ADVERTISEMENT.

Mr. Bickerstaff's aerial messenger has brought him a report of what

passed at the auction of pictures which was in Somerset House Yard on

Monday last, and finds there were no "screens" present, but all

transacted with great justice.

N.B. All false buyers at auctions being employed only to hide others,

are from this day forward to be known in Mr. Bickerstaff's writings by

the word "screens."

[Footnote 261: The four kings were Iroquois chiefs who had been

persuaded by adjacent British colonists to come and pay their respects

to Queen Anne, and satisfy themselves of the untruth of the assertion

made by the Jesuits, that the English and all other nations were vassals

to the French king. They were said also to have been told that the

Saviour was born in France and crucified in England. The names of the

kings, according to Boyer's "Annals," were: Tee Yee Neen Ho Ga Prow, and

Sa Ga Yean Qua Prah Ton, of the Maquas; Elow Oh Kaom, and Oh Nee Yeath

Ton No Prow, of the River Sachem, and the Ganajoh-hore Sachem. They had

an audience of the Queen on April 19, 1710, and were afterwards

entertained by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, the Duke of

Ormonde, &c., until their departure for Boston on the 8th of May. See

Addison's paper in the _Spectator_, No. 50, and Swift's remark upon it

in the "Journal to Stella," April 28, 1711. A concert at York Buildings

on May 1, 1710, "for the entertainment of the Emperor of the Mohocks and

the three Indian kings," was advertised in No. 165 of the _Tatler_. The

kings were lodged at the Two Crowns and Cushion, the house of an

upholsterer in Covent Garden, probably Thomas Arne, the father of Dr.

Thomas Arne the musician, and Mrs. Cibber, the actress. The following

advertisement appeared at the end of No. 250, dated Nov. 14, 1710, and

with some variation was reprinted in Nos. 253, 256, and 267 of the

original edition: "This is to give notice, that the metzotinto-prints,

by John Simmonds, in whole lengths, of the four Indian kings, that are

done from the original pictures drawn by John Verelst, which her Majesty

has at her palace at Kensington, are now to be delivered to subscribers,

and sold at the Rainbow and Dove, the corner of Ivy Bridge in the

Strand."]

[Footnote 262: Arne's shop.]

No. 172. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, May 13_, to _Tuesday, May 16, 1710_.

Quid quisque vitet, nunquam homini satis

Cautum est in horas.--HOR., 2 Od. xiii. 13.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 15._

When a man is in a serious mood, and ponders upon his own make, with a

retrospect to the actions of his life, and the many fatal miscarriages

in it, which he owes to ungoverned passions, he is then apt to say to

himself, that experience has guarded him against such errors for the

future: but nature often recurs in spite of his best resolutions, and it

is to the very end of our days a struggle between our reason and our

temper, which shall have the empire over us. However, this is very much

to be helped by circumspection, and a constant alarm against the first

onsets of passion. As this is in general a necessary care to make a

man's life easy and agreeable to himself, so it is more particularly the

duty of such as are engaged in friendship and more near commerce with

others. Those who have their joys, have also their griefs in proportion,

and none can extremely exalt or depress friends, but friends. The harsh

things which come from the rest of the world, are received and repulsed

with that spirit which every honest man bears for his own vindication;

but unkindness in words or actions among friends, affects us at the

first instant in the inmost recesses of our souls. Indifferent people,

if I may so say, can wound us only in heterogeneous parts, maim us in

our legs or arms; but the friend can make no pass but at the heart

itself. On the other side, the most impotent assistance, the mere

well-wishes of a friend, gives a man constancy and courage against the

most prevailing force of his enemies. It is here only a man enjoys and

suffers to the quick. For this reason, the most gentle behaviour is

absolutely necessary to maintain friendship in any degree above the

common level of acquaintance. But there is a relation of life much more

near than the most strict and sacred friendship, that is to say,

marriage. This union is of too close and delicate a nature to be easily

conceived by those who do not know that condition by experience. Here a

man should, if possible, soften his passions; if not for his own ease,

in compliance to a creature formed with a mind of a quite different make

from his own. I am sure, I do not mean it an injury to women, when I say

there is a sort of sex in souls. I am tender of offending them, and know

it is hard not to do it on this subject; but I must go on to say, that

the soul of a man and that of a woman are made very unlike, according to

the employments for which they are designed. The ladies will please to

observe, I say, our minds have different, not superior qualities to

theirs. The virtues have respectively a masculine and a feminine cast.

What we call in men wisdom, is in women prudence. It is a partiality to

call one greater than the other. A prudent woman is in the same class of

honour as a wise man, and the scandals in the way of both are equally

dangerous. But to make this state anything but a burden, and not hang a

weight upon our very beings, it is very proper each of the couple should

frequently remember, that there are many things which grow out of their

very natures that are pardonable, nay becoming, when considered as such,

but without that reflection must give the quickest pain and vexation. To

manage well a great family is as worthy an instance of capacity, as to

execute a great employment; and for the generality, as women perform the

considerable part of their duties as well as men do theirs, so in their

common behaviour, those of ordinary genius are not more trivial than the

common rate of men; and in my opinion, the playing of a fan is every

whit as good an entertainment as the beating a snuff-box.

But however I have rambled in this libertine manner of writing by way of

essay, I now sat down with an intention to represent to my readers, how

pernicious, how sudden, and how fatal surprises of passion are to the

mind of man; and that in the more intimate commerces of life they are

most liable to arise, even in our most sedate and indolent hours.

Occurrences of this kind have had very terrible effects; and when one

reflects upon them, we cannot but tremble to consider what we are

capable of being wrought up to against all the ties of nature, love,

honour, reason, and religion, though the man who breaks through them

all, had, an hour before he did so, a lively and virtuous sense of their

dictates. When unhappy catastrophes make up part of the history of

princes, and persons who act in high spheres, or are represented in the

moving language and well-wrought scenes of tragedians, they do not fail

of striking us with terror; but then they affect us only in a transient

manner, and pass through our imaginations, as incidents in which our

fortunes are too humble to be concerned, or which writers form for the

ostentation of their own force; or, at most, as things fit rather to

exercise the powers of our minds, than to create new habits in them.

Instead of such high passages, I was thinking it would be of great use

(if anybody could hit it) to lay before the world such adventures as

befall persons not exalted above the common level. This, methought,

would better prevail upon the ordinary race of men, who are so

prepossessed with outward appearances, that they mistake fortune for

nature, and believe nothing can relate to them that does not happen to

such as live and look like themselves.

The unhappy end of a gentleman whose story an acquaintance of mine was

just now telling me, would be very proper for this end if it could be

related with all the circumstances as I heard it this evening; for it

touched me so much, that I cannot forbear entering upon it.

Mr. Eustace,[263] a young gentleman of a good estate near Dublin in

Ireland, married a lady of youth, beauty, and modesty, and lived with

her in general with much ease and tranquillity; but was in his secret

temper impatient of rebuke: she is apt to fall into little sallies of

passion, yet as suddenly recalled by her own reflection on her fault,

and the consideration of her husband's temper. It happened, as he, his

wife, and her sister, were at supper together about two months ago, that

in the midst of a careless and familiar conversation, the sisters fell

into a little warmth and contradiction. He, who was one of that sort of

men who are never unconcerned at what passes before them, fell into an

outrageous passion on the side of the sister. The person about whom they

disputed was so near, that they were under no restraint from running

into vain repetitions of past heats: on which occasion all the

aggravations of anger and distaste boiled up, and were repeated with the

bitterness of exasperated lovers. The wife observing her husband

extremely moved, began to turn it off, and rally him for interposing

between two people who from their infancy had been angry and pleased

with each other every half-hour. But it descended deeper into his

thoughts, and they broke up with a sullen silence. The wife immediately

retired to her chamber, whither her husband soon after followed. When

they were in bed, he soon dissembled a sleep, and she, pleased that his

thoughts were composed, fell into a real one. Their apartment was very

distant from the rest of their family, in a lonely country house. He now

saw his opportunity, and with a dagger he had brought to bed with him,

stabbed his wife in the side. She awaked in the highest terror; but

immediately imagined it was a blow designed for her husband by ruffians,

began to grasp him, and strive to awake and rouse him to defend himself.

He still pretended himself sleeping, and gave her a second wound.

She now drew open the curtains, and by the help of moonlight saw his

hand lifted up to stab her. The horror disarmed her from further

struggling; and he, enraged anew at being discovered, fixed his poniard

in her bosom. As soon as he believed he had despatched her, he attempted

to escape out of the window: but she, still alive, called to him not to

hurt himself; for she might live. He was so stung with the insupportable

reflection upon her goodness and his own villainy, that he jumped to the

bed, and wounded her all over with as much rage as if every blow was

provoked by new aggravations. In this fury of mind he fled away. His

wife had still strength to go to her sister's apartment, and give her an

account of this wonderful tragedy; but died the next day. Some weeks

after, an officer of justice, in attempting to seize the criminal, fired

upon him, as did the criminal upon the officer. Both their balls took

place, and both immediately expired.

[Footnote 263: "Last Sunday Mr. Francis Eustace committed a most

barbarous murder on the body of his wife, by giving her seven or eight

stabs with his sword, of which she died instantly. He jumped out of the

window, and falling on a palisado pale, tore his legs and thighs in such

a manner that he was forced to have them dressed by the surgeon, who is

since sent to Newgate for letting him escape, and a proclamation is

issued out for apprehending him" (_British Mercury_, 1710).]

No. 173. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, May 16_, to _Thursday, May 18, 1710_.

----Sapientia prima est

Stultitia caruisse.--HOR., I Ep. i. 41.

* * * * *

_Sheer Lane, May 17._

When I first began to learn to push[264] this last winter, my master had

a great deal of work upon his hands to make me unlearn the postures and

motions which I had got by having in my younger years practised

backsword, with a little eye to the single falchion. "Knock-down"[265]

was the word in the Civil Wars, and we generally added to this skill the

knowledge of the Cornish hug, as well as the grapple, to play with hand

and foot. By this means I was for defending my head when the French

gentleman was making a full pass at my bosom, insomuch that he told me I

was fairly killed seven times in one morning, without having done my

master any other mischief than one knock on the pate. This was a great

misfortune to me; and I believe I may say, without vanity, I am the

first who ever pushed so erroneously, and yet conquered the prejudice of

education so well, as to make my passes so clear, and recover hand and

foot with that agility, as I do at this day. The truth of it is, the

first rudiments of education are given very indiscreetly by most

parents, as much with relation to the more important concerns of the

mind, as in the gestures of the body. Whatever children are designed

for, and whatever prospects the fortune or interest of their parents may

give them in their future lives, they are all promiscuously instructed

the same way; and Horace and Virgil must be thrummed by a boy as well

before he goes to an apprenticeship as to the University. This

ridiculous way of treating the under-aged of this island has very often

raised both my spleen and mirth, but I think never both at once so much

as to-day. A good mother of our neighbourhood made me a visit with her

son and heir, a lad somewhat above five foot, and wants but little of

the height and strength of a good musketeer in any regiment in the

service. Her business was to desire I would examine him, for he was far

gone in a book, the first letters of which she often saw in my papers.

The youth produced it, and I found it was my friend Horace. It was very

easy to turn to the place the boy was learning in, which was the fifth

Ode of the first Book, to Pyrrha. I read it over aloud, as well because

I am always delighted when I turn to the beautiful parts of that author,

as also to gain time for considering a little how to keep up the

mother's pleasure in her child, which I thought barbarity to interrupt.

In the first place I asked him, who this same Pyrrha was? He answered

very readily, she was the wife of Pyrrhus, one of Alexander's captains.

I lifted up my hands. The mother curtsies. "Nay," says she, "I knew you

would stand in admiration."----"I assure you," continued she, "for all

he looks so tall, he is but very young. Pray ask him some more, never

spare him." With that I took the liberty to ask him, what was the

character of this gentlewoman? He read the three first verses:

_Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa

Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus,

Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?_[266]

and very gravely told me, she lived at the sign of the Rose in a cellar.

I took care to be very much astonished at the lad's improvements; but

withal advised her, as soon as possible, to take him from school, for he

could learn no more there. This very silly dialogue was a lively image

of the impertinent method used in breeding boys without genius or

spirit, to the reading things for which their heads were never framed.

But this is the natural effect of a certain vanity in the minds of

parents, who are wonderfully delighted with the thought of breeding

their children to accomplishments, which they believe nothing but want

of the same care in their own fathers prevented them from being masters

of. Thus it is, that the part of life most fit for improvement is

generally employed in a method against the bent of Nature; and a lad of

such parts as are fit for an occupation, where there can be no calls out

of the beaten path, is two or three years of his time wholly taken up in

knowing how well Ovid's mistress became such a dress; how such a nymph

for her cruelty was changed into such an animal; and how it is made

generous in AEneas to put Turnus to death, gallantries that can no more

come within the occurrences of the lives of ordinary men, than they can

be relished by their imaginations. However, still the humour goes on

from one generation to another; and the pastrycook here in the lane the

other night told me, he would not yet take away his son from his

learning, but has resolved, as soon as he had a little smattering in the

Greek, to put him apprentice to a soap-boiler. These wrong beginnings

determine our success in the world; and when our thoughts are originally

falsely biased, their agility and force do but carry us the further out

of our way in proportion to our speed. But we are half-way our journey

when we have got into the right road. If all our days were usefully

employed, and we did not set out impertinently, we should not have so

many grotesque professors in all the arts of life, but every man would

be in a proper and becoming method of distinguishing or entertaining

himself suitably to what Nature designed him. As they go on now, our

parents do not only force us upon what is against our talents, but our

teachers are also as injudicious in what they put us to learn. I have

hardly ever since suffered so much by the charms of any beauty, as I did

before I had a sense of passion, for not apprehending that the smile of

Lalage was what pleased Horace;[267] and I verily believe, the stripes I

suffered about _digito male pertinaci_[268] has given that

irreconcilable aversion, which I shall carry to my grave, against

coquettes.

As for the elegant writer of whom I am talking, his excellences are to

be observed as they relate to the different concerns of his life; and he

is always to be looked upon as a lover, a courtier, or a man of wit. His

admirable odes have numberless instances of his merit in each of these

characters. His epistles and satires are full of proper notices for the

conduct of life in a Court; and what we call good breeding, most

agreeably intermixed with his morality. His addresses to the persons who

favour him are so inimitably engaging, that Augustus complained of him

for so seldom writing to him, and asked him, whether he was afraid

posterity should read their names together? Now for the generality of

men to spend much time in such writings, is as pleasant a folly as any

he ridicules. Whatever the crowd of scholars may pretend, if their way

of life, or their own imaginations, do not lead them to a taste of him,

they may read, nay write, fifty volumes upon him, and be just as they

were when they began. I remember to have heard a great painter say,

there are certain faces for certain painters, as well as certain

subjects for certain poets. This is as true in the choice of studies,

and no one will ever relish an author thoroughly well, who would not

have been fit company for that author had they lived at the same time.

All others are mechanics in learning, and take the sentiments of writers

like waiting-servants, who report what passed at their master's table;

but debase every thought and expression, for want of the air with which

they were uttered.

[Footnote 264: Fence.]

[Footnote 265: Hence the phrase, "a knock-down argument."]

[Footnote 266: Horace, 1 Od. v. 1.]

[Footnote 267: See 1 Od. xxii. 23:

"Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,

Dulce loquentem."

]

[Footnote 268: Horace, 1 Od. ix. 24.]

No. 174. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, May 18_, to _Saturday, May 20, 1710_.

Quem mala stultitia, et quaecunque inscitia veri,

Caecum agit, insanum Chrysippi porticus et grex

Autumat.--HOR., 2 Sat. iii. 43.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 19._

The learned Scotus, to distinguish the race of mankind, gives every

individual of that species what he calls a "seity," something peculiar

to himself, which makes him different from all other persons in the

world. This particularity renders him either venerable or ridiculous,

according as he uses his talents, which always grow out into faults, or

improve into virtues. In the office I have undertaken, you are to

observe, that I have hitherto presented only the more insignificant and

lazy part of mankind under the denomination of "dead men," together with

the degrees towards non-existence, in which others can neither be said

to live nor be defunct, but are only animals merely dressed up like men,

and differ from each other but as flies do by a little colouring or

fluttering of their wings. Now as our discourses heretofore have chiefly

regarded the indolent part of the species, it remains that we do justice

also upon the impertinently active and enterprising. Such as these I

shall take particular care to place in safe custody, and have used all

possible diligence to run up my edifice in Moorfields for that

service.[269]

We who are adept in astrology, can impute it to several causes in the

planets, that this quarter of our great city is the region of such

persons as either never had, or have lost, the use of reason. It has

indeed been time out of mind the receptacle of fools as well as madmen.

The care and information of the former I assign to other learned men,

who have for that end taken up their habitation in those parts; as,

among others, to the famous Dr. Trotter, and my ingenious friend Dr.

Langham.[270] These oraculous proficients are day and night employed in

deep searches, for the direction of such as run astray after their lost

goods: but at present they are more particularly serviceable to their

country, in foretelling the fate of such as have chances in the public

lottery. Dr. Langham shows a peculiar generosity on this occasion,

taking only one half-crown for a prediction, eighteenpence of which to

be paid out of the prizes; which method the doctor is willing to comply

with in favour of every adventurer in the whole lottery. Leaving

therefore the whole generation of such inquirers to such _literati_ as I

have now mentioned, we are to proceed towards peopling our house, which

we have erected with the greatest cost and care imaginable.

It is necessary in this place to premise, that the superiority and force

of mind which is born with men of great genius, and which, when it falls

in with a noble imagination, is called "poetical fury," does not come

under my consideration; but the pretence to such an impulse without

natural warmth, shall be allowed a fit object of this charity; and all

the volumes written by such hands shall be from time to time placed in

proper order upon the rails of the unhoused booksellers within the

district of the college[271] (who have long inhabited this quarter), in

the same manner as they are already disposed soon after their

publication. I promise myself from these writings my best opiates for

those patients whose high imaginations, and hot spirits, have waked them

into distraction. Their boiling tempers are not to be wrought upon by my

gruels and juleps, but must ever be employed, or appear to be so, or

their recovery will be impracticable. I shall therefore make use of such

poets as preserve so constant a mediocrity as never to elevate the mind

into joy, or depress it into sadness, yet at the same time keep the

faculties of the readers in suspense, though they introduce no ideas of

their own. By this means, a disordered mind, like a broken limb, will

recover its strength by the sole benefit of being out of use, and lying

without motion. But as reading is not an entertainment that can take up

the full time of my patients, I have now in pension a proportionable

number of storytellers, who are by turns to walk about the galleries of

the house, and by their narrations second the labours of my pretty good

poets. There are among these storytellers some that have so earnest

countenances, and weighty brows, that they will draw a madman, even when

his fit is just coming on, into a whisper, and by the force of shrugs,

nods, and busy gestures, make him stand amazed so long as that we may

have time to give him his broth without danger.

But as Fortune has the possession of men's minds, a physician may cure

all the sick people of ordinary degree in the whole town, and never come

into reputation. I shall therefore begin with persons of condition; and

the first I shall undertake, shall be the Lady Fidget, the general

visitant, and Will Voluble, the fine talker. These persons shall be

first locked up, for the peace of all whom the one visits, and all whom

the other talks to.

The passion which first touched the brain of both these persons was

envy; and has had such wondrous effects, that to this, Lady Fidget owes

that she is so courteous; to this, Will Voluble that he is eloquent.

Fidget has a restless torment in hearing of any one's prosperity, and

cannot know any quiet till she visits her, and is eyewitness of

something that lessens it. Thus her life is a continual search after

what does not concern her, and her companions speak kindly even of the

absent and the unfortunate, to tease her. She was the first that visited

Flavia after the small-pox, and has never seen her since because she is

not altered. Call a young woman handsome in her company, and she tells

you, it is a pity she has no fortune: say she is rich, and she is as

sorry that she is silly. With all this ill nature, Fidget is herself

young, rich, and handsome; but loses the pleasure of all those

qualities, because she has them in common with others.

To make up her misery, she is well-bred, she hears commendations till

she is ready to faint for want of venting herself in contradictions.

This madness is not expressed by the voice; but is uttered in the eyes

and features: its first symptom is upon beholding an agreeable object, a

sudden approbation immediately checked with dislike.

This lady I shall take the liberty to conduct into a bed of straw and

darkness, and have some hopes, that after long absence from the light,

the pleasure of seeing at all may reconcile her to what she shall see,

though it proves to be never so agreeable.

My physical remarks on the distraction of envy in other persons, and

particularly in Will Voluble, is interrupted by a visit from Mr.

Kidney,[272] with advices which will bring matter of new disturbance to

many possessed with this sort of disorder, which I shall publish to

bring out the symptoms more kindly, and lay the distemper more open to

my view.

_St. James's Coffee-house, May 19._

This evening a mail from Holland brought the following advices:

From the Camp before Douay,[273] May 26, N.S. On the 23rd the

French assembled their army, and encamped with their right near

Bouchain, and their left near Crevecoeur. Upon this motion of the

enemy, the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene made a movement

with their army on the 24th, and encamped from Arlieux to Vitry

and Isez-Esquerchien, where they are so advantageously posted, that

they not only cover the siege, secure our convoys of provisions,

forage, and ammunition, from Lille and Tournay, and the canals and

dykes we have made to turn the water of the Scarp and La Cense to

Bouchain; but are in a readiness, by marching from the right, to

possess themselves of the field of battle marked out betwixt Vitry

and Montigny, or from the left to gain the lines of circumvallation

betwixt Fierin and Dechy: so that whatever way the enemy shall

approach to attack us, whether by the plains of Lens, or by

Bouchain and Valenciennes, we have but a very small movement to

make, to possess ourselves of the ground on which it will be most

advantageous to receive them. The enemy marched this morning from

their left, and are encamped with their right at Oisy, and their

left towards Arras, and, according to our advices, will pass the

Scarp to-morrow, and enter on the plains of Lens, though several

regiments of horse, the German and Liege troops, which are destined

to compose part of their army, have not yet joined them. If they

pass the Scarp, we shall do the like at the same time, to possess

ourselves with all possible advantage of the field of battle: but

if they continue where they are, we shall not remove, because in

our present station we sufficiently cover from all insults both our

siege and convoys.

Monsieur Villars cannot yet go without crutches, and it is believed

will have much difficulty to ride. He and the Duke of Berwick are

to command the French army, the rest of the marshals being only to

assist in council.

Last night we entirely perfected four bridges over the _avant

fosse_ at both attacks; and our saps are so far advanced, that in

three or four days batteries will be raised on the _glacis_, to

batter in breach both the outworks and ramparts of the town.

Letters from the Hague of the 27th, N.S., say, that the Deputies of

the States of Holland, who set out for Gertruydenburg on the 23rd,

to renew the conferences with the French Ministers, returned on the

26th, and had communicated to the States-General the new overtures

that were made on the part of France, which it is believed, if they

are in earnest, may produce a general treaty.

[Footnote 269: See Nos. 125, 127, 175.]

[Footnote 270: Two of the numerous astrologers who lived in Moorfields.]

[Footnote 271: During the first half of the eighteenth century the walls

of Bedlam were made use of by dealers in second-hand books.]

[Footnote 272: The waiter; see No. 1.]

[Footnote 273: Douay capitulated on the 25th of June, after a fifty-four

days siege, which cost the Allies eight thousand men. Two English

regiments were cut to pieces at a sortie made by the besieged French

troops. Two years later Douay was recaptured by Villars.]

No. 175. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, May 20_, to _Tuesday, May 23, 1710_.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 22._

In the distribution of the apartments in the new Bedlam, proper regard

is had to the different sexes, and the lodgings accommodated

accordingly. Among other necessaries, as I have thought fit to appoint

storytellers to soothe the men, so I have allowed tale-bearers to

indulge the intervals of my female patients. But before I enter upon

disposing of the main of the great body that wants my assistance, it is

necessary to consider the human race abstracted from all other

distinctions and considerations except that of sex. This will lead us to

a nearer view of their excellences and imperfections, which are to be

accounted the one or the other, as they are suitable to the design for

which the persons so defective or accomplished came into the world.

To make this inquiry aright, we must speak of the life of people of

condition, and the proportionable applications to those below them will

be easily made, so as to value the whole species by the same rule. We

will begin with the woman, and behold her as a virgin in her father's

house. This state of her life is infinitely more delightful than that

of her brother at the same age. While she is entertained with learning

melodious airs at her spinet, is led round a room in the most

complaisant manner to a fiddle, who is entertained with applauses of her

beauty and perfection in the ordinary conversation she meets with: the

young man is under the dictates of a rigid schoolmaster or instructor,

contradicted in every word he speaks, and curbed in all the inclinations

he discovers. Mrs. Elizabeth is the object of desire and admiration,

looked upon with delight, courted with all the powers of eloquence and

address, approached with a certain worship, and defended with a certain

loyalty. This is her case as to the world: in her domestic character,

she is the companion, the friend, and confidante of her mother, and the

object of a pleasure something like the love between angels, to her

father. Her youth, her beauty, her air, are by him looked upon with an

ineffable transport beyond any other joy in this life, with as much

purity as can be met with in the next.

Her brother William, at the same years, is but in the rudiments of those

acquisitions which must gain him esteem in the world. His heart beats

for applause among men, yet is he fearful of every step towards it. If

he proposes to himself to make a figure in the world, his youth is

damped with a prospect of difficulties, dangers, and dishonours; and an

opposition in all generous attempts, whether they regard his love or his

ambition.

In the next stage of life she has little else to do, but (what she is

accomplished for by the mere gifts of nature) to appear lovely and

agreeable to her husband, tender to her children, and affable to her

servants: but a man, when he enters into this way, is but in the first

scene, far from the accomplishment of his designs. He is now in all

things to act for others as well as himself. He is to have industry and

frugality in his private affairs, and integrity and addresses in public.

To these qualities, he must add a courage and resolution to support his

other abilities, lest he be interrupted in the prosecution of his just

endeavours, in which the honour and interest of posterity are as much

concerned as his own personal welfare.

This little sketch may in some measure give an idea of the different

parts which the sexes have to act, and the advantageous as well as

inconvenient terms on which they are to enter upon their several parts

of life. This may also be some rule to us in the examination of their

conduct. In short, I shall take it for a maxim, that a woman who resigns

the purpose of being pleasing, and the man who gives up the thoughts of

being wise, do equally quit their claim to the true causes of living;

and are to be allowed the diet and discipline of my charitable structure

to reduce them to reason.

On the other side, the woman who hopes to please by methods which should

make her odious, and the man who would be thought wise by a behaviour

that renders him ridiculous, are to be taken into custody for their

false industry, as justly as they ought for their negligence.

* * * * *

N.B. Mr. Bickerstaff is taken extremely ill with the toothache, and

cannot proceed in this discourse.

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

Advices from Flanders of the 30th instant, N.S., say, that the Duke of

Marlborough having intelligence of the enemy's passing the Scarp on the

29th in the evening, and their march towards the plains of Lens, had put

the Confederate army in motion, which was advancing towards the camp on

the north side of that river between Vitry and Henin-Lietard. The

Confederates, since the approach of the enemy, have added several new

redoubts to their camp, and drawn the cannon out of the lines of

circumvallation in a readiness for the batteries.

It is not believed, notwithstanding these appearances, that the enemy

will hazard a battle for the relief of Douay; the siege of which place

is carried on with all the success that can be expected, considering the

difficulties they meet with occasioned by the inundations. On the 28th

at night we made a lodgment on the salient angle of the glacis of the

second counterscarp, and our approaches are so far advanced, that it is

believed the town will be obliged to surrender before the 8th of the

next month.

No. 176. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, May 23_, to _Thursday, May 25, 1710_.

Nul lum numen abest, si sit Prudentia.

JUV., Sat. x. 365.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 23._

This evening, after a little ease from the raging pain caused by so

small an organ as an aching tooth, under which I had behaved myself so

ill as to have broke two pipes and my spectacles, I began to reflect

with admiration on those heroic spirits, which in the conduct of their

lives seem to live so much above the condition of our make, as not only

under the agonies of pain to forbear any intemperate word or gesture,

but also in their general and ordinary behaviour to resist the impulses

of their very blood and constitution. This watch over a man's self, and

the command of his temper, I take to be the greatest of human

perfections, and is the effect of a strong and resolute mind. It is not

only the most expedient practice for carrying on our own designs, but

is also very deservedly the most amiable quality in the sight of others.

It is a winning deference to mankind, which creates an immediate

imitation of itself whenever it appears, and prevails upon all (who have

to do with a person endued with it) either through shame or emulation. I

do not know how to express this habit of mind, except you will let me

call it equanimity. It is a virtue, which is necessary at every hour, in

every place, and in all conversations, and is the effect of a regular

and exact prudence. He that will look back upon all the acquaintances he

has had in his whole life, will find he has seen more men capable of the

greatest employments and performances, than such as could in the general

bent of their carriage act otherwise than according to their own

complexion and humour. But the indulgence of ourselves in wholly giving

way to our natural propensity, is so unjust and improper a licence, that

when people take it up, there is very little difference, with relation

to their friends and families, whether they are good- or ill-natured

men: for he that errs by being wrought upon by what we call the

sweetness of his temper, is as guilty as he that offends through the

perverseness of it.

It is not therefore to be regarded what men are in themselves, but what

they are in their actions. Eucrates[274] is the best-natured of all men;

but that natural softness has effects quite contrary to itself, and for

want of due bounds to his benevolence, while he has a will to be a

friend to all, he has the power of being such to none. His constant

inclination to please makes him never fail of doing so; though (without

being capable of falsehood) he is a friend only to those who are

present; for the same humour which makes him the best companion,

renders him the worst correspondent. It is a melancholy thing to

consider, that the most engaging sort of men in conversation are

frequently the most tyrannical in power, and least to be depended upon

in friendship. It is certain this is not to be imputed to their own

disposition; but he that is to be led by others, has only good luck if

he is not the worst, though in himself the best man living. For this

reason, we are no more wholly to indulge our good than our ill

dispositions. I remember a crafty old cit, one day speaking of a

well-natured young fellow who set up with a good stock in Lombard

Street, "I will," says he, "lay no more money in his hands, for he never

denied me anything." This was a very base, but with him a prudential

reason for breaking off commerce: and this acquaintance of mine carried

this way of judging so far, that he has often told me, he never cared to

deal with a man he liked, for that our affections must never enter into

our business.

When we look round us in this populous city, and consider how credit and

esteem are lodged, you find men have a great share of the former,

without the least portion of the latter. He who knows himself for a

beast of prey, looks upon others in the same light, and we are so apt to

judge of others by ourselves, that the man who has no mercy, is as

careful as possible never to want it. Hence it is, that in many

instances men gain credit by the very contrary methods by which they do

esteem; for wary traders think every affection of the mind a key to

their cash.

But what led me into this discourse was my impatience of pain; and I

have, to my great disgrace, seen an instance of the contrary carriage in

so high a degree, that I am out of countenance that I ever read Seneca.

When I look upon the conduct of others in such occurrences, as well as

behold their equanimity in the general tenor of their life, it very much

abates the self-love, which is seldom well-governed by any sort of men,

and least of all by us authors.

The fortitude of a man who brings his will to the obedience of his

reason is conspicuous, and carries with it a dignity in the lowest state

imaginable. Poor Martius,[275] who now lies languishing in the most

violent fever, discovers in the faintest moments of his distemper such a

greatness of mind, that a perfect stranger who should now behold him,

would indeed see an object of pity, but at the same time that it was

lately an object of veneration. His gallant spirit resigns, but resigns

with an air that speaks a resolution which could yield to nothing but

fate itself. This is conquest in the philosophic sense; but the empire

over ourselves is, methinks, no less laudable in common life, where the

whole tenor of a man's carriage is in subservience to his own reason,

and conformity both to the good sense and inclination of other men.

Aristaeus[276] is, in my opinion, a perfect master of himself in all

circumstances. He has all the spirit that man can have, and yet is as

regular in his behaviour as a mere machine. He is sensible of every

passion, but ruffled by none. In conversation, he frequently seems to be

less knowing to be more obliging, and chooses to be on a level with

others rather than oppress with the superiority of his genius. In

friendship he is kind without profession; in business, expeditious

without ostentation. With the greatest softness and benevolence

imaginable, he is impartial in spite of all importunity, even that of

his own good nature. He is ever clear in his judgment; but in

complaisance to his company, speaks with doubt, and never shows

confidence in argument, but to support the sense of another. Were such

an equality of mind the general endeavour of all men, how sweet would be

the pleasures of conversation? He that is loud would then understand,

that we ought to call a constable, and know, that spoiling good company

is the most heinous way of breaking the peace. We should then be

relieved from these zealots in society, who take upon them to be angry

for all the company, and quarrel with the waiters to show they have no

respect for anybody else in the room. To be in a rage before you, is in

a kind being angry with you. You may as well stand naked before company,

as to use such familiarities; and to be careless of what you say, is the

most clownish way of being undressed.

_Sheer Lane, May 24._

When I came home this evening, I found the following letters; and

because I think one a very good answer to the other, as well as that it

is the affair of a young lady, it must be immediately dismissed:

"SIR,

"I have a good fortune, partly paternal and partly acquired. My

younger years I spent in business; but age coming on, and having no

more children than one daughter, I resolved to be a slave no

longer: and accordingly I have disposed of my effects, placed my

money in the funds, bought a pretty seat in a pleasant country; am

making a garden, and have set up a pack of little beagles. I live

in the midst of a good many well-bred neighbours, and several

well-tempered clergymen. Against a rainy day I have a little

library; and against the gout in my stomach a little good claret.

With all this I am the miserablest man in the world; not that I've

lost the relish of any of these pleasures, but am distracted with

such a multiplicity of entertaining objects, that I am lost in the

variety. I am in such a hurry of idleness, that I do not know with

what diversion to begin. Therefore, sir, I must beg the favour of

you, when your more weighty affairs will permit, to put me in some

method of doing nothing; for I find Pliny makes a great difference

betwixt _Nihil agere_ and _Agere nihil_; and I fancy, if you would

explain him, you would do a very great kindness to many in Great

Britain, as well as to

"Your humble Servant,

"J. B."

"SIR,

"The enclosed is written by my father in one of his pleasant

humours. He bids me seal it up, and send you a word or two from

myself, which he won't desire to see till he hears of it from you.

Desire him before he begins his method of doing nothing, to have

nothing to do; that is to say, let him marry off his daughter. I

am,

"Your gentle Reader,

"S. B."

[Footnote 274: Eucrates reminds us in some respects of Steele himself.]

[Footnote 275: Perhaps Cornelius Wood. See No. 144.]

[Footnote 276: In writing of Aristaeus, Steele seems to have had Addison

in his mind. His friend had recently left London for Ireland.]

No. 177. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, May 25_, to _Saturday, May 27, 1710_.

--Male si palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus.

HOR., 2 Sat. i. 20.

* * * * *

_Sheer Lane, May 26._

The ingenious Mr. Penkethman,[277] the comedian, has lately left here a

paper or ticket, to which is affixed a small silver medal, which is to

entitle the bearer to see one-and-twenty plays at his theatre for a

guinea. Greenwich is the place where, it seems, he has erected his

house; and his time of action is to be so contrived, that it is to fall

in with going and returning with the tide: besides, that the bearer of

this ticket may carry down with him a particular set of company to the

play, striking off for each person so introduced one of his twenty-one

times of admittance. In this warrant of his, he has made me a high

compliment in a facetious distich, by way of dedication of his

endeavours, and desires I would recommend them to the world. I must

needs say, I have not for some time seen a properer choice than he has

made of a patron: who more fit to publish his work than a novelist[278]?

who to recommend it than a censor? This honour done me, has made me turn

my thoughts upon the nature of dedications in general, and the abuse of

that custom, as well by a long practice of my predecessors, as the

continued folly of my contemporary authors.

In ancient times, it was the custom to address their works to some

eminent for their merit to mankind, or particular patronage of the

writers themselves, or knowledge in the matter of which they treated.

Under these regards, it was a memorable honour to both parties, and a

very agreeable record of their commerce with each other. These

applications were never stuffed with impertinent praises, but were the

native product of their esteem, which was implicitly received, or

generally known to be due to the patron of the work: but vain flourishes

came into the world, with other barbarous embellishments; and the

enumeration of titles, and great actions, in the patrons themselves, or

their sires, are as foreign to the matter in hand as the ornaments are

in a Gothic building. This is clapping together persons which have no

manner of alliance, and can for that reason have no other effect than

making both parties justly ridiculous. What pretence is there in Nature

for me to write to a great man, and tell him, "My lord, because your

Grace is a duke, your Grace's father before you was an earl, his

lordship's father was a baron, and his lordship's father both a wise and

a rich man, I, Isaac Bickerstaff, am obliged, and could not possibly

forbear addressing to you the following treatise." Though this is the

plain exposition of all I could possibly say to him with a good

conscience, yet the silly custom has so universally prevailed, that my

lord duke and I must necessarily be particular friends from this time

forward, or else I have just room for being disobliged, and may turn my

panegyric into a libel. But to carry this affair still more home, were

it granted that praises in dedications were proper topics, what is it

that gives a man authority to commend, or what makes it a favour to me

that he does commend me? It is certain, that there is no praise valuable

but from the praiseworthy. Were it otherwise, blame might be as much in

the same hands. Were the good and evil of fame laid upon a level among

mankind, the judge on the bench, and the criminal at the bar, would

differ only in their stations; and if one's word is to pass as much as

the other's, their reputation would be much alike to the jury.

Pliny,[279] speaking of the death of Martial, expresses himself with

great gratitude to him for the honours done him in the writings of that

author; but he begins it with an account of his character, which only

made the applause valuable. He indeed in the same Epistle says, it is a

sign we have left off doing things which deserve praise, when we think

commendation impertinent. This is asserted with a just regard to the

persons whose good opinion we wish for; otherwise reputation would be

valued according to the number of voices a man has for it, which are not

always to be insured on the more virtuous side. But however we pretend

to model these nice affairs, true glory will never attend anything but

truth; and there is something so peculiar in it, that the very self-same

action done by different men cannot merit the same degree of applause.

The Roman, who was surprised in the enemy's camp before he had

accomplished his design, and thrust his bare arm into a flaming pile,

telling the general, there were many as determined as himself who

(against sense of danger) had conspired his death, wrought in the very

enemy an admiration of his fortitude, and a dismission with

applause.[280] But the condemned slave who represented him in the

theatre, and consumed his arm in the same manner, with the same

resolution, did not raise in the spectators a great idea of his virtue,

but of him whom he imitated in an action no way differing from that of

the real Scaevola, but in the motive to it.

Thus true glory is inseparable from true merit, and whatever you call

men, they are no more than what they are in themselves; but a romantic

sense has crept into the minds of the generality, who will ever mistake

words and appearances for persons and things.

The simplicity of the ancients was as conspicuous in the address of

their writings, as in any other monuments they have left behind them.

Caesar and Augustus were much more high words of respect, when added to

occasions fit for their characters to appear in, than any appellations

which have ever been since thought of. The latter of these great men had

a very pleasant way of dealing with applications of this kind. When he

received pieces of poetry which he thought had worth in them, he

rewarded the writer; but where he thought them empty, he generally

returned the compliment made him with some verses of his own.

This latter method I have at present occasion to imitate. A female

author has dedicated a piece to me,[281] wherein she would make my name

(as she has others) the introduction of whatever is to follow in her

book; and has spoke some panegyrical things which I know not how to

return, for want of better acquaintance with the lady, and consequently

being out of a capacity of giving her praise or blame. All therefore

that is left for me, according to the foregoing rules, is to lay the

picture of a good and evil woman before her eyes, which are but mere

words if they do not concern her. Now you are to observe, the way in a

dedication is to make all the rest of the world as little like the

person we address to as possible, according to the following epistle:

"MADAM,

"But, M----

"----_Memorabile nullum

Foeminea in poena est._----"[282]

[Footnote 277: See No. 4.]

[Footnote 278: Writer of news.]

[Footnote 279: "Epist." iii. 21.]

[Footnote 280: Livy, ii. 12.]

[Footnote 281: Mrs. Manley's "Memoirs of Europe ... by the translator of

the 'New Atalantis.'" See Nos. 35, 63.]

[Footnote 282:

"----Nullum memorabile nomen

Foeminea in poena est."--"AEneid," ii. 583-4.

]

No. 178. [STEELE.

From _Saturday, May 27_, to _Tuesday, May 30, 1710_.

* * * * *

_Sheer Lane, May 29._

When we look into the delightful history of the most ingenious Don

Quixote of the Mancha, and consider the exercises and manner of life of

that renowned gentleman, we cannot but admire the exquisite genius and

discerning spirit of Michael Cervantes, who has not only painted his

adventurer with great mastery in the conspicuous parts of his story,

which relate to love and honour, but also intimated in his ordinary

life, economy, and furniture, the infallible symptoms he gave of his

growing frenzy, before he declared himself a knight-errant. His hall was

furnished with old lances, halberds, and morions; his food, lentils; his

dress, amorous. He slept moderately, rose early, and spent his time in

hunting. When by watchfulness and exercise he was thus qualified for the

hardships of his intended peregrinations, he had nothing more to do but

to fall hard to study; and before he should apply himself to the

practical part, get into the methods of making love and war by reading

books of knighthood. As for raising tender passion in him, Cervantes

reports[283] that he was wonderfully delighted with a smooth intricate

sentence; and when they listened at his study-door, they could

frequently hear him read aloud, "The reason of the unreasonableness,

which against my reason is wrought, doth so weaken my reason, as with

all reason I do justly complain on your beauty." Again, he would pause

till he came to another charming sentence, and with the most pleasing

accent imaginable be loud at a new paragraph: "The high heavens, which,

with your divinity, do fortify you divinely with the stars, make you

deserveress of the deserts that your greatness deserves." With these,

and other such passages (says my author) the poor gentleman grew

distracted, and was breaking his brains day and night to understand and

unravel their sense.

As much as the case of this distempered knight is received by all the

readers of his history as the most incurable and ridiculous of all

phrensies, it is very certain we have crowds among us far gone in as

visible a madness as his, though they are not observed to be in that

condition. As great and useful discoveries are sometimes made by

accidental and small beginnings, I came to the knowledge of the most

epidemic ill of this sort, by falling into a coffee-house where I saw my

friend the upholsterer,[284] whose crack[285] towards politics I have

heretofore mentioned. This touch in the brain of the British subject is

as certainly owing to the reading newspapers, as that of the Spanish

worthy above mentioned to the reading works of chivalry. My

contemporaries the novelists[286] have, for the better spinning out

paragraphs, and working down to the end of their columns, a most happy

art in saying and unsaying, giving hints of intelligence, and

interpretations of indifferent actions, to the great disturbance of the

brains of ordinary readers. This way of going on in the words, and

making no progress in the sense, is more particularly the excellence of

my most ingenious and renowned fellow-labourer, the _Postman_[287]; and

it is to this talent in him that I impute the loss of my upholsterer's

intellects. That unfortunate tradesman has for years past been the chief

orator in ragged assemblies, and the reader in alley coffee-houses. He

was yesterday surrounded by an audience of that sort, among whom I sat

unobserved through the favour of a cloud of tobacco, and saw him with

the _Postman_ in his hand, and all the other papers safe under his left

elbow. He was intermixing remarks, and reading the Paris article of May

30, which says that "it is given out that an express arrived this day,

with advice, that the armies were so near in the plain of Lens, that

they cannonaded each other." ("Ay, ay, here we shall have sport.") "And

that it was highly probable the next express would bring us an account

of an engagement." ("They are welcome as soon as they please.") "Though

some others say, that the same will be put off till the 2nd or 3rd of

June, because the Marshal Villars expects some further reinforcements

from Germany, and other parts, before that time." ("What-a-pox does he

put it off for? Does he think our horse is not marching up at the same

time? But let us see what he says further.") "They hope that Monsieur

Albergotti,[288] being encouraged by the presence of so great an army,

will make an extraordinary defence." ("Why then I find, Albergotti is

one of those that love to have a great many on their side. Nay, I'll say

that for this paper, he makes the most natural inferences of any of them

all.") "The Elector of Bavaria being uneasy to be without any command,

has desired leave to come to Court to communicate a certain project to

his Majesty. Whatever it be, it is said that prince is suddenly

expected, and then we shall have a more certain account of his project,

if this report has any foundation." ("Nay, this paper never imposes upon

us, he goes upon sure grounds; for he won't be positive the Elector has

a project, or that he will come, or if he does come at all; for he

doubts, you see, whether the report has any foundation.")

What makes this the more lamentable is, that this way of writing falls

in with the imagination of the cooler and duller part of her Majesty's

subjects. The being kept up with one line contradicting another, and the

whole, after many sentences of conjecture, vanishing in a doubt whether

there is anything at all in what the person has been reading, puts an

ordinary head into a vertigo, which his natural dulness would have

secured him from. Next to the labours of the _Postman_, the upholsterer

took from under his elbow honest Ichabod Dawks' _Letter_,[289] and

there, among other speculations, the historian takes upon him to say

that "it is discoursed that there will be a battle in Flanders before

the armies separate, and many will have it to be to-morrow, the great

battle of Ramillies being fought on a Whit Sunday." A gentleman who was

a wag in this company laughed at the expression, and said, "By Mr.

Dawks' favour, I warrant ye, if we meet them on Whit Sunday, or Monday,

we shall not stand upon the day[290] with them, whether it be before or

after the holidays." An admirer of this gentleman stood up, and told a

neighbour at a distant table the conceit, at which indeed we were all

very merry. These reflections in the writers of the transactions of the

times, seize the noddles of such as were not born to have thoughts of

their own, and consequently lay a weight upon everything which they read

in print. But Mr. Dawks concluded his paper with a courteous sentence,

which was very well taken and applauded by the whole company. "We wish,"

says he, "all our customers a merry Whitsuntide, and many of them."

Honest Ichabod is as extraordinary a man as any of our fraternity, and

as particular. His style is a dialect between the familiarity of talking

and writing, and his letter such as you cannot distinguish whether print

or manuscript, which gives us a refreshment[291] of the idea from what

has been told us from the press by others. This wishing a good tide had

its effect upon us, and he was commended for his salutation, as showing

as well the capacity of a bellman as an historian. My distempered old

acquaintance read in the next place the account of the affairs abroad in

the _Courant_;[292] but the matter was told so distinctly, that these

wanderers thought there was no news in it; this paper differing from the

rest as a history from a romance. The tautology, the contradictions, the

doubts, and wants of confirmations, are what keep up imaginary

entertainments in empty heads, and produce neglect of their own affairs,

poverty, and bankruptcy, in many of the shop-statesmen; but turn the

imaginations of those of a little higher orb into deliriums of

dissatisfaction, which is seen in a continual fret upon all that touches

their brains, but more particularly upon any advantage obtained by their

country, where they are considered as lunatics, and therefore tolerated

in their ravings.

What I am now warning the people of is, that the newspapers of this

island are as pernicious to weak heads in England as ever books of

chivalry to Spain; and therefore shall do all that in me lies, with the

utmost care and vigilance imaginable, to prevent these growing evils. A

flaming instance of this malady appeared in my old acquaintance at this

time, who, after he had done reading all his papers, ended with a

thoughtful air, "If we should have a peace, we should then know for

certain whether it was the King of Sweden that lately came to Dunkirk."

I whispered him, and desired him to step aside a little with me. When I

had opportunity, I decoyed him into a coach, in order for his more easy

conveyance to Moorfields. The man went very quietly with me; and by that

time he had brought the Swede from the defeat by the Czar to the

Boristhenes, we were passing by Will's Coffeehouse, where the man of the

house beckoned to us. We made a full stop, and could hear from above a

very loud voice swearing, with some expressions towards treason, that

the subject in France was as free as in England. His distemper would not

let him reflect, that his own discourse was an argument of the contrary.

They told him, one would speak with him below. He came immediately to

our coach-side. I whispered him, that I had an order to carry him to the

Bastile. He immediately obeyed with great resignation: for to this sort

of lunatic, whose brain is touched for the French, the name of a gaol in

that kingdom has a more agreeable sound than that of a paternal seat in

this their own country. It happened a little unluckily bringing these

lunatics together, for they immediately fell into a debate concerning

the greatness of their respective monarchs; one for the King of Sweden,

the other for the Grand Monarch of France. This gentleman from Will's is

now next door to the upholsterer, safe in his apartment in my Bedlam,

with proper medicaments, and the _Mercure Galant_[293] to soothe his

imagination that he is actually in France. If therefore he should escape

to Covent Garden again, all persons are desired to lay hold of him, and

deliver him to Mr. Morphew, my overseer. At the same time, I desire all

true subjects to forbear discourse with him, any otherwise than when he

begins to fight a battle for France, to say, "Sir, I hope to see you in

England."

[Footnote 283: "Don Quixote," Part I. chap. i.]

[Footnote 284: See Nos. 155, 160.]

[Footnote 285: In the _Spectator_, No. 251, Addison applies the word to

a crazy person: "A crack and a projector."]

[Footnote 286: Writers of newspapers.]

[Footnote 287: The _Postman_ was edited by a French Protestant named

Fontive, whom Dunton describes as "the glory and mirror of news-writers;

a very grave, learned, orthodox man."]

[Footnote 288: Albergotti was then holding Douay for Lewis XIV.]

[Footnote 289: See No. 18. The news-letter was printed to imitate

handwriting.]

[Footnote 290: Cf. "Macbeth," act iii. sc. 4:

"Stand not upon the order of your going,

But go at once!"

]

[Footnote 291: A _rechauffe_.]

[Footnote 292: See No. 18.]

[Footnote 293: See No. 67.]

No. 179. [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, May 30_, to _Thursday, June 1, 1710_.

----O! quis me gelidis sub montibus Haemi

Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra?

VIRG., Georg. ii. 488.[294]

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, May 31._

In this parched season, next to the pleasure of going into the country,

is that of hearing from it, and partaking the joys of it in description,

as in the following letter:

"SIR,

"I believe you will forgive me, though I write to you a very long

epistle, since it relates to the satisfaction of a country life,

which I know you would lead, if you could. In the first place I

must confess to you, that I am one of the most luxurious men

living; and as I am such, I take care to make my pleasures lasting,

by following none but such as are innocent and refined, as well as,

in some measure, improving. You have in your labours been so much

concerned to represent the actions and passions of mankind, that

the whole vegetable world has almost escaped your observation: but

sure there are gratifications to be drawn from thence, which

deserve to be recommended. For your better information, I wish you

could visit your old friend in Cornwall: you would be leased to

see the many alterations I have made about my house, and how much I

have improved my estate without raising the rents of it.

"As the winter engrosses with us near a double portion of the year

(the three delightful vicissitudes being crowded almost within the

space of six months), there is nothing upon which I have bestowed

so much study and expense, as in contriving means to soften the

severity of it, and, if possible, to establish twelve cheerful

months about my habitation. In order to this, the charges I have

been at in building and furnishing a greenhouse will, perhaps, be

thought somewhat extravagant by a great many gentlemen whose

revenues exceed mine. But when I consider, that all men of any life

and spirit have their inclinations to gratify, and when I compute

the sums laid out by the generality of the men of pleasure (in the

number of which I always rank myself) in riotous eating and

drinking, in equipage and apparel, upon wenching, gaming, racing

and hunting; I find, upon the balance, that the indulging of my

humour comes at a reasonable rate.

"Since I communicate to you all incidents serious and trifling,

even to the death of a butterfly, that fall out within the compass

of my little empire, you will not, I hope, be ill pleased with the

draught I now send you of my little winter paradise, and with an

account of my way of amusing myself and others in it.

"The younger Pliny, you know, writes a long letter to his friend

Gallus,[295] in which he gives him a very particular plan of the

situation, the conveniences, and the agreeableness of his villa. In

my last, you may remember, I promised you something of this kind.

Had Pliny lived in a northern climate, I doubt not but we should

have found a very complete orangery amongst his Epistles; and I,

probably, should have copied his model, instead of building after

my own fancy, and you had been referred to him for the history of

my late exploits in architecture: by which means my performances

would have made a better figure, at least in writing, than they are

like to make at present.

"The area of my greenhouse is a hundred paces long, fifty broad,

and the roof thirty feet high. The wall toward the north is of

solid stone. On the south side, and at both the ends, the stonework

rises but three feet from the ground, excepting the pilasters,

placed at convenient distances to strengthen and beautify the

building. The intermediate spaces are filled up with large sashes

of the strongest and most transparent glass. The middle sash (which

is wider than any of the others) serves for the entrance, to which

you mount by six easy steps, and descend on the inside by as many.

This opens and shuts with greater ease, keeps the wind out better,

and is at the same time more uniform than folding-doors.

"In the middle of the roof there runs a ceiling thirty feet broad

from one end to the other. This is enlivened by a masterly pencil,

with all the variety of rural scenes and prospects, which he has

peopled with the whole tribe of sylvan deities. Their characters

and their stories are so well expressed, that the whole seems a

collection of all the most beautiful fables of the ancient poets

translated into colours. The remaining spaces of the roof, ten feet

on each side of the ceiling, are of the clearest glass, to let in

the sky and clouds from above. The building points full east and

west, so that I enjoy the sun while he is above the horizon. His

rays are improved through the glass, and I receive through it what

is desirable in a winter-sky, without the coarse alloy of the

season, which is a kind of sifting or straining the weather. My

greens and lowers are as sensible as I am of this benefit: they

flourish and look cheerful as in the spring, while their fellow

creatures abroad are starved to death. I must add, that a moderate

expense of fire, over and above the contributions I receive from

the sun, serves to keep this large room in a due temperature; it

being sheltered from the cold winds by a hill on the north, and a

wood on the east.

"The shell, you see, is both agreeable and convenient; and now you

shall judge, whether I have laid out the floor to advantage. There

goes through the whole length of it a spacious walk of the finest

gravel, made to bind and unite so firmly, that it seems one

continued stone; with this advantage, that it is easier to the

foot, and better for walking, than if it were what it seems to be.

At each end of the walk, on the one and on the other side of it,

lies a square plot of grass of the finest turf and brightest

verdure. What ground remains on both sides, between these little

smooth fields of green, is flagged with large quarries of white

marble, where the blue veins trace out such a variety of irregular

windings through the clear surface, that these bright plains seem

full of rivulets and streaming meanders. This to my eye, that

delights in simplicity, is inexpressibly more beautiful than the

chequered floors which are so generally admired by others. Upon the

right and upon the left, along the gravel walk, I have ranged

interchangeably the bay, the myrtle, the orange and the lemon

trees, intermixed with painted hollies, silver firs, and pyramids

of yew; all so disposed, that every tree receives an additional

beauty from its situation; besides the harmony that rises from the

disposition of the whole, no shade cuts too strongly, or breaks in

harshly upon the other; but the eye is cheered with a mild rather

than gorgeous diversity of greens.

"The borders of the four grass plots are garnished with pots of

flowers: those delicacies of Nature create two senses at once, and

leave such delightful and gentle impressions upon the brain, that I

cannot help thinking them of equal force with the softest airs of

music, toward the smoothing of our tempers. In the centre of every

plot is a statue. The figures I have made choice of are a Venus, an

Adonis, a Diana, and an Apollo; such excellent copies, as to raise

the same delight as we should draw from the sight of the ancient

originals.

"The north wall would have been but a tiresome waste to the eye, if

I had not diversified it with the most lively ornaments, suitable

to the place. To this intent, I have been at the expense to lead

over arches from a neighbouring hill a plentiful store of spring

water, which a beautiful Naiad, placed as high as is possible in

the centre of the wall, pours out from an urn. This, by a fall of

above twenty foot, makes a most delightful cascade into a basin,

that opens wide within the marble floor on that side. At a

reasonable distance, on either hand of the cascade, the wall is

hollowed into two spreading scallops, each of which receives a

couch of green velvet, and forms at the same time a canopy over

them. Next to them come two large aviaries, which are likewise let

into the stone. These are succeeded by two grottoes, set off with

all the pleasing rudeness of shells and moss, and cragged stones,

imitating in miniature rocks and precipices, the most dreadful and

gigantic works of Nature. After the grottoes, you have two niches,

the one inhabited by Ceres, with her sickle and sheaf of wheat; and

the other by Pomona, who, with a countenance full of good cheer,

pours a bounteous autumn of fruits out of her horn. Last of all

come two colonies of bees, whose stations lying east and west, the

one is saluted by the rising, the other by the setting sun. These,

all of them being placed at proportioned intervals, furnish out the

whole length of the wall; and the spaces that lie between are

painted in fresco, by the same hand that has enriched my ceiling.

"Now, sir, you see my whole contrivance to elude the rigour of the

year, to bring a northern climate nearer the sun, and to exempt

myself from the common fate of my countrymen. I must detain you a

little longer, to tell you, that I never enter this delicious

retirement, but my spirits are revived, and a sweet complacency

diffuses itself over my whole mind. And how can it be otherwise,

with a conscience void of offence, where the music of falling

waters, the symphony of birds, the gentle humming of bees, the

breath of flowers, the fine imagery of painting and sculpture: in a

word, the beauties and the charms of nature and of art court all my

faculties, refresh the fibres of the brain and smooth every avenue

of thought. What pleasing meditations, what agreeable wanderings of

the mind, and what delicious slumbers, have I enjoyed here! And

when I turn up some masterly writer to my imagination, methinks

here his beauties appear in the most advantageous light, and the

rays of his genius shoot upon me with greater force and brightness

than ordinary. This place likewise keeps the whole family in good

humour, in a season wherein gloominess of temper prevails

universally in this island. My wife does often touch her lute in

one of the grottoes, and my daughter sings to it, while the ladies

with you, amidst all the diversions of the town, and in the most

affluent fortunes, are fretting and repining beneath a lowering sky

for they know not what. In this greenhouse we often dine, we drink

tea, we dance country dances; and what is the chief pleasure of

all, we entertain our neighbours in it, and by this means

contribute very much to mend the climate five or six miles about

us. I am,

"Your most humble Servant,

"T. S."[296]

[Footnote 294: The correct reading is, "O, qui me gellidis in vallibus,"

&c.]

[Footnote 295: "Epist." ii. 17.]

[Footnote 296: Thomas Smith, who voted against Steele's expulsion, was

member for the borough of Eye, and may have been the person who wrote

this letter, to which the initials of his name are subscribed. In the

preface to the _Examiner_, the first number of which was published Aug.

3, 1710, there is the following passage: "All descriptions of

stage-players and statesmen, the erecting of greenhouses, the forming of

constellations, the beaus' red heels, and the furbelows of the ladies,

shall remain entire to the use and benefit of their first proprietor."

The description of stage-players and statesmen, here mentioned, is an

allusion to Downes' letter. See No. 193.]

No. 180. [STEELE.

From _Thursday, June 1_, to _Saturday, June 3, 1710_.

Stultitiam patiuntur opes.--HOR., 1 Ep. xviii. 29.

* * * * *

_From my own Apartment, June 2._

I have received a letter which accuses me of partiality in the

administration of the Censorship, and says, that I have been very free

with the lower part of mankind, but extremely cautious in

representations of matters which concern men of condition. This

correspondent takes upon him also to say, the upholsterer was not undone

by turning politician, but became bankrupt by trusting his goods to

persons of quality; and demands of me, that I should do justice upon

such as brought poverty and distress upon the world below them, while

they themselves were sunk in pleasures and luxury, supported at the

expense of those very persons whom they treated with a negligence, as

if they did not know whether they dealt with them or not. This is a

very heavy accusation, both of me and such as the man aggrieved accuses

me of tolerating. For this reason, I resolved to take this matter into

consideration, and upon very little meditation could call to my memory

many instances which made this complaint far from being groundless. The

root of this evil does not always proceed from injustice in the men of

figure, but often from a false grandeur which they take upon them in

being unacquainted with their own business, not considering how mean a

part they act when their names and characters are subjected to the

little arts of their servants and dependants. The overseers of the poor

are a people who have no great reputation for the discharge of their

trust, but are much less scandalous than the overseers of the rich. Ask

a young fellow of a great estate, who was that odd fellow spoke to him

in a public place? He answers, "One that does my business." It is, with

many, a natural consequence of being a man of fortune, that they are not

to understand the disposal of it; and they long to come to their

estates, only to put themselves under new guardianship. Nay, I have

known a young fellow who was regularly bred an attorney, and was a very

expert one till he had an estate fallen to him. The moment that

happened, he who could before prove the next land he cast his eye upon

his own, and was so sharp, that a man at first sight would give him a

small sum for a general receipt, whether he owed him anything or not:

such a one, I say, have I seen, upon coming to an estate, forget all his

diffidence of mankind, and become the most manageable thing breathing.

He immediately wanted a stirring man to take upon him his affairs, to

receive and pay, and do everything which he himself was now too fine a

gentleman to understand. It is pleasant to consider, that he who would

have got an estate had he not come to one, will certainly starve

because one fell to him: but such contradictions are we to ourselves,

and any change of life is insupportable to some natures.

It is a mistaken sense of superiority, to believe a figure or equipage

gives men precedence to their neighbours. Nothing can create respect

from mankind, but laying obligations upon them; and it may very

reasonably be concluded, that if it were put into a due balance,

according to the true state of the account, many who believe themselves

in possession of a large share of dignity in the world, must give place

to their inferiors. The greatest of all distinctions in civil life is

that of debtor and creditor, and there needs no great progress in logic

to know which, in that case, is the advantageous side. He who can say to

another, "Pray, master," or "Pray, my lord, give me my own," can as

justly tell him, "It is a fantastical distinction you take upon you, to

pretend to pass upon the world for my master or lord, when at the same

time that I wear your livery, you owe me wages; or, while I wait at your

door, you are ashamed to see me till you have paid my bill."

The good old way among the gentry of England to maintain their

pre-eminence over the lower rank, was by their bounty, munificence, and

hospitality; and it is a very unhappy change, if at present, by

themselves or their agents, the luxury of the gentry is supported by the

credit of the trader. This is what my correspondent pretends to prove

out of his own books, and those of his whole neighbourhood. He has the

confidence to say, that there is a mug-house near Long Acre, where you

may every evening hear an exact account of distresses of this kind. One

complains, that such a lady's finery is the occasion that his own wife

and daughter appear so long in the same gown: another, that all the

furniture of her visiting apartment are no more hers, than the scenery

of a play are the proper goods of the actress. Nay, at the lower end of

the same table, you may hear a butcher and poulterer say, that at their

proper charge all that family has been maintained since they last came

to town.

The free manner in which people of fashion are discoursed on at such

meetings, is but a just reproach for their failures in this kind; but

the melancholy relations of the great necessities tradesmen are driven

to, who support their credit in spite of the faithless promises which

are made them, and the abatement which they suffer when paid, by the

extortion of upper servants, is what would stop the most thoughtless man

in the career of his pleasures, if rightly represented to him.

If this matter be not very speedily amended, I shall think fit to print

exact lists of all persons who are not at their own disposal, though

above the age of twenty-one; and as the trader is made bankrupt for

absence from his abode, so shall the gentleman for being at home, if,

when Mr. Morphew calls, he cannot give him an exact account of what

passes in his own family. After this fair warning, no one ought to think

himself hardly dealt with, if I take upon me to pronounce him no longer

master of his estate, wife, or family, than he continues to improve,

cherish, and maintain them upon the basis of his own property, without

incursions upon his neighbour in any of these particulars.

According to that excellent philosopher Epictetus, we are all but acting

parts in a play; and it is not a distinction in itself to be high or

low, but to become the parts we are to perform. I am by my office

prompter on this occasion, and shall give those who are a little out in

their parts such soft hints as may help them to proceed, without letting

it be known to the audience they were out: but if they run quite out of

character, they must be called off the stage, and receive parts more

suitable to their genius. Servile complaisance shall degrade a man from

his honour and quality, and haughtiness be yet more debased. Fortune

shall no longer appropriate distinctions, but Nature direct us in the

disposition both of respect and discountenance. As there are tempers

made for command, and others for obedience; so there are men born for

acquiring possessions, and others incapable of being other than mere

lodgers in the houses of their ancestors, and have it not in their very

composition to be proprietors of anything. These men are moved only by

the mere effects of impulse: their goodwill and disesteem are to be

regarded equally, for neither is the effect of their judgment. This

loose temper is that which makes a man, what Sallust so well remarks to

happen frequently in the same person, to be covetous of what is

another's, and profuse of what is his own.[297] This sort of men is

usually amiable to ordinary eyes; but in the sight of reason, nothing is

laudable but what is guided by reason. The covetous prodigal is of all

others the worst man in society: if he would but take time to look into

himself, he would find his soul all over gashed with broken vows and

promises, and his retrospect on his actions would not consist of

reflections upon those good resolutions after mature thought, which are

the true life of a reasonable creature, but the nauseous memory of

imperfect pleasures, idle dreams, and occasional amusements. To follow

such dissatisfying pursuits, is it possible to suffer the ignominy of

being unjust? I remember in Tully's Epistle, in the recommendation of a

man to an affair which had no manner of relation to money, it is said,

"You may trust him, for he is a frugal man." It is certain, he who has

not a regard to strict justice in the commerce of life, can be capable

of no good action in any other kind; but he who lives below his income,

lays up every moment of life armour against a base world, that will

cover all his frailties while he is so fortified, and exaggerate them

when he is naked and defenceless.