re- 
 ward in its own hand ; or to speak more in the 
 language of the world, a man with this aim is 
 as happy as a man in an office, that is paid out 
 of money under his own direction. There have 
 been very worthy examples of this self-denying 
 virtue among us in this nation ; but I do not 
 know of a nobler example in this taste, than 
 that of the late Mr. Boyle, who founded a lec» 
 ture for the * Proof of the Christian religion, 
 against atheists, and other notorious infidels.' 
 The reward of perpetual memory amongst 
 men, which might possibly have some share in 
 this sublime charity, was certainly considered 
 but in a second degree; and Mr. Boyle had it 
 in his thoughts to make men imitate him as 
 well as speak of him, when he was gone off 
 our stage. 
 
 The world has received much good from this 
 institution, and the noble emulation of great 
 
 2 a. 
 

 THE GUARDIAN. 
 
 [No. 175. 
 
 men on the inexhaustible subject of the essence, 
 praiM, and attributes of the Deity, has had 
 the natural effect, which always attends this 
 kind of contemplation: to wit, that he who 
 writes upon it with a sincere heart, very emi- 
 nently excels whatever be has produced on any 
 other occasion. It eminently appears from this 
 observation, that a particular blessing has been 
 festowed on this lecture. This great philo- 
 sopher provided for us, after his death, an em- 
 ployment not only suitable to our condition, 
 but to his own at the same time. It is a sight 
 fit for angels, to behold the benefactor and the 
 persons obliged, not only in different places, 
 but under different beings, employed in the 
 same work. 
 
 This worthy man studied nature, and traced 
 all her ways to those of her unsearchable au- 
 thor. When he had found him, he gave this 
 bounty for the praise and contemplation of him. 
 To one who has not run through regular courses 
 of philosophical inquiries (the other learned 
 labourers in this vineyard will forgive me,) I 
 cannot but principally recommend the book, 
 intitled, Phisico-Theology : printed for William 
 Innys, in St. Paul's church-yard. 
 
 It is written by Mr. Derham, rector of Up- 
 minster, in Essex. I do not know what Up- 
 minster is worth ; but I am sure, had I the 
 best living in England to give, I should not 
 think the addition of it sufficient acknowledge- 
 ment of his merit ; especially since I am in- 
 formed, that the simplicity of his life is agree- 
 able to his useful knowledge and learning. 
 
 The praise of this author seems to me to De 
 the gr*>at perspicuity and method which render 
 his work intelligible and pleasing to people 
 who are strangers to such inquiries, as well as 
 to the learned. It is a very desirable enter- 
 tainment to find occasions of pleasure and sa- 
 tisfaction in those objects and occurrences 
 which we have all our lives, perhaps, over- 
 looked; or beheld without exciting any re- 
 flections that made us wiser, or happier. The 
 plain good man does, as with a wand, show us 
 the wonders and spectacles in all nature, and 
 the particular capacities with which all living 
 creatures are endowed for their several ways 
 of life ; Low the organs of creatures are made 
 according to the different paths in which they 
 are to move and provide for themselves and 
 families; whether they are to creep, to leap, 
 to swim, to fly, to walk ; whether they are to 
 inhabit the bowels of the earth, the coverts of 
 the wood, the muddy or clear streams ; to howl 
 in forests, or converse in cities. All life from 
 th it of a worm to that of a man is explained : 
 
 and, if 1 may so speak, the wondrous works oj 
 the creation, by the observations of this au- 
 thor, lie before us as objects that create lo\e 
 and admiration ; which, without such explica- 
 tions, strike us only with confusion and amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 The man who, before he had this book, 
 dressed and went out to loiter and gather up 
 something to entertain a mind too vacant, no 
 longer needs news to give himself amusement , 
 the very air he breathes suggests abundant 
 matter for his thoughts. He will consider that 
 he has begun another day of life, to breathe 
 with all other creatures in the same mass of 
 air, vapours, and clouds, which surround our 
 globe; and of all the numberless animals that 
 live by receiving momentary life, or rather 
 momentary and new reprieves from death, at 
 their nostrils, he only stands erect, conscious 
 and contemplative of the benefaction. 
 
 A man who is not capable of philosophical 
 reflections from his own education, will be as 
 much pleased as with any other good news 
 which he has not before heard. The agitations 
 of the wind, and the falling of the rains, are 
 what are absolutely necessary for his welfare 
 and accommodation. This kind of reader will 
 behold the light with a new joy, and a sort of 
 reasonable rapture. He will be led from the 
 appendages which attend and surround our 
 globe, to the contemplation of the globe itself, 
 the distribution of the earth and waters, the 
 variety and quantity of all things provided for 
 the uses of our world. Then will his contem- 
 plation, which was too diffused and general, be 
 let down to particulars, to different soils and 
 moulds, to the beds of minerals and stones, 
 into caverns and volcanos, and then again to 
 the tops of mountains, and then again to the 
 fields and valleys. 
 
 When the author has acquainted his reader 
 with the place of his abode; he informs him of 
 his capacity to make himself easy and happy in 
 it by the gift of senses, by their ready organs, by 
 showing him the structure of those organs, the 
 disposition of the ear for the receipt of sounds, 
 of the nostril for smell, the tongue for taste, 
 the nerves to avoid harms by our feeling, and 
 the eye by our sight. 
 
 The whole work is concluded (as it is the 
 sum of fifteen sermons in proof of the existence 
 of the Deity) with reflections which apply each 
 distinct part of it to an end, for which the au- 
 thor may hope to be rewarded with an immor- 
 tality much more to be desired, than that of 
 remaining in eternal honour among all the 
 sons of men. 
 
INDEX 
 
 k No. 
 
 ACADEMY, what a youth first learns there 24 
 
 Active men, compared with speculative 130 
 
 Acts, public, at Oxford, two great reasons against 
 
 them 96 
 
 Adam, his vision of souls 138 
 
 Adamites, a sect so called 134 
 
 Aee, if healthy, happy 26 
 
 "Dwells upon past times 5 
 
 Aguire, his story, an instance of the spirit of revenge 8 
 
 Airs, the penman, his vanity 1 
 
 Alcibiades, his character, and soliloquy before an en- 
 gagement . 31 
 
 Alcinous, his gardens described, from Homer 173 
 
 Alehouse-keeper, an elegant one, on Hampstead 
 
 Road 144 
 
 Alexander, a letter from him to Aristotle Ill 
 
 Allegories, directions for using them 152 
 
 Alnareschin, king of Persia, his story 167 
 
 Alonzo, don, a fatal instance of the effects of jealousy 123 
 
 Alphonso, his story from Strada's Lucan 1 19 
 
 Aminta, of Tasso, compared with Guarini's Pastor 
 
 Fido 28 
 
 Anacreon, his instructions to a painter for painting 
 
 his mistress 168 
 
 Anaximander, a saying of his, on being laughed at for 
 
 singing 135 
 
 Ancestors, their examples should excite to great and 
 
 virtuous actions 137 
 
 Ancestry, how far to be venerated 137 
 
 Renders the good only illustrious 123 
 
 Ridiculous for a man to value himself upon it 137 
 
 Ancients, crying them up reproved 25 
 
 All that is good in writing not borrowed from them 12 
 
 Distinguished by Strada 1 1 9 
 
 Androcles, story of him and the lion 139 
 
 Anger defined 129 
 
 Animals, a degree of gratitude owing to them that 
 
 serve us 61 
 
 Cruelty towards them condemned 61 
 
 Anne Bullen, tragedy of, a scene of distress therein.. 19 
 
 Annihilation, by whom desired 89 
 
 Anf3, natural history of them 128, 156, 157 
 
 Apothecary, in Romeo and Juliet described 82 
 
 Arcadian, the true character of one 23 
 
 Art, those most capable of it, always fond of nature. 173 
 
 Artificers, capital, a petition from them 64 
 
 Aspasia, a most excellent woman 2, 5 
 
 Asphaltites, lake of, a discourse thereon 60 
 
 Astronomy, the study of, recommended 70 
 
 Atalantis, the author of, to whom akin 107 
 
 Athalia, of Racine, part of it sublime 1 17 
 
 Atheism more grievous than religion 93 
 
 Atheist, behaviour of one in sickness 39 
 
 Athenais, a Grecian virgin, married to the em ,eror 
 
 Theodosius 155 
 
 Attraction of bodies applied to minds 126 
 
 Augustus Cffisar, Virgil's praises of him 138 
 
 Aureng-Zebe, tragedy of, wherein faulty 110 
 
 Author, account of one raising contributions 58 
 
 BACON, sir Francis, remarks on the style of his 
 
 history of Henry VI 1..,.=. 25 
 
 Barbers, inconveniences attending their being histo- 
 rians 50 
 
 Bareface, Will, desires one of Lady Lizard's daugh- 
 ters for a wife 3S 
 
 Barsisa, santon, his story from the Turkish Tales 148 
 
 Bath, Wife of, a comedy, characterised 50 
 
 Customs of that place 174 
 
 Bawd, a mother so, to her own daughter 17 
 
 Bear-baiting, a barbarous custom 61 
 
 Beau, an academical one described 10 
 
 A species to be commiserated 62 
 
 Beauty, inconveniences attending it 85 
 
 At war with Fortitude 152 
 
 Imperfect, described by Prior 85 
 
 Benevolence, the seeds of it implanted in the human 
 soul 
 
 Betty, miss, her history ..'......... 
 
 Beveridge, bishop, a sublime passage quoted from his 
 works 
 
 Bicknell, Mrs. a comedian, commended 
 
 Furnished with a dress from the wardrobe of the 
 Lizards ~ ' • 
 
 Bias, his way of silencing calumny 
 
 Binicorn, Humphrey, his proposal for printing a 
 dissertation on horns 
 
 Birds, their examples proposed to imitation 
 
 Observations on their conjugal and parental affec- 
 tions 
 
 Blanket, when that discipline is necessary 
 
 Blood, by what tainted 
 
 Bodkin, Timothy, his letter concerning short 
 swords 
 
 Boileau, a French critic, his account of the sublime.. 
 
 Books, an odd collection of them 
 
 Bosoms, naked, a great grievance 
 
 The pope's order against them 
 
 Boys, their delights cheap and innocent 
 
 Bribery, none in a present of liquor 
 
 Bruce, lord, his challenge to, and duel with sir Ed- 
 ward Sackville 1 29, 
 
 Bubnelia, angry about the tucker 
 
 Building, errors in undertaking it 
 
 Burial service, solemn and moving 
 
 Button, Daniel, his letter in praise of his own coffee- 
 house 
 
 Button-twisting, not eloquent 
 
 , CALAMITIES, the general source of them 
 
 ! Calumny, nothing so hard for a generous mind to 
 
 get over 
 
 How silenced by philosophers 
 
 Cambray, Fenelon, archbishop of, account of his 
 Treatise of the Existence, Wisdom, and Omnipo- 
 tence of God 
 
 Cause of his disgrace 
 
 Cardan, the philosopher, what he says of the affec- 
 tion of love, 
 
 Care, Dorothy, complains of men's open bosoms.... 
 
 Cato, tragedy of, commended 33, 
 
 Beautiful similes in that tragedy 
 
 Prologue and Epilogue thereto 
 
 Chaplains to persons of quality ought to be respected 
 
 Charity, a virtue of the heart 
 
 A signal proof of the divinity of the Christian reli- 
 gion 
 
 Intended by Nestor Ironside, Esq 
 
 Schools recommended 
 
 Charwell, Mr. his character 
 
 His purchase and improvement of an estate, &c. .. 
 Borrowed many of his maxims from monsieur Col- 
 bert 
 
 Chastity, the noblest male qualification 
 
 China, emperor of, honours none till after death .... 
 Chryso-magnet, or the load-stone which attracts gold, 
 
 described by Strada 
 
 Church, Christian the divine order and economy 
 
 thereof compared to the fabric of St. Paul's 
 
 The word misapplied 
 
 Wherein the word wants explanation 
 
 Clarina, a young lady unhappy by her beauty 
 
 Classics, absolutely necessary to study them 
 
 Claudian, Strada's 115, 
 
 His court of Venus 
 
 Pluto's speech to Proserpine, from him 
 
 Cleomenes, a tragedy by Dryden, wherein faulty .... 
 
 Clergymen, respect due to them 
 
 The end they should propose to themselves 
 
 Abused 
 
 Considered as philosophers 
 
 Climate, British, very inconstant 
 
 No. 
 
 126 
 153 
 
 74 
 50 
 
 50 
 135 
 
 124 
 125 
 
 125 
 7.4 
 
 137 
 
 145 
 H7 
 
 eo 
 
 116 
 116 
 
•JO'O 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 No. 
 
 • kown, diameter of an impudent one 162 
 
 Club, of little men 91 
 
 Short 91 
 
 Silent 120 
 
 Tall ins 
 
 Terrible 118 
 
 Coach, an intrigue carried on by means of one 14 
 
 Coaches, young men reproved for driving them 14 
 
 Cock-fighting, a barbarous custom 61 
 
 Colbert, Monsieur, his conversation with the 
 French king concerning the great power of the 
 
 Dutch 52 
 
 Cold bath, recommended 102 
 
 Colleges, chiefly erected on religious considerations. 62 
 
 Comet, a remarkable one in 1680 described 103 
 
 Commandments, were made for the vulgar 27 
 
 Common fame, vision of 67 
 
 Complaisance, useful in conversation to make it . 
 
 agreeable 1 62 
 
 Congreve, Mr. characters drawn by him 85, 115 
 
 Conscience, is to the soul, what health is to the body 135 
 
 The efficacy and force of, in the hour of death 135 
 
 A good one", the only relief against the pain of ca- 
 lumny 135 
 
 Conversation, one of the noblest privileges of reason 24 
 
 Rules for it 24 
 
 Coquette, how she should paint herself 140 
 
 Countrymen, meeting abroad, their familiarity 126 
 
 Country life, the charms and pleasures of it 22 
 
 Country, why we are pleased with it , 22 
 
 Courtship, the extravagance of it described 113 
 
 Covetousness, precautions against it 19 
 
 The vice of, enters deeper into the soul than any 
 
 other 19 
 
 Cowards never forgive 20 
 
 Cowley, M r. criticism on his songs 16 
 
 Coxcomb at the head of a family a melancholy thing 165 
 
 Crabtree, Major, his sour sayings to the ladies 26 
 
 Crassus, an old lethargic valetudinarian 102 
 
 Creation, works of, the divine consideration of them 175 
 
 Critics, false 12, 16 
 
 Wherein they differ from cavillers 110 
 
 The severity of one on the fireworks on the Thames 10? 
 The characters and marks of an ill one by Mr. Con- 
 greve 115 
 
 Criticism on song-writing 16 
 
 On several plays of Dryden's and Lee's 110 
 
 Cromwel, Oliver, what monsieur Paschal says of his 
 
 death 136 
 
 Cunning opposed to wisaom 152 
 
 Cupid with eyes 127 
 
 Customs, barbarous in England, account of them ... 61 
 
 Cyrus, his heroic chastity 61 
 
 Cyr, Saint, account of that monastery founded by 
 madam Maintenon 48 
 
 D^DALUS, his letter about flying 112 
 
 Damo, a daughter of Pythagoras, to whom he left 
 
 his writings 165 
 
 David, king, the beauty of his lamentation for Jona- 
 than 51 
 
 A rabbinical story concerning him 138 
 
 Davigne, Messrs. father and grandfather of madam 
 
 Maintenon, their story 46 
 
 Davis, Sir George, his adventure with a lion 146 
 
 Dead men, only, have honours in China 96 
 
 Death, means to make the thoughts thereof the 
 
 sweetest enjoyment IS 
 
 An infirmity not to desire it 20 
 
 The lvope of good men in it I69 
 
 Compared to Proteus 136 
 
 Whence the abhorrence of it proceeds 169 
 
 Dedications, the abuse of them 4 
 
 Dedication of an author to himself. 4 
 
 Defamation, the art of it discovered 170 
 
 Definition of words necessary 80 
 
 Denham, sir John, his directions for translating 164 
 
 Derham, Mr. his book of Physico-Theology com- 
 mended 175 
 
 Dcs Cartes, discovered the pineal gland in the brain 37 
 
 I)- 1 1, <t ion, too easily given in to by \he ladies 85 
 
 Devotion, early hours of, the advantages of it 65 
 
 Dewlap, Dick, well made for a jester 42 
 
 Diaper, James, his If tter recommending Tom's cof- 
 fee-house for politeness of conversation 92 
 
 Diogenes, a severe saying of his to one that slandered 
 
 him ' 135 
 
 1 1 1 opinion concerning the poor and rich 94 
 
 ne of it in the tragedy of Anne Bullea. 19 
 
 imaginary, the great.- t pari ofman'i affliction 162 
 
 uiiiuii and vvhitton, their letter concerning the lon- 
 gitude 107 
 
 Donne, Dr. a criticism on hw songs 16 
 
 D -am, concerning Keproof and Reproach 56 
 
 Dream of a window in Aurelia's breast \or, 
 
 Concerning death i 3 g 
 
 Of the future punishment of the idle i5g 
 
 Dress, the greatest motive to love , g( 
 
 Not to be too much valued or despised • 10 
 
 Genius discovered therein , 149 
 
 Compared to poetry | 4g 
 
 Druids, held the doctrine of transmigration of souls. 18 
 
 Verses from Lucan on that subject ia 
 
 Drunkenness, a deforming foolish intemperance 5fl 
 
 Dryden, John, moral verses from his translation of 
 
 Juvenal 54 
 
 A saying of his, recommending chastity in men ... 45 
 
 Faulty in his sentiments no 
 
 Duels, the danger of dying in one, represented 20 
 
 Proceed from false honour 133 
 
 Ought to be abolished 129 
 
 Dump, Goody, her letter complaining of a sullen 
 
 husband 132 
 
 Dunkirk, animadversions concerning demolishing 
 
 ^ ft 1*8, 131 
 
 D'Urfey, Thomas, the lyric poet, his merit, and 
 
 odes 67 
 
 Compared with Pindar 67 
 
 The world ungrateful to him 29 
 
 His play of the Plotting Sisters recommended 82 
 
 Dutch, their advantages over the French 52 
 
 Not subject to the spleen 131 
 
 EARRING, Nicholas, Esq. his letter concerning a 
 
 scoldingwife 132 
 
 Earth, its inhabitants ranged under two general 
 
 heads , 130 
 
 Ease, loved by all men 22 
 
 In writing, what it is 12, 15 
 
 An instance of it in love verses 15 
 
 Eclogue, meaning of that word 28 
 
 Education, various errors therein 94 
 
 Eliza, the character of a good mother 150 
 
 Enemies, love of them not constitutional 20 
 
 English, famous for oddities 55 
 
 Epic poem, rules concerning it 12 
 
 Receipt to make one 78 
 
 Epictetus, his saying concerning censure 135 
 
 Epigram, a French one, miscalled a song 16 
 
 Epilogue to Cato, by Dr. Garth 33 
 
 Equality in the happiness and misery of men 54 
 
 Eusden, Reverend Mr. translations of his from 
 
 Claudian 127, 164 
 
 Eve, her treating of an angel described by Milton.... 138 
 Her innocence to be imitated, not her nakedness.. 100 
 
 Eveites, women so called, and why 140 
 
 Evergreen, Anthony, his collection of fig-leaves for 
 
 the ladies 100 
 
 Examination, self, advantages attending it 158 
 
 Examiner, author of, reproved for insolence, ill 
 
 manners and scandal 41 
 
 Misapplies the word Church, and abuses the clergy, 
 
 lords, and commons 80 
 
 Letters concerning him 53, 63 
 
 An advocate for a lady who was said not to be lain 
 
 with 63 
 
 His insolence to a bishop of the church of England 90 
 
 Writes in defence of popery 90 
 
 His knack at finding out treason in words 160 
 
 Has no talent for panegyric 170 
 
 Example, influence thereof. 5 
 
 FABLE, of Pilpay, on the usage of animals 61 
 
 Fame, common, house of, described 66 
 
 Family, head of, dangerous when bad 165 
 
 Mistress of, a good one described, from the book 
 
 of Proverbs 168 
 
 Fantastical pleasures, what thev are 40 
 
 Fear of God, all true fortitude founded on it 1 17 
 
 Feet, pretty ones, a letter concerning them 132 
 
 Figleaf, Leonilla, her letter concerning modesty- 
 pieces 118 
 
 Fine gentleman, what qualifications form one in the 
 
 eye of the ladies 34 
 
 Character of a complete one 34 
 
 Fireworks on the Thames, description of them 103 
 
 A fine one described by Strada 103 
 
 Flattery, a satire against it 11 
 
 Grateful to human nature 135 
 
 Flies and free-thinkers compared 70 
 
 Florrt.lla, angry about the tucker 109 
 
 Flying, a humour in the reign of Charles the Second 1 12 
 
 Fontalnbleau, palace of, described 101 
 
 Footman, too tat for his master 54 
 
 Foresight, Frank, his good conduct on his marriage 147 
 
 Fornication, a criticism thereon 17 
 
 Fortitude founded on the fear of God 117 
 
 At war with beauty ,r ' J 
 
 LBJa'07 
 
INDEX 
 
 26) 
 
 No. 
 
 Foundling hospitals, wherein useful 105 
 
 France, the fountain of dress 140 
 
 Temperance of the climate 104 
 
 Court of 101 
 
 1 tour thither 104 
 
 Freethinkers, unthinking wretches 62 
 
 The name degenerated from the original meaning.. 39 
 Considerations offered to them on the being of a 
 
 God 88 
 
 Contribute to idolatry 88 
 
 Their absurdities and hateful characters 169 
 
 No friends to liberty 83 
 
 Condemned for affecting singularity S9 
 
 Accuse the Christian religion as defective in friend- 
 ship 126 
 
 Like the Jewish Sadducees, considered as automata 130 
 
 Freeth inking, discourse on, answered 3 
 
 French king, Lewis XIV. his conversation with Col- 
 bert concerning the great power of the Dutch ... 52 
 
 French, very courteous and talkative 101 
 
 The happiest people in the world 104 
 
 Their kindness and affability to strangers 101 
 
 Trade prejudicial to England 170 
 
 Nobleman, memoirs of one 150 
 
 Friendship, promoted by the Christian religion 126 
 
 Front box, how the ladies are marshalled there 29 
 
 Future State, proofs of it from the creation 27 
 
 GALE, John, many prints of him l 
 
 Gallantry, precautions against it 193 
 
 Low, between a footman and a maid-servant 87 
 
 Gamesters, a panegyric on them. 74 
 
 Gaming, ill consequences of that vice among the 
 
 ladies 120 
 
 Gardens, the best not so fine as nature 1 73 
 
 Genius, necessary to dress well 87 
 
 Gentleman, qualifications requisite to form that ex-. 
 
 alted character 34 
 
 Wherein really superior to a mechanic 130 
 
 Gentlemanlike, gentlemanly, much of a gentleman, 
 
 ill-applied 38 
 
 Gluttony, barbarous and destructive 61 
 
 Gnatho, a mad doctor, wonderful cures performed 
 
 by him 11 
 
 Gold-finch, a beau, his behaviour to his offspring 
 
 proposed for imitation 125 
 
 Good-breeding, the necessity of it 94 
 
 Good-Friday, reflections preparatory to the observa- 
 tion of that day 20 
 
 Good-nature and charity recommended 79 
 
 Gospels, the excellency of them 21 
 
 Grave-digger in Hamlet, humour of that character.. 144 
 
 Greens, a curious collection to be sold 173 
 
 Greek, two sorts 79 
 
 Griffins, a treatise on the existence of them 60 
 
 Guardian, the qualifications for one, integrity more 
 
 necessary than understanding 1 
 
 The use of his paper 98 
 
 HAMLET, prologue therein, as spoken by Mr. Wil- 
 liam Peer 82 
 
 Happiness, various notions of it, and wherein it con- 
 sists 31 
 
 With respect to marriage 31 
 
 Hawthorn, Nic. his whimsical letter concerning pub- 
 lic spirit 58 
 
 Hearty, sir William, why he was not a fine gentle- 
 man 34 
 
 Henry VII. criticism on the style of Lord Verulam's 
 
 History of that king 25 
 
 Henry IV. of France, a prayer made by him before 
 a battle 19 
 
 Hermaphroditical habit, described 149 
 
 Hilaria, her madness and cure 11 
 
 History, rules for writing it 25 
 
 Of a Greek poet 141 
 
 Holiness, beauty of it 21 
 
 Holt, lord chief justice, his integrity 95 
 
 Honour, what) 16 1 
 
 Wherein commendable, and when to be explo- 
 ded &c 161 
 
 Described 161 
 
 Temple of, can be entered only through that of 
 V -tue 161 
 
 Honoui s, the duty and interest of all nations to be- 
 stow them on merit 93 
 
 Horse, described by Homer, Virgil, Oppian, Lucan, 
 
 and Pope 86 
 
 Job's description of one, better than Homer's or 
 Virgil's 86 
 
 Horses, care of them recommended 6, 61 
 
 Hospitals, a visit to them 79 
 
 For foundlings, recommended 105 
 
 Howd'ye-call Susan, her pet Uion 64 
 
 No, 
 
 Humanity, to be extended to the meanest creature.. 6; 
 
 Humour, the English distinguished by it 44 
 
 English, accounted for by sir William Temple 1-.4 
 
 Hunting, a remain of Gothic barbarity 61 
 
 A barbarous custom therein 61 
 
 A poem in praise of it 195 
 
 Hypocrisy, rebuked by our Saviour 93 
 
 I AM that I am, reflections on that name 74 
 
 Idle men, monsters in the creation 137 
 
 Idleness a great vice 131 
 
 A means to conquer it 13 1 
 
 Idolatry, a sottish sort of worship 88 
 
 Ignorance and vice, taint the blood 137 
 
 Immortality of the soul, arguments for it 39, 93 
 
 Ingratitude of men to beasts 61 
 
 Integrity in the power cf every man 1 
 
 Intrigue between a wild young gentleman and a jlit. 14 
 
 Irish stuffs, fine and delightful furniture 49 
 
 Ironside, Nestor, esq. account of his birth and edu- 
 cation 2 
 
 How related to the Bickerstaffs 94 
 
 A piece of true tempered steel 102 
 
 Engaged in search of the philosopher's stone 166 
 
 His intended charities when he should discover it.. 166 
 Ironside, Mrs. Martha, her character, and love of an- 
 cestry 137 
 
 Italian comedians, driven from Paris for offending 
 
 madam Maintenon 48 
 
 JANGLINGS, matrimonial 73 
 
 Jealousy, its fatal effects 37 
 
 Jesus Christ, his conversation with two disciples after 
 
 his crucifixion , 91 
 
 Jilflirts, the occasion of our ill-bred men, 26 
 
 Job, book of, fine poetical paintings therein, parti- 
 cularly of a horse 86 
 
 Johnson the player, a good actor 82 
 
 Jonathan, David's lamentation for him 51 
 
 Joseph, hij chastity 45 
 
 Judges, the advantage of continuing them during 
 
 good behaviour 95 
 
 Justice, the greatest of all virtues 95 
 
 KINGSLAND Hospitallers, objects of charity 17 
 
 Kneeling adorations, by an authoress to a young no- 
 bleman 4 
 
 Knowledge, pursuit thereof recommended to youth.. 1 1 1 
 Advantages attending it ill 
 
 LADIES, all women such 26 
 
 Conveniences of their gaming 174 
 
 Lady's woman, must have the qualifications of a critic 
 
 in poetry 149 
 
 Lais, history abuses her 8j 
 
 Lamentation for Jonathan, David's, its beauties 51 
 
 Land interest and trade, support each other 76 
 
 Largeness of mind, reflections on that disposition... 70 
 Last day, extracts from a poem of that name by 
 
 Dr. Young t 51 
 
 Laudanum, why out of doors at Bath 174 
 
 Laughers, several characters of them -29 
 
 Laughter, the index of the mind 29 
 
 The chorus of conversation 2£ 
 
 Law-suits, methods of deciding them in India 133 
 
 Learning, the natural source of wealth and honou" 1 1 1 
 
 Proper for women 155 
 
 Leo II. his letter to the Guardian 124 
 
 Leo X. Pope, his entertainment of the poets 115 
 
 Letter from Will. Bareface to Nestor Ironside 38 
 
 From Nestor Ironside to Sir Harry Lizard 63 
 
 From Sir Thomas Smith to Sir Francis Walsing- 
 
 ham 7 
 
 From Alexander to Aristotle Ill 
 
 From Nestor Ironside to Pope Clement VIII 149 
 
 From Tom Swagger to old Testy 145. 
 
 Letters, difficulties which attended the first invention 
 
 of them 172 
 
 Their great use 172 
 
 Lewis XIV. renowned for inviolably keeping treaties 128 
 
 Libertine, Athenian, his moral soliloquy 81 
 
 Prayer of an English libertine 81 
 
 Liberty of the People, generosity of that principle. . . 2 
 
 Asserted by Mr. Steele S3 
 
 Freethinkers enemies thereto BS 
 
 Life, its several stages have several pleasures 62 
 
 Lilly, Charles, his petition 64 
 
 Lingerers, account of them 131 
 
 Lion, Walsingham's master spy, some account of him 71 
 
 To be set up at Button's coffee-house 94, 1 14, 124 
 
 Scandalous reports of him 134 
 
 History of his species ... l.'S- 
 
 Calculation of his nativity 140 
 
 Sir George Davis's lion 146 
 
262 
 
 INDEX, 
 
 No. 
 
 Lions, spies so c.ili.d, ml< «ring London, described... 146 
 
 Liquors, no bribery in then 160 
 
 Lit iU- men, a dub of then 91 
 
 Lizard, sir Ambrose, ohooses Mr. Ironside guardian 
 
 to his family c 
 
 Sir Hurry, bis. character 6 
 
 Lady, ber character, and manner of employing 
 
 her time 2, 5, 7 
 
 Charactera of Miss Jane, Miss Annabella, Miss 
 
 Betty, Miss Cornelia, and Miss Mary 7 
 
 Characters of Mr. Thomas, Mr. William, and Mr. 
 
 John is 
 
 Loan-bank, a project >it, 107 
 
 Lock Hospital, patients there, great objects of cha- 
 nty 17 
 
 Oblations of a chamber-maid thereto 96 
 
 Longbottom, John, the barber, his petition 64 
 
 Longinus, his best rule for the sublime 154 
 
 Longitude, proposals concerning the discovery of it.. 108 
 
 Love of enemies, not constitutional 20 
 
 Love, personated by Ambition and Avarice 132 
 
 In low life 87 
 
 Loungers, a sect of philosophers at Cambridge 124 
 
 Lucan, translation of his verses on the transmigra- 
 tion of souls 18 
 
 Lucan, Strada's, commended 115 
 
 Lucas, Dr. his Practical Christianity recommended.. 63 
 Lucifer, his description of a masquerade at the French 
 
 ambassador's 154 
 
 Lucretius, Strada's 115, 119 
 
 Luke, saint, contents of the tvrenty-fourth chapter 
 
 ofhis gospel 21 
 
 Lust, opposed to Modesty 152 
 
 Lycurgus, the character of a good master 87 
 
 The Spartan, his good laws concerning matrimony 100 
 
 Lyrics, the English, very fine 124 
 
 MACHINES, modern free-thinkers are such 130 
 
 Mad doctor, account of one, and his medicines 11 
 
 Maid's tragedy, Mr. Waller's saying of it 37 
 
 Maintenon, madam, her birth, education, fortune, 
 
 and character 46 
 
 Married to Scaron 47 
 
 Her power over and marriage to Lewis XIV 48 
 
 Mankind, ranged under the active and speculative... 130 
 
 Mantua-makers, should be expert anatomists 149 
 
 Marlborough, duke of, insulted by the Examiner 80 
 
 M arriage, the arts of parents in it 57, 73 
 
 Janglings 73 
 
 What often occasions unhappiness therein 113 
 
 Extravagant expenses after entering into it cen- 
 sured 147 
 
 Martial, his verses on a country seat 173 
 
 Masquerades, account of them 14\>, 154 
 
 Master, how he should behave to his servants 87 
 
 The efficacy of his example 165 
 
 Mechanics, of general importance 1 
 
 In what really inferior to gentlemen 130 
 
 Medals, modern, an error in distributing them 93 
 
 Proposal for making them more general and use- 
 ful, by Dr. Swift 93 
 
 Struck in France, on abolishing duels 129 
 
 Meekness, something sublime and heroic in it 20 
 
 Melancholy, Pills to Purge, a collection of songs so 
 
 called 67 
 
 Melissa and Polydore, their story 85 
 
 Memoirs of the discovery of a French nobleman's 
 
 children 1 50 
 
 Memorial from Dunkirk, answered 128 
 
 Merchants, of great benefit to the public 79 
 
 Metamorphoses, of men into lower ranks of being... 56 
 
 Milton's description of Eve's treating an angel 138 
 
 Milliners, general remarks or. them 138 
 
 Mind, strength of, its true happiness 31 
 
 Human, restless after happiness 83 
 
 Principle of attraction therein 126 
 
 Misers, observations on them 77 
 
 Act on the same principles as critics 77 
 
 Not happy in their riches 83 
 
 Misochirosophus, Johannes, his humourous letter 
 
 concerning button orators 84 
 
 Mi in 1 of a family, a good one described, from the 
 
 bfiok of Proverbs 168 
 
 Moderate man, an ode by Mr. D'Uifcy, commended 67 
 Modesty, bestows greater beauties than the bloom of 
 
 youth 100 
 
 Opposed to lust 132 
 
 Lost among the ordinary part of the world P7 
 
 Modi ty pieoea laid aside 119 
 
 A modesty pie< e losi at a masquerade 143 
 
 Mole* hill, a lively image of the earth 153 
 
 Mollere, his observation of making a dinner 78 
 
 Molly, tin.- barber's daughter) ber history 160 
 
 Moralists, quaint, a say i up of theirs 136 
 
 No. 
 More, Sir Thor.ias, his poem on the choice of a wife lri? 
 
 Morning prayer, recommended cj, 
 
 Mortality, bill of, out of the country \$a 
 
 Moschus, remarks on his Greek pastorals 99 
 
 Mother, character of a good one \bu 
 
 Motteux, Peter, an unicorn's head to be erected 
 
 there 114 
 
 Mountespan, madam, recommended madam Main- 
 tenon to Lewis XIV 47 
 
 Mum, Ned his letter concerning the Silent Club til 
 
 Mila, daughter of Pythagoras, account of her and 
 her works it , 
 
 NATURAL history, a diverting and improving study 160 
 
 Natural pleasures, what they are 4" 
 
 Nature, the contemplation oi it, exalts the spirits... ifi'j 
 
 Imitated by Art 103 
 
 Necks of women immodestly exposed .. 100, 109, 118, 121 
 
 Netherlands, their advantages over the French 5* 
 
 Nomenclators, who 107 
 
 Norwood, John, peruke-maker, his petition 64 
 
 Nottingham, earl of, and his daughter, defended 
 
 against the insults of the Examiner 4 
 
 ODDITIES, the English famous for them 144 
 
 Oedipus, faults in that tragedy 1:0 
 
 Oger, Sir William, his manner of courtship s 
 
 Old people, remember past times best 6 
 
 Old men, of Gray's Inn, account of them 4\ 
 
 Operators, cephalic, their petition 64 
 
 Oppian, his description of a war-horse 86 
 
 Oratory, an odd kind of it condemned 84 
 
 Othello, beauties and defects in that tragedy 37 
 
 Ovid, quotation from him, about humanity to ani- 
 mals 61 
 
 Strada's 122 
 
 PAINTING, in Poetry, what it is 86 
 
 Palaces, of the French king, described ;o 
 
 Pandemonium, of Milton, proposed to be represent- 
 ed in fire-works 103 
 
 Pandolph, Sir Harry, his manner of courtship 5 
 
 H is manner of telling a story 49 
 
 Parents, generally err in marrying their children 57 
 
 Too careful and mercenary in disposing of their 
 
 children 57 
 
 Paschal, Mr. his observations on Cromwel's death .. 136 
 
 Passions, disasters attending irregular passions a 
 
 Pastoral life, at the first period or the world, its feli- 
 city 92 
 
 Qualities thereof 
 
 Poetry 40 
 
 Criticisms thereon 23, 40 
 
 Rules for writing it 30 
 
 Poet ry , explained by an allegory 32 
 
 English, characterised 14,98, 30 
 
 French, wherein faulty 2e 
 
 Of Sanazarius, condemned 28 
 
 Patch, parson, why so called 116 
 
 Patience, opposed to scorn 152 
 
 Peace proclaimed, and prayers on that occasion 80 
 
 Pedants, their veneration for Greek and Latin con- 
 demned 9c 
 
 Pedigrees, the vanity of them ridiculed 137 
 
 Peer, Mr. William, his character and excellencies... 82 
 
 Broke his heart for growing fat 82 
 
 Peripatetics of Gray's Inn 44 
 
 Persian Sultan, an instance of the justice of one 95 
 
 Peruke, a kind of index to the mind U3 
 
 Petticoat, great, the grievance thereof 114 
 
 Phenomena of nature, imitated by art 103 
 
 Pharisees, for what blamed by Christ 93 
 
 Philantus, and his cockle shells affronted 92 
 
 Philips, Ambrose, his excellence in pastoral poetry 
 
 30, 32 
 
 Philogram, his letter on speech and letters 172 
 
 Philosopher, self taught, Arabian notion of such a 
 
 one, 61 
 
 Philosopher's stone, Mr. Ironside's search after it... 166 
 
 Physicians, never take physic 174 
 
 Physico-Theology, by Dr. Derbam, recommended... 175 
 
 Picts, women untuckered, advised to imitate them.. 140 
 
 Pidgeon, Bat, the hair-cutter, recommended 1, 43 
 
 His petition 64 
 
 Pilpay, his fable on the cruel usage of animals 61 
 
 Pindar, compared with Tom D'Urfey 67 
 
 Pineal gland in the brain, discovered by Des Cartes.. 35 
 
 Voyage through several 35 
 
 Pismires, nations of them described 133 
 
 Plain, Tom, his letter complaining of great hoop 
 
 petticoats 114 
 
 Plato, his opinion of a future state ~" 
 
 His answer to a scandalous report of him 85 
 
 What he said of censure 35 
 
INDEX. 
 
 263 
 
 No. 
 
 ayers, robbed in their journey to Oxford, 91 
 
 easure, men of, wherein miserable 35 
 
 "^riety of, prepared for the different stages of life.. 62 
 
 Fantastical 49 
 
 Natural, what 49 
 
 Sensual, the lowest 62 
 
 Not to be exclaimed against in reclaiming of youth 127 
 Plotting Sisters, that play honoured by the presence 
 
 of Charles the Second., 82 
 
 Plutarch, examples of his good nature 61 
 
 Poet, history of an ancient Greek 14 1 
 
 Poets tragic, errors committed by them 110 
 
 Poetry, sacred 51 
 
 Compared with dress 149 
 
 Different styles required for the different kinds of 
 
 it 149 
 
 Polydore and Melissa, their story $5 
 
 Poor, mostly provided for by the middle kind of peo- 
 ple 79 
 
 Pope, his pastorals compared with those of Philips .. 40 
 
 His description of a war-horse 86 
 
 Popes, the Leos the best, and Innocents the worst... 141 
 
 Poppy, Ned, the story-teller, described .. 24 
 
 Possession, true, consists in enjoyment 4'J 
 
 Posterity, the regard we should have thereto 138 
 
 Posture-master, his frolics about clothes 102 
 
 Pounce, Hugh, the iron poet, his petition 64 
 
 Practical Christianity, by Dr. Lucas, a specimen of 
 
 that work 63 
 
 Praise, grateful to human nature 135 
 
 Prayer, of a gentleman of fashion 81 
 
 Made by Henry IV. of trance, before a battle 19 
 
 Common, of the Church of England, its excellency 65 
 
 Prejudice, allegorically described 39 
 
 Pretty gentleman, described 38 
 
 Priest, the respect to that title 130_ 
 
 Prim, Ruth, her advice to Nestor Ironside 132* 
 
 Prior, Matthew, gome pretty verses of his 54 
 
 His character of perfect beauty 85 
 
 Prolusions of Strada on the style of poets.... 112, 115, 122 
 
 Property-man at the play-house, his office 82 
 
 At the play, robbed 95 
 
 Proteus compared to Death 95 
 
 Proverbs, when the use of them is insupportable 24 
 
 Concerning a good mistress of a family .' 168 
 
 Providence, a remarkable instance of its interposition 117 
 
 Psalm, 137, translated by Sir Philip Sidney 18 
 
 Prudes, how they should paint themselves 140 
 
 Public spirit in Cato 33 
 
 Humorous mistakes concerning it 58 
 
 Punning, an apology for it 36 
 
 Purville, Mr. the Property-man„'account of his being 
 
 robbed 95 
 
 Puzzle, Peter, his dream l06 
 
 165 
 
 Pythagoras, his learning, and that ofi»i» iumiiy. 
 His invvntiuu wf Ok. ft.uv»jtxtioii of British Cl 
 
 57 
 
 QUERIES, concerning matrimony 
 
 RACE-HORSES, cruel to put them to their utmost 
 
 speed for diversion only 6 
 
 Rakes, in love, not so bad as gallant men 17 
 
 Characterised 131 
 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter, his saying of Walsingham 71 
 
 Raphael, the beauties of his picture of our Saviour 
 
 appearing to his disciples 19 
 
 Reading, how abused .... 60 
 
 Recipe for making an Epic poem 78 
 
 Recluse, idleness exposed 13 1 
 
 Reformation of manners, a project for that purpose.. 107 
 
 Religion, enquiries into it, urged 75 
 
 Renown, women of, instance* of them 11 
 
 Repartee, a quick one in parliament 137 
 
 Reproof distinguished from reproach 56 
 
 Revenge, the wickedness of it 20 
 
 A remarkable instance of it 8 
 
 Rich men, what Diogenes said of them 91 
 
 Riding-dress, w!.y called Pindaric 149 
 
 Ringwood, Esau, his memorial, in behalf of hunters. 64 
 
 Jack, his temple education described 151 
 
 His milliners and shoemakers bill's 151 
 
 Roarings of Button's lion 121 
 
 Rochester, bishop of, his definition of wit 141 
 
 Roscommon, earl of, his rule for translating 164 
 
 Rowley, Mr. his proposal for new globes 1 
 
 Rural life, what destroyed the tranquillity of it 
 
 amongst the first race of men 22 
 
 Rustysides, his letter on masquerades 142 
 
 SACRED poetry, pleasant and beneficial 51 
 
 Sackville, lord Edward, his answer to lord Brace's 
 
 challenge 1 29 
 
 - Account oi his combat with lord Bruce 133 
 
 No. 
 
 Sadducees, may be called Freethinkers among the 
 
 Jews 93 
 
 Sanazarius, his pastorals, condemned... 28 
 
 Santon, Barsisa, his history from the Turkish Tales. 148 
 
 Scandal, a vice the fair sex too easily give in to 85 
 
 Scaron, account of his marriage with madam Main- 
 tenon 47 
 
 Schacabac, the Persian, an instance of his complai- 
 sance 163 
 
 Schools, the pleasure of them 62 
 
 Scorn opposed to patience 159 
 
 Scriptures, the belief of them considered 7i 
 
 Segonia, John de, account of his combat with his 
 
 brother 104 
 
 Servants, the duty of masters towards them 85 
 
 Sexes, the comparative perfections of them 152" 
 
 At war, reconciled by Virtue and Love 152 
 
 Shame, fear of it, overcomes tenderness 105 
 
 Public, the use of it 03 
 
 Shepherd, true character of one in Pastorals 23 
 
 Short Club, account of it 91, 92 
 
 Sickness, the effects it has on the mind 132 ■ 
 
 Sidney, Sir Philip, a psalm translated by him 18 
 
 Silvio, his bill of costs in courting Zelinda 94 
 
 Similies, difficult to succeed in them 64 
 
 Sleep, shows the divinity of the human soul 93 
 
 Sloth more invincible than vice 131 
 
 Small-coalman, his musical talent 144 
 
 Smooth, Arthur, his letter about his wife, who is very 
 
 seldom angry 73 
 
 Sneezing, a treatise thereon 60 
 
 Snow, artificial, before the French king 103 
 
 Snuff, philosophical, the use of it 35 
 
 Socrates, his remarks on philosophy 70 
 
 Contemned censure 135 
 
 Softly, Simon, ill used by a widow 93 
 
 Soldiers, christian, vigilance recommended to them. 18 
 
 Moved at the distress in a tragedy 19 
 
 Soliloquy of an Athenian libertine 18 
 
 Solomon, his choice of wisdom 11 1 
 
 Somersetshire pastoral ballad 40 
 
 Song, by a lady who loved an ugly man 16 
 
 Writing, a criticism thereon 16 
 
 Sophia, refuses a present of jewels on her marriage.. 147 
 
 Soul, discovery of the seat of it, by Des Cartes 35 
 
 Sympathy of. 150 
 
 South, Dr. extract from his discourse on a good 
 
 conscience 135 
 
 Sparkler, her letter about the character of Lucia and 
 
 Marcia, in Cato 43 
 
 Speculative part of mankind, compared with the ac- 
 tive 130 
 
 Speech, a discourse thereon 172 
 
 Spies, the use secretary Walsingham made of them. 71 
 
 Spleen, the Dutch not subject to it 131 
 
 Spring, the beauties of that season described 125 
 
 Verses thereon 125 
 
 Called the youth and health of the year 125 
 
 Squires, country, ignorant of nattire 169 
 
 Stage, an instance of its force in reforming the world 43 
 
 Statius, Strada's 129 
 
 Steele, Mr. his letters against the Examiner 53, 63 
 
 His letters about Dunkirk 168 
 
 Stomachers for beaus 171 
 
 Story-tellers, censured for ridiculous punctuality 42 
 
 Story-telling, not an art, but a knack 42 
 
 Rules for it 24, 42 
 
 Strada, his excellent prolusions 115, 119, 12a 
 
 Sublime, Longinus, his best rule for it 152 
 
 Boileau's notes on it 117 
 
 Sullen husbands complained of.... - 132 
 
 Swagger, Tom, his letter to Old Testy 145 
 
 Affronted 17 1 
 
 Swords, the immoderate length of them condemned 
 
 143, 145 
 
 Sympathy of souls 151 
 
 TALE-TELLERS, hired to lull people asleep in Ire- 
 land 42 
 
 Tall Club, an account of it 108 
 
 Temple education, account of it 151 
 
 Temple, sir William, his account of English humour 87 
 
 His remarks on the gardens of Alcinous 173 
 
 His character of the Dutch 131 
 
 Teraminta, angry about the tucker 109 
 
 Like a wag-tail 125 
 
 Terrs-filius, at Oxford, reflections on him 73 
 
 Terrible Club, account of it 143 
 
 Terror, Andrew, the Mohock, a cure wrought on 
 
 him 11 
 
 Theano, the wife of Pythagoras, taught philosophy.. 165 
 Theocritus's Idyls, compared with Virgil's Eclogues. 28 
 Theodosius, the emperor, married to Athenias, a 
 
 Grecian virgin 15* 
 
264 
 
 INDEX 
 
 No. 
 Thrift, Generosity, hU letter about the French trade 170 
 TiUetaon, extract from his discourse concerning the 
 
 Danger of all known sin 21 
 
 Time, not to be squandered 188 
 
 Tiniogenes, a man of false honour 16 1 
 
 Timoleon, the Corinthian, his piety and remarkable 
 
 preservation 1 17 
 
 Tiptoe, Tom, a gallant member of the short club 92 
 
 Topknot, Dr. why so called 116 
 
 T01 v, English, his letters about demolishing Dun- 
 kirk 128, 131 
 
 Trade, its interest the same with that of land 76 
 
 With France, prejudical to England 170 
 
 Tragedy-writers, wherein notoriously defective 1 10 
 
 Translation, lord Roscommon's rules for it 164 
 
 The best means of refining and polishing a lan- 
 guage 1 64 
 
 Treatise recommended as useful towards the improve- 
 ment of the world 43 
 
 Tremble, Tom, the quaker, his letter on naked 
 
 breasts 116 
 
 Truelove, Tom, the character of a good husband 113 
 
 Tuck, Tim, the hero of the short club 92 
 
 Tucker, remarks on the ladies laying it aside, 18, 26, 
 
 S3, 36, 48, 52, 56 
 
 Tugghe, Sieur, of Dunkirk, his impudence 28 
 
 Turks, their humanity to animals 61 
 
 Tutors, ill used and ill paid 60 
 
 ULYSSES, Cosmopolite, his letter on the pineal 
 
 gland in the brain 35 
 
 Umbra, her letter on public shame 95 
 
 United Provinces, advantages they enjoyed over the 
 
 French 52 
 
 Universities, the foundation of them owing to reli- 
 gion 62 
 
 Designed to teach refined luxury and enjoyments.. 62 
 
 University education, its errors 94 
 
 VANITY of mankind, to make themselves known.. 1 
 
 Variety, the nature and sweets of it 
 
 Versailles described 
 
 Verses to Mrs. Annabella Lizard 
 
 From Juvenal and Ovid, translated by Dryden..54, 
 
 From the French 
 
 On the uncertainty of happiness, by Shakspeare... 
 
 By Dryden and Prior '. 
 
 From Juvenal 
 
 From Young's poem on the last day 
 
 From Ovid, translated by Dryden 
 
 An essay on the different styles of poetry 
 
 From lord Rochester 
 
 On the transmigration of souls 
 
 Describing the garden of Alcinous 
 
 From Anacreon 
 
 Out of Claudian 
 
 From Congreve 85, 
 
 From Eusden's translation of the Rape of Proser- 
 pine 
 
 Eve treating an angel, described from Milton 
 
 On gardening 
 
 By Prior, Congreve, and Addison 85, 
 
 Description ofa horse 
 
 From a manuscript on hunting 
 
 From Martial 
 
 From Racine's Athalia 
 
 N . 
 
 Verses describing the spring 12a 
 
 Concerning translation, by lord Roscommon 64 
 
 The court of Venus from Claudian 27 
 
 From Virgil, translated by Dryden 138 
 
 On wit and wisdom 141 
 
 On the art of writing, by a lady 172 
 
 Verulam, lord, his writings a glory to the English 
 
 nation 25 
 
 Criticism on the style of his History of Henry the 
 seventh 45 
 
 Vice, observations on the great vices 19 
 
 Of people of quality, not to be taxed 26 
 
 Virgil, his eclogues compared with Theocritus's Idyls 28 
 
 Remarks on his praise of Augustus 138 
 
 Strada's, commended 115, 119, 1 
 
 Virtue, its interests supplanted by common custom.. 57 
 
 Christian, recommended 20, 55, 79 
 
 Misrepresented by Free-thinkers 79 
 
 Vision of Xenophon Ill 
 
 Voluptuary, the misery of one described 35 
 
 WAG-TAILS, their way of courting 125 
 
 Walsingham, sir Francis, his lions, who 7 1 
 
 His letter concerning Queen Elizabeth's marriage 
 
 with the Frencn king's brother 7 
 
 Wanderer in reading 60 
 
 Ward, Mr. John, of Chester, his vanity l 
 
 Wealth, insolent, with respect to women 45 
 
 Weather, fine, the pleasure it occasions 125 
 
 Wedding-clothes, the vanity of them exposed 113 
 
 Wenefrede, St. a doubtful person 91 
 
 Whiston, Mr. his letter on the longitude 108 
 
 White, Thomas r his letter to Nestor Ironside, con- 
 cerning the philosopher's stone 167 
 
 Whoring, precautions against it r» 
 
 Instance ofa gentleman reclaimed from it 17 
 
 Wife, sir Thomas More's direction for the choice 
 
 of one 164 
 
 William the Third, king, his saying of Lewis the 
 
 Fourteenth, and madam Main tenon 48 
 
 Wilkins, bishop, his art of flying 1 12 
 
 Wisdom opposed to cunning 163 
 
 Solomon's choice of it 112 
 
 Wiseacre, squire, the cause of his ruin 147 
 
 Wise men, to think with them, but talk with the 
 
 vulgar 24 
 
 Wit, defined, by the bishop of Rochester 141 
 
 Women, the villainy of deluding them exposed 17 
 
 Vanity of the compliments paid them by fops 26 
 
 Their vices not to be taxed 26 
 
 None in the world 26 
 
 Generally married too young 7 
 
 Should have learning •.• 155 
 
 Wisdom and L-nnwipdge recommended to their 
 
 study - iS5, 159, ies 
 
 Worship, public, indecencies committed at it 65 
 
 Wounds, most dangerous on a full stomach 133 
 
 Writing, verses on that ait, by a young lady 171 
 
 XENOPHON, his account of the vision of Hercules ill 
 
 YORKSHIRE gentleman, his diet at Pans. 
 
 ZEAL, the use politicians make of it.... 
 Zelinda, her generosity to Sylvio. 
 
 34 
 
 THE END 
 
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