[80] See No. 56.
[81] Perhaps Lord Forbes (afterwards third Earl of Granard), a naval
officer on friendly terms with Swift. (See "Journal to Stella," July
21-23, 1711, and No. 271, note.) He was born in 1685, and was therefore
only 24 in 1709.
[82] See No. 57.
[83] Probably Sir Humphrey Mackworth (1657-1727), the governor of
a company formed for working copper mines in England. Yalden wrote
verses "To Sir Humphrey Mackworth on working the mines." In 1709,
after internal quarrels in the Corporation, Mackworth was accused
of peculation, and in 1710 the House of Commons voted him guilty of
fraud; but a bill alienating his estates fell through owing to the
failing power of the Whigs. Mackworth was one of the founders of the
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, and published some books on
religious subjects, besides many political pamphlets.
[84] See No. 54.
[85] Dr. Robert South, who was, when this paper was written, nearly 75,
and in bad health. In January 1709, Swift wrote to Lord Halifax, "Pray,
my lord, desire Dr. South to die about the fall of the leaf," and in
October Halifax wrote, "Dr. South holds out still, but he cannot be
immortal." He lived until 1716.
[86] Waller's "Sacharissa" was Lady Dorothy Sidney (1617-1684),
daughter of Robert, second Earl of Leicester, and wife of Robert,
second Earl of Sunderland.
[87] The Duchess of Cleveland; see No. 50.
[88] See No. 60.
No. 62. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, August 30_, to _Thursday, September 1, 1709_.
_White's Chocolate-house, August 31._
This place being frequented by persons of condition, I am desired to
recommend a dog kennel to any who shall want a pack. It lies not far
from Suffolk Street,[89] and is kept by two who were formerly dragoons
in the French service; but left plundering for the more orderly life of
keeping dogs: besides that, according to their expectation, they find
it more profitable, as well as more conducing to the safety of their
skin, to follow this trade, than the beat of drum. Their residence is
very convenient for the dogs to whelp in, and bring up a right breed to
follow the scent. The most eminent of the kennel are bloodhounds, which
lead the van, and are as follow:
_A List of the Dogs._
Jowler, of a right Irish breed, called Captain.
Rockwood, of French race, with long hair, by the courtesy of England
called also Captain.
Pompey, a tall hound, kennelled in a convent in France, and knows a
rich soil.
The two last hunt in couple, and are followed by,
Ringwood, a French black whelp of the same breed, a fine open-mouthed
dog; and an old sick hound, always in kennel; but of the true blood,
with a good nose, French breed.
There is also an Italian greyhound, with good legs, and knows perfectly
the ground from Ghent to Paris.
Ten setting dogs, right English.
Four mongrels, of the same nation.
And twenty whelps, fit for any game.
These curs are so extremely hungry, that they are too keen at the
sport, and worry their game before the keepers can come in. The other
day a wild boar from the north rushed into the kennel, and at first
indeed defended himself against the whole pack; but they proved at
last too many for him, and tore twenty-five pounds of flesh from off
his back, with which they filled their bellies, and made so great a
noise in the neighbourhood, that the keepers are obliged to hasten the
sale. That quarter of the town where they are kennelled is generally
inhabited by strangers, whose blood the hounds have often sucked in
such a manner, that many a German count, and other _virtuosi_, who come
from the Continent, have lost the intention of their travels, and been
unable to proceed on their journey.
If these hounds are not very soon disposed of to some good purchaser,
as also those at the kennels nearer St. James's, it is humbly proposed,
that they may be altogether transported to America, where the dogs are
few, and the wild beasts many. Or, that during their stay in these
parts, some eminent justice of the peace may have it in particular
direction to visit their harbours; and that the Sheriff of Middlesex
may allow him the assistance of the common hangman to cut off their
ears, or part of them, for distinction-sake, that we may know the
bloodhounds from the mongrels and setters. Till these things are
regulated, you may inquire at a house belonging to Paris at the upper
end of Suffolk Street, or a house belonging to Ghent, opposite to the
lower end of Pall Mall, and know further.
It were to be wished that these curs were disposed of; for it is a
very great nuisance to have them tolerated in cities. That of London
takes care, that the common hunt, assisted by the Sergeants and
bailiffs, expel them wherever they are found within the walls; though
it is said, some private families keep them, to the destruction of
their neighbours: but it is desired, that all who know of any of these
curs, or have been bit by them, would send me their marks, and the
houses where they are harboured, and I do not doubt but I shall alarm
the people so well, as to have them used like mad dogs wherever they
appear. In the meantime, I advise all such as entertain this kind
of vermin, that if they give me timely notice that their dogs are
dismissed, I shall let them go unregarded, otherwise am obliged to
admonish my fellow subjects in this behalf, and instruct them how to
avoid being worried, when they are going about their lawful professions
and callings. There was lately a young gentleman bit to the bone; who
has now indeed recovered his health, but is as lean as a skeleton. It
grieved my heart to see a gentleman's son run among the hounds; but he
is, they tell me, as fleet and as dangerous as the best of the pack.
_Will's Coffee-house, August 31._
This evening was spent at our table in discourse of propriety of
words and thoughts, which is Mr. Dryden's definition of wit;[90] but
a very odd fellow, who would intrude upon us, and has a briskness of
imagination more like madness than regular thought, said,[91] that
Harry Jacks was the first who told him of the taking of the citadel
of Tournay,[92] "and," says he, "Harry deserves a statue more than
the boy who ran to the Senate with a thorn in his foot to tell of a
victory." We were astonished at the assertion, and Spondee asked him,
"What affinity is there between that boy and Harry, that you say their
merit resembles so much as you just now told us?" "Why," says he,
"Harry you know is in the French interest, and it was more pain to him
to tell the story of Tournay, than to the boy to run upon a thorn to
relate a victory which he was glad of." The gentleman who was in the
chair upon the subject of propriety of words and thoughts, would by no
means allow, that there was wit in this comparison; and urged, that to
have anything gracefully said, it must be natural; and that whatsoever
was introduced in common discourse with so much premeditation, was
insufferable. That critic went on: "Had Mr. Jacks," said he, "told
him the citadel was taken, and another had answered, 'He deserves a
statue as well as the Roman boy, for he told it with as much pain';
it might have passed for a sprightly expression: but there is a wit
for discourse, and a wit for writing. The easiness and familiarity of
the first, is not to savour in the least of study; but the exactness
of the other, is to admit of something like the freedom of discourse,
especially in discourses of humanity, and what regards the Belles
Lettres. I do not in this allow, that Bickerstaff's _Tatlers_, or
discourses of wit by retail, and for the penny, should come within the
description of writing." I bowed at his compliment, and--but he would
not let me proceed.
You see in no place of conversation the perfection of speech so much
as in an accomplished woman. Whether it be, that there is a partiality
irresistible when we judge of that sex, or whatever it is, you may
observe a wonderful freedom in their utterance, and an easy flow of
words, without being distracted (as we often are who read much) in the
choice of dictions and phrases. My Lady Courtly is an instance of this:
she was talking the other day of dress, and did it with so excellent an
air and gesture, that you would have sworn she had learned her action
from our Demosthenes. Besides which, her words were particularly
well adapted to the matter she talked of, that the dress was a new
thing to us men. She avoided the terms of art in it, and described an
unaffected garb and manner in so proper terms, that she came up to that
of Horace's "_simplex munditiis_";[93] which, whoever can translate in
two words, has as much eloquence as Lady Courtly. I took the liberty to
tell her, that all she had said with so much good grace, was spoken in
two words in Horace, but would not undertake to translate them; upon
which she smiled, and told me, she believed me a very great scholar,
and I took my leave.
_From my own Apartment, August 31._
I have been just now reading the introduction to the History of
Catiline by Sallust, an author who is very much in my favour; but
when I reflect upon his professing himself wholly disinterested, and
at the same time see how industriously he has avoided saying anything
to the praise of Cicero, to whose vigilance the commonwealth owed its
safety, it very much lessens my esteem for that writer; and is one
argument, among others, for laughing at all who pretend to be out of
the interests of the world, and profess purely to act for the service
of mankind, without the least regard to themselves. I do not deny
but that the rewards are different; some aim at riches, others at
honour, by their public services. However, they are all pursuing some
end to themselves, though indeed those ends differ as much as right
and wrong. The most graceful way then, I should think, would be to
acknowledge, that you aim at serving yourselves; but at the same time
make it appear, it is for the service of others that you have these
opportunities. Of all the disinterested professors I have ever heard
of, I take the boatswain of Dampier's ship to be the most impudent, but
the most excusable.[94] You are to know, that in the wild searches that
navigator was making, they happened to be out at sea, far distant from
any shore, in want of all the necessaries of life; insomuch, that they
began to look, not without hunger, on each other. The boatswain was a
fat, healthy, fresh fellow, and attracted the eyes of the whole crew.
In such an extreme necessity, all forms of superiority were laid aside:
the captain and lieutenant were safe only by being carrion, and the
unhappy boatswain in danger only by being worth eating. To be short,
the company were unanimous, and the boatswain must be cut up. He saw
their intention, and desired he might speak a few words before they
proceeded; which being permitted, he delivered himself as follows:
"GENTLEMEN SAILORS,
"Far be it that I should speak it for any private interest of my
own, but I take it, that I should not die with a good conscience,
if I did not confess to you that I am not sound. I say, gentlemen,
justice, and the testimony of a good conscience, as well as love
of my country, to which I hope you will all return, oblige me
to own, that Black Kate at Deptford has made me very unsafe to
eat; and (I speak it with shame) I am afraid, gentlemen, I should
poison you."
This speech had a good effect in the boatswain's favour; but the
surgeon of the ship protested, he had cured him very well, and offered
to eat the first steak of him himself.
The boatswain replied (like an orator, with a true notion of the
people, and in hopes to gain time) that he was heartily glad if
he could be for their service, and thanked the surgeon for his
information. "However," said he, "I must inform you, for your own
good, that I have ever since my cure been very thirsty and dropsical;
therefore I presume it would be much better to tap me, and drink me
off, than eat me at once, and have no man in the ship fit to be drank."
As he was going on with his harangue, a fresh gale arose, and gave
the crew hopes of a better repast at the nearest shore, to which they
arrived next morning.
Most of the self-denials we meet with are of this sort; therefore I
think he acts fairest who owns, he hopes at least to have brother's
fare, without professing that he gives himself up with pleasure to be
devoured for the preservation of his fellows.
_St. James's Coffee-house, August 31._
Letters from the Hague of the 6th of September, N.S., say, that the
governor of the citadel at Tournay having offered their highnesses the
Duke of Marlborough and the Prince of Savoy to surrender that place
on the 31st of the last month, on terms which were not allowed them
by those princes, hostilities were thereupon renewed; but that on the
3rd the place was surrendered, with a seeming condition granted to the
besieged above that of being prisoners of war; for they were forthwith
to be conducted to Condé, but were to be exchanged for prisoners of
the Allies, and particularly those of Warneton were mentioned in the
demand. Both armies having stretched towards Mons with the utmost
diligence, that of the Allies, though they passed the much more
difficult road, arrived first before that town, which they have now
actually invested; and the quartermaster-general was, at the time of
despatching these letters, marking the ground for the encampment of the
covering army.
_To the Booksellers, or others whom this Advertisement may concern._
Mr. Omicron,[95] the unborn poet, gives notice, that he writes all
treatises as well in verse as prose, being a ninth son, and translates
out of all languages, without learning or study.
If any bookseller will treat for his pastoral on the "Siege and
Surrender of the Citadel of Tournay," he must send in his proposals
before the news of a capitulation for any other town.
The undertaker for either play-house may have an opera written by him;
or, if it shall suit their design, a satire upon operas; both ready for
next winter.
This is to give notice, that Richard Farloe, M.A., well known for
his acuteness in dissection of dead bodies, and his great skill in
osteology, has now laid by that practice; and having, by great study,
and much labour, acquired the knowledge of an antidote for all the most
common maladies of the stomach, is removed, and may be applied to, at
any time of the day, in the south entrance from Newgate Street into
Christ's Hospital.