[58] "Rascal," in Greek letters.
[59] See No. 36.
[60] Mercury was the god of thieves.
[61] An astrologer and almanac maker, who died in 1715. John Gadbury,
an older astrologer, was his master.
[62] Persons who carry contraband goods.
[63] A waiter; see No. 1.
[64] See No. 54.
No. 57. [STEELE.
From _Thursday, August 18_, to _Saturday, August 20, 1709_.
Quicquid agunt homines ... nostri farrago libelli.
JUV., Sat. I. 85, 86.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 19._
I was this evening representing a complaint sent me out of the country
from Emilia. She says, her neighbours there have so little sense of
what a refined lady of the town is, that she, who was a celebrated wit
in London, is in that dull part of the world in so little esteem, that
they call her in their base style a tongue-pad. Old Truepenny bid me
advise her to keep her wit till she comes to town again, and admonish
her, that both wit and breeding are local; for a fine Court lady is
as awkward among country housewives, as one of them would appear in a
drawing-room. It is therefore the most useful knowledge one can attain
at, to understand among what sort of men we make the best figure; for
if there be a place where the beauteous and accomplished Emilia is
unacceptable, it is certainly a vain endeavour to attempt pleasing
in all conversations. Here is Will. Ubi, who is so thirsty after the
reputation of a companion, that his company is for anybody that will
accept of it; and for want of knowing whom to choose for himself, is
never chosen by others. There is a certain chastity of behaviour which
makes a man desirable, and which, if he transgresses, his wit will have
the same fate with Delia's beauty, which no one regards, because all
know it is within their power. The best course Emilia can take, is, to
have less humility; for if she could have as good an opinion of herself
for having every quality, as some of her neighbours have of themselves
with one, she would inspire even them with a sense of her merit, and
make that carriage (which is now the subject of their derision) the
sole object of their imitation. Till she has arrived at this value of
herself, she must be contented with the fate of that uncommon creature,
a woman too humble.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 19._
Since my last, I have received a letter from Tom Trump, to desire that
I would do the fraternity of gamesters the justice to own, that there
are notorious sharpers who are not of their class. Among others, he
presented me with the picture of Harry Coppersmith in little, who (he
says) is at this day worth half a plum,[65] by means much more indirect
than by false dice. I must confess, there appeared some reason in what
he asserted; and he met me since, and accosted me in the following
manner: "It is wonderful to me, Mr. Bickerstaff, that you can pretend
to be a man of penetration, and fall upon us knights of the industry
as the wickedest of mortals, when there are so many who live in the
constant practice of baser methods unobserved. You cannot (though
you know the story of myself and the North Briton) but allow I am an
honester man than Will. Coppersmith, for all his great credit among
the Lombards. I get my money by men's follies, and he gets his by
their distresses. The declining merchant communicates his griefs to
him, and he augments them by extortion. If therefore regard is to be
had to the merit of the persons we injure, who is the more blamable,
he that oppresses an unhappy man, or he that cheats a foolish one? All
mankind are indifferently liable to adverse strokes of fortune; and he
who adds to them, when he might relieve them, is certainly a worse
subject, than he who unburdens a man whose prosperity is unwieldy to
him. Besides all which, he that borrows of Coppersmith, does it out of
necessity; he that plays with me, does it out of choice." I allowed
Trump there are men as bad as himself, which is the height of his
pretensions; and must confess, that Coppersmith is the most wicked and
impudent of all sharpers: a creature that cheats with credit, and is
a robber in the habit of a friend. The contemplation of this worthy
person made me reflect on the wonderful successes I have observed men
of the meanest capacities meet with in the world, and recollected
an observation I once heard a sage man make, which was, that he had
observed, that in some professions, the lower the understanding, the
greater the capacity. I remember, he instanced that of a banker, and
said, "That the fewer appetites, passions, and ideas a man had, he was
the better for his business." There is little Sir Tristram,[66] without
connection in his speech, or so much as common sense, has arrived by
his own natural parts at one of the greatest estates amongst us. But
honest Sir Tristram knows himself to be but a repository for cash: he
is just such a utensil as his iron chest, and may rather be said to
hold money, than possess it. There is nothing so pleasant as to be in
the conversation of these wealthy proficients. I had lately the honour
to drink half a pint with Sir Tristram, Harry Coppersmith, and Giles
Twoshoes. These wags give one another credit in discourse according to
their purses; they jest by the pound, and make answers as they honour
bills. Without vanity, I thought myself the prettiest fellow of the
company; but I had no manner of power over one muscle in their faces,
though they sneered at every word spoken by each other. Sir Tristram
called for a pipe of tobacco; and telling us tobacco was a pot-herb,
bid the drawer bring in the other half-pint. Twoshoes laughed at the
knight's wit without moderation. I took the liberty to say, it was but
a pun. "A pun!" says Coppersmith: "you would be a better man by £10,000
if you could pun like Sir Tristram." With that, they all burst out
together. The queer curs maintained this style of dialogue till we had
drunk our quarts apiece by half-pints. All I could bring away with me,
is, that Twoshoes is not worth £20,000; for his mirth, though he was as
insipid as either of the others, had no more effect upon the company,
than if he had been a bankrupt.
_From my own Apartment, August 19._
I have heard, it has been advised by a Diocesan to his inferior clergy,
that instead of broaching opinions of their own, and uttering doctrines
which may lead themselves and hearers into errors, they would read some
of the most celebrated sermons printed by others for the instruction
of their congregations. In imitation of such preachers at second-hand,
I shall transcribe from Bruyère one of the most elegant pieces of
raillery and satire which I have ever read. He describes the French, as
if speaking of a people not yet discovered, in the air and style of a
traveller.
* * * * *
"I have heard talk of a country where the old men are gallant, polite
and civil: the young men, on the contrary, stubborn, wild, without
either manners or civility. They are free from passion for women, at
the age when in other countries they begin to feel it; and prefer
beasts, victuals, and ridiculous amours, before them. Amongst these
people, he is sober who is never drunk with anything but wine; the
too frequent use of it has rendered it flat and insipid to them: they
endeavour by brandy, and other strong liquors, to quicken their taste,
already extinguished, and want nothing to complete their debauches,
but to drink aqua fortis. The women of that country hasten the decay
of their beauty, by their artifices to preserve it: they paint their
cheeks, eyebrows, and shoulders, which they lay open, together with
their breasts, arms and ears, as if they were afraid to hide those
places which they think will please, and never think they show enough
of them. The physiognomies of the people of that country are not at
all neat, but confused and embarrassed with a bundle of strange hair,
which they prefer before their natural: with this they weave something
to cover their heads, which descends half-way down their bodies, hides
their features, and hinders you from knowing men by their faces. This
nation has besides this, their God and their king. The grandees go
every day at a certain hour to a temple they call a church: at the
upper end of that temple there stands an altar consecrated to their
God, where the priest celebrates some mysteries which they call holy,
sacred and tremendous. The great men make a vast circle at the foot
of the altar, standing with their backs to the priest and the holy
mysteries, and their faces erected towards their king, who is seen on
his knees upon a throne, and to whom they seem to direct the desires of
their hearts, and all their devotion. However, in this custom there is
to be remarked a sort of subordination; for the people appear adoring
their prince and their prince adoring God. The inhabitants of this
region call it----It is from forty-eight degrees of latitude, and more
than eleven hundred leagues by sea, from the Iroquois and Hurons."
* * * * *
Letters from Hampstead[67] say, there is a coxcomb arrived there, of
a kind which is utterly new. The fellow has courage, which he takes
himself to be obliged to give proofs of every hour he lives. He is ever
fighting with the men, and contradicting the women. A lady who sent him
to me, superscribed him with this description out of Suckling:
"_I am a man of war and might,
And know thus much, that I can fight,
Whether I am in the wrong or right,
Devoutly._
"_No woman under heaven I fear,
New oaths I can exactly swear;
And forty healths my brains will bear,
Most stoutly._"