[228] Æsop and Phalaris were certainly real persons, though the
"letters" attributed to Phalaris are spurious.
[229] Mons was taken on October 21, 1709 (N.S.).
[230] The substance of this story of the Cornish lovers may have been
sent to Steele by the "Solomon Afterwit" whose letter from Land's End
is printed in the next number.
[231] _Cf._ "Paradise Lost," iv. 769, quoted in No. 79:--
"Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain."
No. 83. [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, Oct. 18_, to _Thursday Oct. 20, 1709_.
Senilis stultitia, quæ deliratio appellari solet, senum levium est,
non omnium.--CICERO, De Senec., xi. 36.
_From my own Apartment, October 19._
It is my frequent practice to visit places of resort in this town
where I am least known, to observe what reception my works meet with
in the world, and what good effects I may promise myself from my
labours; and it being a privilege asserted by Monsieur Montaigne and
others, of vainglorious memory, that we writers of essays may talk of
ourselves,[232] I take the liberty to give an account of the remarks
which I find are made by some of my gentle readers upon these my
dissertations. I happened this evening to fall into a coffee-house near
the 'Change, where two persons were reading my account of the table of
fame.[233] The one of these was commenting as he read, and explaining
who was meant by this and the other worthy as he passed on. I observed
the person over against him wonderfully intent and satisfied with
his explanation. When he came to Julius Cæsar, who is said to have
refused any conductor to the table, "No, no," said he, "he is in the
right of it, he has money enough to be welcome wherever he comes;" and
then whispered, "He means a certain colonel of the train-bands." Upon
reading, that Aristotle made his claim with some rudeness, but great
strength of reason, "Who can that be, so rough and so reasonable? It
must be some Whig I warrant you. There is nothing but party in these
public papers." Where Pythagoras is said to have a golden thigh,
"Ay, ay," said he, "he has money enough in his breeches, that is the
alderman of our ward." You must know, whatever he read, I found he
interpreted from his own way of life and acquaintance. I am glad my
readers can construe for themselves these difficult points; but for
the benefit of posterity, I design, when I come to write my last paper
of this kind, to make it an explanation of all my former. In that piece
you shall have all I have commended, with their proper names. The
faulty characters must be left as they are, because we live in an age
wherein vice is very general, and virtue very particular; for which
reason the latter only wants explanation. But I must turn my present
discourse to what is of yet greater regard to me than the care of my
writings; that is to say, the preservation of a lady's heart. Little
did I think I should ever have business of this kind on my hands more;
but as little as any one who knows me would believe it, there is a lady
at this time who professes love to me. Her passion and good-humour you
shall have in her own words.
"Mr. BICKERSTAFF,
"I had formerly a very good opinion of myself; but it is now
withdrawn, and I have placed it upon you, Mr. Bickerstaff, for
whom I am not ashamed to declare, I have a very great passion
and tenderness. It is not for your face, for that I never saw;
your shape and height I am equally a stranger to: but your
understanding charms me, and I'm lost if you don't dissemble a
little love for me. I am not without hopes, because I am not like
the tawdry gay things that are fit only to make bone-lace. I am
neither childish-young, nor beldam-old, but (the world says) a
good agreeable woman.
"Speak peace to a troubled heart, troubled only for you; and in
your next paper let me find your thoughts of me.
"Don't think of finding out who I am, for notwithstanding your
interest in demons, they cannot help you either to my name, or a
sight of my face; therefore don't let them deceive you.
"I can bear no discourse if you are not the subject; and, believe
me, I know more of love than you do of astronomy.
"Pray say some civil things in return to my generosity, and you
shall have my very best pen employed to thank you, and I will
confirm it. I am
"Your Admirer,
MARIA."
There is something wonderfully pleasing in the favour of women;
and this letter has put me in so good a humour, that nothing could
displease me since I received it. My boy breaks glasses and pipes,
and instead of giving him a knock of the pate, as my way is (for I
hate scolding at servants), I only say, "Ah! Jack, thou hast a head,
and so has a pin;" or some such merry expression. But alas! how am I
mortified when he is putting on my fourth pair of stockings on these
poor spindles of mine? The fair one understands love better than I
astronomy! I am sure, without the help of that art, this poor meagre
trunk of mine is a very ill habitation for love. She is pleased to
speak civilly of my sense; but _ingenium male habitat_ is an invincible
difficulty in cases of this nature. I had always indeed, from a passion
to please the eyes of the fair, a great pleasure in dress. Add to
this, that I have written songs since I was sixty, and have lived with
all the circumspection of an old beau, as I am: but my friend Horace
has very well said, "Every year takes something from us;"[234] and
instructed me to form my pursuits and desires according to the stage
of my life: therefore I have no more to value myself upon, than that
I can converse with young people without peevishness, or wishing
myself a moment younger. For which reason, when I am amongst them, I
rather moderate than interrupt their diversions. But though I have
this complacency, I must not pretend to write to a lady civil things,
as Maria desires. Time was, when I could have told her, I had received
a letter from her fair hands; and, that if this paper trembled as she
read it, it then best expressed its author, or some other gay conceit.
Though I never saw her, I could have told her, that good sense and good
humour smiled in her eyes; that constancy and good nature dwelt in her
heart; that beauty and good breeding appeared in all her actions. When
I was five-and-twenty, upon sight of one syllable, even wrong spelt,
by a lady I never saw, I could tell her, that her height was that
which was fit for inviting our approach, and commanding our respect;
that a smile sat on her lips, which prefaced her expressions before
she uttered them, and her aspect prevented her speech. All she could
say, though she had an infinite deal of wit, was but a repetition of
what was expressed by her form; her form! which struck her beholders
with ideas more moving and forcible than ever were inspired by music,
painting, or eloquence. At this rate I panted in those days; but, ah!
sixty-three! I am very sorry I can only return the agreeable Maria a
passion, expressed rather from the head than the heart.
"DEAR MADAM,
"You have already seen the best of me, and I so passionately love
you, that I desire we may never meet. If you will examine your
heart, you will find, that you join the man with the philosopher:
and if you have that kind opinion of my sense as you pretend, I
question not, but you add to it complexion, air, and shape: but,
dear Molly, a man in his grand climacteric is of no sex. Be a good
girl; and conduct yourself with honour and virtue, when you love
one younger than myself. I am, with the greatest tenderness,
"Your innocent Lover,
I. B."
_Will's Coffee-house, October 19._
There is nothing more common than the weakness mentioned in the
following epistle; and I believe there is hardly a man living who has
not been more or less injured by it.
"SIR,
_Land's End, Oct. 12._
"I have left the town some time; and much the sooner, for not
having had the advantage when I lived there of so good a pilot
as you are to this present age. Your cautions to the young men
against the vices of the town are very well: but there is one
not less needful, which I think you have omitted. I had from the
'Rough Diamond' (a gentleman so called from an honest blunt wit he
had) not long since dead, this observation, that a young man must
be at least three or four years in London before he dares say 'No.'
"You will easily see the truth and force of this observation; for
I believe, more people are drawn away against their inclinations,
than with them. A young man is afraid to deny anybody going to
a tavern to dinner; or after being gorged there, to repeat the
same with another company at supper, or to drink excessively
if desired, or go to any other place, or commit any other
extravagancy proposed. The fear of being thought covetous, or
to have no money, or to be under the dominion or fear of his
parents and friends, hinders him from the free exercise of his
understanding, and affirming boldly the true reason, which is, his
real dislike of what is desired. If you could cure this slavish
facility, it would save abundance at their first entrance into the
world. I am, SIR,
"Yours,
_Solomon Afterwit_."
This epistle has given an occasion to a treatise on this subject,
wherein I shall lay down rules when a young stripling is to say "No,"
and a young virgin "Yes."
_N.B._--For the publication of this discourse, I wait only for
subscriptions from the undergraduates of each University, and the young
ladies in the boarding-schools of Hackney and Chelsea.
_St. James's Coffee-house, October 19._
Letters from the Hague of the 25th of October, N.S., advise, that the
garrison of Mons marched out on the 23rd instant, and a garrison of
the allies marched into the town. All the forces in the field, both of
the enemy and the confederates, are preparing to withdraw into winter
quarters.