The Tatler
Edited by
George A. Aitken
In Four Volumes
Volume Four
[Illustration: _B. Lens Senʳ delineavit_
_Isaac Bickerstaff Esq._
_Engraved by Wm. H. Ward & Co. L'd. from the Original by Sturt after
Lens._]
The Tatler
Edited with Introduction & Notes
by
George A. Aitken
_Author of_
"The Life of Richard Steele," &c.
[Illustration: DESORMAIS]
VOL. IV
New York
Hadley & Mathews
156 Fifth Avenue
London: Duckworth & Co.
1899
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
_To the_ Right Honourable
Charles Lord Halifax.[1]
_From the Hovel at Hamptonwick,
April 7, 1711._
MY LORD,
When I first resolved upon doing myself this honour, I could not but
indulge a certain vanity in dating from this little covert, where I
have frequently had the honour of your Lordship's company, and received
from you very many obligations. The elegant solitude of this place,
and the greatest pleasures of it, I owe to its being so near those
beautiful manors wherein you sometimes reside: it is not retiring from
the world, but enjoying its most valuable blessings, when a man is
permitted to share in your Lordship's conversations in the country.
All the bright images which the wits of past ages have left behind
them in their writings, the noble plans which the greatest statesmen
have laid down for administration of affairs, are equally the familiar
objects of your knowledge. But what is peculiar to your Lordship above
all the illustrious personages that have appeared in any age, is, that
wit and learning have from your example fallen into a new era. Your
patronage has produced those arts, which before shunned the commerce
of the world, into the service of life; and it is to you we owe, that
the man of wit has turned himself to be a man of business. The false
delicacy of men of genius, and the objections which others were apt
to insinuate against their abilities for entering into affairs, have
equally vanished. And experience has shown, that men of letters are not
only qualified with a greater capacity, but also a greater integrity
in the despatch of business. Your own studies have been diverted from
being the highest ornament, to the highest use to mankind, and the
capacities which would have rendered you the greatest poet of your
age, have to the advantage of Great Britain been employed in pursuits
which have made you the most able and unbiassed patriot. A vigorous
imagination, an extensive apprehension, and a ready judgment have
distinguished you in all the illustrious parts of administration, in
a reign attended with such difficulties, that the same talents without
the same quickness in the possession of them would have been incapable
of conquering. The natural success of such abilities has advanced
you to a seat in that illustrious House where you were received by a
crowd of your relations. Great as you are in your honours and personal
qualities, I know you will forgive a humble neighbour the vanity of
pretending to a place in your friendship, and subscribing himself,
My Lord,
Your Lordship's most obliged
and most devoted Servant,
RICHARD STEELE.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Charles Montague, grandson of the first Earl of Manchester, was
born in 1661, at Horton, in Northamptonshire, and was educated at
Westminster, and at Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1687 he joined
with Prior in writing the "County and the City Mouse," a burlesque on
Dryden's "Hind and Panther." Montague was amongst those who signed
the invitation sent to William of Orange. After the Revolution, he
was made a Lord of the Treasury (March 1692), Chancellor of the
Exchequer (1694), and First Lord of the Treasury in 1698. These last
two offices he held together until 1699. Among the important schemes
which he carried out were a re-coining of the money, the founding of
the Bank of England and the new East India Company, and the issue of
Exchequer bills. In 1700 he was made Auditor of the Exchequer, and was
created Baron Halifax. A Tory House of Commons twice attacked him, but
without success. In 1706 he took a leading part in the negotiations
which led to the Union with Scotland. He voted for the sentence upon
Dr. Sacheverell in 1710, and in the subsequent peace negotiations he
opposed the terms of the Treaty of Utrecht. In October 1714 he again
became First Lord of the Treasury, and was created Viscount Sunbury and
Earl of Halifax; but he died in May 1715. He was the patron of numerous
men of letters, and was lauded by many as a second Mæcenas. Pope says
he was "fed with soft dedication all day long." In 1711 Steele and
Addison dedicated the second volume of the _Spectator_ to Lord Halifax.
THE TATLER
BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESQ.
=No. 194.= [STEELE.[2]
From _Tuesday, July 4_, to _Thursday, July 6, 1710_.
Militat omnis amans.--OVID, Amor. El. ix. 1.
_From my own Apartment, July 5._
I was this morning reading the tenth canto in the fourth book of
Spenser, in which Sir Scudamore relates the progress of his courtship
to Amoret under a very beautiful allegory, which is one of the most
natural and unmixed of any in that most excellent author. I shall
transprose it, to use Mr. Bayes's term,[3] for the benefit of many
English lovers who have by frequent letters desired me to lay down some
rules for the conduct of their virtuous amours; and shall only premise,
that by the shield of love is meant a generous, constant passion for
the person beloved.
When the fame, says he, of this celebrated beauty first flew abroad, I
went in pursuit of her to the Temple of Love. This temple, continues
he, bore the name of the goddess Venus, and was seated in a most
fruitful island, walled by nature against all invaders. There was
a single bridge that led into the island, and before it a castle
garrisoned by twenty knights. Near the castle was an open plain, and
in the midst of it a pillar, on which was hung the shield of love; and
underneath it, in letters of gold, was this inscription:
_Happy the man who well can use his bliss;
Whose ever be the shield, fair Amoret be his._
My heart panted upon reading the inscription: I struck upon the shield
with my spear. Immediately issued forth a knight well mounted, and
completely armed, who, without speaking, ran fiercely at me. I received
him as well as I could, and by good fortune threw him out of the
saddle. I encountered the whole twenty successively, and leaving them
all extended on the plain, carried off the shield in token of victory.
Having thus vanquished my rivals, I passed on without impediment, till
I came to the outermost gate of the bridge, which I found locked and
barred. I knocked and called, but could get no answer. At last I saw
one on the other side of the gate, who stood peeping through a small
crevice. This was the porter; he had a double face resembling a Janus,
and was continually looking about him, as if he mistrusted some sudden
danger. His name, as I afterwards learned, was Doubt. Over against him
sat Delay, who entertained passengers with some idle story, while they
lost such opportunities as were never to be recovered. As soon as the
porter saw my shield, he opened the gate; but upon my entering, Delay
caught hold of me, and would fain have made me listen to her fooleries.
However, I shook her off, and passed forward till I came to the second
gate, the Gate of Good Desert, which always stood wide open; but in
the porch was a hideous giant, that stopped the entrance: his name
was Danger. Many warriors of good reputation, not able to bear the
sternness of his look, went back again. Cowards fled at the first sight
of him, except some few, who watching their opportunity, slipped by
him unobserved. I prepared to assault him; but upon the first sight of
my shield, he immediately gave way. Looking back upon him, I found his
hinder parts much more deformed and terrible than his face; Hatred,
Murder, Treason, Envy, and Detraction lying in ambush behind him, to
fall upon the heedless and unwary.
I now entered the Island of Love, which appeared in all the beauties
of art and nature, and feasted every sense with the most agreeable
objects. Amidst a pleasing variety of walks and alleys, shady seats and
flowery banks, sunny hills and gloomy valleys, were thousands of lovers
sitting, or walking together in pairs, and singing hymns to the deity
of the place.
I could not forbear envying this happy people, who were already in
possession of all they could desire. While I went forward to the
temple, the structure was beautiful beyond imagination. The gate stood
open. In the entrance sat a most amiable woman, whose name was Concord.
On either side of her stood two young men, both strongly armed, as if
afraid of each other. As I afterwards learned, they were both her sons,
but begotten of her by two different fathers; their names, Love and
Hatred.
The lady so well tempered and reconciled them both, that she forced
them to join hands; though I could not but observe, that Hatred turned
aside his face, as not able to endure the sight of his younger brother.
I at length entered the inmost temple, the roof of which was raised
upon a hundred marble pillars, decked with crowns, chains, and
garlands. The ground was strewn with flowers. A hundred altars, at each
of which stood a virgin priestess clothed in white, blazed all at once
with the sacrifice of lovers, who were perpetually sending up their
vows to heaven in clouds of incense.
In the midst stood the goddess herself, upon an altar, whose substance
was neither gold nor stone, but infinitely more precious than either.
About her neck flew numberless flocks of little Loves, Joys, and
Graces; and all about her altar lay scattered heaps of lovers,
complaining of the disdain, pride, or treachery of their mistresses.
One among the rest, no longer able to contain his grief, broke out into
the following prayer: "Venus, queen of grace and beauty, joy of gods
and men, who with a smile becalmest the seas, and renewest all nature;
goddess, whom all the different species in the universe obey with joy
and pleasure, grant I may at last obtain the object of my vows."
The impatient lover pronounced this with great vehemence; but I in a
soft murmur besought the goddess to lend me her assistance. While I was
thus praying, I chanced to cast my eye on a company of ladies, who were
assembled together in a corner of the temple waiting for the anthem.
The foremost seemed something elder and of a more composed countenance
than the rest, who all appeared to be under her direction. Her name
was Womanhood. On one side of her sat Shamefacedness, with blushes
rising in her cheeks, and her eyes fixed upon the ground: on the other
was Cheerfulness, with a smiling look, that infused a secret pleasure
into the hearts of all that saw her. With these sat Modesty, holding
her hand on her heart; Courtesy, with a graceful aspect, and obliging
behaviour; and the two sisters, who were always linked together, and
resembled each other, Silence and Obedience.
_Thus sat they all around in seemly rate,
And in the midst of them a goodly maid
Even in the lap of Womanhood there sat,
The which was all in lily-white arrayed,
Where silver streams among the linen strayed;
Like to the morn, when first her shining face
Hath to the gloomy world itself bewrayed.
That same was fairest Amoret in place,
Shining with beauty's light, and heavenly virtue's grace._
As soon as I beheld the charming Amoret, my heart throbbed with hopes.
I stepped to her, and seized her hand; when Womanhood immediately
rising up, sharply rebuked me for offering in so rude a manner to lay
hold on a virgin. I excused myself as modestly as I could, and at
the same time displayed my shield; upon which, as soon as she beheld
the god emblazoned with his bow and shafts, she was struck mute, and
instantly retired.
I still held fast the fair Amoret, and turning my eyes towards the
goddess of the place, saw that she favoured my pretensions with a
smile, which so emboldened me, that I carried off my prize.
The maid, sometimes with tears, sometimes with smiles, entreated me to
let her go: but I led her through the temple-gate, where the goddess
Concord, who had favoured my entrance, befriended my retreat.
* * * * *
This allegory is so natural, that it explains itself. The persons in it
are very artfully described, and disposed in proper places. The posts
assigned to Doubt, Delay, and Danger, are admirable. The Gate of Good
Desert has something noble and instructive in it. But above all, I am
most pleased with the beautiful group of figures in the corner of the
temple. Among these, Womanhood is drawn like what the philosophers call
a universal nature, and is attended with beautiful representatives of
all those virtues that are the ornaments of the female sex, considered
in its natural perfection and innocence.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] This paper may be by John Hughes, who published an edition of
Spenser in 1715.
[3] In the "Rehearsal," Act I.
=No. 195.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, July 6_, to _Saturday, July 8, 1710_.
_Grecian Coffee-house, July 7._
The learned world are very much offended at many of my ratiocinations,
and have but a very mean opinion of me as a politician. The reason
of this is, that some erroneously conceive a talent for politics to
consist in the regard to a man's own interest; but I am of quite
another mind, and think the first and essential quality towards being a
statesman is to have a public spirit. One of the gentlemen who are out
of humour with me, imputes my falling into a way wherein I am so very
awkward to a barrenness of invention, and has the charity to lay new
matter before me for the future. He is at the bottom my friend, but is
at a loss to know whether I am a fool or a physician, and is pleased
to expostulate with me with relation to the latter. He falls heavy
upon licentiates, and seems to point more particularly at us who are
not regularly of the faculty. But since he has been so civil to me as
to meddle only with those who are employed no further than about men's
lives, and not reflected upon me as of the astrological sect, who
concern ourselves about lives and fortunes also, I am not so much hurt
as to stifle any part of his fond letter.[4]
* * * * *
"SIR,
"I am afraid there is something in the suspicions of some people, that
you begin to be short of matter for your Lucubrations. Though several
of them now and then did appear somewhat dull and insipid to me, I was
always charitably inclined to believe the fault lay in myself, and that
I wanted the true key to uncipher your mysteries, and remember your
advertisement upon this account. But since I have seen you fall in an
unpardonable error, yea, with a relapse: I mean, since I have seen you
turn politician in the present unhappy dissensions, I have begun to
stagger, and could not choose but lessen the great value I had for the
censor of our isle. How is it possible that a man, whom interest did
naturally lead to a constant impartiality in these matters, and who
hath wit enough to judge that his opinion was not like to make many
proselytes; how is it possible, I say, that a little passion (for I
have still too good an opinion of you to think you was bribed by the
staggering party) could blind you so far as to offend the very better
half of the nation, and to lessen off so much the number of your
friends? Mr. Morphew will not have cause to thank you, unless you give
over, and endeavour to regain what you have lost. There is still a
great many themes you have left untouched; such as the ill-managements
of matters relating to law and physic, the setting down rules for
knowing the quacks in both professions. What a large field is there
left in discovering the abuses of the College, who had a charter and
privileges granted them to hinder the creeping in and prevailing of
quacks and pretenders; and yet grant licences to barbers, and write
letters of recommendation in the country towns, out of the reach of
their practice, in favour of mere boys; valuing the health and lives of
their countrymen no further than they get money by them. You have said
very little or nothing about the dispensation of justice in town and
country, where clerks are the counsellors to their masters.
"But as I can't expect that the censor of Great Britain should publish
a letter, wherein he is censured with too much reason himself; yet I
hope you will be the better for it, and think upon the themes I have
mentioned, which must certainly be of greater service to the world,
yourself, and Mr. Morphew, than to let us know whether you are a Whig
or a Tory. I am still
"Your Admirer and Servant,
"CATO JUNIOR."
* * * * *
This gentleman and I differ about the words "staggering" and "better
part"; but instead of answering to the particulars of this epistle, I
shall only acquaint my correspondent, that I am at present forming my
thoughts upon the foundation of Sir Scudamore's progress in Spenser,[5]
which has led me from all other amusements, to consider the state of
love in this island; and from the corruptions in the government of
that, to deduce the chief evils of life. In the meantime that I am thus
employed, I have given positive orders to Don Saltero,[6] of Chelsea,
the tooth-drawer, and Dr. Thomas Smith,[7] the corn-cutter, of King
Street, Westminster (who have the modesty to confine their pretensions
to manual operations), to bring me in, with all convenient speed,
complete lists of all who are but of equal learning with themselves,
and yet administer physic beyond the feet and gums. These advices I
shall reserve for my future leisure; but have now taken a resolution
to dedicate the remaining part of this instant July to the service
of the fair sex, and have almost finished a scheme for settling the
whole remainder of that sex who are unmarried, and above the age of
twenty-five.
In order to this good and public service, I shall consider the passion
of love in its full extent, as it is attended both with joys and
inquietudes; and lay down, for the conduct of my lovers, such rules as
shall banish the cares, and heighten the pleasures, which flow from
that amiable spring of life and happiness. There is no less than an
absolute necessity that some provision be made to take off the dead
stock of women in city, town, and country. Let there happen but the
least disorder in the streets, and in an instant you see the inequality
of the numbers of males and females. Besides that the feminine crowd on
such occasions is more numerous in the open way, you may observe them
also to the very garrets huddled together, four at least at a casement.
Add to this, that by an exact calculation of all that have come to town
by stage-coach or waggon for this twelvemonth last, three times in four
the treated persons have been males. This over-stock of beauty, for
which there are so few bidders, calls for an immediate supply of lovers
and husbands; and I am the studious knight-errant who have suffered
long nocturnal contemplations to find out methods for the relief of
all British females who at present seem to be devoted to involuntary
virginity. The scheme upon which I design to act, I have communicated
to none but a beauteous young lady (who has for some time left the
town), in the following letter:
* * * * *
"To AMANDA, in Kent.
"MADAM,
"I send with this, my discourse of ways and means for encouraging
marriage, and repeopling the island. You will soon observe, that
according to these rules, the mean considerations (which make beauty
and merit cease to be the objects of love and courtship) will be fully
exploded. I have unanswerably proved, that jointures and settlements
are the bane of happiness; and not only so, but the ruin even of their
fortunes who enter into them. I beg of you, therefore, to come to
town upon the receipt of this, where I promise you, you shall have as
many lovers as toasters; for there needed nothing but to make men's
interests fall in with their inclinations, to render you the most
courted of your sex. As many as love you will now be willing to marry
you: hasten then, and be the honourable mistress of mankind. Cassander,
and many others, stand in the Gate of Good Desert[8] to receive you. I
am,
"Madam,
"Your most obedient,
"Most humble Servant,
"ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."
FOOTNOTES:
[4] It has been suggested that this letter is by Swift. The _Examiner_,
vol. iv. No. 43, said that Steele's friends "acquainted him with many
little incidents and corruptions in low life which he has not touched
upon; but, instead of a favourable answer, he has rejected all their
hints for mirth and waggery, and transcribed scraps of politics, &c."
Another protest against Steele's incursion into politics is printed in
Lillie's "Original Letters sent to the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_" i. 56.
[5] See No. 194.
[6] See Nos. 34 and 221.
[7] See No. 103.
[8] "Faërie Queene," Book iv. c. 10. See No. 194.
=No. 196.= [STEELE.
From _Saturday, July 8_, to _Tuesday, July 11, 1710_.
Dulcis inexperto cultura potentis amici:
Expertus metuit----
HOR., I Ep. xviii. 86.
_From my own Apartment, July 10._
The intended course of my studies was altered this evening by a visit
from an old acquaintance, who complained to me, mentioning one upon
whom he had long depended, that he found his labour and perseverance in
his patron's service and interests wholly ineffectual; and he thought
now, after his best years were spent in a professed adherence to him
and his fortunes, he should in the end be forced to break with him,
and give over all further expectations from him. He sighed, and ended
his discourse by saying, "You, Mr. Censor, some time ago, gave us your
thoughts of the behaviour of great men to their creditors. This sort
of demand upon them, for what they invite men to expect, is a debt of
honour, which, according to custom, they ought to be most careful of
paying, and would be a very worthy subject for a lucubration."
Of all men living, I think, I am the most proper to treat of this
matter; because in the character and employment of censor, I have had
encouragement so infinitely above my desert, that what I say cannot
possibly be supposed to arise from peevishness, or any disappointment
in that kind which I myself have met with. When we consider patrons
and their clients, those who receive addresses, and those who are
addressed to, it must not be understood that the dependants are such as
are worthless in their natures, abandoned to any vice or dishonour,
or such as without a call thrust themselves upon men in power; nor
when we say patrons, do we mean such as have it not in their power,
or have no obligation, to assist their friends; but we speak of such
leagues where there are power and obligation on the one part, and merit
and expectation on the other. Were we to be very particular on this
subject, I take it that the division of patron and client may include a
third part of our nation. The want of merit and real worth will strike
out about ninety-nine in the hundred of these, and want of ability in
the patron will dispose of as many of that order. He who out of mere
vanity to be applied to will take up another's time and fortune in his
service, where he has no prospect of returning it, is as much more
unjust as those who took up my friend the upholder's[9] goods without
paying him for them. I say, he is as much more unjust as our life and
time is more valuable than our goods and movables. Among many whom you
see about the great, there is a contented, well-pleased set, who seem
to like the attendance for its own sake, and are early at the abodes
of the powerful, out of mere fashion. This sort of vanity is as well
grounded as if a man should lay aside his own plain suit, and dress
himself up in a gay livery of another's.
There are many of this species who exclude others of just expectation,
and make those proper dependants appear impatient, because they are
not so cheerful as those who expect nothing. I have made use of the
penny post for the instruction of these voluntary slaves, and informed
them, that they will never be provided for; but they double their
diligence upon admonition. Will Afterday has told his friends, that he
was to have the next thing these ten years; and Harry Linger has been
fourteen within a month of a considerable office. However the fantastic
complaisance which is paid to them may blind the great from seeing
themselves in a just light, they must needs (if they in the least
reflect) at some times have a sense of the injustice they do in raising
in others a false expectation. But this is so common a practice in all
the stages of power, that there are not more cripples come out of the
wars than from the attendance of patrons. You see in one a settled
melancholy, in another a bridled rage, a third has lost his memory,
and a fourth his whole constitution and humour. In a word, when you
see a particular cast of mind or body, which looks a little upon the
distracted, you may be sure the poor gentleman has formerly had great
friends. For this reason, I have thought it a prudent thing to take a
nephew of mine out of a lady's service, where he was a page, and have
bound him to a shoemaker.
But what of all the humours under the sun is the most pleasant
to consider, is, that you see some men lay as it were a set of
acquaintance by them, to converse with when they are out of employment,
who had no effect of their power when they were in. Here patrons and
clients both make the most fantastical figure imaginable. Friendship
indeed is most manifested in adversity; but I do not know how to behave
myself to a man who thinks me his friend at no other time but that.
Dick Reptile of our club had this in his head the other night, when
he said, "I am afraid of ill news when I am visited by any of my old
friends." These patrons are a little like some fine gentlemen, who
spend all their hours of gaiety with their wenches, but when they fall
sick, will let no one come near them but their wives. It seems, truth
and honour are companions too sober for prosperity. It is certainly
the most black ingratitude to accept of a man's best endeavours to be
pleasing to you, and return it with indifference.
I am so much of this mind, that Dick Estcourt[10] the comedian, for
coming one night to our club, though he laughed at us all the time he
was there, shall have our company at his play on Thursday. A man of
talents is to be favoured, or never admitted. Let the ordinary world
truck for money and wares, but men of spirit and conversation should
in every kind do others as much pleasure as they receive from them.
But men are so taken up with outward forms, that they do not consider
their actions; else how should it be, that a man shall deny that to
the entreaties and almost tears of an old friend, which he shall
solicit a new one to accept of? I remember, when I first came out of
Staffordshire, I had an intimacy with a man of quality, in whose gift
there fell a very good employment. All the town cried, "There's a
thing for Mr. Bickerstaff!" when, to my great astonishment, I found my
patron had been forced upon twenty artifices to surprise a man with it
who never thought of it. But sure it is a degree of murder to amuse
men with vain hopes. If a man takes away another's life, where is the
difference, whether he does it by taking away the minutes of his time,
or the drops of his blood? But indeed, such as have hearts barren of
kindness are served accordingly by those whom they employ, and pass
their lives away with an empty show of civility for love, and an
insipid intercourse of a commerce in which their affections are no way
concerned. But on the other side, how beautiful is the life of a patron
who performs his duty to his inferiors? a worthy merchant who employs
a crowd of artificers? a great lord who is generous and merciful to
the several necessities of his tenants? a courtier who uses his credit
and power for the welfare of his friends? These have in their several
stations a quick relish of the exquisite pleasure of doing good. In a
word, good patrons are like the guardian angels of Plato, who are ever
busy, though unseen, in the care of their wards; but ill patrons are
like the deities of Epicurus, supine, indolent, and unconcerned, though
they see mortals in storms and tempests even while they are offering
incense to their power.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] See No. 180.
[10] See Nos. 51 and 130.
=No. 197.= [STEELE.
From _Tuesday, July 11_, to _Thursday, July 13, 1710_.
Semper ego auditor tantum?--JUV., Sat. i. I.
_Grecian Coffee-house, July 12._
When I came hither this evening, the man of the house delivered me a
book very finely bound. When I received it, I overheard one of the boys
whisper another, and say, "It was a fine thing to be a great scholar!
What a pretty book that is!" It has indeed a very gay outside, and is
dedicated to me by a very ingenious gentleman, who does not put his
name to it. The title of it (for the work is in Latin) is, "Epistolarum
Obscurorum Virorum, ad Dm. M. Ortuinum Gratium, Volumina II. &c."[11]
("The Epistles of the Obscure Writers to Ortuinus, &c."). The purpose
of the work is signified in the dedication, in very elegant language,
and fine raillery. It seems this is a collection of letters which
some profound blockheads, who lived before our times, have written in
honour of each other, and for their mutual information in each other's
absurdities. They are mostly of the German nation, whence from time
to time inundations of writers have flowed, more pernicious to the
learned world than the swarms of Goths and Vandals to the politic. It
is, methinks, wonderful, that fellows could be awake, and utter such
incoherent conceptions, and converse with great gravity like learned
men, without the least taste of knowledge or good sense. It would have
been an endless labour to have taken any other method of exposing such
impertinences, than by an edition of their own works, where you see
their follies, according to the ambition of such _virtuosi_, in a most
correct edition.
Looking over these accomplished labours, I could not but reflect upon
the immense load of writings which the commonalty of scholars have
pushed into the world, and the absurdity of parents, who educate crowds
to spend their time in pursuit of such cold and sprightless endeavours
to appear in public. It seems therefore a fruitless labour to attempt
the correction of the taste of our contemporaries, except it was in
our power to burn all the senseless labours of our ancestors. There
is a secret propensity in nature from generation to generation in the
blockheads of one age to admire those of another; and men of the same
imperfections are as great admirers of each other, as those of the same
abilities.
This great mischief of voluminous follies proceeds from a misfortune
which happens in all ages, that men of barren geniuses, but fertile
imaginations, are bred scholars. This may at first appear a paradox;
but when we consider the talking creatures we meet in public places,
it will no longer be such. Ralph Shallow is a young fellow, that has
not by nature any the least propensity to strike into what has not
been observed and said every day of his life by others; but with
that inability of speaking anything that is uncommon, he has a great
readiness at what he can speak of, and his imagination runs into all
the different views of the subject he treats of in a moment. If Ralph
had learning added to the common chit-chat of the town, he would
have been a disputant upon all topics that ever were considered by
men of his own genius. As for my part, I never am teased by an empty
town-fellow, but I bless my stars that he was not bred a scholar. This
addition, we must consider, would have made him capable of maintaining
his follies. His being in the wrong would have been protected by
suitable arguments; and when he was hedged in by logical terms, and
false appearances, you must have owned yourself convinced before you
could then have got rid of him, and the shame of his triumph had been
added to the pain of his impertinence.
There is a sort of littleness in the minds of men of wrong sense, which
makes them much more insufferable than mere fools, and has the further
inconvenience of being attended by an endless loquacity. For which
reason, it would be a very proper work, if some well-wisher to human
society would consider the terms upon which people meet in public
places, in order to prevent the unseasonable declamations which we meet
with there. I remember, in my youth it was a humour at the University,
when a fellow pretended to be more eloquent than ordinary, and had
formed to himself a plot to gain all our admiration, or triumph over
us with an argument, to either of which he had no manner of call; I
say, in either of these cases, it was the humour to shut one eye. This
whimsical way of taking notice to him of his absurdity, has prevented
many a man from being a coxcomb. If amongst us on such an occasion
each man offered a voluntary rhetorician some snuff, it would probably
produce the same effect. As the matter now stands, whether a man will
or no, he is obliged to be informed in whatever another pleases to
entertain him with, though the preceptor makes these advances out of
vanity, and not to instruct, but insult him.
There is no man will allow him who wants courage to be called a
soldier; but men who want good sense are very frequently not only
allowed to be scholars, but esteemed for being such. At the same time
it must be granted, that as courage is the natural part of a soldier,
so is a good understanding of a scholar. Such little minds as these,
whose productions are collected in the volume to which I have the
honour to be patron, are the instruments for artful men to work with,
and become popular with the unthinking part of mankind. In courts,
they make transparent flatterers; in camps, ostentatious bullies;
in colleges, unintelligible pedants; and their faculties are used
accordingly by those who lead them.
When a man who wants judgment is admitted into the conversation of
reasonable men, he shall remember such improper circumstances, and draw
such groundless conclusions from their discourse, and that with such
colour of sense, as would divide the best set of company that can be
got together. It is just thus with a fool who has a familiarity with
books, he shall quote and recite one author against another, in such
a manner as shall puzzle the best understanding to refute him; though
the most ordinary capacity may observe, that it is only ignorance which
makes the intricacy. All the true use of that we call learning, is to
ennoble and improve our natural faculties, and not to disguise our
imperfections. It is therefore in vain for folly to attempt to conceal
itself by the refuge of learned languages. Literature does but make a
man more eminently the thing which nature made him; and Polyglottes,
had he studied less than he has, and written only in his mother tongue,
had been known only in Great Britain for a pedant.
Mr. Bickerstaff thanks Dorinda, and will both answer her letter,[12]
and take her advice.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Steele was apparently unaware that the letters in this famous book
were a satire, directed against the clergy of the Catholic Church. The
letters, written by Ulrich von Hutten and his friends, purported to
be from certain monks and theologians to Ortuinus Gratius, doctor of
theology. They were intended to ridicule the bad Latin of the clergy,
and in every way to satirise the anti-reform party. (See Bayle's
"Dictionary," Arts. Hochstrat and Hutten; and _Retrospective Review_,
v. 56.) The elegant edition of this book published in London in 1710,
in 12mo, was dedicated to Steele by the editor, Maittaire.
[12] No mention is afterwards made of Dorinda.
=No. 198.= [STEELE.
From _Thursday, July 13_, to _Saturday, July 15, 1710_.
Quale sit id quod amas celeri circumspice mente,
Et tua læsuro substrahe colla jugo.
OVID, Rem. Amor., i. 89.[13]
_From my own Apartment, July 14._
THE HISTORY OF CÆLIA.
It is not necessary to look back into the first years of this young
lady, whose story is of consequence only as her life has lately met
with passages very uncommon. She is now in the twentieth year of her
age, and owes a strict, but cheerful education, to the care of an
aunt, to whom she was recommended by her dying father, whose decease
was hastened by an inconsolable affliction for the loss of her mother.
As Cælia is the offspring of the most generous passion that has been
known in our age, she is adorned with as much beauty and grace as the
most celebrated of her sex possess; but her domestic life, moderate
fortune, and religious education gave her but little opportunity, and
less inclination, to be admired in public assemblies. Her abode has
been for some years a convenient distance from the Cathedral of St.
Paul's, where her aunt and she chose to reside, for the advantage of
that rapturous way of devotion which gives ecstasy to the pleasures of
innocence, and, in some measure, is the immediate possession of those
heavenly enjoyments for which they are addressed.
As you may trace the usual thoughts of men in their countenances, there
appeared in the face of Cælia a cheerfulness, the constant companion of
unaffected virtue, and a gladness, which is as inseparable from true
piety. Her every look and motion spoke the peaceful, mild, resigning,
humble inhabitant that animated her beauteous body. Her air discovered
her body a mere machine of her mind, and not that her thoughts were
employed in studying graces and attractions for her person. Such
was Cælia when she was first seen by Palamede at her usual place of
worship. Palamede is a young man of two-and-twenty, well-fashioned,
learned, genteel, and discreet, and son and heir of a gentleman of a
very great estate, and himself possessed of a plentiful one by the
gift of an uncle. He became enamoured with Cælia, and after having
learned her habitation, had address enough to communicate his passion
and circumstances with such an air of good sense and integrity, as
soon obtained permission to visit and profess his inclinations towards
her. Palamede's present fortune and future expectations were no way
prejudicial to his addresses; but after the lovers had passed some time
in the agreeable entertainments of a successful courtship, Cælia one
day took occasion to interrupt Palamede in the midst of a very pleasing
discourse of the happiness he promised himself in so accomplished a
companion, and assuming a serious air, told him, there was another
heart to be won before he gained hers, which was that of his father.
Palamede seemed much disturbed at the overture, and lamented to her,
that his father was one of those too provident parents, who only
place their thoughts upon bringing riches into their families by
marriages, and are wholly insensible of all other considerations. But
the strictness of Cælia's rules of life made her insist upon this
demand; and the son, at a proper hour, communicated to his father the
circumstances of his love, and the merit of the object. The next day
the father made her a visit. The beauty of her person, the fame of her
virtue, and a certain irresistible charm in her whole behaviour on so
tender and delicate an occasion, wrought so much upon him, in spite of
all prepossessions, that he hastened the marriage with an impatience
equal to that of his son. Their nuptials were celebrated with a privacy
suitable to the character and modesty of Cælia, and from that day, till
a fatal one of last week, they lived together with all the joy and
happiness which attend minds entirely united.
It should have been intimated, that Palamede is a student of the
Temple, and usually retired thither early in a morning, Cælia still
sleeping.
It happened a few days since, that she followed him thither to
communicate to him something she had omitted in her redundant fondness
to speak of the evening before. When she came to his apartment, the
servant there told her, she was coming with a letter to her. While
Cælia in an inner room was reading an apology from her husband, that
he had been suddenly taken by some of his acquaintance to dine at
Brentford, but that he should return in the evening, a country girl,
decently clad, asked, if those were not the chambers of Mr. Palamede?
She was answered, they were, but that he was not in town. The stranger
asked, when he was expected at home? The servant replied, she would
go in and ask his wife. The young woman repeated the word "wife," and
fainted. This accident raised no less curiosity than amazement in
Cælia, who caused her to be removed into the inner room. Upon proper
applications to revive her, the unhappy young creature returned to
herself, and said to Cælia, with an earnest and beseeching tone, "Are
you really Mr. Palamede's wife?" Cælia replies, "I hope I do not look
as if I were any other in the condition you see me." The stranger
answers, "No, madam, he is my husband." At the same instant she threw
a bundle of letters into Cælia's lap, which confirmed the truth of
what she asserted. Their mutual innocence and sorrow made them look at
each other as partners in distress, rather than rivals in love. The
superiority of Cælia's understanding and genius gave her an authority
to examine into this adventure as if she had been offended against, and
the other the delinquent. The stranger spoke in the following manner:
"Madam, if it shall please you, Mr. Palamede having an uncle of a good
estate near Winchester, was bred at the school there, to gain the more
his good-will by being in his sight. His uncle died, and left him the
estate, which my husband now has. When he was a mere youth he set his
affections on me: but when he could not gain his ends he married me,
making me and my mother, who is a farmer's widow, swear we would never
tell it upon any account whatsoever; for that it would not look well
for him to marry such a one as me; besides, that his father would cut
him off of the estate. I was glad to have him in an honest way, and he
now and then came and stayed a night and away at our house. But very
lately he came down to see us, with a fine young gentleman his friend,
who stayed behind there with us, pretending to like the place for the
summer; but ever since Master Palamede went, he has attempted to abuse
me; and I ran hither to acquaint him with it, and avoid the wicked
intentions of his false friend."
Cælia had no more room for doubt, but left her rival the same agonies
she felt herself. Palamede returns in the evening, and finding his wife
at his chambers, learned all that had passed, and hastened to Cælia's
lodgings.
It is much easier to imagine than express the sentiments of either the
criminal or the injured at this encounter.
As soon as Palamede had found way for speech, he confessed his
marriage, and his placing his companion on purpose to vitiate his wife,
that he might break through a marriage made in his nonage, and devote
his riper and knowing years to Cælia. She made him no answer; but
retired to her closet. He returned to the Temple, where he soon after
received from her the following letter:
* * * * *
"SIR,
"You, who this morning were the best, are now the worst of men who
breathe vital air. I am at once overwhelmed with love, hatred, rage,
and disdain. Can infamy and innocence live together? I feel the weight
of the one too strong for the comfort of the other. How bitter, Heaven,
how bitter is my portion! How much have I to say; but the infant which
I bear about me stirs with my agitation. I am, Palamede, to live in
shame, and this creature be heir to it. Farewell for ever."
FOOTNOTES:
[13] This quotation is attributed erroneously to Horace in the early
editions.
=No. 199.= [STEELE.[14]
From _Saturday, July 15_, to _Tuesday, July 18, 1710_.
When we revolve in our thoughts such catastrophes as that in the
history of the unhappy Cælia, there seems to be something so hazardous
in the changing a single state of life into that of marriage, that (it
may happen) all the precautions imaginable are not sufficient to defend
a virgin from ruin by her choice. It seems a wonderful inconsistence
in the distribution of public justice, that a man who robs a woman of
an ear-ring or a jewel, should be punished with death; but one who by
false arts and insinuations should take from her her very self, is only
to suffer disgrace. This excellent young woman has nothing to console
herself with, but the reflection that her sufferings are not the effect
of any guilt or misconduct, and has for her protection the influence of
a power which, amidst the unjust reproach of all mankind, can give not
only patience, but pleasure to innocence in distress.
As the person who is the criminal against Cælia cannot be sufficiently
punished according to our present law, so are there numberless unhappy
persons without remedy according to present custom. That great ill
which has prevailed among us in these latter ages, is the making even
beauty and virtue the purchase of money. The generality of parents, and
some of those of quality, instead of looking out for introducing health
of constitution, frankness of spirit, or dignity of countenance, into
their families, lay out all their thoughts upon finding out matches
for their estates, and not their children. You shall have one form a
plot for the good of his family, that there shall not be six men in
England capable of pretending to his daughter. A second shall have a
son obliged, out of mere discretion, for fear of doing anything below
himself, follow all the drabs in town. These sage parents meet; and
as there is no pass, no courtship, between the young ones, it is no
unpleasant observation to behold how they proceed to treaty. There is
ever in the behaviour of each something that denotes his circumstance;
and honest Coupler the conveniencer says, he can distinguish upon sight
of the parties, before they have opened any point of their business,
which of the two has the daughter to sell. Coupler is of our club, and
I have frequently heard him declaim upon this subject, and assert, that
the marriage-settlements which are now used have grown fashionable even
within his memory.
When the theatre in some late reigns owed its chief support to those
scenes which were written to put matrimony out of countenance,
and render that state terrible, then it was that pin-money[15]
first prevailed, and all the other articles inserted which create
a diffidence; and intimate to the young people, that they are very
soon to be in a state of war with each other: though this had seldom
happened, except the fear of it had been expressed. Coupler will tell
you also, that jointures were never frequent till the age before his
own; but the women were contented with the third part of the estate the
law allotted them, and scorned to engage with men whom they thought
capable of abusing their children. He has also informed me, that those
who were the oldest benchers when he came to the Temple told him, the
first marriage-settlement of considerable length was the invention of
an old serjeant, who took the opportunity of two testy fathers, who
were ever squabbling to bring about an alliance between their children.
These fellows knew each other to be knaves, and the serjeant took hold
of their mutual diffidence, for the benefit of the law, to extend the
settlement to three skins of parchment.
To this great benefactor to the profession is owing the present
price current of lines and words. Thus is tenderness thrown out of
the question; and the great care is, what the young couple shall do
when they come to hate each other? I do not question but from this
one humour of settlements, might very fairly be deduced not only our
present defection in point of morals, but also our want of people. This
has given way to such unreasonable gallantries, that a man is hardly
reproachable that deceives an innocent woman, though she has never so
much merit, if she is below him in fortune. The man has no dishonour
following his treachery; and her own sex are so debased by force of
custom, as to say in the case of the woman, "How could she expect he
would marry her."