No. 20. Thurſday, May 26. 1709.

—THOUGH the theatre is now breaking, it is allowed ſtill to ſell animals there; therefore, if any la⯑dy or gentleman have occaſion for a tame elephant, let them enquire of Mr. Pinkethman, who has one to diſ⯑poſe of at a reaſonable rate. The downfal of May-Faire has quite ſunk the price of this noble creature, as well as of many other curioſities of nature. A tiger will ſell almoſt as cheap as an ox; and I am credibly informed, a man may purchaſe a cat with three legs, for very near the value of one with four. I hear like⯑wiſe, that there is a great deſolation among the gen⯑tlemen and ladies who were the ornaments of the town, and uſed to ſhine in plumes and diadems; the heroes being moſt of them preſſed, and the queens beating hemp. Mrs. Sarabrand, ſo famous for her ingenious puppet-ſhow, has ſet up a ſhop in the Exchange, where ſhe ſells her little troop under the term of jointed ba⯑bies. I could not but be ſollicitous to know of her, how ſhe had diſpoſed of that rake hell Punch, whoſe lewd life and converſation had given ſo much ſcandal, and did not a little contribute to the ruin of the faire. She told me, with a ſigh, that deſpairing of ever reclaiming him, ſhe would not offer to place him in a civil family, but got him in a poſt upon a ſtall in Wapping, where he may be ſeen from ſun-riſing to ſun-ſetting, with a glaſs in one hand, and a pipe in the other, as centry to a brandy-ſhop. The great revolutions of this nature bring to my mind the diſtreſſes of the unfortunate Ca⯑milla, [2] who has had the ill luck to break before her voice, and to diſappear at a time when her beauty was in the height of its bloom. This lady entered ſo throughly into the great characters ſhe acted, that when ſhe had finiſhed her part, ſhe could not think of re⯑trenching her equipage, but would appear in her own lodgings with the ſame magnificence that ſhe did upon the ſtage. This greatneſs of ſoul has reduced that un⯑happy princeſs to an involuntary retirement, where ſhe now paſſes her time among the woods and foreſts, think⯑ing on the crowns and ſcepters ſhe has loſt, and often humming over in her ſolitude,

But for fear of being over-heard, and her quality known, ſhe uſually ſings it in Italian;

Since I have touched upon this ſubject, I ſhall commu⯑nicate to my reader part of a letter I have received from a friend at Amſterdam, where there is a very noble the⯑atre; though the manner of furniſhing it with actors is ſomething peculiar to that place, and gives us occaſion to admire both the politeneſs and frugality of the people.

‘'MY friends have kept me here a week longer than ordinary to ſee one of their plays, which was perform⯑ed laſt night with great applauſe. The actors are all of them tradeſmen, who, after their day's work is over, earn about a gilder a night by perſonating kings and generals. The hero of the tragedy I ſaw, was a jour⯑ney-man taylor, and his firſt miniſter of ſtate a coffee-man. The empreſs made me think of Parthenope in [3] the Rehearſal; for her mother keeps an ale-houſe in the ſuburbs of Amſterdam. When the tragedy was o⯑ver, they entertained us with a ſhort farce, in which the cobler did his part to a miracle; but upon enqui⯑ry, I found he had really been working at his own trade, and repreſenting on the ſtage what he acted eve⯑ry day in his ſhop. The profits of the theatre main⯑tain an hoſpital: for as here they do not think the profeſſion of an actor the only trade that a man ought to exerciſe, ſo they will not allow any-body to grow rich on a profeſſion that in their opinion ſo little con⯑duces to the good of the common-wealth. If I am not miſtaken, your play-houſes in England have done the ſame thing; for, unleſs I am miſinformed, the ho⯑ſpital at Dulledge was erected and endowed by Mr. Allen a player: and it is alſo ſaid, a famous ſhe-trage⯑dian has ſettled her eſtate, after her death, for the maintenance of decayed wits, who are to be taken in as ſoon as they grow dull, at whatever time of their life that ſhall happen.'’

No. 42. Saturday, July 16. 1709.

—THIS is to give notice, that a magnificent palace, with great variety of gardens, ſtatues, and wa⯑ter-works, may be bought cheap in Drury-Lane; where there are likewiſe ſeveral caſtles to be diſpoſed of, very delightfully ſituated; as alſo groves, woods, foreſts, fountains, and country ſeats,w ith very pleaſant pro⯑ſpects on all ſides of them; being the moveables of Chri⯑ſtopher Rich, Eſq who is breaking up houſe-keeping, and has many curious pieces of furniture to diſpoſe of, which may be ſeen between the hours of ſix and ten in the evening.

• Spirits of right Nantes brandy, for lambent flames and apparitions.
• Three bottles and a half of lightening.
• One ſhower of ſnow in the whiteſt French paper.
• Two ſhowers of a browner ſort.
• A ſea, conſiſting of a dozen large waves, the tenth bigger than ordinary, and a little damaged.
• A dozen and a half of clouds, trimmed with black, and well conditioned.
• A rainbow a little faded.
• A ſet of clouds after the French mode, ſtreaked with lightening, and furbelowed.
• A new-moon, ſomething decayed.
• A pint of the fineſt Spaniſh waſh, being all that is left of two hogſheads ſent over laſt winter.
• A coach very finely gilt, and little uſed, with a pair of dragons, to be ſold cheap.
• A ſetting-ſun, a pennyworth.
• An imperial mantle, made for Cyrus the great, and worn by Julius Caeſar, Bajazet, king Harry the eighth, and Signior Valentini.
• A baſket-hilt ſword, very convenient to carry milk in.
• Roxana's night-gown.
• Othello's handkerchief.
• The imperial robes of Xerxes, never worn but once.
• A wild-boar, killed by Mrs. Tofts and Diocleſian.
• A ſerpent to ſting Cleopatra.
• A muſtard-bowl to make thunder with.
• Another of a bigger ſort, by Mr. D—is's dire⯑ctions, little uſed.
• Six elbow-chairs, very expert in country dances, with ſix flower-pots for their partners.
• The whiskers of a Turkiſh baſſa.
• The complexion of a murderer in a band-box; con⯑ſiſting of a large piece of burnt cork, and a coal-black peruke.
• [5] A ſuit of clothes for a ghoſt, viz. a bloody ſhirt, a doublet curiouſly pinked, and a coat with three great eyelet-holes upon the breaſt.
• A bale of red Spaniſh wool.
• Modern plots, commonly known by the name of trap-doors, ladders of ropes, viſard-maſques, and tables with broad carpets over them.
• Three oak cudgels, with one of crab-tree; all bought for the uſe of Mr. Pinkethman.
• Materials for dancing; as maſques, caſtanets, and a ladder of ten rounds.
• Aurengzebe's Seymeter, made by Will. Brown in Piccadilly.
• A plume of feathers, never uſed but by Oedipus and the earl of Eſſex.
• There are alſo ſwords, halberts, ſheep-hooks, car⯑dinals hats, turbants, drums, gally-pots, a gibbet, a cradle, a rack, a cart-wheel, an altar, a helmet, a back⯑piece, a breaſt-plate, a bell, a tub, and a jointed baby.

Theſe are the hard ſhifts we intelligencers are forced to; therefore our readers ought to excuſe us, if a weſt⯑erly wind, blowing for a fortnight together, generally fills every paper with an order of battle; when we ſhow our martial skill in each line, and according to the ſpace we have to fill, we range our men in ſquadrons and bat⯑talions, or draw out company by company, and troop by troop; ever obſerving that no muſter is to be made, but when the wind is in a croſs point, which often hap⯑pens at the end of a campaign, when half the men a [...] deſerted or killed. The Courant is ſometimes ten deep, his ranks cloſe: the Poſt-Boy is generally in files, for greater exactneſs; and the Poſt-Man comes down upon you rather after the Turkiſh way, ſword in hand, pell⯑mell, without form or diſcipline: but ſure to bring men enough into the field; and where-ever they are raiſed, ne⯑ver to loſe a battle for want of numbers.

No. 75. Saturday, October 1. 1709.

I AM called off from public diſſertations by a dome⯑ſtic affair of great importance, which is no leſs than the diſpoſal of my ſiſter Jenny for life. The girl is a girl of great merit, and pleaſing converſation; but I being born of my father's firſt wife, and ſhe of his third, ſhe converſes with me rather like a daughter than a ſiſter. I have indeed told her, that if ſhe kept her honour, and behaved herſelf in ſuch a manner as became the Bickerſtaffs, I would get her an agreeable man for her huſband; which was a promiſe I made her after reading a paſſage in Pliny's Epiſtles. That polite author had been employed to find out a conſort for his friend's daughter, and gives the following character of the man he had pitched upon.

‘Aciliano plurimum vigoris et induſtriae quanquam in max⯑ima verecundia: eſt illi facies liberalis, multo ſanguine, multo rubore, ſuffuſa: eſt ingenua totius corporis pulchri⯑tudo, et quidam ſenatorius decor, quae ego nequaquam arbitror negligenda; debet enim hoc caſtitati puellarum quaſi praemium dari.’

‘'Acilianus is a man of extraordinary vigour and in⯑duſtry, accompanied with the greateſt modeſty. He has very much of the gentleman, with a lively colour, and fluſh of health in his aſpect. His whole perſon is finely turned, and ſpeaks him a man of quality: which are qulifications, that, I think, ought by no means to be overlooked, and ſhould be beſtowed on a daugh⯑ter as the reward of her chaſtity.'’

A woman, that will give herſelf liberties, need not put her parents to ſo much trouble; for if ſhe does not poſſeſs theſe ornaments in a huſband, ſhe can ſupply herſelf elſe⯑where. But this is not the caſe of my ſiſter Jenny, who, I may ſay without vanity, is as unſpotted a ſpin⯑ſter [7] as any in Great Britain. I ſhall take this occaſion to recommend the conduct of our own family in this particular.

We have, in the genealogy of our houſe, the deſcri⯑ptions and pictures of our anceſtors from the time of king Arthur; in whoſe days there was one of my own name, a knight of his round table, and known by the name of Sir Iſaac Bickerſtaff. He was low of ſtature, and of a very ſwarthy complexion, not unlike a Portugueſe Jew. But he was more prudent than men of that height uſual⯑ly are, and would often communicate to his friends his deſign of lengthening and whitening his poſterity. His eldeſt ſon Ralph (for that was his name) was for this rea⯑ſon married to a lady who had little elſe to recommend her but that ſhe was very tall and fair. The iſſue of this match, with the help of his ſhoes, made a tolerable figure in the next age; though the complexion of the family was obſcure 'till the fourth generation from that marriage. From which time, till the reign of William the Conqueror, the females of our houſe were famous for their needle-work and fine ſkins. In the male line there happened an unlucky accident in the reign of Richard the third, the eldeſt ſon of Philip, then chief of the family, being born with an hump-back and very high noſe. This was the more aſtoniſhing, becauſe none of his forefathers ever had ſuch a blemiſh; nor in⯑deed was there any in the neighbourhood of that make, except the butler, who was noted for round ſhoulders, and a Roman noſe: what made the noſe the leſs excuſ⯑able, was the remarkable ſmallneſs of his eyes.

The ſeveral defects were mended by ſucceeding match⯑es; his eyes were opened in the next generation, and the hump fell in a century and half; but the greateſt dif⯑ficulty was how to reduce the noſe; which I do not find was accompliſhed till about the middle of Henry the ſeventh's reign, or rather the beginning of that of Hen⯑ry the eighth.

But while our anceſtors were thus taken up in culti⯑vating [8] the eyes and noſe, the face of the Bickerſtaffs fell down inſenſibly into chin; which was not taken notice of (their thoughts being ſo much employed upon the more noble features) till it became almoſt too long to be remedied.

But length of time, and ſucceſſive care in our allian⯑ces, have cured this alſo, and reduced our faces into that tolerable oval which we enjoy at preſent. I would not be tedious in this diſcourſe, but cannot but obſerve, that our race ſuffered very much about three hundred years ago, by the marriage of one of her heireſſes with an eminent courtier, who gave us ſpindle-ſhanks, and cramps in our bones, inſomuch that we did not recover our health and legs till Sir Walter Bickerſtaff married Maud the milk-maid, of whom the then Garter king at arms (a facetious perſon) ſaid pleaſantly enough, that ſhe had ſpoiled our blood, but mended our conſtitutions.

After this account of the effect our prudent choice of matches has had upon our perſons and features, I can⯑not but obſerve, that there are daily inſtances of as great changes made by marriage upon men's minds and hu⯑mours. One might wear any paſſion out of a family by culture, as skilful gardiners blot a colour out of a tulip that hurts its beauty. One might produce an affable tem⯑per out of a ſhrew, by graſting the mild upon the cho⯑leric; or raiſe a jackpudding from a prude, by inocu⯑lating mirth and melancholy. It is for want of care in the diſpoſing of our children, with regard to our bodies and minds, that we go into an houſe and ſee ſuch dif⯑ferent complexions and humours in the ſame race and family. But to me it is as plain as a pikeſtaff, from what mixture it is, that this daughter ſilently lowers, the other ſteals a kind lock at you, a third is exactly well behaved, a fourth a ſplenatic, and a fifth a coquerte.

In this diſpoſal of my ſiſter, I have choſen, with an eye to ber being a wit, and provided, that the bride⯑groom be a man of a found and excellent jedgment, who will ſeldom mind what ſhe ſays when ſhe begins to [9] harangue: for Jenny's only imperfection is an admira⯑tion of her parts, which inclines her to be a little, but a very little, ſluttiſh; and you are ever to remark, that we are apt to cultivate moſt, and bring into obſervation, what we think moſt excellent in ourſelves, or moſt cap⯑able of improvement. Thus my ſiſter, inſtead of con⯑ſulting her glaſs and her toilet for an hour and an half after her private devotion, ſits with her noſe full of ſnuff, and a man's nightcap on her head, reading plays and romances. Her wit ſhe thinks her diſtinction; there⯑fore knows nothing of the ſkill of dreſs, or making her perſon agreeable. It would make you laugh, to ſee me often with my ſpectacles on lacing her ſtays; for ſhe is ſo very a wit, that ſhe underſtands no ordinary thing in the world.

For this reaſon I have diſpoſed of her to a man of bu⯑ſineſs, who will ſoon let her ſee, that to be well dreſſed, in good humour, and chearful in the command of her family, are the arts and ſciences of female life. I could have beſtowed her upon a fine gentleman, who extreme⯑ly admired her wit, and would have given her a coach and ſix: but I found it abſolutely neceſſary to croſs the ſtrain; for had they met, they had eternally been rivals in diſcourſe, and in continual contention for the ſuperio⯑rity of underſtanding, and brought forth critics, pedants, or pretty good poets.

As it is, I expect an off-ſpring fit for the habitation of city, town or country; creatures that are docile and tra⯑ctable in whatever we put them to.

To convince men of the neceſſity of taking this me⯑thod, let any one, even below the skill of an aſtrologer, behold the turn of faces he meets as ſoon as he paſſes Cheapſide-conduit, and you ſee a deep attention and a certain unthinking ſharpneſs in every countenance. They look attentive, but their thoughts are engaged on mean purpoſes. To me it is very apparent when I ſee a citizen paſs by, whether his head is upon woollen, ſilks, iron, ſugar, indigo, or ſtocks. Now this trace of [10] thought appears or lies hid in the race for two or three generations.

I know at this time a perſon of a vaſt eſtate, who is the immediate deſcendant of a fine gentleman, but the great-grandſon of a broker, in whom his anceſtor is now revived. He is a very honeſt gentleman in his prin⯑ciples, but cannot for his blood talk fairly: he is hearti⯑ly ſorry for it; but he cheats by conſtitution, and over⯑reaches by inſtinct.

The happineſs of the man who marries my ſiſter will be, that he has no faults to correct in her but her own, a little byaſs of fancy, or particularity of manners which grew in herſelf, and can be amended by her. From ſuch an untainted couple, we can hope to have our family riſe to its ancient ſplendor of face, air, countenance, manner and ſhape, without diſcovering the product of ten nations in one houſe. Obadiah Green-hat ſays, he never comes into any company in England, but he di⯑ſtinguiſhes the different nations of which we are compoſ⯑ed: there is ſcarce ſuch a living creature as a true Bri⯑tain. We ſit down indeed all friends, acquaintance, and neighbours; but after two bottles, you ſee a Dane ſtart up and ſwear, the kingdom is his own. A Saxon drinks up the whole quart, and ſwears, he will diſpute that with him. A Norman tells them both, he will aſſert his liberty: and a Welſhman cries, they are all foreigners and intruders of yeſterday, and beats them out of the room. Such accidents happen frequently among neigh⯑bours children, and couſin-germans. For which reaſon I ſay, ſtudy your race, or the ſoil of your family will dwindle into cits or 'ſquires, or run up into wits or madmen.

No. 81. Saturday, October 15. 1709.

THERE are two kinds of immortality; that which the ſoul really enjoys after this life, and that imaginary exiſtence by which men live in their fame and reputation. The beſt and greateſt actions have proceeded from the proſpect of the one or other of theſe; but my deſign is to treat only of thoſe who have chiefly propoſed to themſelves the latter as the principal reward of their labours. It was for this rea⯑ſon that I excluded from my tables of fame all the great founders and votaries of religion; and it is for this rea⯑ſon alſo that I am more than ordinarily anxious to do juſtice to the perſons of whom I am now going to ſpeak; for ſince Fame was the only end of all their en⯑terprizes and ſtudies, a man cannot be too ſcrupulous in allotting them their due proportion of it. It was this conſideration which made me call the whole body of the learned to my aſſiſtance; to many of whom I muſt own my obligations for the catalogues of illuſtri⯑ous perſons which they have ſent me in upon this oc⯑caſion. I yeſterday employed the whole afternoon in comparing them with each other; which made ſo ſtrong an impreſſion upon my imagination, that they broke my ſleep for the firſt part of the following night, and at length threw me into a very agreeable viſion, which I ſhall beg leave to deſcribe in all its particulars.

I dreamed that I was conveyed into a wide and boundleſs plain, that was covered with prodigious mul⯑titudes [12] of people, which no man could number. In the midſt of it there ſtood a mountain, with its head above the clouds. The ſides were extremely ſteep, and of ſuch a particular ſtructure, that no creature, which was not made in a human figure, could poſſibly aſcend it. On a ſudden there was heard from the top of it a ſound like that of a trumpet; but ſo exceeding ſweet and har⯑monious, that it filled the hearts of thoſe who heard it with raptures, and gave ſuch high and delightful ſenſa⯑tions, as ſeemed to animate and raiſe human nature a⯑bove itſelf. This made me very much amazed to find ſo very few in that innumerable multitude, who had ears fine enough to hear or reliſh this muſic with pleaſure: but my wonder abated, when, upon looking round me, I ſaw moſt of them attentive to three ſirens clothed like goddeſſes, and diſtinguiſhed by the names of Sloth, Ig⯑norance, and Pleaſure. They were ſeated on three rocks, amidſt a beautiful variety of groves, meadows, and rivu⯑lets that lay on the borders of the mountain. While the baſe and groveling multitude of different nations, ranks, and ages, were liſtening to theſe deluſive deities, thoſe of a more erect aſpect and exalted ſpirit ſeparated themſelves from the reſt, and marched in great bodies towards the mountain; from whence they heard the ſound, which ſtill grew ſweeter the more they liſtened to it.

On a ſudden, methought this ſelect band ſprang for⯑ward, with a reſolution to climb the aſcent, and follow the call of that heavenly muſic. Every one took ſome⯑thing with him that he thought might be of aſſiſtance to him in his march. Several had their ſwords drawn, ſome carried rolls of paper in their hands, ſome had compaſſes, others quadrants, others teleſcopes, and others pencils; ſome had laurels on their heads, and others buſkings on their legs: in ſhort, there was ſcarce any inſtrument of a mechanic art or a liberal ſcience, which was not made uſe of on this occaſion. My good Daemon, who ſtood at my right hand during the courſe [13] of this whole viſion, obſerving in me a kind of burning deſire to join that glorious company, told me he highly approved that generous ardor with which I ſeemed tranſ⯑ported; but at the ſame time adviſed me to cover my face with a maſk all the while I was to labour on the a⯑ſcent. I took his counſel without inquiring into his reaſons. The whole body now broke into different parties, and began to climb the precipice by ten thouſand different paths. Several got into little allies, which did not reach far up the hill, before they ended and led no further: and I obſerved, that moſt of the arti⯑zans, which conſiderably diminiſhed our number, fell in⯑to theſe paths.

We left another conſiderable body of adventurers be⯑hind us, who thought they had diſcovered by-ways up the hill, which proved ſo very intricate and perplexed, that after having advanced in them a little, they were quite loſt among the ſeveral turns and windings; and though they were as active as any in their motions, they made but little progreſs in the aſcent. Theſe, as my guide informed me, were men of ſubtle tempers, and puzzled politics, who would ſupply the place of real wiſdom with cunning and artifice. Among thoſe, who were far advanced in their way, there were ſome that by one falſe ſtep fell backward, and loſt more ground in a moment, than they had gained for many hours, or could be ever able to recover. We were now advanced very high, and obſerved, that all the different paths which ran about the ſides of the mountain, began to meet in two great roads, which inſenſibly gathered the whole multitude of travellers into two great bodies. At a little diſtance from the enterance of each road, there ſtood an hideous phantom, that oppoſed our further paſſage. One of theſe apparitions had his right hand filled with darts, which he brandiſhed in the face of all who came up that way. Crouds ran back at the ap⯑pearance of it, and cried out Death. The ſpectre that guarded the other road, was Envy: ſhe was not armed [14] with weapons of deſtruction like the former; but by dreadful hiſſings, noiſes of reproach, and a horrid di⯑ſtracted laughter, ſhe appeared more frightful than death itſelf, inſomuch that abundance of our company were diſcouraged from paſſing any further, and ſome appear⯑ed aſhamed of having come ſo far. As for myſelf, I muſt confeſs my heart ſhrunk within me at the ſight of theſe ghaſtly appearances: but on a ſudden, the voice of the trumpet came more full upon us, ſo that we felt a new reſolution reviving in us; and in proportion as this reſolution grew, the terrors before us ſeemed to va⯑niſh. Moſt of the company, who had ſwords in their hands, marched on with great ſpirit, and an air of defi⯑ance, up the road that was commanded by Death; while others, who had thought and contemplation in their looks, went forward in a more compoſed manner up the road poſſeſſed by Envy. The way above theſe apparations grew ſmooth and uniform, and was ſo de⯑lightful, that the travellers went on with pleaſure, and in a little time arrived as the top of the mountain. They here began to breathe a delicious kind of aether, and ſaw all the fields about them covered with a kind of purple light, that made them reflect with ſatisfaction on their paſt toils, and diffuſed a ſecret joy through the whole aſſembly, which ſhewed itſelf in every look and feature. In the midſt of theſe happy fields, there ſtood a palace of a very glorious ſtructure: it had four great folding⯑doors, that faced the four ſeveral quarters of the world. On the top of it was enthroned the goddeſs of the mountain, who ſmiled upon her votaries, and ſounded the ſilver trumpet which had called them up, and chear⯑ed them in their paſſage to her palace. They had now formed themſelves into ſeveral diviſions, a band of hi⯑ſtorians taking their ſtations at each door, according to the perſons whom they were to introduce.

On a ſudden the trumpet, which had hitherto ſound⯑ed only a march or a point of war, now ſwelled all its notes into triumph and exultation: the whole fabric [15] ſhook, and the doors flew open. The firſt who ſtepped forward, was a beautiful and blooming hero, and as I heard by the murmurs round me, Alexander the Great. He was conducted by a croud of hiſtorians. The per⯑ſon who immediately walked before him, was remark⯑able for an embroidered garment, who not being well acquainted with the place, was conducting him to an a⯑partment appointed for the reception of fabulous heroes. The name of this falſe guide was Quintus Curtius. But Arrian and Plutarch, who knew better the avenues of this palace, conducted him into the great hall, and placed him at the upper end of the firſt table. My good Dae⯑mon, that I might ſee the whole ceremony, conveyed me to a corner of this room, where I might perceive all that paſſed, without being ſeen myſelf. The next who entered was a charming virgin, leading in a venerable old man that was blind. Under her left arm ſhe bore a harp, and on her head a garland. Alexander, who was very well acquainted with Homer, ſtood up at his en⯑terance, and placed him on his right hand. The vir⯑gin, who it ſeems was one of the nine ſiſters that at⯑tended on the goddeſs of Fame, ſmiled with an ineffable grace at their meeting, and retired.

Julius Caeſar was now coming forward; and though moſt of the hiſtorians offered their ſervice to introduce him, he left them at the door, and would have no con⯑ductor but himſelf.

The next who advanced was a man of a homely but chearful aſpect, and attended by perſons of greater fi⯑gure than any that appeared on this occaſion. Plato was on his right hand, and Xenophon on his left. He bow⯑ed to Homer, and ſat down by him. It was expected that Plato would himſelf have taken a place next to his maſter Socrates; but on a ſudden there was heard a great clamour of diſputants at the door, who appeared with Ariſtotle at the head of them. That philoſopher, with ſome rudeneſs, but great ſtrength of reaſon, convinced [16] the whole table, that a title to the fifth place was his due, and took it accordingly.

He had ſcarce ſat, down, when the ſame beautiful virgin that had introduced Homer brought in another, who hung back at the enterance, and would have excuſ⯑himſelf, had not his modeſty been overcome by the in⯑vitation of all who ſat at the table. His guide and be⯑haviour made me eaſily conclude it was Virgil. Cicero next appeared, and took his place. He had inquired at the door for Lucceius to introduce him; but not find⯑ing him there, he contented himſelf with the atten⯑dance of many other writers, who all, except Salluſt, ap⯑peared highly pleaſed with the office.

We waited ſome time in expectation of the next wor⯑thy, who came in with a great retinue of hiſtorians, whoſe names I could not learn, moſt of them being na⯑tives of Carthage. The perſon thus conducted, who was Hannibal, ſeemed much diſturbed, and could not forbear complaining to the board of the affronts he had met with among the Roman hiſtorians, who attempted, ſays he, to carry me into the ſubterraneous apartment; and perhaps would have done it, had it not been for the impartiality of this gentleman, pointing to Polybius, who was the only perſon, except my own countrymen, that was willing to conduct me hither.

The Carthaginian took his ſeat, and Pompey entered with great dignity in his own perſon, and preceded by ſeveral hiſtorians. Lucan the poet was at the head of them, who obſerving Homer and Virgil at the table, was going to ſit down himſelf, had not the latter whiſ⯑pered him, that whatever pretence he might otherwiſe have had, he forſeited his claim to it, by coming in as one of the hiſtorians. Lucan was ſo exaſperated with the repulſe, that he muttered ſomething to himſelf, and was heard to ſay, that ſince he could not have a ſeat a⯑mong them himſelf, he would bring in one, who alone had more merit than their whole aſſembly: upon which he went to the door, and brought in Cato of Utica. That [17] great man approached the company with ſuch an air, that ſhewed he contemned the honour which he laid a claim to. Obſerving the ſeat oppoſite to Caeſar was va⯑cant, he took poſſeſſion of it; and ſpoke two or three ſmart ſentences upon the nature of precedency, which, according to him, conſiſted not in place, but in intrin⯑ſic merit; to which he added, that the moſt virtuous man, where-ever he was ſeated, was always at the upper end of the table. Socrates, who had a great ſpirit of raillery with his wiſdom, could not forbear ſmiling at a virtue which took ſo little pains to make itſelf agreeable. Cicero took the occaſion to make a long diſcourſe in praiſe of Cato, which he uttered with much vehemence. Caeſar anſwered with a great deal of ſeeming temper: but as I ſtood at a great diſtance from them, I was not able to hear one word of what they ſaid. But I could not forbear taking notice, that in all the diſcourſe which paſſed at the table, a word or a nod from Homer decided the controverſy.

After a ſhort pauſe, Auguſtus appeared looking round him with a ſerene and affable countenance upon all the writers of his age, who ſtrove among themſelves which of them ſhould ſhow him the greateſt marks of gratitude and reſpect. Virgil roſe from the table to meet him; and though he was an acceptable gueſt to all, he appear⯑ed more ſuch to the learned, than the military worthies. The next man aſtoniſhed the whole table with his ap⯑pearance: he was ſlow, ſolemn, and ſilent in his beha⯑viour, and wore a raiment curiouſly wrought with hie⯑roglyphics. As he came into the middle of the room, he threw back the ſkirt of it, and diſcovered a golden thigh. Socrates, at the ſight of it, declared againſt keeping company with any who were not made of fleſh and blood; and therefore deſired Diogenes the Laertian to lead him to the apartment allotted for fabulous he⯑roes, and worthies of dubious exiſtence. At his going out, he told them, that they did not know whom they diſmiſſed; that he was now Pythagoras, the firſt of [18] philoſophers, and that formerly he had been a brave man at the ſiege of Troy. That may be very true, ſaid Socrates; but you forget that you have likewiſe been a ve⯑ry great harlot in your time. This excluſion made way for Archimedes, who came forward with a ſcheme of ma⯑thematical figures in his hand; among which, I ob⯑ſerved a cone or cylinder.

Seeing this table full, I deſired my guide for variety to lead me to the fabulous apartment, the roof of which was painted with gorgons, chimera's and centaurs, with many other emblematical figures, which I wanted both time and ſkill to unriddle. The firſt table was almoſt full. At the upper end ſat Hercules, leaning an arm upon his club. On his right hand were Achilles and Ulyſſes, and between them Aeneas. On his left were Hector, Theſeus, and Jaſon. The lower end had Orpheus, Aeſop, Phalaris, and Muſaeus. The uſhers ſeemed at a loſs for a twelfth man, when me⯑thought, to my great joy and ſurprize, I heard ſome at the lower end of the table mention Iſaac Bickerſtaff: but thoſe of the upper end received it with diſdain, and ſaid, if they muſt have a Britiſh worthy, they would have Robin Hood.

‘'^‡While I was tranſported with the honour that was done me, and burning with envy againſt my com⯑petitor, I was awakened by the noiſe of the cannon which were then fired for the taking of Mons. I ſhould have been very much troubled at being thrown out of ſo pleaſing a viſion on any other occaſion; but thought it an agreeable change to have my thoughts diverted from the greateſt among the dead and fabulous heroes, to the moſt famous among the real and the living.'’

No. 86. Thurſday, October 27. 1709.

When I came home laſt night, my ſervant delivered me the following letter.

I received this meſſage with leſs ſurprize than I be⯑lieved Mr. Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too well to feel any palpitations at their ap⯑proach: but I was in very great concern how I ſhould adjuſt the ceremonial, and demean myſelf to all theſe great men, who perhaps had not ſeen any thing above themſelves for theſe twenty years laſt paſt. I am ſure that is the caſe of Sir Harry. Beſides which, I was ſen⯑ſible that there was a great point in adjuſting my beha⯑viour [20] to the ſimple 'ſquire, ſo as to give him ſatisfaction, and not diſoblige the juſtice of the Quorum.

The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no ſooner ſet chairs (by the ſteward's letter) and fixed my tea-equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one entered; after which followed a long ſilence, which was broke at laſt by, Sir, I beg your pardon; I think I know better: and another voice, Nay, good Sir Giles—I looked out from my window, and ſaw the good company all with their hats off, and arms ſpread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much ſolemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was ſo kind as to name them to me. But they are now got to my chamber-door, and I ſaw my old friend Sir Harry enter. I met him with all the reſpect due to ſo reverend a vegetable: for you are to know, that is my ſenſe of a perſon who remains idle in the ſame place for half a century. I got him with great ſucceſs into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any of my cups. The knight bachelor told me, he had a great reſpect for my whole family, and would, with my leave, place himſelf next to Sir Harry, at whoſe right hand he had ſat at every quarter⯑ſeſſions this thirty years, unleſs he was ſick. The ſtew⯑ard in the rear whiſpered the young templer, that is true to my knowlege. I had the misfortune, as they ſtood cheek by jole, to deſire the 'ſquire to ſit down be⯑fore the juſtice of the Quorum, to the no ſmall ſatisfa⯑ction of the former, and reſentment of the latter: but I ſaw my error too late, and got them as ſoon as I could into their ſeats. Well, ſaid I, gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great honour, I am to deſire you to drink a diſh of tea. They anſwered one and all, that they never drank tea in a morning. Not in a morning, ſaid I! ſtaring round me. Upon which the pert jackanapes Nick Doubt tipped me the wink, and put out his tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a profound ſilence, when the ſteward in his boots and [21] whip propoſed, we ſhould adjourn to ſome public⯑houſe, where every body might call for what they pleaſ⯑ed, and enter upon the buſineſs. We all ſtood up in an inſtant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left very diſ⯑creetly, countermarching behind the chairs towards the door: after him, Sir Giles in the ſame manner. The ſimple 'ſquire made a ſudden ſtart to follow; but the juſtice of the Quorum whipped between upon the ſtand of the ſtairs. A maid going up with coals made us halt, and put us into ſuch confuſion, that we ſtood all in a heap, without any viſible poſſiblity of recovering our order: for the young jackanapes ſeemed to make a jeſt of this matter, and had ſo contrived, by preſſing a⯑mongſt us under pretence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the middle, and he knew no⯑body was of quality to ſtir a ſtep, till Sir Harry moved firſt. We were fixed in this perplexity for ſome time, till we heard a very loud noiſe in the ſtreet; and Sir Harry aſking what it was, I, to make them move, ſaid it was fire. Upon this, all ran down as faſt as they could, without order or ceremony, till we got into the ſtreet, where we drew up in very good order, and filed off down Sheer-Lane, the impertinent templer driving us before him, as in a ſtring, and pointing to his ac⯑quaintance who paſſed by.

I muſt confeſs, I love to uſe people according to their own ſenſe of good breeding, and therefore whipped in between the juſtice and the ſimple 'ſquire. He could not properly take this ill; but I over-heard him whiſper the ſteward, that he thought it hard that a common con⯑jurer ſhould take place of him, though an elder 'ſquire. In this order we marched down Sheer-lane, at the upper end of which I lodge. When we came to Temple-Bar, Sir Harry and Sir Giles got over; but a run of coaches kept the reſt of us on this ſide the ſtreet: however we all at laſt landed, and drew up in very good order before Ben. Tooke's ſhop, who favoured our rallying with great humanity. From hence we proceeded again, till [22] we came to Dick's coffee-houſe, where I deſigned to carry them. Here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the ſtreet upon the ſame ceremony. We pro⯑ceeded through the entry, and were ſo neceſſarily kept in order by the ſituation, that we were now got into the coffee-houſe itſelf, where, as ſoon as we arrived, we repeated our civilities to each other; after which, we marched up to the high table, which has an aſcent to it incloſed in the middle of the room. The whole houſe was alarmed at this entry, made up of perſons of ſo much ſtate and ruſticity. Sir Harry called for a mug of ale, and Dyer's letter. The boy brought the ale in an inſtant; but ſaid, they did not take in the letter. No! (ſays Sir Harry;) then take back your mug; we are like indeed to have good liquor at this houſe! Here the templer tipped me a ſecond wink, and if I had not look⯑ed very grave upon him, I found he was diſpoſed to be very familiar with me. In ſhort, I obſerved, after a long pauſe, that the gentlemen did not care to enter up⯑on buſineſs till after their morning-draught, for which reaſon I called for a bottle of mum; and finding that had no effect upon them, I ordered a ſecond, and a third: after which, Sir Harry reached over to me, and told me in a low voice, that the place was too public for buſi⯑neſs; but he would call upon me again to morrow⯑morning at my own lodgings, and bring ſome more friends with him.—^‡

No. 88. Tueſday, November 1. 1709.

—I was this morning awaked by a ſudden ſhake of the houſe; and as ſoon as I had got a little out of my [23] conſternation, I felt another, which was followed by two or three repetitions of the ſame convulſion. I got up as faſt as poſſible, girt on my rapier, and ſnatched up my hat, when my landlady came up to me, and told me that the gentlewoman of the next houſe begged me to ſtep thither; for that a lodger ſhe had taken in was run mad, and ſhe deſired my advice; as indeed every body in the whole lane does upon important occaſions. I am not like ſome artiſts, ſaucy, becauſe I can be beneficial, but went immediately. Our neighbour told us, ſhe had the day before let her ſecond floor to a very genteel youngiſh man, who told her, he kept extraordinary good hours, and was generally at home moſt part of the morning and evening at ſtudy; but that this morning he had for an hour together made this extravagant noiſe which we then heard. I went up ſtairs with my hand upon the hilt of my rapier, and approached this new lodger's door. I looked in at the key-hole, and there I ſaw a well-made man look with great attention on a book, and on a ſudden, jump into the air ſo high, that his head almoſt touched the cieling. He came down ſafe on his right foot, and again flew up alighting on his left; then looked again at his book, and holding out his right leg, put it into ſuch a quivering motion, that I thought he would have ſhaked it off. He uſed the left after the ſame manner; when on a ſudden, to my great ſurprize, he ſtooped himſelf incredibly low, and turned gently on his toes. After this circular motion, he con⯑tinued bent in that humble poſture for ſome time, look⯑ing on his book. After this he recovered himſelf with a ſudden ſpring, and flew round the room in all the vio⯑lence and diſorder imaginable, till he made a full pauſe for want of breath. In this interim my woman asked what I thought: I whiſpered, that I thought this learn⯑ed perſon an enthuſiaſt, who poſſibly had his firſt edu⯑cation in the Peripatetic way, which was a ſect of phi⯑loſophers who always ſtudied when walking. But ob⯑ſerving him much out of breath, I thought it the beſt [24] time to maſter him if he were diſordered, and knocked at his door. I was ſurprized to find him open it, and ſay with great civility, and good mien, that he hoped he had not diſturbed us. I believed him in a lucid inter⯑val, and deſired he would pleaſe to let me ſee his book. He did ſo, ſmiling. I could not make any thing of it, and therefore asked in what language it was writ. He ſaid, it was one he ſtudied with great application; but it was his profeſſion to teach it, and could not communi⯑cate his knowlege without a conſideration. I anſwered, that I hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himſelf; for his meditation this morming had coſt me three coffee diſhes, and a clean pipe. He ſeemed con⯑cerned at that, and told me, he was a dancing-maſter, and had been reading a dance or two before he went out, which had been written by one who taught at an academy in France. He obſerved me at a ſtand, and went on to inform me, that now articulate motions, as well as founds, were expreſſed by proper characters; and that there is nothing ſo common as to communicate a dance by a letter. I beſeeched him hereafter to me⯑ditate in a ground-room, for that otherwiſe it would be impoſſible for an artiſt of any other kind to live near him; and that I was ſure, ſeveral of his thoughts this morning would have ſhaken my ſpectacles off my noſe, had I been myſelf at ſtudy.

I then took my leave of this virtuoſo, and returned to my chamber, meditating on the various occupations of rational creatures.

No. 90. Saturday, November 5. 1709.

—The joining of pleaſure and pain together in ſuch devices, ſeems to me the only pointed thought I [25] ever read which is natural; and it muſt have proceeded from its being the univerſal ſenſe and experience of man⯑kind, that they have all ſpoken of it in the ſame manner. I have in my own reading remarked an hundred and three epigrams, fifty odes, and ninety one ſentences, tending to this ſole purpoſe.

It is certain, there is no other paſſion which does pro⯑duce ſuch contrary effects in ſo great a degree: but this may he ſaid for love, that if you ſtrike it out of the ſoul, life would be inſipid, and our being but half animated. Human nature would ſink into deadneſs and lethargy, if not quickened with ſome active principle; and as for all others, whether ambition, envy, or avarice, which are apt to poſſeſs the mind in the abſence of this paſſion, it muſt be allowed that they have greater pains, without the compenſation of ſuch exquiſite pleaſures as thoſe we find in love. The great ſkill is to heighen the ſatisfactions, and deaden the ſorrows of it, which has been the end of many of my labours, and ſhall continue to be ſo for the ſervice of the world in general, and in particular of the fair ſex, who are always the beſt or the worſt part of it. It is pity that a paſſion, which has in it a capacity of making life happy, ſhould not be cultivated to the utmoſt advantage. Reaſon, prudence, and good-nature, rightly applied, can thoroughly accompliſh this great end, pro⯑vided they have always a real and conſtant love to work upon. But this ſubject I ſhall treat more at large in the hiſtory of my married ſiſter; and in the mean time ſhall conclude my reflection on the pains and pleaſures which attend this paſſion with one of the fineſt allegories which I think I have ever read. It is invented by the divine Plato, and to ſhow the opinion he himſelf had of it, a⯑ſcribed by him to his admired Socrates, whom he repre⯑ſents as diſcourſing with his friends, and giving the hi⯑ſtory of Love in the following manner.

At the birth of Beauty, ſays he, there was a great feaſt made, and many gueſts invited: among the reſt, was the god Plenty, who was the ſon of the goddeſs Prudence, [26] and inherited many of his mother's virtues. After a full entertainment, he retired into the garden of Jupiter, which was hung with a great variety of ambroſial fruits, and ſeems to have been a very proper retreat for ſuch a gueſt. In the mean time an unhappy female, called Poverty, hav⯑ing heard of this great feaſt, repaired to it in hopes of finding relief. The firſt place ſhe lights upon was Jupi⯑ter's garden, which generally ſtands open to people of all conditions. Poverty enters, and by chance finds the god Plenty aſleep in it. She was immediately fired with his charms, laid herſelf down by his ſide, and managed matters ſo well that ſhe conceived a child by him. The world was very much in ſuſpence upon the occaſion, and could not imagine to themſelves what would be the na⯑ture of an infant that was to have its original from two ſuch parents. At the laſt, the child appears; and who ſhould it be but Love. This infant grew up, and proved in all his behaviour what he really was, a compound of oppoſite beings. As he is the ſon of Plenty, who was the offspring of Prudence, he is ſubtle, intriguing, full of ſtra⯑tagems and devices; as the ſon of Poverty, he is fawning, begging, ſerenading, delighting to lie at a threſhold, or beneath a window. By the father he is audacious, full of hopes, conſcious of merit, and therefore quick of reſent⯑ment: by the mother, he is doubtful, timorous, mean⯑ſpirited, fearful of offending, and abject in ſubmiſſions. In the ſame hour you may ſee him tranſported with rap⯑tures, talking of immortal pleaſures, and appearing ſatis⯑fied as a god; and immediately after, as the mortal mother prevails in his compoſition, you hehold him pining, lan⯑guiſhing, deſpairing, dying.

I have been always wonderfully delighted with fables, allegories, and the like inventions, which the politeſt and the beſt inſtuctors of mankind have always made uſe of: they take off from the ſeverity of inſtruction, and in⯑force it at the ſame time that they conceal it: the ſup⯑poſing Love to be conceived immediately after the birth of Beauty, the parentage of Plenty, and the inconſiſtency [27] of this paſſion with itſelf ſo naturally derived to it, are great maſter-ſtrokes in this fable; and if they fell into good hands, might furniſh out a more pleaſing canto than any in Spenſer.

N^o 93. Saturday, Nov. 12, 1709.

N^o 97. Tueſday, November 22, 1709.

HAVING ſwept away prodigious multitudes in one of my late papers, and brought a great deſtruction upon my own ſpecies, I muſt endeavour in this to raiſe freſh recruits, and if poſſible, to ſupply the places of the unborn and the deceaſed. It is ſaid of Xerxes, that when he ſtood upon a hill, and ſaw the whole country round him covered with his army, he bruſt out in tears, to think that not one of that multitude would be alive a hundred years after. For my part, when I take a ſurvey of this populous city, I can ſcarce forbear weeping, to ſee how few of its inhabitants are now living. It was with this thought that I drew up my laſt bill of mortality, and en⯑deavoured to ſet out in it the great number of perſons who have periſhed by a diſtemper, commonly known by the name of idleneſs, which has long raged in the world, and deſtroys more in every great town than the plague has done at Dantzick. To repair the miſchief it has done, and ſtock the world with a better race of mortals, I have more hopes of bringing to life thoſe that are young, than of reviving thoſe that are old. For which reaſon, I ſhall here ſet down that noble allegory which was written by an old author called Prodicus, but recommended and embelliſhed by Socrates. It is the deſcription of Virtue and Pleaſure, making their court to Hercules under the appearances of two beautiful women.

When Hercules, ſays the divine moraliſt, was in that part of his youth in which it was natural for him to con⯑ſider what courſe of life he ought to purſue, he one day [31] retired into a deſart, where the ſilence and ſolitude of the place very much favoured his meditations. As he was mu⯑ſing on his preſent condition, and very much perplexed in himſelf on the ſtate of life he ſhould chuſe, he ſaw two women of a larger ſtature than ordinary approaching towards him. One of them had a very noble air, and graceful deportment; her beauty was natural and eaſy, her perſon clean and unſpotted, her eyes caſt towards the ground with an agreeable reſerve, her motion and behavi⯑our full of modeſty, and her raiment as white as ſnow. The other had a great deal of health and floridneſs in her countenance, which ſhe had helped with an artificial white and red, and endeavoured to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mein, by a mixture of affectation in all her geſtures. She had a wonderful confidence and aſſu⯑rance in her looks, and all the variety of colours in her dreſs that ſhe thought were the moſt proper to ſhow her complexion to an advantage. She caſt her eyes upon herſelf, then turned them on thoſe that were preſent, to ſee how they liked her, and often looked on the figure ſhe made in her own ſhadow. Upon her nearer approach to Hercules, ſhe ſtepped before the other lady, who came forward with a regular compoſed carriage, and running up to him, accoſted him after the following manner.

My dear Hercules, ſays ſhe, I find you are very much divided in your own thoughts upon the way of life that you ought to chuſe: be my friend, and follow me; I will lead you into the poſſeſſion of pleaſure, and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noiſe and diſquietude of buſineſs. The affairs of either war or peace ſhall have no power to diſturb you. Your whole employ⯑ment ſhall be to make your life eaſy, and to entertain eve⯑ry ſenſe with its proper gratification. Sumptuous tables, beds of roſes, clouds of perfumes, concerts of muſic, crouds of beauties, are all in a readineſs to receive you. Come along with me into this region of delights, this world of pleaſure, and bid farewel for ever to care, to pain, to buſineſs—

[32] Hercules, hearing the lady talk after this manner, de⯑ſired to know her name; to which ſhe anſwered, my friends, and thoſe who are well acquainted with me, call me Happineſs; but my enemies, and thoſe who would injure my reputation, have given me the name of Plea⯑ſure.

By this time the other lady was come up, who ad⯑dreſſed herſelf to the young hero in a very different manner.

Hercules, ſays ſhe, I offer myſelf to you, becauſe I know you are deſcended from the gods, and give proofs of that deſcent by your love to virtue, and application to the ſtudies proper for your age. This makes me hope you will gain both for yourſelf and me an immortal re⯑putation. But before I invite you into my ſociety and friendſhip, I will be open and ſincere with you, and muſt lay down this as an eſtabliſhed truth, that there is no⯑thing truly valuable which can be purchaſed without pains and labour. The gods have ſet a price upon every real and noble pleaſure. If you would gain the favour of the deity, you muſt be at the pains of worſhipping him; if the friendſhip of good men, you muſt ſtudy to oblige them; if you would be honoured by your country, you muſt take care to ſerve it. In ſhort, if you would be emi⯑nent in war or peace, you muſt become maſter of all the qualifications that can make you ſo. Theſe are the only terms and conditions upon which I can propoſe happi⯑neſs.

The goddeſs of Pleaſure here broke in upon her diſ⯑courſe: you ſee, ſaid ſhe, Hercules, by her own confeſſion, the way to her pleaſure is long and difficult, whereas that which I propoſe is ſhort and eaſy.

Alas! ſaid the other lady, whoſe viſage glowed with a paſſion, made up of ſcorn and pity, what are the plea⯑ſures you propoſe? To eat before you are hungry, drink before you are athirſt, ſleep before you are tired, to gratify appetites before they are raiſed, and raiſe ſuch appetites as nature never planted. You never heard the moſt de⯑licious [33] muſic, which is the praiſe of one's ſelf; nor ſaw the moſt beautiful object, which is the work of one's own hands. Your votaries paſs away their youth in a dream of miſtaken pleaſures, while they are hoarding up anguiſh, torment, and remorſe for old-age. As for me, I am the friend of gods and of good men, an agreeable companion to the artizan, an houſhold guardian to the fathers of families, a patron and protector of ſervants, and aſſociate in all true and generous friendſhips. The banquets of my votaries are never coſtly, but always delicious; for none eat or drink at them who are not invited by hunger and thirſt. Their ſlumbers are ſound, and their wakings chear⯑ful. My young men have the pleaſure of hearing them⯑ſelves praiſed by thoſe who are in years; and thoſe who are in years, of being honoured by thoſe who are young. In a word, my followers are favoured by the gods, be⯑loved by their acquaintance, eſteemed by their country, and, after the cloſe of their labours, honoured by po⯑ſterity.

We know, by the life of this memorable hero, to which of theſe two ladies he gave up his heart; and I be⯑lieve, every one who reads this will do him the juſtice to approve his choice.

I very much admire the ſpeeches of theſe ladies, as con⯑taining in them the chief arguments for a life of virtue, or a life of pleaſure, that could enter into the thoughts of an heathen; but am particularly pleaſed with the dif⯑ferent figures he gives the two goddeſſes. Our modern authors have repreſented Pleaſure or Vice with an al⯑luring face, but ending in ſnakes and monſters: here ſhe appears in all the charms of beauty, though they are all falſe and borrowed; and by that means, compoſes a viſi⯑on entirely natural and pleaſing.

I have tranſlated this allegory for the benefit of the youth of Great Britain; and particularly of thoſe who are ſtill in the deplorable ſtate of non-exiſtence, and whom I moſt earneſtly intreat to come into the world. Let my embrios ſhow the leaſt inclination to any ſingle virtue, [34] and I ſhall allow it to be a ſtruggling towards birth. I do not expect of them, that, like the hero in the fore⯑going ſtory, they ſhould go about as ſoon as they are born, with a club in their hands, and a lion's ſkin on their ſhoulders, to root out monſters, and deſtroy tyrants; but, as the fineſt author of all antiquity has ſaid upon this very occaſion, though a man has not the abilities to diſtinguiſh himſelf in the moſt ſhining parts of a great character, he has certainly the capacity of being juſt, faith⯑ful, modeſt, and temperate.

N^o 100. Tueſday, November 29, 1709.

I WAS laſt week taking a ſolitary walk in the garden of Lincolns-Inn, a favour that is indulged me by ſeveral of the benchers who are my intimate friends, and grown old with me in this neighbourhood, when, according to the nature of men in years, who have made but little progreſs in the advancement of their fortune or their fame, I was repining at the ſudden riſe many perſons who are my juniors, and indeed at the unequal diſtribution of wealth, honour, and all other bleſſings of life. I was loſt in this thought when the night came upon me, and drew my mind into a far more agreeable contemplation. The heaven above me appeared in all its glories, and preſent⯑ed me with ſuch an hemiſphere of ſtars, as made the moſt agreeable proſpect imaginable to one who delights in the ſtudy of nature. It happened to be a freezing night, which had purified the whole body of air into ſuch a bright tran⯑ſparent aether, as made every conſtellation viſible; and at the ſame time gave ſuch a particular glowing to the ſtars, that I thought it the richeſt ſky I had ever ſeen. I could not behold a ſcene ſo wonderfully adorned and lighted up, if I may be allowed that expreſſion, with⯑out [35] ſuitable meditations on the author of ſuch illuſtrious and amazing objects. For on theſe occaſions, philoſophy ſuggeſts motives to religion, and religion adds pleaſures to philoſophy.

As ſoon as I had recovered my uſual temper and ſere⯑nity of ſoul, I retired to my lodgings with the ſatisfaction of having paſſed away a few hours in the proper employ⯑ments of a reaſonable creature, and promiſing myſelf that my ſlumbers would be ſweet. I no ſooner fell into them, but I dreamed a dream, or ſaw a viſion, for I know not which to call it, that ſeemed to riſe out of my evening-meditation, and had ſomething in it ſo ſolemn and ſerious, that I cannot forbear communicating it; though I muſt confeſs, the wildneſs of imagination, which in a dream is always looſe and irregular, diſcovers itſelf too much in ſeveral parts of it.

Methoughts I ſaw the azure ſky diverſified with the ſame glorious luminaries which had entertained me a little before I fell aſleep. I was looking very attentively on that ſign in the heavens which is called by the name of the Balance, when on a ſudden there appeared in it an extra⯑ordinary light, as if the ſun ſhould riſe at midnight. By its increaſing in breadth and luſtre, I ſoon found that it approached towards the earth; and at length could diſ⯑cern ſomething like a ſhadow hovering in the midſt of a great glory, which in a little time after I diſtinctly per⯑ceived to be the figure of a woman. I fancied at firſt it might have been the angel or intelligence that guided the conſtellation from which it deſcended; but upon a nearer view, I ſaw about her all the emblems with which the goddeſs of Juſtice is uſually deſcribed. Her countenance was unſpeakably awful and majeſtic, but exquiſitely beautiful to thoſe whoſe eyes were ſtrong enough to be⯑hold it; her ſmiles tranſported with rapture, her frowns terrified to deſpair. She held in her hand a mirror, en⯑dued with the ſame qualities as that which the painters put into the hand of Truth.

There ſtreamed from it a light, which diſtinguiſhed it⯑ſelf [36] from all the ſplendors that ſurrounded her, more than a flaſh of lightning ſhines in the midſt of day-light. As ſhe moved it in her hand, it brightened the heavens, the air, or the earth. When ſhe had deſcended ſo low as to be ſeen and heard by mortals, to make the pomp of her appearance more ſupportable, ſhe threw darkneſs and clouds about her, that tempered the light into a thouſand beautiful ſhades and colours, and multiplied that luſtre, which was before too ſtrong and dazling, into a variety of milder glories.

In the mean time the world was in an alarm, and all the inhabitants of it gathered together upon a ſpacious plain; ſo that I ſeemed to have all the ſpecies before my eyes. A voice was heard from the clouds, declaring the intention of this viſit, which was to reſtore and ap⯑propriate to every one living what was his due. The fear and hope, joy and ſorrow, which appeared in that great aſſembly after this ſolemn declaration, are not to be ex⯑preſſed. The firſt edict was then pronounced, That all titles and claims to riches and eſtates, or to any part of them, ſhould be immediately veſted in the rightful owner. Upon this, the inhabitants of the earth held up the inſtruments of their tenure, whether in parchment, paper, wax, or any other form of conveyance; and as the goddeſs moved the mirror of Truth which ſhe held in her hand, ſo that the light which flowed from it fell upon the multitude, they examined the ſeveral inſtruments by the beams of it. The rays of this mirror had a particular quality of ſetting fire to all forgery and falſhood. The blaze of pa⯑pers, the melting of ſeals, and crackling of parchments, made a very odd ſcene. The fire very often ran through two or three lines only, and then ſtopped; though I could not but obſerve, that the flame chiefly broke out among the interlineations and codicils. The light of the mirror, as it was turned up and down, pierced into all the dark cor⯑ners and receſſes of the univerſe, and by that means de⯑tected many writings and records which had been hidden or buried by time, chance, or deſign. This occaſioned [37] a wonderful revolution among the people. At the ſame time, the ſpoils of extortion, fraud, and robbery, with all the fruits of bribery and corruption, were thrown together into a prodigious pile, that almoſt reached to the clouds, and was called the Mount of Reſtitution; to which all in⯑jured perſons were invited, to receive what belonged to them.

One might ſee crouds of people in tattered garments come up, and change clothes with others that were dreſ⯑ſed with lace and embroidery. Several who were Plumbs, or very near it, became men of moderate fortunes; and many others, who were overgrown in wealth and poſ⯑ſeſſions, had no more leſt than what they uſually ſpent. What moved my concern moſt, was, to ſee a certain ſtreet of the greateſt credit in Europe from one end to the other become bankrupt.

The next command was, for the whole body of man⯑kind to ſeparate themſelves into their proper families; which was no ſooner done, but an edict was iſſued out, requiring all children to repair to their true and natural fathers. This put a great part of the aſſembly in motion; for as the mirror was moved over them, it inſpired eve⯑ry one with ſuch a natural inſtinct, as directed them to their real parents. It was a very melancholy ſpectacle to ſee the fathers of very large families become childleſs, and bachelors undone by a charge of ſons and daughters. You might ſee a preſumptive heir of a great eſtate aſk bleſ⯑ſing of his coachman, and a celebrated toaſt paying her duty to a valet de chambre. Many under vows of celi⯑bacy appeared ſorrounded with a numerous iſſue. This change of parentage would have cauſed great lamentation, but that the calamity was pretty common; and that ge⯑nerally thoſe who loſt their children, had the ſatisfacti⯑on of ſceing them put into the hands of their deareſt friends. Men were no ſooner ſettled in their right to their poſſeſſions and their progeny, but there was a third order proclaimed, That all the poſts of dignity and honour in the univerſe ſhould be conferred on perſons of the greateſt [38] merit, abilities and perfection. The handſome, the ſtrong and the wealthy, immediately preſſed forward; but not being able to bear the ſplendor of the mirror which play⯑ed upon their faces, they immediately fell back among the croud: but as the goddeſs tried the multitude by her glaſs, as the eagle does its young ones by the luſtre of the ſun, it was remarkable, that every one turned a⯑way his face from it who had not diſtinguiſhed himſelf either by virtue, knowlege or capacity in buſineſs, either military, or civil. This ſelect aſſembly was drawn up in the centre of a prodigious multitude, which was diffuſ⯑ed on all ſides, and ſtood obſerving them, as idle people uſe to gather about a regiment that are exerciſing their arms. They were drawn up in three bodies: in the firſt were the men of virtue; in the ſecond, men of know⯑lege; and in the third, the men of buſineſs. It was im⯑poſſible to look at the firſt column without a ſecret ve⯑neration, their aſpects were ſo ſweetened with humanity, raiſed with contemplation, emboldened with reſolution, and adorned with the moſt agreeable airs, which are thoſe that proceed from ſecret habits of virtue. I could not but take notice, that there were many faces among them which were unknown, not only to the multitude, but even to ſeveral of their own body.

In the ſecond column, conſiſting of the men of know⯑lege, there had been great diſputes before they fell into the ranks, which they did not do at laſt, without poſitive command of the goddeſs who preſided over the aſſem⯑bly. She had ſo ordered it, that men of the greateſt geni⯑us and ſtrongeſt ſenſe were placed at the head of the column: behind theſe, were ſuch as had formed their minds very much on the thoughts and writings of o⯑thers. In the rear of the column, were men who had more wit than ſenſe, or more learning than underſtanding. All living authors of any value were ranged in one of theſe claſſes; but I muſt confeſs, I was very much ſurpriſed to ſee a great body of editors, critics, commentators, and grammarians, meet with ſo very ill a reception. They [39] had formed themſelves into a body, and with a great deal of arrogance demanded the firſt ſtation in the column of knowlege; but the goddeſs, inſtead of complying with their requeſt, clapped them all into liveries, and bid them know themſelves for no other but lacqueys of the learned.

The third column were men of buſineſs, and conſiſt⯑ing of perſons in military and civil capacities. The for⯑mer marched out from the reſt, and placed themſelves in the front, at which the others ſhook their heads at them, but did not think fit to diſpute the poſt with them. I could not but make ſeveral obſevations upon this laſt column of people; but I have certain private reaſons why I do not think fit to communicate them to the pub⯑lic. In order to fill up all the poſts of honour, dignity, and profit, there was a draught made out of each co⯑lumn, of men who were maſters of all three qualificati⯑ons in ſome degree, and were preferred to ſtations of the firſt rank. The ſecond draught was made out of ſuch as were poſſeſſed of any two of the qualifications, who were diſpoſed of in ſtations of a ſecond dignity. Thoſe who were left, and were endued only with one of them, had their ſuitable poſts. When this was over, there re⯑mained many places of truſt and profit unfilled, for which there were freſh draughts made out of the ſurrounding multitude, who had any appearance of theſe excellencies, or were recommended by thoſe who poſſeſſed them in re⯑ality.

All were ſurpriſed to ſee ſo many new faces in the moſt eminent dignities; and for my own part, I was ve⯑ry well pleaſed to ſee that all my friends either kept their preſent poſts, or were advanced to higher.

Having filled my paper with thoſe particulars of man⯑kind, I muſt reſerve for another occaſion the ſequel of it, which relates to the fair ſex.

N^o 101. Thurſday, December 1, 1709.

THE progreſs of my intended account of what hap⯑pened when Juſtice viſited mortals, is at preſent in⯑terrupted by the obſervation and ſenſe of an injuſtice a⯑gainſt which there is no remedy, even in a kingdom more happy in the care taken of the liberty and property of the ſubject, than any other nation upon earth. This iniquity is committed by a moſt impregnable ſet of mor⯑tals, men who are rogues within the law; and in the very commiſſion of what they are guilty of, profeſſedly own, that they forbear no injury but from the terror of being puniſhed for it. Theſe miſcreants are a ſet of wretch⯑es we authors call pirates, who print any book, poem, or ſermon, as ſoon as it appears in the world, in a ſmal⯑ler volume, and ſell it, as all other thieves do ſtolen goods, at a cheaper rate. I was in my rage calling them raſcals, plunderers, robbers, highway-men—But they acknow⯑lege all that, and are pleaſed with thoſe as well as any other titles; nay, will print them themſelves to turn the peny.

I am extremely at a loſs how to act againſt ſuch open enemies, who have not ſhame enough to be touched with our reproaches, and are as well defended againſt what we can ſay, as what we can do. Railing therefore we muſt turn into complaint, which I cannot forbear making, when I conſider that all the labours of my long life may be diſappointed by the firſt man that pleaſes to rob me. I had flattered myſelf, that my ſtock of learning was worth 150 l. per annum, which would very handſomely maintain me and my little family, who are ſo happy or ſo wiſe as to want only neceſſaries. Before men had come up [41] to this bare-faced impudence, it was an eſtate to have a competency of underſtanding.

An ingenious drole, who is ſince dead, and indeed it is well for him he is ſo, for he muſt have ſtarved had he lived to this day, uſed to give me an account of his good huſbandry in the management of his learning. He was a general dealer, and had his amuſements as well comical as ſerious. The merry rogue ſaid, when he wanted a dinner, he writ a paragraph of table-talk, and his bookſeller upon ſight paid the reckoning. He was a very good judge of what would pleaſe the people, and could aptly hit both the genius of his readers, and the ſeaſon of the year in his writings. His brain, which was his eſtate, had as regular and different produce as other mens land. From the beginning of November till the o⯑pening of the campagne, he writ pamphlets and letters to members of parliament, or friends in the country: but ſometimes he would relieve his ordinary readers with a murder, and lived comfortably a week or two upon ſtrange and lamentable accidents. A little before the armies took the field, his way was to open your attention with a prodigy; and a monſter well writ, was two guineas the loweſt price. This prepared his readers for his great and bloody news from Flanders in June and July. Poor Tom! He is gone—But I obſerved, he always looked well after a battle, and was apparently fatter in a fighting year. Had this honeſt careleſs fellow lived till now, fa⯑mine had ſtared him in the face, and interrupted his mer⯑riment; as it muſt be a ſolid affliction to all thoſe whoſe pen is their portion.

As for my part, I do not ſpeak wholly for my own ſake in this point; for palmiſtry and aſtrology will bring me in greater gains than theſe my papers; ſo that I am only in the condition of a lawyer, who leaves the bar for chamber-practice. However, I may be allowed to ſpeak in the cauſe of learning itſelf, and lament, that a liberal education is the only one which a polite nation makes unprofitable. All mechanic artizans are allowed [42] to reap the fruit of their invention and ingenuity with⯑out invaſion; but he that has ſeparated himſelf from the reſt of mankind, and ſtudied the wonders of the creation, the government of his paſſions, and the revolutions of the world, and has an ambition to communicate the effect of half his life ſpent in ſuch noble enquiries, has no pro⯑perty in what he is willing to produce, but is expoſed to robbery and want, with this melancholy and juſt reflection, that he is the only man who is not protected by his country, at the ſame time that he beſt deſerves it.

According to the ordinary rules of computation, the greater the adventure is, the greater ought to be the pro⯑fit of thoſe who ſucceed in it; and by this meaſure, none have pretence of turning their labours to greater advan⯑tage than perſons brought up to letters. A learned edu⯑cation, paſſing through great ſchools and univerſities, is very expenſive, and conſumes a moderate fortune before it is gone through in its proper forms. The purchaſe of an handſome commiſſion or employment, which would give a man a good figure in another kind of life, is to be made at a much cheaper rate. Now, if we conſider this expenſive voyage which is undertaken in the ſearch of knowlege, and how few there are who take in any con⯑ſiderable merchandiſe, how leſs frequent it is to be able to turn what men have gained into profit: how hard is it, that the very ſmall number who are diſtinguiſhed with abilities to know how to vend their wares, and have the good fortune to bring them into port, ſhould ſuffer being plundered by privateers under the very cannon that ſhould protect them! The moſt eminent and uſeful author of the age we live in, after having laid out a princely re⯑venue in works of charity and beneficence, as became the greatneſs of his mind, and the ſanctity of his cha⯑racter, would have left the perſon in the world who was the deareſt to him in a narrow condition, had not the ſale of his immortal writings brought her in a very conſider⯑able dowry; though it was impoſſible for it to be equal to their value. Every one will know, that I here mean the [43] works of the late archbiſhop of Canterbury, the copy of which was ſold for 2500 l.

I do not ſpeak with relation to any party; but it has happened, and may often ſo happen, that men of great learning and virtue cannot qualify themſelves for being employed in buſineſs, or receiving preferments. In this caſe, you cut them off from all ſupport, if you take from them the benefit that may ariſe from their writings. For my own part, I have brought myſelf to conſider things in ſo unprejudiced a manner, that I eſteem more a man who can live by the product of his underſtanding, than one who does it by the favour of great men.

The zeal of an author has tranſported me thus far, though I think my ſelf as much concerned in the capaci⯑ty of a reader. If this practice goes on, we muſt never expect to ſee again a beautiful edition of a book in Great Britain.

We have already ſeen the memoirs of Sir William Temple publiſhed in the ſame character and volume with the hiſtory of Tom Thumb, and the works of our greateſt poets ſhrunk into peny books and garlands. For my own part, I expect to ſee my lucubrations printed on browner paper then they are at preſent; and if the humour continues, muſt be forced to retrench my expenſive way of living, and not ſmoke above two pipes a day.

N^o 102. Saturday, December 3, 1709.
A continuation of the Viſion.

THE male world were diſmiſſed by the goddeſs of Ju⯑ſtice, and diſappeared, when on a ſudden the whole plain was covered with women. So charming a mul⯑titude filled my heart with unſpeakable pleaſure; and [44] as the celeſtial light of the mirror ſhone upon their faces, ſeveral of them ſeemed rather perſons that deſcended in the train of the goddeſs, than ſuch who were brought be⯑fore her to their trial. The clack of tongues, and confu⯑ſion of voices, in this new aſſembly, was ſo very great, that the goddeſs was forced to command ſilence ſeveral times, and with ſome ſeverity, before ſhe could make them attentive to her edicts. They were all ſenſible, that the moſt important affair among womankind was then to be ſettled, which every one knows to be the point of place. This had raiſed innumerable diſputes among them, and put the whole ſex into a tumult. Every one produced her claim, and pleaded her pretenſions. Birth, beauty, wit, or wealth, were words that rung in my ears from all parts of the plain. Some boaſted of the merit of their husbands; others of their own power in governing them. Some pleaded their unſpotted virginity; others their nu⯑merous iſſue. Some valued themſelves as they were the mothers, and others as they were the daughters, of con⯑ſiderable perſons. There was not a ſingle accompliſhment unmentioned, or unpractiſed. The whole congregation was full of ſinging, dancing, toſſing, ogling, ſqueaking, ſmiling, ſighing, fanning, frowning, and all thoſe irreſiſtible arts which women put in practice, to captivate the hearts of reaſonable creatures. The goddeſs, to end this diſpute, cauſed it to be proclaimed, That every one ſhould take place according as ſhe was more or leſs beautiful. This declarati⯑on gave great ſatisfaction to the whole aſſembly, which immediately bridled up, and appeared in all its beauties. Such as believed themſelves graceful in their motion, found an occaſion of falling back, advancing forward, or making a falſe ſtep, that they might ſhow their perſons in the moſt becoming air. Such as had fine necks and boſoms, were wonderfully curious to look over the heads of the multitude, and obſerve the moſt diſtant parts of the aſſembly. Several clapped their hands on their forheads, as helping their ſight to look upon the glories that ſurrounded the goddeſs, but in reality to ſhow [45] fine hands and arms. The ladies were yet better pleaſed when they heard, that in the deciſion of this great con⯑troverſy, each of them ſhould be her own judge, and take her place according to her own opinion of herſelf, when ſhe conſulted her looking-glaſs.

The goddeſs then let down the mirror of truth in a golden chain, which appeared larger in proportion as it deſcended and approached nearer to the eyes of the be⯑holders. It was particular property of this looking-glaſs to baniſh all falſe appearances, and ſhow people what they are. The whole woman was repreſented, without regard to the uſual external features, which were made entirely conformable to their real characters. In ſhort, the moſt accompliſhed, taking in the whole circle of female per⯑fections, were the moſt beautiful; and the moſt defective, the moſt deformed. The goddeſs ſo varied the motion of the glaſs, and placed it in ſo many different lights, that each had an opportunity of ſeeing herſelf in it.

It is impoſſible to deſcribe the rage, the pleaſure, or aſtoniſhment, that appeared in each face upon its repre⯑ſentation in the mirror: multitudes ſtarted at their own form, and would have broke the glaſs if they could have reached it. Many ſaw their blooming features wither as they looked upon them, and their ſelf-admiration turned into a loathing and abhorrence. The lady who was thought ſo agreeable in her anger, and was ſo often celebrated for a woman of fire and ſpirit, was frighted at her own image, and fancied ſhe ſaw a fury in the glaſs. The intereſted miſtreſs beheld a harpy, and the ſubtle jilt a ſphinx. I was very much troubled in my own heart, to ſee ſuch a deſtruction of fine faces; but at the ſame time had the pleaſure of ſeeing ſeveral improved, which I had before looked upon as the greateſt maſter-pieces of nature. I obſerved that ſome few were ſo humble as to be ſurpriſed at their own charms; and that many a one who had lived in the retirement and ſeverity of a veſtal, ſhin⯑ed forth in all the graces and attractions of a ſyren. I was raviſhed at the ſight of a particular image in the mir⯑ror, [46] which I think the moſt beautiful object that my eyes ever beheld. There was ſomething more than human in her countenance. Her eyes were ſo full of light, that they ſeemed to beautify every thing they looked upon. Her face was enlivened with ſuch a florid bloom, as did not ſo properly ſeem the mark of health, as of immortali⯑ty. Her ſhape, her ſtature, and her mein, were ſuch as di⯑ſtinguiſhed her even there where the whole fair ſex was aſſembled.

I was impatient to ſee the lady repreſented by ſo di⯑vine an image, whom I found to be the perſon that ſtood at my right hand, and in the ſame point of view with myſelf. This was a little old woman, who in her prime had been about five foot high, though at preſent ſhrunk to about three quarters of that meaſure. Her natu⯑ral aſpect was puckered up with wrinkles, and her head covered with grey hairs. I had obſerved all along an in⯑nocent chearfulneſs in her face, which was now height⯑ened into rapture as ſhe beheld herſelf in the glaſs. It was an odd circumſtance in my dream, but I cannot for⯑bear relating it, I conceived ſo great an inclination to⯑wards her, that I had thoughts of diſcourſing her upon the point of marriage, when on a ſudden ſhe was carried from me: for the word was now given, that all who were pleaſed with their own images, ſhould ſeparate, and place themſelves at the head of their ſex.

This detachment was afterwards divided into three bodies, conſiſting of maids, wives, and widows; the wives being placed in the middle, with the maids on the right, and the widows on the left; though it was with difficulty that theſe two laſt bodies were hindered from falling in⯑to the centre. This ſeparation of thoſe, who liked their real ſelves, not having leſſened the number of the main body ſo conſiderably as it might have been wiſhed, the goddeſs, after having drawn up her mirror, thought fit to make new diſtinctions among thoſe who did not like the figure which they ſaw in it. She made ſeveral wholſome edicts, which are ſlipt out of my mind; but there were two [47] which dwelt upon me, as being very extraordinary in their kind, and executed with great ſeverity. Their deſign was, to make an example of two extremes in the female world; of thoſe who are very ſevere on the conduct of o⯑thers, and of thoſe who are very regardleſs of their own. The firſt ſentence therefore the goddeſs pronounced, was, That all females addicted to conſoriouſneſs and detraction, ſhould loſe the uſe of ſpeech; a puniſhment which would be the moſt grievous to the offender, and, what ſhould be the end of all puniſhments, effectual for rooting out the crime. Upon this edict, which was as ſoon execut⯑ed as publiſhed, the noiſe of the aſſembly very conſide⯑rably abated. It was a melancholy ſpectacle, to ſee ſo many who had the reputation of rigid virtue ſtruck dumb. A lady who ſtood by me, and ſaw my concern, told me, ſhe wondered how I could be concerned for ſuch a pack of—I found, by the ſhaking of her head, ſhe was going to give me their characters; but by her ſaying no more, I perceived ſhe had loſt the command of her tongue. This calamity fell very heavy upon that part of women who are diſtinguiſhed by the name of Prudes, a courtly word for female hypocrites, who have a ſhort way to being virtuous, by ſhowing that others are vicious. The ſecond ſentence was then pronounced againſt the looſe part of the ſex, That all ſhould immediately be preg⯑nant, who in any part of their lives had ran the hazard of it. This produced a very goodly appearance, and reveal⯑ed ſo many miſconducts, that made thoſe who were lately ſtruck dumb, repine more than ever at their want of ut⯑terance, though at the ſame time, as afflictions ſeldom come ſingle, many of the mutes were alſo ſeized with this new calamity. The ladies were now in ſuch a con⯑dition, that they would have wanted room, had not the plain been large enough to let them divide their ground, and extend their lines on all ſides. It was a ſenſible affliction to me, to ſee ſuch a multitude of fair ones either dumb or big-bellied: but I was ſomething more at eaſe, when I ſound that they agreed upon ſeveral regu⯑lations [48] to cover ſuch misfortunes. Among others that it ſhould be an eſtabliſhed maxim in all nations, that a wo⯑man's firſt child might come into the world within ſix months after her acquaintance with her huſband; and that grief might retard the birth of her laſt till fourteen months after his deceaſe.

This viſion laſted till my uſual hour of waking, which I did with ſome ſurprize, to find myſelf alone, after hav⯑ing been engaged almoſt a whole night in ſo prodigious a multitude. I could not but reflect with wonder, at the partiality and extravagance of my viſion; which accord⯑ing to my thoughts, has not done juſtice to the ſex. If virtue in men is more venerable, it is in women more lovely; which Milton has very finely expreſſed in his Paradiſe Loſt, where Adam, ſpeaking of Eve, after hav⯑ing aſſerted his own pre-eminence, as being firſt in crea⯑tion and internal faculties, breaks out into the following rapture:

N^o 103. Tueſday, December 6, 1709.

THERE is nothing gives a man greater ſatisfaction, than the ſenſe of having diſpatched a great deal of bu⯑ſineſs, eſpecially when it turns to the public emolument. I have much pleaſure of this kind upon my ſpirits at pre⯑ſent, occaſioned by the fatigue of affairs which I went through laſt Saturday. It is ſome time ſince I ſet apart that day for examining the pretenſions of ſeveral who had applied to me, for canes, perſpective-glaſſes, ſnuff⯑boxes, orange-flower-waters, and the like ornaments of life. In order to adjuſt this matter, I had before directed Charles Lillie of Beauſord-buildings to prepare a great bundle of blank licences in the following words:

The ſame form, differing only in the proviſos, will ſerve for a perſpective, ſnuff-box, or perfumed handker⯑chief. I had placed myſelf in my elbow-chair at the up⯑per end of my great parlour, having ordered Charles Lil⯑lie to take his place upon a joint-ſtool with a writing-deſk before him. John Morphew alſo took his ſtation at the door; I having, for his good and faithful ſervices, ap⯑pointed him my chamber-keeper upon court-days. He let me know that there were a great number attending with⯑out. [50] Upon which, I ordered him to give notice, that I did not intend to ſit upon ſnuff-boxes that day; but that thoſe who appeared for canes might enter. The firſt preſented me with the following petition, which I or⯑dered Mr. Lillie to read.

Upon the hearing of his caſe, I was touched with ſome compaſſion, and the more ſo, when upon obſerving him nearer I found he was a Prig. I bid him produce his cane in court, which he had left at the door. He did ſo, and I finding it to be very curiouſly clouded, with a tranſ⯑parent amber head, and a blue ribbon to hang upon his wriſt, I immediately ordered my clerk Lillie to lay it up, and deliver out to him a plain joint headed with walnut; and then, in order to wean him from it by degrees, per⯑mitted him to wear it three days in the week, and to [51] abate proportionably till he found himſelf able to go a⯑lone.

The ſecond who appeared, came limping into the court: and ſetting forth in his petition many pretences for the uſe of a cane, I cauſed them to be examined one by one; but finding him in different ſtories, and confronting him with ſeveral witneſſes who had ſeen him walk upright, I ordered Mr. Lillie to take in his cane, and rejected his petition as frivolous.

A third made his entery with great difficulty, leaning upon a ſlight ſtick, and in danger of falling every ſtep he took. I ſaw the weakneſs of his hams; and hearing that he had married a young wife about a fortnight before, I bid him leave his cane, and gave him a new pair of crutches, with which he went off in great vigour and alacrity. This gentleman was ſucceeded by another, who ſeemed very much pleaſed while his petition was reading, in which he had repreſented, that he was ex⯑tremely afflicted with the gout, and ſet his foot upon the ground with the caution and dignity which accompany that diſtemper. I ſuſpected him for an impoſtor, and hav⯑ing ordered him to be ſearched, I committed him into the hands of Dr. Thomas Smith in King-Street, my own corn-cutter, who attended in an outward room; and wrought ſo ſpeedy a cure upon him, that I thought fit to ſend him alſo away without his cane.

While I was thus diſpenſing juſtice, I heard a noiſe in my outward room; and enquiring what was the occaſi⯑on of it, my door-keeper told me, that they had taken up one in the very fact as he was paſſing by my door. They immediately brought in a lively freſh-coloured young man, who made great reſiſtance with hand and foot, but did not offer to make uſe of his cane, which hung on his fifth button. Upon examination, I found him to be an Oxford ſcholar, who was juſt entered at the Temple. He at firſt diſputed the juriſdiction of the court; but being driven out of his little law and logic, he told me very pertly, that he looked upon ſuch a perpendicular [52] creature as a man to make a very imperfect figure with⯑out a cane in his hand. It is well known, ſays he, we ought, according to the natural ſituation of our bodies, to walk upon our hands and feet; and that the wiſdom of the ancients had deſcribed man to be an animal of four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three at night; by which they intimated, that a cane might very pro⯑perly become part of us in ſome period of life. Upon which I aſked him, whether he wore it at his breaſt to have it in readineſs when that period ſhould arrive? My young lawyer immediately told me, he had a pro⯑perty in it, and a right to hang it where he pleaſed, and to make uſe of it as he thought fit, provided that he did not break the peace with it: and further ſaid, that he never took it off his button unleſs it were to lift it up at a coachman, hold it over the head of a drawer, point out the circumſtances of a ſtory, or for other ſervices of the like nature, that are all within the laws of the land. I did not care for diſcouraging a young man, who, I ſaw, would come to good; and becauſe his heart was ſet upon his new purchaſe, I only ordered him to wear it about his neck, inſtead of hanging it upon his button, and ſo diſmiſſed him.

There were ſeveral appeared in court, whoſe pretenſi⯑ons I found to be very good, and therefore gave many their licences upon paying their fees; as many others had their licences renewed, who required more time for recovery of their lameneſs than I had before allowed them.

Having diſpatched this ſet of my petitioners, there came in a well dreſſed man, with a glaſs-tube in one hand and his petition in the other. Upon his entering the room, he threw back the right ſide of his wig, put for⯑ward his right leg, and advancing the glaſs to his right eye, aimed it directly at me. In the mean while, to make my obſervations alſo, I put on my ſpectacles; in which poſture we ſurveyed each other for ſome time. Upon the removal of our glaſſes, I deſired him to read his petition, which he did very promptly and eaſily; though at the [53] ſame time it ſet forth, that he could ſee nothing diſtinctly, and was within very few degrees of being utterly blind; concluding with a prayer, that he might be permitted to ſtrengthen and extend his ſight by a glaſs. In anſwer to this, I told him, he might ſometimes extend it to his own deſtruction. As you are now, ſaid I, you are out of the reach of beauty; the ſnafts of the fineſt eyes loſe their force before they can come at you; you cannot diſtin⯑guiſh a toaſt from an orange-wench: you can ſee a whole circle of beauty without any interruption from an imper⯑tinent face to diſcompoſe you. In ſhort, what are ſnares for others—My petitioner would hear no more, but told me very ſeriouſly, Mr. Bickerſtaffe, you quite miſtake your man; it is the joy, the pleaſure, the employment of my life, to frequent public aſſemblies, and gaze upon the fair. In a word, I found his uſe of a glaſs was occaſi⯑oned by no other infirmity but his vanity, and was not ſo much deſigned to make him ſee, as to make him be ſeen and diſtinguiſhed by others. I therefore refuſed him a li⯑cence for a perſpective, but allowed him a pair of ſpecta⯑cles, with full permiſſion to uſe them in any public aſſem⯑bly as he ſhould think fit. He was followed by ſo very few of this order of men, that I have reaſon to hope this ſort of cheats are almoſt at an end.

The orange-flower-men appeared next with petitions, perſumed ſo ſtrongly with muſk, that I was almoſt over⯑come with the ſcent; and for my own ſake was obliged forthwith to licenſe their handkerchiefs, eſpecially when I found they had ſweetened them at Charles Lillie's, and that ſome of their perſons would not be altogether inof⯑fenſive without them. John Morphew, whom I have made general of my dead men, acquainted me, that the peti⯑tioners were all of that order, and could produce certifi⯑cates to prove it if I required it. I was ſo well pleaſed with this way of their embalming themſelves, that I com⯑manded the aboveſaid Morphew to give it in orders to his whole army, that every one who did not ſurrender himſelf up to be diſpoſed of by the upholders, ſhould uſe the ſame [54] method to keep himſelf ſweet during his preſent ſtate of putrefaction.

I finiſhed my ſeſſion with great content of mind, re⯑flecting upon the good I had done; for however ſlight⯑ly men may regard theſe particularities and little follies in dreſs and behaviour, they lead to greater evils. The bearing to be laughed at for ſuch ſingularities, teaches us inſenſibly an impertinent fortitude, and enables us to bear public cenſure for things which more ſubſtantially deſerve it. By this means they open a gate to folly, and oftentimes render a man ſo ridiculous, as diſcredit his virtues and capacities, and unqualify them from doing any good in the world. Beſides, the giving into uncommon habits of this nature, is a want of that humble deference which is due to mankind; and, what is worſt of all, the certain indication of ſome ſecret flaw in the mind of the perſon that commits them. When I was a young man I re⯑member a gentleman of great integrity and worth was very remarkable for wearing a broad belt, and a hanger inſtead of a faſhonable ſword, though in all other points a very well-bred man. I ſuſpected him at firſt ſight to have ſome⯑thing wrong in him, but was not able for a long while to diſcover any collateral proofs of it. I watched him nar⯑rowly for ſix and thirty years, when at laſt, to the ſur⯑prize of every body but myſelf, who had long expected to ſee the folly break out, he married his own cook⯑maid.

N^o 108. Saturday, December 17, 1709.

IT is not to be imagined, how great an effect well-diſ⯑poſed lights, with proper forms and orders in aſſem⯑blies, have upon ſome tempers. I am ſure I feel it in ſo extraordinary a manner, that I cannot in a day or two get out of my imagination any very beautiful or diſagree⯑able impreſſion which I receive on ſuch occaſions. For this reaſon, I frequently look in at the play-houſe, in or⯑der to enlarge my thoughts, and warm my mind with ſome new ideas, that may be ſerviceable to me in my lu⯑cubrations.

In this diſpoſition I entered the theatre the other day, and placed myſelf in a corner of it, very convenient for ſeeing, without being myſelf obſerved. I found the au⯑dience huſhed in a very deep attention, and did not que⯑ſtion but ſome noble tragedy was juſt then in its cri⯑ſis, or that an incident was to be unravelled which would determine the fate of an hero. While I was in this ſu⯑ſpence, expecting every moment to ſee my friend Mr. Betterton appear in all the majeſty of diſtreſs, to my un⯑ſpeakable amazement, there came up a monſter with a face between his feet; and as I was looking on, he raiſed himſelf on one leg in ſuch a perpendicular poſture, that the other grew in a direct line above his head. It after⯑wards twiſted itſelf into the motions and wreathings of ſeveral different animals, and after great variety of ſhapes and transformations, went off the ſtage in the figure of an human creature. The admiration, the applauſe, the ſatis⯑faction of the audience, during this ſtrange entertainment, is not to be expreſſed. I was very much out of counte⯑nance for my dear country-men, and looked about with ſome apprehenſion for fear any foreigner ſhould be pre⯑ſent. [56] Is it poſſible, thought I, that human nature can re⯑joice in its diſgrace, and take pleaſure in ſeeing its own figure turned to ridicule, and diſtorted into forms that raiſe horror and averſion? There is ſomething diſin⯑genuous and immoral in the being able to bear ſuch a ſight. Men of elegant and noble minds are ſhocked at ſeeing the characters of perſons who deſerve eſteem for virtue, knowlege, or ſervices to their country, placed in wrong lights, and by miſrepreſentation made the ſub⯑ject of buffoonry. Such a nice abhorrence is not indeed to be found among the vulgar; but methinks it is wonderful, that theſe who have nothing but the outward figure to diſtinguiſh them as men, ſhould delight in ſeeing it abuſ⯑ed, vilified, and diſgraced.

I muſt confeſs, there is nothing that more pleaſes me, in all that I read in books, or ſee among mankind, than ſuch paſſages as repreſent human nature in its proper dignity. As man is a creature made up of different ex⯑tremes, he has ſomething in him very great and very mean: a ſkilful artiſt may draw an excellent picture of him in either view. The fineſt authors of antiquity have taken him on the more advantagious ſide. They culti⯑vate the natural grandeur of the ſoul, raiſe in her a ge⯑nerous ambition, feed her with hopes of immortality and perfection, and do all they can to widen the partition be⯑tween the virtuous and the vicious, by making the diffe⯑rence betwixt them as great as between gods and brutes. In ſhort, it is impoſſible to read a page in Plato, Tully, and a thouſand other ancient moraliſts, without being a great⯑er and a better man for it. On the contrary, I could never read any of our modiſh French authors, or thoſe of our own country, who are the imitators and admirers of that trifling nation, without being for ſome time out of humour with myſelf, and at every thing about me. Their buſineſs is, to depreciate human nature, and con⯑ſider it under its worſt appearances. They give mean in⯑terpretations and baſe motives to the worthieſt actions: they reſolve virtue and vice into conſtitution. In ſhort, [57] they endeavour to make no diſtinction between man and man, between the ſpecies of men and that of brutes. As an inſtance of this kind of authors among many others, let any one examine the celebrated Rochefoucault, who is the great philoſopher for adminiſtering of conſolation to the idle, the envious, and worthleſs part of mankind.

I remember a young gentleman of moderate under⯑ſtanding, but great vivacity, who by dipping into many au⯑thors of this nature, had got a little ſmattering knowlege, juſt enough to make an atheiſt or a free-thinker, but not a philoſopher or a man of ſenſe. With theſe accompliſh⯑ments, he went to viſit his father in the country, who was a plain, rough, honeſt man, and wiſe, though not learned. The ſon, who took all opportunities to ſhow his learning, began to eſtabliſh a new religion in the fa⯑mily, and to enlarge the narrowneſs of their country no⯑tions; in which he ſucceeded ſo well, that he had ſedu⯑ced the butler by his table-talk, and ſtaggered his eldeſt ſiſter. The old gentleman began to be alarmed at the ſchiſms that aroſe among his children, but did not yet believe his ſon's doctrine to be ſo pernicious as it really was, till one day talking of his ſetting-dog, the ſon ſaid he did not queſtion but Trey was as immortal as any one of the family: and in the heat of the argument told his father, that for his own part, he expected to die like a dog. Upon which, the old man, ſtarting up in a very great paſſion, cried out, then, ſirrah, you ſhall live like one; and taking his cane in his hand, cudgelled him out of his ſy⯑ſtem. This had ſo good an effect upon him, that he took up from that day, fell to reading good books, and is now a bencher in the Middle-Temple.

I do not mention this cudgelling part of the ſtory with a deſign to engage the ſecular arm in matters of this nature; but certainly, if it ever exerts itſelf in affairs of opinion and ſpeculation, it ought to do it on ſuch ſhal⯑low and deſpicable pretenders to knowlege, who en⯑deavour to give man dark and uncomfortable proſpects of his being, and deſtroy thoſe principles which are the [58] ſupport, happineſs, and glory, of all public ſocieties, as well as private perſons.

I think it is one of Pythagoras's golden ſayings, That a man ſhould take care above all things to have a due reſpect for himſelf: And it is certain, that this licentious ſort of authors, who are for depreciating mankind, endeavoured to diſappoint and undo what the moſt refined ſpirits have been labouring to advance ſince the beginning of the world. The very deſign of dreſs, good-breeding, outward ornaments, and ceremony, were to liſt up hu⯑man nature, and to ſet it off to an advantage. Archite⯑cture, painting, and ſtatuary, were invented with the ſame deſign; as indeed every art and ſcience contributes to the embelliſhment of life, and to the wearing off or throw⯑ing into ſhades the mean and low parts of our nature. Poetry carries on this great end more than all the reſt, as may be ſeen in the following paſſage, taken out of Sir Francis Bacon's Advancement of Learning, which gives a truer and better account of this art than all the volumes that were ever written upon it.

But there is nothing which favours and falls in with this natural greatneſs and dignity of human nature ſo much as religion, which does not only promiſe the en⯑tire refinement of the mind, but the glorifying of the body, and the immortality of both.

N^o 110. Thurſday, December 22, 1709.

AS ſoon as I had placed myſelf in my chair of judi⯑cature, I ordered my clerk Mr. Lillie to read to the aſſembly, who were gathered together according to no⯑tice, a certain declaration, by way of charge, to open the purpoſe of my ſeſſion, which tended only to this expla⯑nation, that as other courts were often called to demand the execution of perſons dead in law, ſo this was held to give the laſt orders relating to thoſe who are dead in [60] reaſon. The ſollicitor of the new company of uphold⯑ers near the Hay-Market appeared in behalf of that uſe⯑ful ſociety, and brought in an accuſation of a young wo⯑man, who herſelf ſtood at the bar before me. Mr. Lillie read her indictment, which was in ſubſtance, that whereas Mrs. Rebecca Pinduſt, of the pariſh of St. Martin in the Fields, had by the uſe of one inſtrument called a looking⯑glaſs, and by the further uſe of certain attire, made ei⯑ther of cambric, muſlin, or other linen wares, upon her head, attained to ſuch an evil art and magical force in the motion of her eyes and turn of her countenance, that ſhe the ſaid Rebecca had put to death ſeveral young men of the ſaid pariſh; and that the ſaid young men had ac⯑knowleged in certain papers, commonly called love-let⯑ters (which were produced in court, gilded on the edges, and ſealed with a particular wax, with certain amorous and enchanting words wrought upon the ſaid ſeals) that they died for the ſaid Rebecca: and whereas the ſaid Re⯑becca perſiſted in the ſaid evil practice; this way of life the ſaid ſociety conſtrued to be, according to former e⯑dicts, a ſtate of death, and demanded an order for the in⯑terment of the ſaid Rebecca.

I looked upon the maid with great humanity, and de⯑ſired her to make anſwer to what was ſaid againſt her. She ſaid, it was indeed true, that ſhe had practiſed all the arts and means ſhe could to diſpoſe of herſelf happi⯑ly in marriage, but thought ſhe did not come under the cenſure expreſſed in my writings for the ſame; and hum⯑bly hoped, I would not condemn her for the ignorance of her accuſers, who, according to their own words, had rather repreſented her killing, than dead. She further alleged, that the expreſſions mentioned in the papers written to her, were become mere words, and that ſhe had been always ready to marry any of thoſe who ſaid they died for her; but that they made their eſcape as ſoon as they found themſelves pitied or believed. She ended her diſcourſe, by deſiring I would for the future ſettle the meaning of the words, I die, in letters of love.

[61] Mrs. Pinduſt behaved herſelf with ſuch an air of in⯑nocence, that ſhe eaſily gained credit, and was acquitted. Upon which occaſion, I gave it as a ſtanding rule, that any perſons, who in any letter, billet, or diſcourſe, ſhould tell a woman he died for her, ſhould, if ſhe pleaſed, be obliged to live with her, or be immediately interred upon ſuch their own confeſſion, without bail or mainprize.

It happened, that the very next who was brought be⯑fore me was one of her admirers, who was indicted up⯑on that very head. A letter, which he acknowleged to be his own hand, was read; in which were the follow⯑ing words; Cruel creature, I die for you. It was obſer⯑vable that he took ſnuff all the time his accuſation was reading. I aſked him, how he came to uſe theſe words, if he were not a dead man? He told me, he was in love with a lady, and did not know any other way of telling her ſo; and that all his acquaintance took the ſame me⯑thod. Though I was moved with compaſſion towards him by reaſon of the weakneſs of his parts, yet for ex⯑ample's ſake I was forced to anſwer, your ſentence ſhall be a warning to all the reſt of your companions; not to tell lies for want of wit. Upon this he began to beat his ſnuff-box with a very ſaucy air; and opening it again, Faith, Iſaac, ſaid he, thou art a very unaccountable old fellow—Prithee, who gave thee power of life and death? What-a-pox haſt thou to do with ladies and lovers? I ſuppoſe thou wouldſt have a man be in company with his miſtreſs, and ſay nothing to her. Doſt thou call breaking a jeſt telling a lie? Ha! Is that thy wiſdom, old Stiffrump, ha! He was going on with this inſipid common-place mirth, ſometimes opening his box, ſometimes ſhutting it, then viewing the picture on the lid, and then the workmanſhip of the hinge, when, in the midſt of his eloquence, I ordered his box to be taken from him; upon which he was immediately ſtruck ſpeech⯑leſs, and carried off ſtone-dead.

The next who appeared, was a hale old fellow of ſix⯑ty. He was brought in by his relations, who deſired [62] leave to bury him. Upon requiring a diſtinct account of the priſoner, a credible witneſs depoſed, that he always roſe at ten of the clock, played with his cat till twelve, ſmoaked tobacco till one, was at dinner till two, then took another pipe, played at backgammon till ſix, talked of one Madam Frances an old miſtreſs of his, till eight, re⯑peated the ſame account at the tavern till ten, then re⯑turned home, took the other pipe, and then to bed. I aſked him, what he had to ſay for himſelf? As to what, ſaid he, they mention concerning Madam Frances — I did not care for hearing a Canterbury tale, and there⯑fore thought myſelf ſeaſonably interrupted by a young gentleman who appeared in the behalf of the old man, and prayed an arreſt of judgment; for that he the ſaid young man held certain lands by his the ſaid old man's life. Upon this the ſollicitor of the upholders took an occaſi⯑on to demand him alſo, and thereupon produced ſeveral evidences that witneſſed to his life and converſation. It appeared, that each of them divided their hours in mat⯑ters of equal moment and importance to themſelves and to the public. They roſe at the ſame hour: while the old man was playing with his cat, the young one was looking out of his window; while the old man was ſmoaking his pipe, the young man was rubbing his teeth; while one was at dinner, the other was dreſſing; while one was at backgammon, the other was at dinner; while the old fellow was talking of Madam Frances, the young one was either at play, or toaſting women whom he never converſed with. The only difference was, that the young man had never been good for any thing; the old man, a man of worth before he knew Madam Frances. Upon the whole, I ordered them to be both interred together, with inſcriptions proper to their characters, ſignifying, that the old man died in the year 1689, and was buried in the year 1709. And over the young one it was ſaid, that he departed this world in the 25th year of his death.

The next claſs of criminals, were authors in proſe and verſe. Thoſe of them who had produced any ſtill⯑born [63] work were immediately diſmiſſed to their burial, and were followed by others, who, notwithſtanding ſome ſprightly iſſue in their life-time, had given proofs of their death, by ſome poſthumous children, that bore no reſem⯑blance to their elder brethren. As for thoſe who were the fathers of a mixed progeny, provided always they could prove the laſt to be a live child, they eſcaped with life, but not without loſs of limbs; for in this caſe I was ſatis⯑fied with amputation of the parts which were mortified.

Theſe were followed by a great croud of ſuperannua⯑ted benchers of the inns of court, ſenior fellows of col⯑leges, and defunct ſtateſmen; all whom I ordered to be decimated indifferently, allowing the reſt a reprieve for one year, with a promiſe of a free pardon in caſe of re⯑ſuſcitation.

There were ſtill great multitudes to be examined; but finding it very late, I adjourned the court; not without the ſecret pleaſure that I had done my duty, and furniſh⯑ed out an handſome execution.

Going out of the court, I received a letter, informing me, that in purſuance of the edict of juſtice in one of my late viſions, all thoſe of the fair ſex began to appear preg⯑nant who had ran any hazard of it; as was manifeſt by a particular ſwelling in the petticoats of ſeveral ladies in and about this great city. I muſt confeſs I do not attribute the riſing of this part of the dreſs to this occaſion, yet muſt own, that I am very much diſpoſed to be offended with ſuch a new and unaccountable faſhion. I ſhall however pronounce nothing upon it, till I have examined all that can be ſaid for and againſt it. And in the mean time think fit to give this notice to the fair ladies who are now making up their winter-ſuits, that they may abſtain from all dreſſes of that kind, till they ſhall find what judgment will be paſſed upon them; for it would very much trouble me, that they ſhould put themſelves to an unneceſſary expence; and I could not but think myſelf to blame, if I ſhould hereafter forbid them the wearing of ſuch garments, when they have laid out money up⯑on [64] on them, without having given them any previous ad⯑monitions.

No. 111. Saturday, December 24, 1709.

THE watchman, who does me particular honours, as being the chief man in the lane, gave ſo very great a thump at my door laſt night, that I awakened at the knock, and heard myſelf complimented with the uſu⯑al ſalutation of, Good morrow, Mr. Bickerſtaffe, good mor⯑row, my maſters all. The ſilence and darkneſs of the night diſpoſed me to be more than ordinarily ſerious; and as my attention was not drawn out among exterior objects, by the avocations of ſenſe, my thoughts naturally fell upon myſelf. I was conſidering, amidſt the ſtilneſs of the night, what was the proper employment of a think⯑ing being? What were the perfections it ſhould propoſe to itſelf? And, what the end it ſhould aim at? My mind is of ſuch a particular caſt, that the falling of a ſhower of rain, or the whiſtling of wind, at ſuch a time, is apt to fill my thoughts with ſomething awful and ſolemn. I was in this diſpoſition, when our bellman began his midnight homily (which he has been repeating to us eve⯑ry winter night for theſe twenty years) with the uſual exordium.

Sentiments of this nature, which are in themſelves juſt and reaſonable, however debaſed by the circumſtances that accompany them, do not fail to produce their natu⯑ral effect in a mind that is not perverted and depraved by wrong notions of gallantry, politeneſs, and ridicule. [65] The temper which I now found myſelf in, as well as the time of the year, put me in mind of thoſe lines in Shake⯑ſpear, wherein, according to his agreeable wildneſs of imagination, he has wrought a country tradition into a beautiful piece of poetry. In the tragedy of Hamlet, where the ghoſt vaniſhes upon the cock's crowing, he takes occaſion to mention its crowing all hours of the night about Chriſtmas time, and to inſinuate a kind of religious veneration for that ſeaſon.

This admirable author, as well as the beſt and great⯑eſt men of all ages, and of all nations, ſeems to have had his mind throughly ſeaſoned with religion, as is evident by many paſſages in his plays, that would not be ſuffe⯑red by a modern audience; and are therefore certain in⯑ſtances, that the age he lived in had a much greater ſenſe of virtue than the preſent.

It is indeed a melancholy reflection to conſider, that the Britiſh nation, which is now at a greater height of glory for its councils and conqueſts than it ever was be⯑fore, ſhould diſtinguiſh itſelf by a certain looſeneſs of prin⯑ciples, and a falling off from thoſe ſchemes of thinking, which conduce to the happineſs and perfection of human nature. This evil comes upon us from the works of a few ſolemn blockheads, that meet together with the zeal and ſeriouſneſs of apoſtles, to extirpate common ſenſe, and propagate infidelity. Theſe are the wretches, who, without any ſhow of wit, learning, or reaſon, publiſh their crude conceptions with the ambition of appearing more wiſe than the reſt of mankind, upon no other pre⯑tence, [66] than that of diſſenting from them. One gets by heart a catalogue of title pages and editions; and imme⯑diately to become conſpicuous, declares that he is an un⯑believer. Another knows how to write a receipt, or cut up a dog, and forthwith argues againſt the immortality of the ſoul. I have known many a little wit, in the o⯑ſtentation of his parts, rally the truth of the ſcripture, who was not able to read a chapter in it. Theſe poor wretches talk blaſphemy for want of diſcourſe, and are rather the objects of ſcorn or pity, than of our indigna⯑tion; but the grave diſputant, that reads, and writes, and ſpends all his time in convincing himſelf and the world that he is no better than a brute, ought to be whipped out of a government, as a blot to a civil ſociety, and a defamer of mankind. I love to conſider an infidel, whether diſtinguiſhed by the title of deiſt, atheiſt, or free-thinker, in three different lights, in his ſolitudes, his afflictions, and his laſt moments.

A wiſe man, that lives up to the principles of reaſon and virtue, if one conſiders him in his ſolitude, as taking in the ſyſtem of the univerſe, obſerving the mutual de⯑pendence and harmony, by which the whole frame of it hangs together, beating down his paſſions, or ſwelling his thoughts with magnificent ideas of providence, makes a nobler figure in the eye of an intelligent being, than the greateſt conqueror amidſt the pomps and ſolemnities of a triumph. On the contrary, there is not a more ridi⯑culous animal than an atheiſt in his retirement. His mind is incapable of rapture or elevation: he can only conſider himſelf as an inſignificant figure in a landſkip, and wandering up and down in a field or meadow, un⯑der the ſame terms as the meaneſt animals about him, and as ſubject to as total a mortality as they, with this aggra⯑vation, that he is the only one amongſt them who lies under the apprehenſion of it.

In diſtreſſes, he muſt be of all creatures the moſt help⯑leſs and forlorn; he feels the whole preſſure of a preſent calamity, without being relieved by the memory of any [67] thing that is paſſed, or the proſpect of any thing that is to come. Annihilation is the greateſt bleſſing that he propoſes to himſelf, and an halter or a piſtol the only re⯑fuge he can fly to. But if you would behold one of theſe gloomy miſcreants in his pooreſt figure, you muſt conſi⯑der him under the terrors, or at the approach, of death.

About thirty years ago I was a ſhipboard with one of theſe vermin, when there aroſe a briſk gale, which could frighten no body but himſelf. Upon the rowling of the ſhip he fell upon his knees, and confeſſed to the chaplain, that he had been a vile atheiſt, and had denied a ſupreme being ever ſince he came to his eſtate. The good man was aſtoniſhed, and a report immediately ran through the ſhip, that there was an atheiſt upon the up⯑per-deck. Several of the common ſeamen, who had never heard the word before, thought it had been ſome ſtrange fiſh; but they were more ſurprized when they ſaw it was a man, and heard out of his own mouth, that he never believed till that day that there was a God. As he lay in the agonies of confeſſion, one of the honeſt tarrs whiſpered to the boatſwain, that it would be a good deed to heave him overboard. But we were now within ſight of port, when of a ſudden the wind fell, and the penitent relapſed, begging all of us that were preſent, as we were gentlemen, not to ſay any thing of what had paſſed.

He had not been aſhore above two days, when one of the company began to rally him upon his devotion on ſhipboard, which the other denied in ſo high terms, that it produced the lie on both ſides, and ended in a duel. The atheiſt was thruſt through the body, and after ſome loſs of blood became as good a Chriſtian as he was at ſea, till he found that his wound was not mortal. He is at preſent one of the free-thinkers of the age, and now writing a pamphlet againſt ſeveral received opinions con⯑cerning the exiſtence of fairies.

As I have taken upon me to cenſure the faults of the age, and country which I live in, I ſhould have thought myſelf inexcuſable to have paſſed over this crying one, [68] which is the ſubject of my preſent diſcourſe. I ſhall therefore from time to time give my countrymen particular cautions againſt this diſtemper of the mind, that is almoſt become faſhionable, and by that means more likely to ſpread. I have ſomewhere either read or heard a very memorable ſentence, that a man would be a moſt inſupportable mon⯑ſter, ſhould he have the faults that are incident to his years, conſtitution, profeſſion, family, religion, age, and country; and yet every man is in danger of them all. For this reaſon, as I am an old man, I take particular care to avoid being covetous, and telling long ſtories: as I am choleric, I forbear not only ſwearing, but all interjections of fretting, as pugh! piſh! and the like. As I am a layman, I reſolve not to conceive an averſion for a wiſe and good man, becauſe his coat is of a different co⯑lour from mine. As I am deſcended of the ancient fa⯑mily of the Bickerſtaffes, I never call a man of merit an upſtart. As a Proteſtant, I do not ſuffer my zeal ſo far to tranſport me, as to name the pope and the devil to⯑gether. As I am fallen into this degenerate age, I guard myſelf particularly againſt the folly I have been now ſpeaking of. And as I am an Engliſhman, I am very cau⯑tious not to hate a ſtranger, or deſpiſe a poor Palatine.

N^o 114. Saturday, December 31, 1709.

I WAS walking about my chamber this morning in a very gay humour, when I ſaw a coach ſtop at my door, and a youth about fifteen alighting out of it, who I per⯑ceived to be the eldeſt ſon of my boſom-friend that I gave ſome account of in my paper of the 17th of laſt [69] month. I felt a ſenſible pleaſure riſing in me at the ſight of him, my acquaintance having begun with his father when he was juſt ſuch a ſtripling, and about that very age. When he came up to me, he took me by the hand, and burſt into tears. I was extremely moved, and imme⯑diately ſaid, child, how does your father do? He began to reply, my mother — but could not go on for weeping. I went down with him into the coach, and gathered out of him, that his mother was then dying, and that while the holy man was doing the laſt offices to her, he had taken that time to come and call me to his father, who, he ſaid, would certainly break his heart if I did not go and comfort him. The child's diſcretion in coming to me of his own head, and the tenderneſs he ſhowed for his parents, would have quite overpowered me, had I not reſolved to fortify myſelf for the ſeaſon⯑able performance of thoſe duties which I owed to my friend. As we were going, I could not but reflect upon the character of that excellent woman, and the greatneſs of his grief for the loſs of one who has ever been the ſupport to him under all other afflictions. How, thought I, will he be able to bear the hour of her death, that could not, when I was lately with him, ſpeak of a ſick⯑neſs, which was then paſt, without ſorrow. We were now got pretty far into Weſtminſter, and arrived at my friend's houſe. At the door of it I met Favonius, not without a ſecret ſatisfaction to find he had been there. I had formely converſed with him at his houſe; and as he a⯑bounds with that ſort of virtue and knowlege which makes religion beautiful, and never leads the converſa⯑tion into the violence and rage of party-diſputes, I li⯑ſtened to him with great pleaſure. Our diſcourſe chanced to be upon the ſubject of death, which he treated with ſuch a ſtrength of reaſon, and greatneſs of ſoul, that in⯑ſtead of being terrible, it appeared to a mind rightly cul⯑tivated, altogether to be contemned, or rather to be de⯑ſired. As I met him at the door, I ſaw in his face a cer⯑tain glowing of grief and humanity, heightened with an [70] air of fortitude and reſolution, which, as I afterwards found, had ſuch an irreſiſtible force, as to ſuſpend the pains of the dying, and the lamentation of the neareſt friends who attended her. I went up directly to the room where ſhe lay, and was met at the entrance by my friend, who, notwithſtanding his thoughts had been compoſed a little before, at the ſight of me, turned away his face and wept. The little family of children renewed the ex⯑preſſions of their ſorrow according to their ſeveral ages and degrees of underſtanding. The eldeſt daughter was in tears, buſied in attendance upon her mother; others were kneeling about the bed-ſide: and what troubled me moſt was, to ſee a little boy, who was too young to know the reaſon, weeping only becauſe his ſiſters did. The only one in the room who ſeemed reſigned and comforted was the dying perſon. At my approach to the bed-ſide, ſhe told me, with a low broken voice, this is kindly done—Take care of your friend—Do not go from him. She had before taken leave of her huſband and chil⯑dren, in a manner proper for ſo ſolemn a parting, and with a gracefulneſs peculiar to a woman of her character. My heart was torn to pieces to ſee the huſband on one ſide ſuppreſſing and keeping down the ſwellings of his grief, for fear of diſturbing her in her laſt moments; and the wife even at that time concealing the pains ſhe en⯑dured, for fear of encreaſing his affliction. She kept her eyes upon him for ſome moments after ſhe grew ſpeechleſs, and ſoon after cloſed them for ever. In the moment of her departure, my friend, who had thus far commanded him⯑ſelf, gave a deep groan, and fell into a ſwoon by her bed-ſide. The diſtraction of the children, who thought they ſaw both their parents expiring together, and now lying dead before them, would have melted the hardeſt heart; but they ſoon perceived their father recover, whom I helped to remove into another room, with a reſoluti⯑on to accompany him till the firſt pangs of his affli⯑ction were abated. I knew conſolation would now be impertinent; and therefore contented myſelf to ſit by [71] him, and condole with him in ſilence. For I ſhall here uſe the method of an ancient author, who in one of his e⯑piſtles relating the virtues and death of Macrinus's wife, expreſſes himſelf thus; ‘"I ſhall ſuſpend my advice to this beſt of friends, till he is made capable of receiv⯑ing it by thoſe three great remedies, (neceſſitas ipſa, dies longa, et ſatietas doloris) the neceſſity of ſubmiſſion, length of time, and ſatiety of grief."’

In the mean time, I cannot but conſider, with much commiſeration, the melancholy ſtate of one who has had ſuch a part of himſelf torn from him, and which he miſſes in every circumſtance of life. His condition is like that of one who has lately loſt his right arm, and is every moment offering to help himſelf with it. He does not appear to himſelf the ſame perſon in his houſe, at his table, in company, or in retirement; and loſes the reliſh of all the pleaſures and diverſions that were before en⯑tertaining to him by her participation of them. The moſt agreeable objects recal the ſorrow for her with whom he uſed to enjoy them. This additional ſatisfaction, from the taſte of pleaſures in the ſociety of one we love, is ad⯑mirably deſcribed by Milton, who repreſents Eve, though in paradiſe itſelf, no further pleaſed with the beautiful ob⯑jects around her, than as ſhe ſees them in company with Adam, in that paſſage ſo inexpreſſibly charming.

The variety of images in this paſſage is infinitely pleaſing, and the recapitulation of each particular image, with a little varying of the expreſſions, makes one of the fineſt turns of words that I have ever ſeen: which I ra⯑ther mention, becauſe Mr. Dryden has ſaid in his pre⯑face to Juvenal, that he could meet with no turn of words in Milton.

It may further be obſerved, that though the ſweetneſs of theſe verſes has ſomething in it of a paſtoral, yet it ex⯑cels the ordinary kind, as much as the ſcene of it is a⯑bove an ordinary field or meadow. I might here, ſince I am accidentally led into this ſubject, ſhow ſeveral paſſages in Milton that have as excellent turns of this nature, as any of our Engliſh poets whatſoever; but ſhall only mention that which follows, in which he deſcribes the fallen angels engaged in the intricate diſputes of prede⯑ſtination, free-will, and fore-knowlege; and to humour the perplexity, makes a kind of labyrinth in the very words that deſcribe it.

N^o 116. Thurſday, January 5, 1709.

THE court being prepared for proceeding on the cauſe of the Petticoat, I gave orders to bring in a crimi⯑nal who was taken up as ſhe went out of the puppet-ſhow about three nights ago, and was now ſtanding in the ſtreet with a great concourſe of people about her. Word was brought me, that ſhe had endeavoured twice or thrice to come in, but could not do it by reaſon of her petti⯑coat, which was too large for the entrance of my houſe, though I had ordered both the folding-doors to be thrown open for its reception. Upon this, I deſired the jury of matrons, who ſtood at my right hand, to inform themſelves of her condition, and know whether there were any private reaſons why ſhe might not make her appearance ſeparate from her petticoat. This was ma⯑naged with great diſcretion, and had ſuch an effect, that upon the return of the verdict from the bench of ma⯑trons, I iſſued out an order forthwith, that the criminal ſhould be ſtripped of her incumbrances, till ſhe became little enough to enter my houſe. I had before given dire⯑ctions for an engine of ſeveral legs, that could contract or open itſelf like the top of an umbrello, in order to place the petticoat upon it, by which means I might take a leiſurely ſurvey of it, as it ſhould appear in its proper dimenſions. This was all done accordingly; and forth⯑with, upon the cloſing of the engine, the petticoat was brought into court. I then directed the machine to be ſet upon the table, and dilated in ſuch a manner as to ſhow the garment in its utmoſt circumference; but my great hall was too narrow for the experiment; for before it was half unfolded, it deſcribed ſo immoderate a circle, that the lower part of it bruſhed upon my face as I ſat in my chair of judicature. I then enquired for the perſon [74] that belonged to the petticoat; and to my great ſurprize, was directed to a very beautiful young damſel, with ſo pretty a face and ſhape, that I bid her come out of the croud, and ſeated her upon a little crock at my left hand. ‘"My pretty maid, ſaid I, do you own yourſelf to have been the inhabitant of the garment before us?"’ The girl I found had good ſenſe, and told me with a ſmile, that notwithſtanding it was her own petticoat, ſhe ſhould be very glad to ſee an example made of it; and that ſhe wore it for no other reaſon, but that ſhe had a mind to look as big and burly as other perſons of her quality; that ſhe had kept out of it as long as ſhe could, and till ſhe began to appear little in the eyes of all her acquaintance; that if ſhe laid it aſide, people would think ſhe was not made like other women. I always give great allowances to the fair ſex upon account of the faſhion, and therefore was not diſpleaſed with the defence of the pretty criminal. I then ordered the veſt which ſtood before us to be drawn up by a pully to the top of my great hall, and af⯑terwards to be ſpread open by the engine it was placed upon, in ſuch a manner, that it formed a very ſplendid and ample canopy over our heads, and covered the whole court of judicature with a kind of ſilken rotunda, in its form not unlike the cupola of St. Paul's. I entered up⯑on the whole cauſe with great ſatisfaction as I ſate under the ſhadow of it.

The council for the petticoat was now called in, and ordered to produce what they had to ſay againſt the po⯑pular cry which was raiſed againſt it. They anſwered the objections with great ſtrength and ſolidity of argument, and expatiated in very florid harangues, which they did not fail to ſet off and furbelow, if I may be allowed the metaphor, with many periodical ſentences and turns of oratory. The chief arguments for their client were taken, firſt, from the great benefit that might ariſe to our woollen manufactury from this invention, which was cal⯑culated as follows: the common petticoat has not above four yards in the circumference; whereas this over [75] our heads had more in the ſemi-diameter; ſo that by al⯑lowing it twenty-four yards in the circumference, the five millions of woollen petticoats, which according to Sir William Petty (ſuppoſing what ought to be ſuppoſed in a well-governed ſtate, that all petticoats are made of that ſtuff,) would amount to thirty millions of thoſe of the ancient mode. A prodigious improvement of the woollen trade! and what could not fail to ſink the power of France in a few years.

To introduce the ſecond argument, they begged leave to read a petition of the rope-makers, wherein it was re⯑preſented, that the demand for cords, and the price of them, were much riſen ſince this faſhion came up. At this, all the company who were preſent lifted up their eyes into the vault; and I muſt confeſs we did diſcover many traces of cordage which were interwoven in the ſtiffening of the drapery.

A third argument was founded upon a petition of the Greenland trade, which likewiſe repreſented the great conſumption of the whale-bone which would be occaſioned by the preſent faſhion, and the benefit which would there⯑by accrue to that branch of the Britiſh trade.

To conclude, they gently touched upon the weight and unweildineſs of the garment, which they inſinuated might be of great uſe to preſerve the honour of families.

Theſe arguments would have wrought very much upon me, (as I then told the company in a long and elaborate diſcourſe) had I not conſidered the great and additional expence which ſuch faſhions would bring upon fathers and huſbands; and therefore by no means to be thought of till ſome years after a peace. I further urged, that it would be a prejudice to the ladies themſelves, who could never expect to have any money in the pocket, if they laid out ſo much on the petticoat. To this I added the great temptation it might give to virgins, of acting in ſecurity like married women, and by that means give a check to matrimony, an inſtitution always encouraged by wiſe ſocieties.

[76] At the ſame time, in anſwer to the ſeveral petitions produced on that ſide, I ſhewed one ſubſcribed by the wo⯑men of ſeveral perſons of quality, humbly ſetting forth, that ſince the introduction of this mode, their reſpective ladies had (inſtead of beſtowing on them their caſt-gowns) cut them in ſhreds, and mixed them with the cordage and backram, to complete the ſtiffening of their under⯑petticoats. For which, and ſundry other, reaſons, I pro⯑nounced the petticoat a forfeiture. But to ſhew that I did not make that judgment for the ſake of filthy lucre, I order⯑ed it to be ſolded up, and ſent it as a preſent to a widow⯑gentlewoman, who has five daughters, deſiring ſhe would make each of them a petticoat out of it, and ſend me back the remainder, which I deſign to cut into ſtomachers, caps, facings of my waſtcoat-ſleeves, and other garnitures ſuitable to my age and quality.

I would not be underſtood that, while I diſcard this monſtrous invention, I am an enemy to the proper or⯑naments of the fair ſex. On the contrary, as the hand of nature has poured on them ſuch a profuſion of charms and graces, and ſent them into the world more amiable and finiſhed than the reſt of her works; ſo I would have them beſtow upon themſelves all the additional beauties that art can ſupply them with, provided it does not in⯑terfere with, diſguiſe, or pervert, thoſe of nature.

I conſider woman as a beautiful romantic animal, that may be adorned with furs and feathers, pearls and diamonds, ores and ſilks. The lynx ſhall caſt its ſkin at her feet to make her a tippet; the peacock, parrat, and ſwan, ſhall pay contributions to her muff; the ſea ſhall be ſearched for ſhells, and the rocks for gems; and e⯑very part of nature furniſh out its ſhare towards the em⯑belliſhment of a creature that is the moſt conſummate work of it. All this I ſhall indulge them in; but as for the petticoat I have been ſpeaking of, I neither can nor will allow it.

No. 117. Saturday, January 7, 1709.

WHEN I look into the frame and conſtitution of my own mind, there is no part of it which I obſerve with greater ſatisfaction, than that tenderneſs and concern which it bears for the good and happineſs of mankind. My own circumſtances are indeed ſo narrow and ſcanty, that I ſhould taſte but very little pleaſure, could I receive it only from thoſe enjoyments which are in my own poſſeſſion; but by this great tincture of humanity, which I find in all my thoughts and reflections, I am happier than any ſingle perſon can be, with all the wealth, ſtrength, beauty, and ſucceſs, that can be conferred upon a mortal, if he only reliſhes ſuch a proportion of theſe bleſſings as is veſted in himſelf, and is his own private property. By this means, every man that does himſelf any real ſervice, does me a kindneſs. I come in for my ſhare in all the good that happens to a man of merit and virtue, and partake of many gifts of fortune and power that I was never born to. There is nothing in particular in which I ſo much rejoice, as the deliverance of good and gene⯑rous ſpirits out of dangers, difficulties, and diſtreſſes. And becauſe the world does not ſupply inſtances of this kind to furniſh out ſufficient entertainments for ſuch an humanity and benevolence of temper, I have ever delighted in reading the hiſtory of ages paſt, which draws together into a nar⯑row compaſs the great occurrences and events that are but thinly ſown in thoſe tracts of time which ly within our own knowlege and obſervation. When I ſee the life of a great man, who has deſerved well of his country, af⯑ter having ſtruggled through all the oppoſitions of pre⯑judice and envy, breaking out with luſtre, and ſhining forth in all the ſplendor of ſucceſs, I cloſe my book, and am an happy man for a whole evening.

[78] But ſince in hiſtory, events are of a mixed nature, and often happen alike to the worthleſs and the deſerving, inſomuch that we frequently ſee a virtuous man dying in the midſt of diſappointments and calamities, and the vicious ending their days in proſperity and peace; I love to amuſe myſelf with the accounts I meet with in fabulous hiſtories and fictions: for in this kind of writings we have always the pleaſure of ſeeing vice puniſhed, and virtue rewarded. Indeed, were we able to view a man in the whole circle of his exiſtence, we ſhould have the ſatisfaction of ſeeing it cloſe with happineſs or miſery, according to his proper merit: but though our view of him is interrupted by death before the finiſhing of his ad⯑ventures, if I may ſo ſpeak, we may be ſure that the con⯑cluſion and cataſtrophe is altogether ſuitable to his be⯑haviour. On the contrary, the whole being of a man, conſidered as an hero, or a knight-errant, is comprehended within the limits of a poem or romance, and therefore al⯑ways ends to our ſatisfaction; ſo that inventions of this kind are like food and exerciſe to a good-natured diſpoſition, which they pleaſe and gratify at the ſame time that they nouriſh and ſtrengthen. The greater the affliction is in which we ſee our favourites in theſe relations engaged, the greater is the pleaſure we take in ſeeing them relieved.

Among the many feigned hiſtories which I have met with in my reading, there is none in which the hero's perplexity is greater, and the winding out of it more dif⯑ficult, than that in a Freneh author whoſe name I have forgot. It ſo happens, that the hero's miſtreſs was the ſiſter of his moſt intimate friend, who for certain reaſons was given out to be dead, while he was preparing to leave his country in queſt of adventures. The hero having heard of his friend's death, immediately repaired to his miſtreſs, to condole with her, and comfort her. Upon his arrival in her garden, he diſcovered at a diſtance a man claſped in her arms, and embraced with the moſt endearing tender⯑neſs. What ſhould he do? It did not conſiſt with the ge⯑tleneſs of a knight errant either to kill his miſtreſs, or [79] the man whom ſhe was pleaſed to favour. At the ſame time, it would have ſpoiled a romance, ſhould he have laid vi⯑olent hands on himſelf. In ſhort, he immediately entered upon his adventures; and after a long ſeries of exploits, found out by degrees, that the perſon he ſaw in his mi⯑ſtreſs's arms was her own brother, taking leave of her be⯑fore he left his country, and the embrace ſhe gave him no⯑thing elſe but the affectionate farewel of a ſiſter: ſo that he had at once the two greateſt ſatisfactions that could en⯑ter into the heart of man, in ſinding his friend alive, whom he thought dead; and his miſtreſs faithful whom he had believed inconſtant.

There are indeed ſome diſaſters ſo very fatal, that it is impoſſible for any accidents to rectify them. Of this kind was that of poor Lucretia; and yet we ſee Ovid has found an expedient even in a caſe like hers. He deſcribes a beautiful and royal virgin walking on the ſea-ſhore, where ſhe was diſcovered by Neptune, and violated after a long and unſucceſsful importunity. To mitigate her ſorrow, he offers her whatever ſhe would wiſh for. Never certainly was the wit of woman more puzzled in finding out a ſtratagem to retrieve her honour. Had ſhe deſired to be turned into a ſtock or ſtone, a beaſt, fiſh or fowl, ſhe would have been a loſer by it: or had ſhe deſired to have been made a ſea-nymph, or a god⯑deſs, her immortality would have but perpetuated her diſ⯑grace. Give me therefore, ſaid ſhe, ſuch a ſhape as may make me incapable of ſuffering again the like calamity, or of being reproached for what I have already ſuffered. To be ſhort, ſhe was turned into a man, and by that only means avoided the danger and imputation ſhe ſo much dreaded.

I was once myſelf in agonies of grief that are unuttera⯑ble, and in ſo great a diſtraction of mind, that I thought my⯑ſelf even out of the poſſibility of receiving comfort. The occaſion was as follows: when I was a youth in a part of the army which was then quartered at Dover, I fell in love with an agreeable young woman, of a good family in [80] thoſe parts, and had the ſatisfaction of ſeeing my addreſ⯑ſes kindly received, which occaſioned the perplexity I am going to relate.

We were in a calm evening diverting ourſelves upon the top of the clift with the proſpect of the ſea, and trifling away the time in ſuch little fondneſſes, as are moſt ridi⯑culous to people in buſineſs, and moſt agreeable to thoſe in love.

In the midſt of theſe our innocent endearments, ſhe ſnatched a paper of verſes out of my hand, and ran away with them. I was following her, when on a ſudden the ground, though at a conſiderable diſtance from the verge of the precipice, ſunk under her, and threw her down from ſo prodigious an height upon ſuch a range of rocks, as would have daſhed her into ten thouſand pieces, had her body been made of adamant. It is much eaſier for my reader to imagine my ſtate of mind upon ſuch an oc⯑caſion, than for me to expreſs it. I ſaid to myſelf, it is not in the power of heaven to relieve me! when I awak⯑ed, equally tranſported and aſtoniſhed, to ſee myſelf drawn out of an affliction which the very moment before appear⯑ed to me altogether inextricable.

The impreſſions of grief and horror were ſo lively on this occaſion, that while they laſted, they made me more miſerable than I was at the real death of this beloved perſon, (which happened a few months after, at a time when the match between us was concluded) inaſmuch as the imaginary death was untimely, and I myſelf in a ſort an acceſſary; whereas her deceaſe had at leaſt the alle⯑viations of being natural and inevitable.

The memory of the dream I have related ſtill dwells ſo ſtrongly upon me, that I can never read the deſcri⯑ption of Dover-Cliff in Shakeſpear's tragedy of King Lear, without a freſh ſenſe of my eſcape. The proſpect from that place is drawn with ſuch proper incidents, that whoever can read it without growing giddy, muſt have a good head, or a very bad one.

N^o 119. Thurſday, January 12, 1709.

I HAVE lately applied myſelf with much ſatisfaction to the curious diſcoveries that have been made by the help of microſcopes, as they are related by authors of our own and other nations. There is a great deal of pleaſure in prying into this world of wonders, which nature has laid out of ſight, and ſeems induſtrious to conceal from us. Philoſophy had ranged over all the viſible creation, and began to want objects for her enquiries, when the preſent age, by the invention of glaſſes opened a new and inex⯑hauſlible magazine of rarities, more wonderful and amaz⯑ing than any of thoſe which aſtoniſhed our forefathers. I was yeſterday amuſing myſelf with ſpeculations of this kind, and reflecting upon myriads of animals that ſwim in thoſe little ſeas of juices that are contained in the ſeve⯑ral veſſels of an human body. While my mind was thus fil⯑led with that ſecret wonder and delight, I could not but look upon myſelf as in an act of devotion, and am very well pleaſed with the thought of the great heathen anatomiſt, [82] who calls his deſcription of the parts of an human body, An hymn to the ſupreme being. The reading of the day produced in my imagination an agreeable morning's dream, if I may call it ſuch; for I am ſtill in doubt, whether it paſſed in my ſleeping or waking thoughts. However it was, I fancied that my good genius ſtood at my bed's-head, and entertained me with the following diſcourſe; for upon my riſing, it dwelt ſo ſtrongly upon me, that I writ down the ſubſtance of it, if not the very words.

If, ſaid he, you can be ſo tranſported with thoſe pro⯑ductions of nature which are diſcovered to you by thoſe artificial eyes that are the works of human invention, how great will your ſurprize be, when you ſhall have it in your power to model your own eye as your pleaſe, and adapt it to the bulk of objects, which, with all theſe helps are by infinite degrees too minute for your per⯑ception. We who are unbodied ſpirits, can ſharpen our ſight to what degree we think fit, and make the leaſt work of the creation diſtinct, and viſible. This gives us ſuch ideas as cannot poſſibly enter into your preſent conceptions. There is not the leaſt particle of matter which may not furniſh one of us ſufficient employment for a whole eternity. We can ſtill divide it, and ſtill open it, and ſtill diſcover new wonders of providence, as we look into the different texture of its parts, and meet with beds of vegetables, mineral and metallic mix⯑tures, and ſeveral kinds of animals that ly hid, and as it were loſt in ſuch an endleſs fund of matter. I find you are ſurpriſed at this diſcourſe; but as your reaſon tells you there are infinite parts in the ſmalleſt portion of mat⯑ter, it will likewiſe convince you, that there is as great a variety of ſecrets, and as much room for diſcoveries, in a particle no bigger than the point of a pin, as in the globe of the whole earth. Your microſcopes bring to ſight ſhoals of living creatures in a ſpoonful of vinegar; but we, who can diſtinguiſh them in their different mag⯑nitudes, ſee among them ſeveral huge Leviathans, that ter⯑rify [83] the little fry of animals about them, and take their pa⯑ſtime as in an ocean, or the great deep. I could not but ſmile at this part of his relation, and told him I doubt⯑ed not but he could give me the hiſtory of ſeveral invi⯑ſible giants, accompanied with their reſpective dwarfs, in caſe that any of theſe little beings are of an human ſhape. You may aſſure yourſelf, ſaid he, that we ſee in theſe little animals different natures, inſtincts and modes of life, which correſpond to what you obſerve in creatures of bigger dimenſions. We deſcry millions of ſpecies ſubſiſted on a green leaf, which your glaſſes repreſent only in crouds and ſwarms. What appears to your eye but as an hair or down riſing on the ſurface of it, we find to be woods and foreſts, inhabited by beaſts of prey, that are as dreadful in thoſe their haunts, as lions and tigers in the deſarts of Lybia. I was much delighted with his diſ⯑courſe, and could not forbear telling him, that I ſhould be wonderfully pleaſed to ſee a natural hiſtory of Impercepti⯑bles, containing a true account of ſuch vegetables and ani⯑mals as grow and live out of ſight. Such diſquiſitions, an⯑ſwered he, are very ſuitable to reaſonable creatures; and you may be ſure, there are many curious ſpirits amongſt us who employ themſelves in ſuch amuſements. For as our hands, and all our ſenſes, may be formed to what degree of ſtrength and delicacy we pleaſe in the ſame manner as our ſight, we can make what experiments we are inclined to, how ſmall ſoever the matter be in which we make them. I have been preſent at the diſſection of a mite, and have ſeen the ſkeleton of a flea. I have been ſhewn a foreſt of numberleſs trees, which has been picked out of an acorn. Your miſcroſcope can ſhew you in it a complete oak in miniature; and could you ſuit all your organs as we do, you might pluck an acorn from this lit⯑tle oak, which contains another tree; and ſo proceed from tree to tree, as long as you would think fit to con⯑tinue your diſquiſitions. It is almoſt impoſſible, added he, to talk of things ſo remote from common life, and the or⯑dinary notions which mankind receive from blunt and [84] groſs organs of ſenſe, without appearing extravagant and ridiculous. You have often ſeen a dog opened, to obſerve the circulation of the blood, or make any other uſeful enquiry; and yet would be tempted to laugh if I ſhould tell you, that a circle of much greater philoſophers than any of the royal ſociety, were preſent at the cutting up of one of thoſe little animals which we find in the blue of a plumb; that it was tied down alive before them; and that they obſerved the palpitations of the heart, the courſe of the blood, the working of the muſcles, and the convulſions in the ſeveral limbs, with great accu⯑racy and improvement. I muſt confeſs, ſaid I, for my own part, I go along with you in all your diſcoveries with great pleaſure; but it is certain, they are too fine for the groſs of mankind, who are more ſtruck with the deſcription of every thing that is great and bulky. Ac⯑cordingly we find the beſt judge of human nature ſetting forth his wiſdom, not in the formation of theſe minute animals, though indeed no leſs wonderful than the other, but in that of the Leviathan and Behemoth, the Horſe and the Crocodile. Your obſervation, ſaid he, is very juſt; and I muſt acknowlege for my own part, that although it is with much delight that I ſee the traces of providence in theſe inſtances, I ſtill take greater pleaſure in conſi⯑dering the works of the creation in their immenſity, than in their minuteneſs. For this reaſon, I rejoice when I ſtrengthen my ſight ſo as to make it pierce into the moſt remote ſpaces, and take a view of thoſe heavenly bodies which lie out of the reach of human eyes though aſſiſted by teleſcopes. What you look upon as one confuſed white in the milky-way, appears to me a long tract of heavens, diſtinguiſhed by ſtars that are ranged in proper figures and conſtellations. While you are admiring the ſky in a ſtarry night, I am entertained with a variety of worlds and ſuns placed one above another, and riſing up to ſuch an immenſe diſtance, that no created eye can ſee an end of them.

The latter part of this diſcourſe ſlung me into ſuch an [85] aſtoniſhment, that he had been ſilent for ſome time before I took notice of it; when on a ſudden I ſtarted up and drew my curtains, to look if any one was near me, but ſaw no-body, and cannot tell to this moment, whether it was my good genius or a dream that left me.

No. 120. Saturday, January 14, 1709.

No. 121. Tueſday, January 17, 1709.

I WAS recollecting the remainder of my viſion, when my maid came to me, and told me, there was a gen⯑tlewoman below who ſeemed to be in great trouble, and preſſed very much to ſee me. When it lay in my power to remove the diſtreſs of an unhappy perſon, I thought I ſhould very ill employ my time in attending matters of ſpeculation, and therefore deſired the lady would walk in. When ſhe entered, I ſaw her eyes full of tears: how⯑ever, her grief was not ſo great as to make her omit rules; for ſhe was very long and exact in her civilities, which gave me time to view and conſider her. Her clothes were very rich, but tarniſhed; and her words very fine, but ill applied. Theſe diſtinctions made me without heſitation, though I had never ſeen her before, aſk her, if her lady had any commands for me? She then began to weep afreſh, and with many broken ſighs told me, that their family was in very great affliction—I be⯑ſeeched her to compoſe herſelf, for that I might poſſibly be capable of aſſiſting them—She then caſt her eye upon my little dog, and was again tranſported with too much paſſion to proceed; but with much ado, ſhe at laſt gave me to underſtand, that Cupid her lady's lap-dog, was dangerouſly ill, and in ſo bad a condition, that her lady [92] neither ſaw company, nor went abroad, for which rea⯑ſon ſhe did not come herſelf to conſult me; that as I had mentioned with great affection my own dog, (here ſhe curtſied, and looking firſt at the cur, and then on me, ſaid, Indeed I had reaſon, for he was very pretty) her lady ſent to me rather than to any other doctor, and hoped I would not laugh at her ſorrow, but ſend her my advice. I muſt confeſs, I had ſome indignation to find myſelf treat⯑ed like ſomething below a farrier; yet well knowing, that the beſt as well as moſt tender way of dealing with a wo⯑man, is to fall in with her humours, and by that means to let her ſee the abſurdity of them; I proceeded accor⯑dingly: Pray, madam, ſaid I, can you give me any metho⯑dical account of this illneſs, and how Cupid was firſt taken? Sir, ſaid ſhe, we have a little ignorant country⯑girl, who is kept to tend him: ſhe was recommended to our family by one, that my lady never ſaw but once, at a viſit; and you know, perſons of quality are always inclined to ſtrangers; for I could have helped her to a cou⯑ſin of my own, but—Good madam, ſaid I, you neglect the account of the ſick body, while you are complaining of this girl. No, no, Sir, ſaid ſhe, begging your pardon: but it is the general fault of phyſicians, they are ſo in haſte, that they ne⯑ver hear out the caſe. I ſay, this ſilly girl, after waſhing Cupid, let him ſtand half an hour in the window without his collar, where he catched cold, and in an hour after began to bark very hoarſe. He had however a pretty good night, and we hoped the danger was over; but for theſe two nights laſt paſt, neither he nor my lady have ſlept a wink. Has he, ſaid I, taken any thing? No, ſaid ſhe, but my lady ſays, he ſhall take any thing that you preſcribe, provided you do not make uſe of Jeſuits powder, or the cold bath. Poor Cupid, continued ſhe, has always been pthiſical, and as he lies under ſomething like a chin-cough, we are afraid it will end in a conſum⯑ption. I then aſked her, if ſhe had brought any of his wa⯑ter to ſhow me. Upon this, ſhe ſtared me in the face, and ſaid, I am afraid, Mr. Bickerſtaffe, you are not ſerious; [93] but if you have any receipt that is proper on this occaſi⯑on, pray let us have it; for my miſtreſs is not to be com⯑forted. Upon this, I pauſed a little without returning any anſwer; and after ſome ſhort ſilence, I proceeded in the following manner: I have conſidered the nature of the diſtemper, and the conſtitution of the patient, and by the beſt obſervation that I can make on both, I think it is ſafeſt to put him into a courſe of kitchin phyſic. In the mean time, to remove his hoarſneſs, it will be the moſt natural way to make Cupid his own druggiſt; for which reaſon, I ſhall preſcribe to him, three mornings ſucceſſively, as much powder as will ly on a groat, of that noble remedy which the apothecaries call Album Graecum. Upon hearing this advice, the young woman ſmiled, as if ſhe knew how ridiculous an errand ſhe had been employ⯑ed in; and indeed I found by the ſequel of her diſcourſe that ſhe was an arch baggage, and of a character that is frequent enough in perſons of her employment, who are ſo uſed to conform themſelves in every thing to the hu⯑mours and paſſions of their miſtreſſes, that they ſacrifice ſuperiority of ſenſe to ſuperiority of condition, and are inſenſibly betrayed into the paſſions and prejudices of thoſe whom they ſerve, without giving themſelves leave to conſider, that they are extravagant and ridiculous. How⯑ever I thought it very natural, when her eyes were thus open, to ſee her give a new turn to her diſcourſe, and from ſympathizing with her miſtreſs in her follies, to fall a railing at her. You cannot imagine, ſaid ſhe, Mr. Bick⯑erſtaffe, what a life ſhe makes us lead for the ſake of this ugly cur: if he dies we are the moſt unhappy family in town. She chanced to loſe a parrat laſt year, which, to tell you truly, brought me into her ſervice; for ſhe turned off her woman upon it, who had lived with her ten years, becauſe ſhe neglected to give him water, though every one of the family ſays, ſhe was as innocent of the bird's death as the babe that is unborn. Nay, ſhe told me this very morning, that if Cupid ſhould die, ſhe would ſend the poor innocent wench I was telling you of, to [94] Bridewell, and have the milk-woman tried for her life at the Old-Baily, for putting water into his milk. In ſhort, ſhe talks like any diſtracted creature.

Since it is ſo, young woman, ſaid I, I will by no means let you offend her, by ſtaying on this meſſage longer than is abſolutely neceſſary; and ſo forced her out.

While I am ſtudying to cure thoſe evils and diſtreſſes that are neceſſary or natural to human life, I find my taſk growing upon me, ſince by theſe accidental cares, and acquired calamities, if I may ſo call them, my patients contract diſtempers to which their conſtitution is of it⯑ſelf a ſtranger. But this is an evil I have for many years remarked in the fair ſex; and as they are by nature very much formed for affection and dalliance, I have obſerved, that when by too obſtinate a cruelty, or any other means, they have diſappointed themſelves of the proper objects of love, as huſbands, or children, ſuch virgins have exact⯑ly at ſuch a year grown fond of lap-dogs, parrats, or o⯑ther animals. I know at this time a celebrated toaſt, whom I allow to be one of the moſt agreeable of her ſex, that, in the preſence of her admirers, will give a torrent of kiſſes to her cat, any one of which a Chriſtian would be glad of. I do not at the ſame time deny but there are as great enormities of this kind committed by our ſex as theirs. A Roman emperor had ſo very great an eſteem for an horſe of his, that he had thoughts of making him a conſul; and ſeveral moderns of that rank of men, whom we call country ſquires, will not ſcruple to kiſs their hounds before all the world, and declare in the preſence of their wives, that they had rather ſalute a favourite of the pack, than the fineſt woman in England. Theſe voluntary friendſhips between animals of different ſpecies ſeem to ariſe from inſtinct; for which reaſon, I have always looked upon the mutual good-will between the ſquire and the hound, to be of the ſame nature with that between the lion and the jackall.

The only extravagance of this kind which appears to me excuſable, is one that grew out of an exceſs of grati⯑tude, [95] which I have ſomewhere met with in the life of a Turkiſh emperor. His horſe had brought him ſafe out of a field of battle, and from the purſuit of a victorious enemy. As a reward for ſuch his good and faithful ſer⯑vice, his maſter built him a ſtable of marble, ſhod him with gold, fed him in an ivory manger, and made him a rack of ſilver. He annexed to the ſtable ſeveral fields and meadows, lakes, and running ſtreams. At the ſame time he provided for him a ſeraglio of mares, the moſt beautiful that could be found in the whole Ottoman em⯑pire. To theſe were added a ſuitable train of domeſtics, conſiſting of grooms, farriers, rubbers, etc. accommodat⯑ed with proper liveries and penſions. In ſhort, nothing was omitted that could contribute to the eaſe and happi⯑neſs of his life who had preſerved the emperor's.

By reaſon of the extreme cold, and the changeableneſs of the weather, I have been prevailed upon to allow the free uſe of the fardingal till the 20th of February next enſuing.

N^o 122. Thurſday, January 19. 1709.

I FIND it is thought neceſſary, that I, who have taken upon me to cenſure the irregularities of the age, ſhould give an account of my actions when they appear doubtful, or ſubject to miſconſtruction. My appearing at the play on ^* Monday laſt, is looked upon as a ſtep in my conduct, which I ought to explain, that others may not be miſ-led by my example. It is true in matter of fact, I was preſent at the ingenious entertainment of that day, and placed myſelf in a box which was prepar⯑ed for me with great civility and diſtinction. It is ſaid of Virgil, when he entered a Roman theatre, where there [96] were many thouſands of ſpectators preſent, that the whole aſſembly roſe up to do him honour; a reſpect which was never before paid to any but the emperor. I muſt con⯑feſs, that univerſal clap, and other teſtimonies of applauſe, with which I was received at my firſt appearance in the theatre of Great Britain, gave me as ſenſible delight as the abovementioned reception could give to that im⯑mortal poet. I ſhould be ungrateful at the ſame time, if I did not take this opportunity of acknowleging the great civilities that were ſhown me by Mr. Thomas Dog⯑get, who made his compliments to me between the acts after a moſt ingenuous and diſcreet manner; and at the ſame time communicated to me, that the company of up⯑holders deſired to receive me at their door at the end of the Hay-market, and to light me home to my lodg⯑ings. That part of the ceremony I forbad, and took par⯑ticular care during the whole play to obſerve the con⯑duct of the drama, and give no offence by my own be⯑haviour. Here I think it will not be foreign to my cha⯑racter, to lay down the proper duties of an audience, and what is incumbent upon each individual ſpectator in pu⯑blic diverſions of this nature. Every one ſhould on theſe occaſions ſhew his attention, underſtanding, and virtue. I would undertake to find out all the perſons of ſenſe and breeding by the effect of a ſingle ſentence, and to di⯑ſtinguiſh a gentleman as much by his laugh as his bow. When we ſee the footman and his lord diverted by the ſame jeſt, it very much turns to the diminution of the one, or the honour of the other. But though a man's quality may appear in his underſtanding and taſte, the regard to virtue ought to be the ſame in all ranks and conditions of men, however they make a profeſſion of it under the name of honour, religion, or morality. When therefore we ſee any thing divert an audience, either in tragedy or comedy, that ſtrikes at the duties of civil life, or expoſes what the beſt men in all ages have looked upon as ſacred and inviolable, it is the certain ſign of a profli⯑gate race of men, who are fallen from the virtue of their [97] forefathers, and will be contemptible in the eyes of their poſterity. For this reaſon I took great delight in ſeeing the generous and diſintereſted paſſion of the lovers in this comedy (which ſtood ſo many trials, and was proved by ſuch a variety of diverting incidents) received with an univerſal approbation. This brings to my mind a paſſage in Cicero, which I could never read without being in love with the virtue of a Roman audience. He there deſcribes the ſhouts and applauſes which the people gave to the per⯑ſons who acted the parts of Pylades and Oreſtes, on the nobleſt occaſion that a poet could invent to ſhew friend⯑ſhip in perfection. One of them had forfeited his life by an action which he had committed; and as they ſtood in judgment before the tyrant, each of them ſtrove who ſhould be the criminal, that he might ſave the life of his friend. Amidſt the vehemence of each aſſerting himſelf to be the offender, the Roman audience gave a thunder of applauſe, and by that means, as the author hints, approved in o⯑thers what they would have done themſelves on the like occaſion. Methinks, a people of ſo much virtue were de⯑ſervedly placed at the head of mankind: but, alas! plea⯑ſures of this nature are not frequently to be met with on the Engliſh ſtage.

The Athenians, at a time when they were the moſt po⯑lite, as well as the moſt powerful government in the world, made the care of the ſtage one of the chief parts of the adminiſtration: and I muſt confeſs, I am aſtoniſhed at the ſpirit of virtue which appeared in that people upon ſome expreſſions in a ſcene of a famous tragedy; an ac⯑count of which we have in one of Seneca's Epiſtles. A covetous perſon is repreſented ſpeaking the common ſen⯑timents of all who are poſſeſſed with that vice in the fol⯑lowing ſoliloquy, which I have tranſlated literally.

‘Let me be called a baſe man, ſo I am called a rich one. If a man is rich, who aſks if he is good? The queſtion is, how much we have; not from whence, and by what means we have it. Every one has ſo much merit as he has wealth. For my own part let me be rich, oh ye gods! or let me die. The [98] man dies happily, who dies increaſing his treaſure. There is more pleaſure in the poſſeſſion of wealth, than in that of parents, children, wife, or friends.’

The audience were very much provoked by the firſt words of this ſpeech; but when the actor came to the cloſe of it, they could bear no longer. In ſhort, the whole aſ⯑ſembly roſe up at once in the greateſt fury, with a deſign to pluck him off the ſtage, and brand the work itſelf with infamy. In the midſt of the tumult, the author came out from behind the ſcenes, begging the audience to be com⯑poſed for a little while, and they ſhould ſee the tragical end which this wretch ſhould come to immediately. The promiſe of puniſhment appeaſed the people, who ſat with great attention and pleaſure to ſee an example made of ſo odious a criminal. It is with ſhame and concern that I ſpeak it; but I very much queſtion, whether it is poſſible to make a ſpeech ſo impious, as to raiſe ſuch a laudable horror and indignation in a modern audience.

It is very natural for an author to make oſtentation of his reading, as it is for an old man to tell ſtories; for which reaſon I muſt beg the reader will excuſe me, if I for once indulge myſelf in both theſe inclinations. We ſee the attention, judgment, and virtue of a whole audience, in the foregoing inſtances. If we would imitate the be⯑haviour of a ſingle ſpectator, let us reflect upon that of Socrates, in a particular which gives me as great an idea of that extraordinary man, as any circumſtance of his life; or, what is more, of his death. This venerable perſon often frequented the theatre, which brought a great many thither, out of a deſire to ſee him. On which occaſion it is recorded of him, that he ſometimes ſtood to make him⯑ſelf the more conſpicuous, and to ſatisfy the curioſity of the beholders. He was one day preſent at the firſt repreſen⯑tation of a tragedy of Euripides, who was his intimate friend, and whom he is ſaid to have aſſiſted in ſeveral of his plays. In the midſt of the tragedy, which had met with very great ſucceſs, there chanced to be a line that ſeemed to encourage vice and immorality.

[99] This was no ſooner ſpoken, but Socrates roſe from his ſeat, and without any regard to his affection for his friend, or to the ſucceſs of the play, ſhowed himſelf diſ⯑pleaſed at what was ſaid, and walked out of the aſſem⯑bly. I queſtion not but the reader will be curious to know what the line was that gave this divine heathen ſo much offence. If my memory fails me not, it was in the part of Hippolitus, who when he is preſſed by an oath, which he had taken to keep ſilence, returned for anſwer, that he had taken the oath with his tongue, but not with his heart. Had a perſon of a vicious character made ſuch a ſpeech, it might have been allowed as a proper repreſen⯑tation of the baſeneſs of his thoughts: but ſuch an ex⯑preſſion out of the mouth of the virtuous Hippolitus, was giving a ſanction to falſhood, and eſtabliſhing perjury by a maxim.

Having got over all interruptions, I have ſet apart to⯑morrow for the cloſing of my viſion.

No. 123. Saturday, January 21, 1709.
A continuation of the Viſion.

WITH much labour and difficulty I paſſed through the firſt part of my viſion, and recovered the centre of the wood, from whence I had the proſpect of the three great roads. I here joined myſelf to the middle-aged party of mankind, who marched behind the ſtandard of Ambition. The great road lay in a direct line, and was terminated by the Temple of Virtue. It was planted on each ſide with laurels, which were intermixed with mar⯑ble trophies, carved pillars, and ſtatues of lawgivers, he⯑roes, ſtateſmen, philoſophers, and poets. The perſons who travelled up this great path, were ſuch whoſe thoughts [100] were bent upon doing eminent ſervices to mankind, or promoting the good of their country. On each ſide of this great road were ſeveral paths that were alſo laid out in ſtraight lines, and ran parallel with it. Theſe were moſt of them covered walks, and received into them men of retired virtue, who propoſed to themſelves the ſame end of their journey, though they choſe to make it in ſhade and obſcurity. The edifices at the extremity of the walk were ſo contrived, that we could not ſee the Temple of Honour, by reaſon of the Temple of Virtue which ſtood before it. At the gates of this temple we were met by the goddeſs of it, who conducted us into that of Honour, which was joined to the other edifice by a beautiful tri⯑umphal arch, and had no other entrance into it. When the deity of the inner ſtructure had received us, ſhe pre⯑ſented us in a body to a figure that was placed over the high altar, and was the emblem of Eternity. She ſat on a globe in the midſt of a golden zodiac, holding the fi⯑gure of a ſun in one hand, and a moon in the other. Her head was veiled, and her feet covered. Our hearts glowed within us as we ſtood amidſt the ſphere of light which this image caſt on every ſide of it.

Having ſeen all that happened to this band of adven⯑turers, I repaired to another pile of building that ſtood within view of the Temple of Honour, and was raiſed in imitation of it, upon the very ſame model; but at my ap⯑proach to it, I found, that the ſtones were laid together without mortar, and that the whole fabric ſtood upon ſo weak a foundation, that it ſhook with every wind that blew. This was called the Temple of Vanity. The goddeſs of it ſat in the midſt of a great many tapers, that burn⯑ed day and night, and made her appear much bet⯑ter than ſhe would have done in open day-light. Her whole art was to ſhew herſelf more beautiful and ma⯑jeſtic than ſhe really was. For which reaſon, ſhe had painted her face, and wore a cluſter of falſe jewels upon her breaſt: but what I more particularly obſerved, was, the breadth of her petticoat, which was made altogether [101] in the faſhion of a modern fardingal. This place was filled with hypocrites, pedants, free-thinkers, and prating poli⯑ticians; with a rabble of thoſe who have only titles to make them great men. Female votaries crouded the temple, choaked up the avenues of it, and were more in number than the ſand upon the ſea ſhore. I made it my buſineſs in my return towards that part of the wood from whence I firſt ſet out, to obſerve the walks which led to this temple, for I met in it ſeveral who had begun their journey with the band of virtuous perſons, and travelled ſome time in their company: but upon examination I found, that there were ſeveral paths which led out of the great road into the ſides of the wood, and ran into ſo many crooked turns and windings, that thoſe who tra⯑velled through them often turned their backs upon the Temple of Virtue, then croſſed the ſtraight road, and ſometimes marched in it for a little ſpace, till the crooked path, which they were engaged in, again led them into the wood. The ſeveral alleys of theſe wanderers had their particular ornaments: one of them I could not but take notice of in the walk of the miſchievous pretenders to politics, which had at every turn the figure of a perſon, whom by the inſcription I found to be Machiavel, point⯑ing out the way with an extended finger like a Mercury.

I was now returned in the ſame manner as before, with a deſign to obſerve carefully every thing that paſſed in the region of Avarice, and the occurrences in that aſſem⯑bly, which was made up of perſons of my own age. This body of travellers had not gone far in the third great road, before it led them inſenſibly into a deep valley, in which they journied ſeveral days with great toil and un⯑eaſineſs, and without the neceſſary refreſhments of food and ſleep. The only relief they met with, was in a river that ran through the bottom of the valley on a bed of golden ſand: they often drank of this ſtream, which had ſuch a particular quality in it, that though it refreſhed them for a time. it rather inflamed than quenched their thirſt. On each ſide of the river was a range of hills full [102] of precious ore; for where the rains had waſhed off the earth, one might ſee in ſeveral parts of them veins of gold, and rocks that looked like pure ſilver. We were told, that the deity of the place had forbad any of his votaries to dig into the bowels of theſe hills, or convert the treaſures they contained to any uſe under pain of ſtarving. At the end of the valley ſtood the Temple of Avarice, made after the manner of a fortification, and ſurrounded with a thouſand triple-headed dogs, that were placed there to keep off beggars. At our approach they all fell a barking, and would have very much terrified us, had not an old woman who had called herſelf by the forged name of Competency offered herſelf for our guide. She carried under her garment a golden bough, which ſhe no ſooner held up in her hand, but the dogs lay down, and the gates flew open for our reception. We were led through an hundred iron doors, before we entered the temple. At the upper end of it ſat the god of Avarice, with a long filthy beard, and a meagre ſtarved counte⯑nance, encloſed with heaps of ingots and pyramids of mo⯑ney, but half naked and ſhivering with cold. On his right hand was a fiend called Rapine, and on his left a particu⯑lar favourite to whom he had given the title of Parſimo⯑ny. The firſt was his collector, and the other his caſhier.

There were ſeveral long tables placed on each ſide of the temple, with reſpective officers attending behind them. Some of theſe I enquired into. At the firſt table was kept the office of Corruption. Seeing a ſolicitor extremely buſy, and whiſpering every body that paſſed by, I kept my eye upon him very attentively, and ſaw him often going up to a perſon that had a pen in his hand, with a multiplication table and an almanack before him, which as I afterwards heard, was all the learning he was ma⯑ſter of. The ſolicitor would often apply himſelf to his ear, and at the ſame time convey money into his hand, for which the other would give him out a piece of paper or parchment, ſigned and ſealed in form. The name of this dextrous and ſucceſsful ſolicitor was Bribery. At the [103] next table was the office of Extortion. Behind it ſat a perſon in a bob-wig, counting over a great ſum of money. He gave out little purſes to ſeveral, who, after a ſhort tour, brought him in return ſacks full of the ſame kind of coin. I ſaw at the ſame time a perſon called Fraud, who ſat behind a counter with falſe ſcales, light weights, and ſcanty meaſures; by the ſkilful application of which inſtruments, ſhe had got together an immenſe heap of wealth. It would be endleſs to name the ſeveral offi⯑cers, or deſcribe the votaries that attended in this temple. There were many old men panting and breathleſs, repoſing their heads on bags of money; nay many of them actu⯑ally dying, whoſe very pangs and convulſions, which ren⯑dered their purſes uſeleſs to them, only made them graſp them the faſter. There were ſome tearing with one hand all things, even to the garments and fleſh of many miſe⯑rable perſons who ſtood before them, and with the other hand throwing away what they had ſeized, to harlots, flat⯑terers, and panders, that ſtood behind them.

On a ſudden the whole aſſembly fell a trembling, and upon enquiry, I found, that the great room we were in was haunted with a ſpectre, that many times a day ap⯑peared to them, and terrified them to diſtraction.

In the midſt of their terror and amazement the appa⯑rition entered, which I immediately knew to be Poverty. Whether it were by my acquaintance with this phantom, which had rendered the ſight of her more familiar to me, or however it was, ſhe did not make ſo indigent or fright⯑ful a figure in my eye, as the god of this lothſome temple. The miſerable votaries of this place were, I found, of another mind. Every one fancied himſelf threatened by the apparition as ſhe ſtalked about the room, and began to lock their coffers, and tie their bags, with the utmoſt fear and trembling.

I muſt confeſs, I look upon the paſſion which I ſaw in this unhappy people to be of the ſame nature with thoſe unaccountable antipathies which ſome perſons are born with, or rather as a kind of phrenſy, not unlike [104] that which throws a man into terrors and agonies at the ſight of ſo uſeful and innocent a thing as water. The whole aſſembly was ſurpriſed, when, inſtead of paying my devotions to the deity whom they all adored, they ſaw me addreſs myſelf to the phantom.

‘"Oh Poverty! ſaid I, my firſt petition to thee is, that thou wouldſt never appear to me hereafter; but if thou wilt not grant me this, that thou wouldſt not bear a form more terrible than that in which thou ap⯑peareſt to me at preſent. Let not thy threats and me⯑naces betray me to any thing that is ungrateful or un⯑juſt. Let me not ſhut my ears to the cries of the needy. Let me not forget the perſon that has deſerved well of me. Let me not, for any fear of thee, deſert my friend, my principles, or my honour. If Wealth is to viſit me, and to come with her uſual attendants, Vanity and Avarice, do thou, oh Poverty! haſten to my re⯑ſcue; but bring along with thee the two ſiſters, in whoſe company thou art always chearful, Liberty and Innocence."’

The concluſion of this Viſion muſt be deferred to another opportunity.

N^o 131. Thurſday, February 9, 1709.

THERE is in this city a certain fraternity of chymical operators, who work under ground in holes, caverns, and dark retirements, to conceal their myſteries from the eyes and obſervation of mankind. Theſe ſubterraneous philoſophers are daily employed in the tranſmigration of liquors, and, by the power of magical drugs and incan⯑tations, raiſing under the ſtreets of London the choiceſt products of the hills and valleys of France. They can [105] ſqueeze Bourdeaux out of a Sloe, and draw Champagne from an Apple. Virgil, in that remarkable prophecy,

ſeems to have hinted at this art, which can turn a plan⯑tation of Northern hedges into a vineyard. Theſe adepts are known among one another by the name of wine⯑brewers, and I am afraid do great injury, not only to her majeſty's cuſtoms, but to the bodies of many of her good ſubjects.

Having received ſundry complaints againſt theſe invi⯑ſible workmen, I ordered the proper officer of my court to ferret them out of their reſpective caves, and bring them before me, which was yeſterday executed accord⯑ingly.

The perſon who appeared againſt them was a merchant, who had by him a great magazine of wines that he had laid in before the war: but theſe gentlemen, as he ſaid, had ſo vitiated the nation's palate, that no man could be⯑lieve his to be French, becauſe it did not taſte like what they ſold for ſuch. As a man never pleads better than where his own perſonal intereſt is concerned, he exhi⯑bited to the court with great eloquence, that this new corporation of druggiſts had inflamed the bills of mor⯑tality, and puzzled the college of phyſicians with diſeaſes, for which they neither knew a name nor cure. He ac⯑cuſed ſome of giving all their cuſtomers cholics and me⯑grims; and mentioned one who had boaſted, he had a tun of claret by him, that in a fortnight's time ſhould give the gout to a dozen of the healthfulleſt men in the city, provided that their conſtitutions were prepared for it by wealth and idleneſs. He then enlarged, with a great ſhow of reaſon, upon the prejudice which theſe mixtures and compoſitions had done to the brains of the Engliſh nation; as is too viſible, ſaid he, from many late pamphlets, ſpeech⯑es [106] and ſermons, as well as from the ordinary converſati⯑ons of the youth of this age. He then quoted an inge⯑nious perſon who would undertake to know by a man's writings, the wine he moſt delighted in; and on that occaſion named a certain ſatyriſt, whom he had diſcover⯑ed to be the author of a lampoon, by a manifeſt taſte of the ſloe, which ſhowed itſelf in it by much roughneſs, and little ſpirit.

In the laſt place, he aſcribed to the unnatural tumults and fermentations, which theſe mixtures raiſe in our blood, the diviſions, heats and animoſities, that reign a⯑mong us; and in particular, aſſerted moſt of the modern enthuſiaſms and agitations to be nothing elſe but the ef⯑fects of adulterated Port.

The council for the brewers had a face ſo extremely inflamed and illuminated with carbuncles, that I did not wonder to ſee him an advocate for theſe ſophiſtications. His rhetoric was likewiſe ſuch as I ſhould have expect⯑ed from the common draught, which I found he often drank to a great exceſs. Indeed, I was ſo ſurprized at his figure and parts, that I ordered him to give me a taſte of his uſual liquor; which I had no ſooner drank, but I found a pimple riſing in my forehead; and felt ſuch a ſenſible decay in my underſtanding, that I would not proceed in the trial till the fume of it was entirely diſſipated.

This notable advocate had little to ſay in the defence of his clients, but that they were under a neceſſity of making claret if they would keep open their doors, it be⯑ing the nature of mankind to love every thing that is pro⯑hibited. He further pretended to reaſon, that it might be as profitable to the nation to make French wine as French hats; and concluded with the great advantage that this had already brought to part of the kingdom. Upon which he informed the court, that the lands in Herefordſhire were raiſed two years purchaſe ſince the beginning of the war.

When I had ſent out my ſummons to theſe people, I [107] gave at the ſame time orders to each of them to bring the ſeveral ingredients he made uſe of in diſtinct phials, which they had done accordingly, and ranged them in⯑to two rows on each ſide of the court. The workmen were drawn up in ranks behind them. The merchant in⯑formed me, that in one row of phials were the ſeveral colours they dealt in, and in the other the taſtes. He then ſhewed me on the right hand one who went by the name of Tom. Tintoret, who, as he told me, was the greateſt maſter in his colouring of any vintner in London. To give me a proof of his art, he took a glaſs of fair water; and by the infuſion of three drops out of one of his phi⯑als converted it into a moſt beautiful pale Burgundy. Two more of the ſame kind heightened it into a perfect Lan⯑guedoc: from thence it paſſed into a florid Hermitage: and after having gone through two or three other chang⯑es, by the addition of a ſingle drop, ended in a very deep Pontack. This ingenious virtuoſo, ſeeing me very much ſurpriſed at his art, told me, that he had not an opportu⯑nity of ſhewing it in perfection, having only made uſe of water for the ground-work of his colouring: but that if I were to ſee an operation upon liquors of ſtronger bo⯑dies, the art would appear to much greater advantage. He added, that he doubted not but it would pleaſe my cu⯑rioſity to ſee the cyder of one apple take only a ver⯑milion, when another, with a leſs quantity of the ſame in⯑fuſion, would riſe into a dark purple, according to the different texture of parts in the liquor. He informed me alſo, that he could hit the different ſhades and degrees of red, as they appear in the pink and the roſe, the clove and the carnation, as he had Rheniſh or Moſelle, Perry or White Port, to work in.

I was ſo ſatisfied with the ingenuity of this virtuoſo, that, after having adviſed him to quit ſo diſhoneſt a pro⯑feſſion, I promiſed him, in conſideration of his great ge⯑nius, to recommend him as a partner to a friend of mine, who has heaped up great riches, and is a ſcarlet⯑dyer.

[108] The artiſts on my other hand were ordered in the ſe⯑cond place to make ſome experiments of their ſkill be⯑fore me: upon which the famous Harry Sippet ſtept out, and asked me, what I would be pleaſed to drink? At the ſame time he filled out three or four white liquors in a glaſs, and told me, that it ſhould be what I pleaſed to call for; adding very learnedly, that the liquor before him was as the naked ſubſtance or firſt matter of his com⯑pound, to which he and his friend, who ſtood over-a⯑gainſt him, could give what accidents or form they plea⯑ſed. Finding him ſo great a philoſopher, I deſired he would convey into it the qualities and eſſence of right Bourdeaux. Coming, coming, Sir, ſaid he, with the air of a drawer; and after having caſt his eye on the ſeveral taſtes and flavours that ſtood before him, he took up a little cruet that was filled with a kind of inky juice, and pouring ſome of it out into the glaſs of white-wine, preſent⯑ed it to me, and told me, this was the wine over which moſt of the buſineſs of the laſt term had been diſpatch⯑ed. I muſt confeſs, I looked upon that ſooty drug which he held up in his cruet as the quinteſſence of Engliſh Bour⯑deaux, and therefore deſired him to give me a glaſs of it by itſelf, which he did with great unwillingneſs. My cat at that time ſat by me upon the elbow of my chair; and as I did not care for making the experiment upon my⯑ſelf, I reached it to her to ſip of it, which had like to have coſt her her life; for notwithſtanding it flung her at firſt into freakiſh tricks, quite contrary to her uſual gravity, in leſs than a quarter of an hour ſhe fell into convulſions; and had it not been a creature more tenacious of life than any other, would certainly have died under the o⯑peration.

I was ſo incenſed by the tortures of my innocent do⯑meſtic, and the unworthy dealings of theſe men, that I told them, if each of them had as many lives as the injured creature before them, they deſerved to forfeit them for the pernicious arts which they uſed for their pro⯑fit. I therefore bid them look upon themſelves as no bet⯑ter [109] than a kind of aſſaſſins and murderers within the law. However, ſince they had dealt ſo clearly with me, and laid before me their whole practice, I diſmiſſed them for that time; with a particular requeſt, That they would not poiſon any of my friends and acquaintance, and take to ſome honeſt livelihood without loſs of time.

For my own part, I am reſolved hereafter to be very careful in my liquors, and have agreed with a friend of mine in the army, upon their next march, to ſecure me two hogſheads of the beſt ſtomach-wine in the cellars of Verſailles, for the good of my lucubrations, and the comfort of my old-age.

No. 133. Tueſday, February 14, 1709.

SILENCE is ſometimes more ſignificant and ſublime than the moſt noble and moſt expreſſive eloquence, and is on many occaſions the indication of a great mind. Several authors have treated of ſilence as a part of duty and diſcretion, but none of them have conſidered it in this light. Homer compares the noiſe and clamour of the Trojans advancing towards the enemy, to the crackling of cranes when they invade an army of pygmies. On the contrary, he makes his countrymen and favourites, the Greeks, move forward in a regular determined march, and in the depth of ſilence. I find in the accounts which are given us of ſome of the more Eaſtern nations, where the inhabitants are diſpoſed by their conſtitutions and cli⯑mates to higher ſtrains of thought, and more elevated ra⯑ptures, than what we ſeel in the Northern regions of the world, that ſilence is a religious exerciſe among them. For when their public devotions are in the greateſt ſer⯑vour, and their hearts lifted up as high as words can raiſe them, there are certain ſuſpenſions of found and [110] motion, for a time, in which the mind is left to itſelf, and ſuppoſed to ſwell with ſuch ſecret conceptions as are too big for utterance. I have myſelf been wonderfully delighted with a maſter-piece of muſic, when in the very tumult and ferment of their harmony, all the voices and inſtruments have ſtopped ſhort on a ſudden, and after a little pauſe recovered themſelves again as it were, and renewed the concert in all its parts. Methoughts this ſhort interval of ſilence has had more muſic in it than any the ſame ſpace of time before or after it. There are two inſtances of ſilence in the two greateſt poets that ever wrote, which have ſomething in them as ſublime as any of the ſpeeches in their whole works. The firſt is that of Ajax, in the eleventh book of the Odyſſey. Ulyſ⯑ſes, who had been the rival of this great man in his life, as well as the occaſion of his death, upon meeting his ſhade in the region of departed heroes, makes his ſub⯑miſſion to him with an humility next to adoration, which the other paſſes over with dumb ſullen majeſty, and ſuch a ſilence, as, to uſe the words of Longinus, had more greatneſs in it than any thing he could have ſpoken.

The next inſtance I ſhall mention is in Virgil, where the poet, doubtleſs, imitates this ſilence of Ajax in that of Dido; though I do not know that any of his commen⯑tators have taken notice of it. Aeneas finding, among the ſhades of deſpairing lovers, the ghoſt of her who had late⯑ly died for him, with the wound ſtill freſh upon her, ad⯑dreſſes himſelf to her with expanded arms, floods of tears, and the moſt paſſionate profeſſions of his own in⯑nocence as to what had happened; all which Dido re⯑ceives with dignity and diſdain of a reſenting lover, and an injured queen; and is ſo far from vouchſafing him an anſwer, that ſhe does not give him a ſingle look. The poet repreſents her as turning away her face from him while he ſpoke to her; and after having kept her eyes for ſome time upon the ground, as one that heard and contemned his proteſtations, flying from him into the grove of myrtle, [111] and into the arms of another, whoſe fidelity had deſerved her love.

I have often thought our writers of tragedy have been very defective in this particular, and that they might have given great beauty to their works, by certain ſtops and pauſes in the repreſentation of ſuch paſſions, as it is not in the power of language to expreſs. There is ſomething like this in the laſt act of Venice Preſerved, where Pierre is brought to an infamous execution, and begs of his friend, as a reparation for paſt injuries, and the only fa⯑vour he could do him, to reſcue him from the ignominy of the wheel, by ſtabbing him. As he is going to make this dreadful requeſt, he is not able to communicate it, but withdraws his face from his friend's ear, and burſts into tears. The melancholy ſilence that follows hereup⯑on, and continues till he has recovered himſelf enough to reveal his mind to his friend, raiſes in the ſpectators a grief that is inexpreſſible, and an idea of ſuch a complica⯑ted diſtreſs in the actor as words cannot utter. It would look as ridiculous to many readers to give rules and di⯑rections for proper ſilences, as for penning a whiſper: but it is certain, that in the extremity of moſt paſſions, par⯑ticularly ſurprize, admiration, aſtoniſhment, nay, rage itſelf, there is nothing more graceful than to ſee the play ſtand for a few moments, and the audience fixed in an a⯑greeable ſuſpence during the ſilence of a ſkilful actor.

But ſilence never ſhews itſelf to ſo great an advantage, as when it is made the reply to calumny and defamation, provided that we give no juſt occaſion for them. We might produce an example of it in the behaviour of one in whom it appeared in all its majeſty, and one whoſe ſilence, as well as his perſon, was altogether divine. When one conſiders this ſubject only in its ſublimity, this great inſtance could not but occur to me; and ſince I only make uſe of it to ſhew the higheſt example of it, I hope I do not offend in it. To forbear replying to an unjuſt reproach, and overlook it with a generous, or, if poſſible, with an entire neglect of it, is one of the moſt [112] heroic acts of a great mind. And I muſt confeſs, when I reflect upon the behaviour of ſome of the greateſt men of antiquity, I do not ſo much admire them that they deſerv⯑ed the praiſe of the whole age they lived in, as becauſe they contemned the envy and detraction of it.

All that is incumbent on a man of worth, who ſuffers under ſo ill a treatment, is to ly by for ſome time in ſilence and obſcurity, till the prejudice of the times be over, and his reputation cleared. I have often read with a great deal of pleaſure a legacy of the famous lord Bacon, one of the greateſt geniuſes that our own or any country has produced; after having bequeathed his ſoul, body, and eſtate, in the uſual form, he adds, ‘"My name and memory I leave to foreign nations, and to my coun⯑trymen, after ſome time be paſſed over."’

At the ſame time that I recommend this philoſophy to others, I muſt confeſs, I am ſo poor a proſicient in it my⯑ſelf, that if in the courſe of my lucubrations it happens, as it has done more than once, that my paper is duller than in conſcience it ought to be, I think the time an age till I have an opportunity of putting out another, and grow⯑ing famous again for two days.

I muſt not cloſe my diſcourſe upon ſilence, without informing my reader, that I have by me an elaborate trea⯑tiſe on the Apoſiopeſis called an Et caetera, it being a figure much uſed by ſome learned authors, and particu⯑larly by the great Littleton, who, as my lord chief juſtice Coke obſerves, had a moſt admirable talent at an etc.

No. 146. Thurſday, March 16, 1709.

AMONG the various ſets of correſpondents who apply to me for advice, and ſend up their caſes from all parts of Great Britain, there are none who are more im⯑portunate with me, and whom I am more inclined to anſwer, than the Complainers. One of them dates his let⯑ter to me from the banks of a purling ſtream, where he uſed to rominate in ſolitude upon the divine Clariſſa, and where he is now looking about for a convenient leap, which he tells me he is reſolved to take, unleſs I ſupport him un⯑der the loſs of that charming perjured woman. Poor Lavinia preſſes as much for conſolation on the other ſide, and is reduced to ſuch an extremity of deſpair by the in⯑conſtancy of Philander, that ſhe tells me ſhe writes her letter with her pen in one hand, and her garter in the other. A gentleman of an ancient family in Norfolk is almoſt out of his wits upon account of a greyhound, that, after having been his inſeparable companion for ten years, is at laſt run mad. Another, who I believe is ſe⯑rious, complains to me, in a very moving manner, of the loſs of a wife: and another, in terms ſtill more mov⯑ing, of a purſe of money that was taken from him on Bagſhot Heath, and which, he tells me, would not have troubled him if he had given it to the poor. In ſhort, there is ſcarce a calamity in human life that has not produced me a letter.

It is indeed wonderful to conſider, how men are able to raiſe affliction to themſelves out of every thing. Lands [114] and houſes, ſheep and oxen, can convey happineſs and miſery into the hearts of reaſonable creatures. Nay, I have known a muff, a ſcarf, or a tippet, become a ſolid bleſſing or misfortune. A lap-dog has broke the hearts of thouſands. Flavia, who had buried five children, and two huſbands, was never able to get over the loſs of her parrat. How often has a divine creature been thrown into a fit by a neglect at a ball or an aſſembly! Mopſa has kept her chamber ever ſince the laſt maſquerade, and is in greater danger of her life upon being left out of it, than Clarinda from the violent cold which ſhe caught at it. Nor are theſe dear creatures the only ſufferers by ſuch imaginary calamities: many an author has been de⯑jected at the cenſure of one whom he ever looked upon as an idiot; and many a hero caſt into a fit of melancho⯑ly, becauſe the rabble have not hooted at him as he paſ⯑ſed through the ſtreets. Theron places all his happineſs in a running horſe, Suffenus in a gilded chariot, Fulvius in a blue ſtring, and Florio a tulip-root. It would be endleſs to enumerate the many fantaſtical afflictions that diſturb mankind; but as a miſery is not to be meaſured from the nature of the evil, but from the temper of the ſufferer, I ſhall preſent my readers, who are unhappy either in re⯑ality or imagination, with an allegory, for which I am indebted to the great father and prince of poets.

As I was ſitting after dinner in my elbow-chair, I took up Homer, and dipped into that famous ſpeech of Achilles to Priam, in which he tells him, that Jupiter has by him two great veſſels, the one filled with bleſſings, and the o⯑ther with misfortunes; out of which he mingles a com⯑poſition for every man that comes into the world. This paſſage ſo exceedingly pleaſed me, that as I fell inſen⯑ſibly into my afternoon's ſlumber, it wrought my imag⯑ination into the following dream.

When Jupiter took into his hands the government of the world, the ſeveral parts of nature, with the preſiding deities, did homage to him. One preſented him with a mountain of winds, another with a magazine of hail, [115] and a third with a pile of thunder-bolts. The ſtars of⯑fered up their influences, the ocean gave in his trident, the earth her fruits, and the ſun his ſeaſons. Among the ſeveral deities who came to make their court on this oc⯑caſion, the Deſtinies advanced with two great tuns carried before them, one of which they fixed at the right hand of Jupiter as he ſat upon his throne, and the other on his left. The firſt was filled with all the bleſſings, and the other with all the calamities of human life. Jupiter, in the begin⯑ning of his reign, finding the world much more innocent than it is in this iron age, poured very plentifully out of the tun that ſtood at his right hand; but as mankind de⯑generated, and became unworthy of his bleſſings, he ſet abroach the other veſſel, that filled the world with pain and poverty, battles and diſtempers, jealouſy and falſhood, intoxicating pleaſures and untimely deaths.

He was at length ſo very much incenſed at the great depravation of human nature, and the repeated provo⯑cations which he received from all parts of the earth, that having reſolved to deſtroy the whole ſpecies, except Deu⯑calion and Pyrrha, he commanded the Deſtinies to gather up the bleſſings which he had thrown away upon the ſons of men, and lay them up till the world ſhould be inhabit⯑ed by a more virtuous and deſerving race of mortals.

The three ſiſters immediately repaired to the earth, in ſearch of the ſeveral bleſſings that had been ſcattered on it; but found the taſk which was enjoined them, to be much more difficult than they had imagined. The firſt places they reſorted to, as the moſt likely to ſucceed in, were cities, palaces, and courts; but inſtead of meeting with what they looked for here, they found nothing but envy, repining, uneaſineſs, and the like bitter ingredients of the left-hand veſſel. Whereas, to their great ſurprize, they diſcovered content, chearfulneſs, health, innocence, and other the moſt ſubſtantial bleſſings of life, in cottages, ſhades, and ſolitudes.

There was another circumſtance no leſs unexpected than the former, and which gave them very great perplexi⯑ty [116] in the diſcharge of the truſt which Jupiter had commit⯑ted to them. They obſerved that ſeveral bleſſings had de⯑generated into calamities, and that ſeveral calamities had improved into bleſſings, according as they fell into the poſ⯑ſeſſion of wiſe or fooliſh men. They often found power with ſo much inſolence and impatience cleaving to it, that it be⯑came a misfortune to the perſon on whom it was confer⯑red. Youth had often diſtempers growing about it, worſe than the infirmities of old-age: wealth was often united to ſuch a ſordid avarice, as made it the moſt uncomfortable and painful kind of poverty. On the contrary, they often found pain made glorious by fortitude, poverty loſt in con⯑tent, deſormity beautified with virtue. In a word, the bleſ⯑ſings were often like good fruits planted in a bad ſoil, that by degrees fall off from their natural reliſh, into taſtes al⯑together inſipid or unwholſome; and the calamities like harſh fruits, cultivated in a good ſoil, and enriched by proper grafts and inoculations, till they ſwell with ge⯑nerous and delightful juices.

There was ſtill a third circumſtance that occaſioned as great a ſurprize to the three ſiſters as either of the fore⯑going, when they diſcovered ſeveral bleſſings and calami⯑ties which had never been in either of the tuns that ſtood by the throne of Jupiter, and were nevertheleſs as great occaſions of happineſs or miſery as any there. Theſe were that ſpurious crop of bleſſings and calamities which were never ſown by the hand of the deity, but grow of themſelves out of the fancies and diſpoſitions of human creatures. Such are dreſs, titles, place, equipage, falſe ſhame, and groundleſs ſear, with the like vain imaginati⯑ons that ſhoot up in trifling, weak, and irreſolute minds.

The Deſtinies, finding themſelves in ſo great a perplexi⯑ty, concluded, that it would be impoſſible for them to execute the commands that had been given them accord⯑ing to their firſt intention; for which reaſon they agreed to throw all the bleſſings and calamities together into one large veſſel, and in that manner offer them up at the feet of Jupiter.

[117] This was performed accordingly, the eldeſt ſiſter pre⯑ſenting herſelf before the veſſel and introducing it with an apology for what they had done.

‘O Jupiter! ſays ſhe, we have gathered together all the good and evil, the comforts and diſtreſſes of human life, which we thus preſent before thee in one promiſcuous heap. We beſeech thee that thou thyſelf wilt ſort them out for the fu⯑ture as in thy wiſdom thou ſhalt think fit. For we acknow⯑lege, that there is none beſide thee that can judge what will occaſion grief or joy in the heart of a human creature, and what would prove a bleſſing or a calamity to the perſon on whom it is beſtowed.’

N^o 147. Saturday, March 18, 1709.

No. 148. Tueſday, March 21, 1709.

HAVING intimated in my laſt paper, that I deſign to take under my inſpection the diet of this great city, I ſhall begin with a very earneſt and ſerious exhortation to all my well-diſpoſed readers, that they would return to the food of their forefathers, and reconcile themſelves to beef and mutton. This was that diet which bred that hardy race of mortals who won the fields of Creſſy and Agincourt. I need not go up ſo high as the hiſtory of Guy earl of Warwick, who is well known to have eat⯑en up a dun cow of his own killing. The renowned king Arthur is generally looked upon as the firſt who ever ſat down to a whole roaſted ox, which was certainly the beſt way to preſerve the gravy; and it is further ad⯑ded, that he and his knights ſat about it at his round table, and uſually conſumed it to the very bones before they would enter upon any debate of moment. The Black prince was a profeſſed lover of the briſket; not to men⯑tion the hiſtory of the ſirloin, or the inſtitution of the order of beef-eaters, which are all ſo many evident and undeniable marks of the great reſpect which our warlike predeceſſors have paid to this excellent food. The tables of the ancient gentry of this nation were covered thrice a day with hot roaſt beef; and I am credibly informed by an antiquary who has ſearched the regiſters in which the bills of fare of the court are recorded, that inſtead of tea, and bread and butter, which have prevailed of late years, the maids of honour in queen Elizabeth's time were allowed three rumps of beef for their breakfaſt. Mutton has likewiſe been in great repute among our valiant country⯑men, but was formerly obſerved to be the food rather of men of nice and delicate appetites, than thoſe of ſtrong [122] and robuſt conſtitutions. For which reaſon, even to this day, we uſe the word ſheep-biter as a term of reproach, as we do beef-eater in a reſpectful and honourable ſenſe. As for the fleſh of lamb, veal, chicken, and other animals under age, they were the invention of ſickly and degene⯑rate palates, according to that wholeſome remark of Da⯑niel the hiſtorian, who takes notice, That in all taxes up⯑on proviſions, during the reigns of ſeveral of our kings, there is nothing mentioned beſides the fleſh of ſuch fowl and cattle as were arrived at their full growth, and were ma⯑ture for ſlaughter. The common people of this kingdom do ſtill keep up the taſte of their anceſtors; and it is to this that we in a great meaſure owe the unparalleled victories that have been gained in this reign: for I would deſire my reader to conſider, what work our countrymen would have made at Blenheim and Ramillies, if they had been fed with fricacies and ragouſts.

For this reaſon we at preſent ſee the florid complexi⯑on, the ſtrong limb, and the hale conſtitution, are to be found chiefly among the meaner ſort of people, or in the wild gentry, who have been educated among the woods and mountains: whereas many great families are inſenſi⯑bly fallen off from the athletic conſtitution of their pro⯑genitors, and are dwindled away into a pale, ſickly, ſpin⯑dle-legged, generation of valetudinarians.

I may perhaps be thought extravagant in my notion; but I muſt confeſs, I am apt to impute the diſhonours that ſometimes happen in great families to the inflaming kind of diet which is ſo much in faſhion. Many diſhes can excite deſire without giving ſtrength, and heat the body vithout nouriſhing it: as phyſicians obſerve, that the pooreſt and moſt diſpirited blood is moſt ſubject to fevers. I look upon a French ragouſt to be as pernicious to the ſtomach as a glaſs of ſpirits; and when I have ſeen a young lady ſwallow all the inſtigations of high ſoupes, ſeaſoned ſauces, and forced meats, I have won⯑dered at the deſpair or tedious ſighing of her lovers.

[123] The rules among theſe falſe delicates, are to be as con⯑tradictory as they can be to nature.

Without expecting the return of hunger, they eat for appetite, and prepare diſhes not to allay, but to excite it.

They admit of nothing at their tables in its natural form, or without ſome diſguiſe.

They are to eat every thing before it comes in ſeaſon, and to leave it off as ſoon as it is good to be eaten.

They are not to approve any thing that is agreeable to ordinary palates; and nothing is to gratify their ſenſes, but what would offend thoſe of their inferiors.

I remember I was laſt ſummer invited to a friend's houſe, who is a great admirer of the French cookery, and, as the phraſe is, eats well. At our ſitting down, I found the table covered with a great variety of unknown diſhes. I was mightily at a loſs to learn what they were, and therefore did not know where to help myſelf. That which ſtood before me I took to be a roaſted porcupine, however did not care for aſking queſtions: and have ſince been informed, that it was only a larded turkey. I afterwards paſſed my eye over ſeveral haſhes, which I do not know the names of to this day; and hearing that they were delicacies, did not think fit to meddle with them.

Among other dainties, I ſaw ſomething like a phea⯑ſant, and therefore deſired to be helped to a wing of it; but to my great ſurprize, my friend told me it was a rab⯑bet, which is a ſort of meat I never cared for. At laſt I diſcovered, with ſome joy, a pig at the lower end of the table, and begged a gentleman that was near to cut me a piece of it. Upon which the gentleman of the houſe ſaid with great civility, I am ſure you will like the pig, for it was whipped to death. I muſt confeſs, I heard him with horror, and could not eat of an animal that had died ſuch a tragical death: I was now in great hunger and confuſion, when, methought, I ſmelled the agreeable ſa⯑vour of roaſt-beef, but could not tell from which diſh it aroſe, though I did not queſtion but it lay diſguiſed in one [124] of them. Upon turning my head, I ſaw a noble ſirloin on the ſide-table ſmoking in the moſt delicious manner. I had recourſe to it more than once, and could not ſee, without ſome indignation, that ſubſtantial Engliſh diſh baniſhed in ſo ignominious a manner, to make way for French kickſhaws.

The deſſert was brought up at laſt, which in truth was as extraordinary as any thing that had come before it. The whole, when ranged in its proper order, looked like a very beautiful winter-piece. There were ſeveral pyra⯑mids of candyed ſweetmeats, that hung like icicles, with fruits ſcattered up and down, and hid in an artificial kind of froſt. At the ſame time there were great quan⯑tities of cream beaten up into a ſnow, and near them lit⯑tle plates of ſugar-plumbs, diſpoſed like ſo many heaps of hail-ſtones, with a multitude of congelations in jel⯑lies of various colours. I was indeed ſo pleaſed with the ſeveral objects which lay before me, that I did not care for diſplacing any of them, and was half angry with the reſt of the company, that for the ſake of a piece of lemmon-peel, or a ſugar-plumb, would ſpoil ſo pleaſing a picture. In⯑deed, I could not but ſmile to ſee ſeveral of them cooling their mouths with lumps of ice, which they had juſt be⯑fore been burning with ſalts and peppers.

As ſoon as this ſhow was over I took my leave, that I might finiſh my dinner at my own houſe: for as I in every thing love what is ſimple and natural, ſo particular⯑ly in my ſood; two plain diſhes, with two or three good⯑natured, chearful, ingenious friends, would make me more pleaſed and vain, than all that pomp and luxury can beſtow. For it is my maxim, that he keeps the greateſt table, who has the moſt valuable company at it.

No. 152. Thurſday, March 30, 1710.

A MAN, who confines his ſpeculations to the time pre⯑ſent, has but a very narrow province to employ his thoughts in. For this reaſon, perſons of ſtudious and contemplative natures often entertain themſelves with the hiſtory of paſt ages, or raiſe ſchemes and conjectures upon futurity. For my own part, I love to range through that half of eternity which is ſtill to come, rather than look on that which is already run out; becauſe I know I have a real ſhare and intereſt in the one, whereas all that was tranſacted in the other can be only matter of cu⯑rioſity to me.

Upon this account, I have been always very much de⯑lighted with meditating on the ſoul's immortality, and in reading the ſeveral notions which the wiſeſt of men, both ancient and modern, have entertained on that ſub⯑ject. What the opinions of the greateſt philoſophers have been, I have ſeveral times hinted at, and ſhall give an account of them from time to time as occaſion requires. It may likewiſe be worth while to conſider, what men of the moſt exalted genius, and elevated imagination, have thought of this matter. Among theſe, Homer ſtands up as a prodigy of mankind, that looks down upon the reſt of human creatures as a ſpecies beneath him. Since he is the moſt ancient heathen author, we may gueſs from his relation, what were the common opinions in his time concerning the ſtate of the ſoul after death.

Ulyſſes, he tells us, made a voyage to the regions of the dead, in order to conſult Tireſias how he ſhould re⯑turn to his own country, and recommend himſelf to the [126] favour of the gods. The poet ſcarce introduces a ſingle perſon, who doth not ſuggeſt ſome uſeful precept to his reader, and deſigns his deſcription of the dead for the amendment of the living.

Ulyſſes, after having made a very plenteous ſacrifice, ſat him down by the pool of holy blood, which attracted a prodigious aſſembly of ghoſts of all ages and conditi⯑ons, that hovered about the hero, and feaſted upon the ſteams of his oblation. The firſt he knew, was the ſhade of Elpenor, who, to ſhew the activity of a ſpirit a⯑bove that of body, is repreſented as arrived there long before Ulyſſes, notwithſtanding the winds and ſeas had contributed all their force to haſten his voyage thither. This Elpenor, to inſpire the reader with a deteſtation of drunkenneſs, and at the ſame time with a religious care of doing proper honours to the dead, deſcribes himſelf as hav⯑ing broken his neck in a debauch of wine; and begs Ulyſ⯑ſes, that for the repoſe of his ſoul, he would build a mo⯑nument over him, and perform funeral rites to his me⯑mory. Ulyſſes with great ſorrow of heart promiſes to ful⯑fil his requeſt, and is immediately diverted to an object much more moving than the former. The ghoſt of his own mother Anticlea, whom he ſtill thought living, appears to him among the multitudes of ſhades that ſurrounded him, and ſits down at a ſmall diſtance from him by the lake of blood, without ſpeaking to him, or knowing who he was. Ulyſſes was exceedingly troubled at the ſight, and could not forbear weeping as he looked upon her: but being all a⯑long ſet forth as a pattern of conſummate wiſdom, he makes his affection give way to prudence; and therefore, upon his ſeeing Tireſias, does not reveal himſelf to his mother, till he had conſulted that great prophet, who was the occa⯑ſion of this his deſcent into the empire of the dead. Tireſias having cautioned him to keep himſelf and his compani⯑ons free from the guilt of ſacrilege, and to pay his devo⯑tions to all the gods, promiſes him a return to his king⯑dom and family, and a happy old-age in the enjoyment of them.

[127] The poet having thus with great art kept the curioſi⯑ty of his reader in ſuſpence, repreſents his wife man, after the diſpatch of his buſineſs with Tireſias, as yielding him⯑ſelf up to the calls of natural affection, and making him⯑ſelf known to his mother. Her eyes were no ſooner o⯑pened, but ſhe cries out in tears, Oh my ſon! and en⯑quires into the occaſions that brought him thither, and the fortune that attended him.

Ulyſſes on the other hand deſires to know, what the ſickneſs was that had ſent her into thoſe regions, and the condition in which ſhe had left his father, his ſon, and more particularly his wife. She tells him, they were all three inconſolable for his abſence; and as for myſelf, ſays ſhe, That was the ſickneſs of which I died. My impatience for your return, my anxiety for your welfare, and my fondneſs for my dear Ulyſſes, were the only diſtempers that preyed up⯑on my life, and ſeparated my ſoul from my body. Ulyſſes was melted with theſe expreſſions of tenderneſs, and thrice endeavoured to catch the apparition in his arms, that he might hold his mother to his boſom and weep over her.

This gives the poet occaſion to deſcribe the notion the heathens at that time had of an unbodied ſoul, in the excuſe which the mother makes for ſeeming to with⯑draw herſelf from her ſon's embraces. The ſoul, ſays ſhe, is compoſed neither of bones, fleſh, nor ſinews, but leaves be⯑hind her all thoſe incumbrances of mortality to be conſumed on the funeral pile. As ſoon as ſhe hath thus caſt her burden, ſhe makes her eſcape, and flies away from it like a dream.

When this melancholy converſation is at an end, the poet draws up to view as charming a viſion as could en⯑ter into man's imagination. He deſcribes the next who appeared to Ulyſſes, to have been the ſhades of the fineſt women that had ever lived upon the earth, and who had either been the daughters of kings, the miſtreſſes of gods, or mothers of heroes; ſuch as Antiope, Alcmena, Leda, Ariadne, Iphimedia, Eriphyle, and ſeveral others of whom he gives a catalogue, with a ſhort hiſtory of their adven⯑tures. The beautiful aſſembly of apparitions were all ga⯑thered [128] together about the blood: each of them, ſays U⯑lyſſes, as a gentle ſatire upon female vanity, giving me an account of her birth and family. This ſcene of extraordina⯑ry women ſeems to have been deſigned by the poet as a lecture of mortality to the whole ſex, and to put them in mind of what they muſt expect, notwithſtanding the great⯑eſt perfections, and higheſt honours, they can arrive at.

The circle of beauties at length diſappeared, and was ſucceeded by the ſhades of ſeveral Grecian heroes who had been engaged with Ulyſſes in the ſiege of Troy. The firſt that approached was Agamemnon, the generaliſſimo of that great expedition, who at the appearance of his old friend wept very bitterly, and without ſaying any thing to him, endeavoured to graſp him by the hand. Ulyſſes, who was much moved at the ſight, poured out a flood of tears, and aſked him the occaſion of his death, which Agamemnon related to him in all its tragical cir⯑cumſtances; how he was murdered at a banquet by the contrivance of his own wife, in confederacy with her a⯑dulterer: from whence he takes occaſion to reproach the whole ſex, after a manner which would be inexcuſable in a man who had not been ſo great a ſufferer by them. My wife, ſays he, has diſgraced all the women that ſhall e⯑ver be born into the world, even thoſe who hereafter ſhall be innocent. Take care how you grow too fond of your wife. Never tell her all you know. If you reveal ſome things to her, be ſure you keep others concealed from her. You indeed have nothing to fear from your Penelope, ſhe will not uſe you as my wife has treated me; however, take care how you truſt a woman. The poet, in this and other inſtances, ac⯑cording to the ſyſtem of many Heathen as well as Chri⯑ſtian philoſophers, ſhews, how anger, revenge, and other habits which the ſoul had contracted in the body, ſubſiſt and grow in it under its ſtate of ſeparation.

I am extremely pleaſed with the companions which the poet in the next deſcription aſſigns to Achilles. A⯑chilles, ſays the hero, came up to me with Patroclus and Antilochus. By which we may ſee that it was Homer's o⯑pinion, [129] and probably that of the age he lived in, that the friendſhips which are made among the living, will like⯑wiſe continue among the dead. Achilles enquires after the welfare of his ſon, and of his father, with a fierce⯑neſs of the ſame character that Homer has every where expreſſed in the actions of his life. The paſſage relating to his ſon is ſo extremely beautiful, that I muſt not omit it. Ulyſſes, after having deſcribed him as wife in coun⯑cil and active in war, and mentioned the foes whom he had ſlain in battle, adds an obſervation that he himſelf had made of his behaviour whilſt he lay in the wooden horſe. Moſt of the generals, ſays he, that were with us, either wept or trembled: as for your ſon, I never ſaw him wipe a tear from his cheeks, or change his countenance. On the contrary, he would often lay his hand upon his ſword, or graſp his ſpear, as impatient to employ them againſt the Trojans. He then informs his father of the great honour and rewards which he had purchaſed before Troy, and of his return from it without a wound. The ſhade of Achil⯑les, ſays the poet, was ſo pleaſed with the account he received of his ſon, that he enquired no further, but ſtalked away with more than ordinary majeſty over the green meadow that lay before them.

This laſt circumſtance of a deceaſed father's rejoicing in the behaviour of his ſon, is very finely contrived by Homer, as an incentive to virtue, and made uſe of by none that I know beſides himſelf.

The deſcription of Ajax, which follows, and his re⯑fuſing to ſpeak to Ulyſſes, who had won the armour of A⯑chilles from him, and by that means occaſioned his death, is admired by every one that reads it. When Ulyſſes re⯑lates the ſullenneſs of his deportment, and conſiders the greatneſs of the hero, he expreſſes himſelf with generous and noble ſentiments. Oh! that I had never gained a prize which coſt the life of ſo brave a man as Ajax! who, for the beauty of his perſon, and greatneſs of his actions, was infe⯑rior to none but the divine Achilles. The ſame noble con⯑deſcenſion, which never dwells but in truly great minds, [130] and ſuch as Homer would repreſent that of Ulyſſes to have been, diſcovers itſelf likewiſe in the ſpeech which he made to the ghoſt of Ajax on that occaſion. Oh Ajax! ſays he, Will you keep your reſentment even after death? what deſtructions hath this fatal armour brought upon the Greeks by robbing them of you, who was their bulwark and defence? Achilles is not more bitterly lamented among us than you. Impute not then your death to any one but Jupi⯑ter, who out of his anger to the Greeks, took you away from among them: let me entreat you to approach me; reſtrain the fierceneſs of your wrath, and the greatneſs of your ſoul. and hear what I have to ſay to you. Ajax, without making any reply, turned his back upon him, and retired into a croud of ghoſts.

Ulyſſes, after all theſe viſions, took a view of thoſe impious wretches who lay in tortures for the crimes they had committed upon the earth, whom he deſcribes under all the varieties of pain, as ſo many marks of divine ven⯑geance, to deter others from following their example. He then tells us, that notwithſtanding he had a great curioſi⯑ty to ſee the heroes that lived in the ages before him, the ghoſts began to gather about him in ſuch prodigious multitudes, and with ſuch confuſion of voices, that his heart trembled as he ſaw himſelf amidſt ſo great a ſcene of horrors. He adds, that he was afraid leſt ſome hideous ſpectre ſhould appear to him, that might terrify him to diſtraction; and therefore withdrew in time.

I queſtion not but my reader will be pleaſed with this deſcription of a future ſtate, repreſented by ſuch a noble and fruitful imagination, that had nothing to direct it be⯑ſides the light of nature, and the opinions of a dark and ignorant age.

No. 153. Saturday, April 1, 1710.

I HAVE heard of a very valuable picture, wherein all the painters of the age in which it was drawn, are re⯑preſented ſitting together in a circle, and joining in a con⯑cert of muſic. Each of them plays upon ſuch a particular inſtrument as is the moſt ſuitable to his character, and ex⯑preſſes that ſtile and manner of painting which is pecu⯑liar to him. The famous cupola-painter of thoſe times, to ſhew the grandeur and boldneſs of his figures, hath a horn in his mouth, which he ſeems to wind with great ſtrength and force. On the contrary, an eminent artiſt, who wrought up his pictures with the greateſt accuracy, and gave them all thoſe delicate touches which are apt to pleaſe the niceſt eye, is repreſented as tuning a theorbo. The ſame kind of humour runs through the whole piece.

I have often from this hint imagined to myſelf, that different talents in diſcourſe might be ſhadowed out after the ſame manner by different kinds of muſic; and that the ſeveral converſable parts of mankind in this great city might be caſt into the proper characters and diviſions, as they reſemble ſeveral inſtruments that are in uſe among the maſters of harmony. Of theſe therefore in their or⯑der, and firſt of the drum.

Your drums are the bluſterers in converſation, that with a loud laugh, unnatural mirth, and a torrent of noiſe, domineer in public aſſemblies, over-bear men of ſenſe, ſtun their companions, and fill the place they are in with a ratling ſound, that hath ſeldom any wit, humour, or good breeding in it. The drum notwithſtanding, by this boiſterous vivacity, is very proper to impoſe upon the ignorant; and in converſation with ladies, who are not of the ſineſt taſte, often paſſes for a man of mirth and wit, [132] for wonderful pleaſant company. I need not obſerve, that the emptineſs of the drum very much contributes to its noiſe.

The lute is a character directly oppoſite to the drum, that ſounds very finely by itſelf or in a very ſmall concert. Its notes are exquiſitely ſweet, and very low, eaſily drown⯑ed in a multitude of inſtruments, and even loſt among a few, unleſs you give a particular attention to it. A lute is ſeldom heard in a company of more than five, whereas a drum will ſhew itſelf to advantage in an aſſembly of five hundred. The lutaniſts therefore are men of a fine genius, uncommon reflection, great affability, and eſteemed chief⯑ly by perſons of a good taſte, who are the only proper judges of ſo delightful and ſoft a melody.

The trumpet is an inſtrument that has in it no com⯑paſs of muſic, or variety of ſound, but is notwithſtanding very agreeable, ſo long as it keeps within its pitch. It has not above four or five notes, which are however very pleaſing, and capable of exquiſite turns and modulations. The gentlemen, who fall under this denomination, are your men of the moſt faſhionable education and refined breed⯑ing, who have learned a certain ſmoothneſs of diſcourſe, and ſprightlineſs of air, from the polite company they have kept; but at the ſame time have ſhallow parts, weak judgments, and a ſhort reach of underſtanding; a play⯑houſe, a drawing-room, a ball, a viſiting day, or a ring at Hide-park, are the few notes they are maſters of, which they touch upon in all converſations. The trumpet how⯑ever is a neceſſary inſtrument about a court, and a pro⯑per enlivener of a concert, though of no great harmony by itſelf.

Violins are the lively, forward, importunate wits, that diſtinguiſh themſelves by the flouriſhes of imagination, ſharpneſs of repartee, glances of ſatire, and bear away the upper part in every concert. I cannot however but ob⯑ſerve, that when a man is not diſpoſed to hear muſic, there is not a more diſagreeable ſound in harmony than that of a violin.

[133] There is another muſical inſtrument, which is more frequent in this nation than any other; I mean your baſs-viol, which grumbles in the bottom of the concert, and with a ſurly maſculine ſound ſtrengthens the harmony, and tempers the ſweetneſs of the ſeveral inſtruments that play along with it. The baſs-viol is an inſtrument of a quite different nature to the trumpet, and may ſignify men of rough ſenſe, and unpoliſhed parts, who do not love to hear themſelves talk, but ſometimes break out with an agreeable bluntneſs, unexpected wit, and ſurly plea⯑ſantries, to the no ſmall diverſion of their friends and companions. In ſhort, I look upon every ſenſible true⯑born Briton to be naturally a baſs-viol.

As for your rural wits, who talk with great eloquence and alacrity of foxes, hounds, horſes, quick-ſet-hedges, and ſix-bar-gates, double ditches, and broken necks, I am in doubt, whether I ſhould give them a place in the con⯑verſable world. However, if they will content themſelves with being raiſed to the dignity of hunting-horns, I ſhall deſire for the future that they may be known by that name.

I muſt not here omit the bagpipe ſpecies, that will entertain you from morning to night with the repetiti⯑on of a few notes, which are played over and over, with the perpetual humming of a drone running underneath them. Theſe are your dull, heavy, tedious ſtory-tellers, the load and burden of converſations, that ſet up for men of importance, by knowing ſecret hiſtory, and giv⯑ing an account of tranſactions, that whether they ever [...] in the world or not, doth not ſignify a half-penny [...] its inſtruction, or its welfare. Some have obſerved, that the Northern parts of this iſland are more particular⯑ly fruitful in bagpipes.

There are ſo very few perſons who are maſters in every [...] of converſation, and can talk on all ſubjects, that I [...] know whether we ſhould make a diſtinct ſpecies of [...] nevertheleſs, that my ſcheme may not be defective, [...] of thoſe few who are endowed with ſuch ex⯑traordinary [134] talents, I ſhall allow them to be harpſicords, a kind of muſic which every one knows is a concert by itſelf.

As for your paſſage-bells, who look upon mirth as cri⯑minal, and talk of nothing but what is melancholy in it⯑ſelf and mortifying to human nature, I ſhall not mention them.

I ſhall likewiſe paſs over in ſilence all the rabble of man⯑kind, that croud our ſtreets, coffee-houſes, feaſts, and public tables. I cannot call their diſcourſe converſation, but rather ſomething that is practiſed in imitation of it. For which reaſon, if I would deſcribe them by any muſical inſtrument, it ſhould be by thoſe modern inven⯑tions of the bladder and ſtring, tongs and key, marrow⯑bone and cleaver.

My reader will doubtleſs obſerve, that I have only touched here upon male inſtruments, having reſerved my female concert to another occaſion. If he has a mind to know where theſe ſeveral characters are to be met with, I could direct him to a whole club of drums; not to menti⯑on another of bagpipes, which I have before given ſome account of in my deſcription of our nightly meetings in Sheer-Lane. The lutes may often be met with in couples upon the banks of a chryſtal ſtream, or in the retreats of ſhady woods and ſlowery meadows; which for different reaſons are likewiſe the great reſort of your hunting-horns. Baſs-viols are frequently to be found over a glaſs of ſtale⯑beer, and a pipe of tobacco, whereas thoſe who ſet up for violins, ſeldom fail to make their appearance at Will's once every evening. You may meet with a trumpet any where on the other ſide of Charing-croſs.

That we may draw ſomething for our advantage in life out of the foregoing diſcourſe, I muſt intreat my rea⯑der to make a narrow ſearch into his life and converſa⯑tion, and upon his leaving any company, to examine himſelf ſeriouſly, whether he has behaved himſelf in it like a dram or a trumpet, a violin or a baſs-viol; and ac⯑cordingly endeavour to mend his muſic for the future. [135] For my own part, I muſt confeſs, I was a drum for ma⯑ny years; nay, and a noiſy one, till having poliſhed my⯑ſelf a little in good company, I threw as much of the trum⯑pet into my converſation as was poſſible for a man of an impetuous temper, by which mixture of different mu⯑ſics, I look upon myſelf, during the courſe of many years, to have reſembled a tabor and pipe. I have ſince very much endeavoured at the ſweetneſs of the lute; but in ſpite of all my reſolutions, I muſt confeſs with great con⯑fuſion, that I find myſelf daily degenerating into a bag⯑pipe; whether it be the effect of my old-age, or of the com⯑pany I keep, I know not. All that I can do, is to keep a watch over my converſation, and to ſilence the drone as ſoon as I find it begin to hum in my diſcourſe, being determinated rather to hear the notes of others, than to play out of time, and encroach upon their parts in the concert by the noiſe of ſo tireſome an inſtrument.

I ſhall conclude this paper with a letter which I receiv⯑ed laſt night from a friend of mine who knows very well my notions upon this ſubject, and invites me to paſs the evening at his houſe, with a ſelect company of friends, in the following words:

No. 154. Tueſday, April 4, 1710.

WE have already examined Homer's deſcription of a future ſtate, and the condition in which he hath placed the ſouls of the deceaſed. I ſhall in this paper make ſome obſervations on the account which Virgil hath given us of the ſame ſubject, who, beſides a greatneſs of genius, had all the lights of philoſophy and human learning to aſſiſt and guide him in his diſcoveries.

Aeneas is repreſented as deſcending into the empire of death, with a propheteſs by his ſide, who inſtructs him in the ſecrets of thoſe lower regions.

Upon the confines of the dead, and before the very gates of this inſernal world, Virgil deſcribes ſeveral inha⯑bitants, whoſe natures are wonderfully ſuited to the ſitu⯑ation of the place, as being either the occaſions, or re⯑ſemblances of death. Of the firſt kind are the ſhadows of Sickneſs, Old-age, Fear, Famine, and Poverty, apparitions very terrible to behold; with ſeveral others, as Toil, War, Contention, and Diſcord, which contribute all of them to people this common receptacle of human ſouls. As this was likewiſe a very proper reſidence for every thing that reſembles Death, the poet tells us that Sleep, whom he repreſents as a near relation to Death, has likewiſe his habitation in theſe quarters, and deſcribes in them a huge gloomy elm-tree, which ſeems a very proper ornament for the place, and is poſſeſſed by an innumerable ſwarm of Dreams, that hang in cluſters under every leaf of it. He then gives us a liſt of imaginary perſons, who very na⯑turally ly within the ſhadow of the Dream-tree, as being of the ſame kind of make in themſelves, and the materials, or, to uſe Shakeſpear's phraſe, the ſtuff of which dreams are made. Such are the ſhades of the giant with a hun⯑dred hands, and of his brother with three bodies; of the [137] double-ſhaped Centaur, and Scylla; the Gorgon with ſnakey hair; the Harpy with a woman's face and lion's talons; the ſeven-headed Hydra; and the Chimaera, which breathes forth a flame, and is a compound of three animals. Theſe ſeveral mixed natures, the creatures of imagination, are not only introduced with great art after the dreams; but as they are planted at the very en⯑trance, and within the very gates of thoſe regions, do probably denote the wild deliriums and extravagancies of fancy, which the ſoul uſually falls into when ſhe is juſt upon the verge of death.

Thus far Aeneas travels in an allegory. The reſt of the deſcription is drawn with great exactneſs, according to the religion of the heathens, and the opinions of the Platonic philoſophy. I ſhall not trouble my reader with a common dull ſtory, that gives an account why the heathens firſt of all ſuppoſed a ferryman in hell, and his name to be Charon; but muſt not paſs over in ſilence the point of doctrine which Virgil hath very much in⯑ſiſted upon in this book, that the ſouls of thoſe, who are unburied, are not permitted to go over into their reſpe⯑ctive places of reſt, till they have wandered a hundred years upon the banks of Styx. This was probably an inven⯑tion of the heathen prieſthood, to make the people ex⯑tremely careful of performing proper rites and ceremo⯑nies to the memory of the dead. I ſhall not however, with the infamous ſcriblers of the age, take an occaſion from ſuch a circumſtance, to run into declamations againſt prieſtcraft, but rather look upon it even in this light as a religious artifice, to raiſe in the minds of men an eſteem for the memory of their ſorefathers, and a deſire to re⯑commend themſelves to that of poſterity; as alſo to ex⯑cite in them an ambition of imitating the virtues of the deceaſed, and to keep alive in their thoughts the ſenſe of the ſoul's immortality. In a word, we may ſay in defence of the ſevere opinions relating to the ſhades of unburied perſons, what hath been ſaid by ſome of our divines in re⯑gard to the rigid doctrines concerning the ſouls of ſuch who [138] die without being initiated into our religion, that ſuppoſ⯑ing they ſhould be erroneous, they can do no hurt to the dead, and will have a good effect upon the living, in mak⯑ing them cautious of neglecting ſuch neceſſary ſolemnities.

Charon is no ſooner appeaſed, and the triple-headed dog laid aſleep, but Aeneas makes his entrance into the do⯑minions of Pluto. There are three kinds of perſons deſcrib⯑ed, as being ſituated on the borders; and I can give no rea⯑ſon for their being ſtationed there in ſo particular a man⯑ner, but becauſe none of them ſeem to have had a proper right to a place among the dead, as not having run out the whole thread of their days, and finiſhed the term of life that had been allotted them upon earth. The firſt of theſe are the ſouls of infants, who are ſnatched away by untimely ends: the ſecond, are of thoſe that are put to death wrongfully, and by an unjuſt ſentence; and the third, of thoſe who grew weary of their lives and laid vio⯑lent hands upon themſelves. As for the ſecond of theſe, Virgil adds with great beauty, that Minos, the judge of the dead, is employed in giving them a rehearing, and aſ⯑ſigning them their ſeveral quarters ſuitable to the parts they acted in life. The poet, after having mentioned the ſouls of thoſe unhappy men who deſtroyed themſelves, breaks out into a fine exclamation; Oh! how gladly, ſays he, would they now endure life with all its miſeries! But the Deſtinies forbid their return to earth, and the waters of Styx ſurround them with nine ſtreams that are unpaſſable. It is very re⯑markable, that Virgil notwithſtanding ſelf-murder was ſo frequent among the heathens, and had been practiſed by ſome of the greateſt men in the very age before him, hath here repreſented it as ſo heinous a crime. But in this particular he was guided by the doctrines of his great maſter Plato, who ſays on this ſubject, that a man is placed in his ſtation of life like a ſoldier in his proper poſt, which he is not to quit whatever may happen, until he is called off by his commander who planted him in it.

There is another point in the Platonic philoſophy, which Virgil has made the ground-work of the greateſt [139] part of the piece we are now examining, having with wonderful art and beauty materialized, if I may ſo call it, a ſcheme of abſtracted notions, and clothed the moſt nice reſined conceptions of philoſophy in ſenſible images, and poetical repreſentations. The Platoniſts tell us, that the ſoul, during her reſidence in the body, contracts many virtuous and vicious habits, ſo as to become a beneficent, mild, charitable, or an angry, malicious, revengeful being; a ſubſtance inflamed with luſt, avarice, and pride; or, on the contrary, brightened with pure, generous, and hum⯑ble diſpoſitions: that theſe and the like habits of virtue and vice, growing into the very eſſence of the ſoul, ſurvive and gather ſtrength in her after her diſſolution: that the torments of a vicious ſoul in a future ſtate, ariſe princi⯑pally from thoſe importunate paſſions which are not capa⯑ble of being gratified without a body; and that on the con⯑trary, the happineſs of virtuous minds very much conſiſts in their being employed in ſublime ſpeculations, innocent diverſions, ſociable affections, and all the ecſtaſies of paſ⯑ſion and rapture which are agreeable to reaſonable natures, and of which they gained a reliſh in this life.

Upon this foundation, the poet raiſes that beautiful de⯑ſcription of the ſecret haunts and walks, which he tells us are inhabited by deceaſed lovers.

Not far from hence, ſays he, lies a great waſte of plains that are called the Fields of Melancholy. In theſe there grows a foreſt of myrtle, divided into many ſhady retirements and covered walks, and inhabited by the ſouls of thoſe who pined away with love. The paſſion, ſays he, continues with them after death. He then gives a liſt of this languiſhing tribe, in which his own Dido makes the principal figure, and is deſcribed as living in this ſoft romantic ſcene, with the ſhade of her firſt huſ⯑band Sichaeus.

The poet in the next place mentions another plain that was peopled with the ghoſts of warriors, as ſtill delight⯑ing in each others company and pleaſed with the exerciſe of arms. He there repreſents the Grecian generals and [140] common ſoldiers who periſhed in the ſiege of Troy as drawn up in ſquadrons, and terrified at the approach of Aeneas, which renewed in them thoſe impreſſions of fear they had before received in battle with the Trojans. He afterwards likewiſe, upon the ſame notion, gives a view of the Trojan heroes who lived in former ages, amidſt a viſionary ſcene of chariots and arms, flowery meadows, ſhining ſpears, and generous ſteeds, which he tells us were their pleaſures upon earth, and now make up their happineſs in Elyſium. For the ſame reaſon alſo, he mentions others as ſinging pae⯑ans, and ſongs of triumph, amidſt a beautiful grove of laurel. The chief of the concert was the poet Muſaeus, who ſtood incloſed with a circle of admirers, and roſe by the head and ſhoulders above the throng of ſhades that ſurrounded him. The habitations of unhappy ſpirits, to ſhew the du⯑ration of their torments and the deſperate condition they are in, are repreſented as guarded by a fury, moated round with a lake of fire, ſtrengthened with towers of iron, en⯑compaſſed with a triple wall, and fortified with pillars of adamant, which all the gods together are not able to heave from their foundations. The noiſe of ſtripes, the clank of chains, and the groans of the tortured, ſtrike the pious Aeneas with a kind of horror. The poet afterwards divides the criminals into two claſſes: the firſt and blackeſt cata⯑logue conſiſts of ſuch as were guilty of outrages againſt the gods; and the next, of ſuch who were convicted of injuſtice between man and man: the greateſt number of whom, ſays the poet, are thoſe who followed the dictates of avarice.

It was an opinion of the Platoniſts, that the ſouls of men having contracted in the body great ſtains and pol⯑lutions of vice and ignorance, there were ſeveral pur⯑gations and cleanſings neceſſary to be paſſed through both here and hereafter, in order to refine and purify them.

Virgil, to give this thought likewiſe a clothing of poe⯑try, deſcribes ſome ſpirits as bleaching in the winds, o⯑thers as cleanſing under great falls of waters, and others [141] as purging in fire, to recover the primitive beauty and purity of their natures.

It was likewiſe an opinion of the ſame ſect of philoſo⯑phers, that the ſouls of all men exiſt in a ſeparate ſtate long before their union with the bodies; and that upon their immerſion into fleſh, they forget every thing which paſ⯑ſed in the ſtate of pre-exiſtence; ſo that what we here call knowlege, is nothing elſe but memory, or the recovery of thoſe things which we knew before.

In purſuance of this ſcheme, Virgil gives us a view of ſeveral ſouls, who, to prepare themſelves for living upon earth, flock about the banks of the river Lethe, and ſwill themſelves with the waters of oblivion.

The ſame ſcheme gives him an opportunity of making a noble compliment to his countrymen, where Anchiſes is repreſented taking a ſurvey of the long train of heroes that are to deſcend from him, and giving his ſon Aeneas an account of all the glories of his race.

I need not mention the revolution of the Platonic year, which is but juſt touched upon in this book; and as I have conſulted no author's thoughts in this explica⯑tion, ſhall be very well pleaſed, if it can make the nobleſt piece of the moſt accompliſhed poet more agreeable to my female readers, when they think fit to look into Dryden's tranſlation of it.

No. 155. Thurſday, April 6, 1710.

THERE lived ſome years ſince within my neighbour⯑hood a very grave perſon, an Upholſterer, who ſeemed a man of more than ordinary application to buſineſs. He was a very early riſer, and was often abroad two or three hours before any of his neighbours. He had a particular [142] carefulneſs in the knitting of his brows, and a kind of impatience in all his motions, that plainly diſcovered he was always intent on matters of importance. Upon my enquiry into his life and converſation, I found him to be the greateſt newſmonger in our quarter; that he roſe up before day to read the Poſt-man; and that he would take two or three turns to the other end of the town before his neighbours were up, to ſee if there were any Dutch mails come in. He had a wife and ſeveral children; but was much more inquiſitive to know what paſſed in Po⯑land than in his own family, and was in greater pain and anxiety of mind for king Auguſtus's welfare than that of his neareſt relations. He looked extremely thin in a dearth of news, and never enjoyed himſelf in a weſterly wind. This indefatigable kind of life was the ruin of his ſhop; for about the time that his favourite prince left the crown of Poland he broke and diſappeared.

This man and his affairs had been long out of my mind, till about three days ago, as I was walking in St. James's park, I heard ſome body at a diſtance hemming after me: and who ſhould it be but my old neighbour the Upholſterer! I ſaw he was reduced to extreme poverty, by certain ſhabby ſuperfluities in his dreſs: for notwith⯑ſtanding that it was a very ſultry day for the time of the year, he wore a looſe great coat and a muff, with a long campaign-wig out of curl; to which he had added the ornament of a pair of black garters buckled under the knee. Upon his coming up to me, I was going to enquire into his preſent circumſtances; but was prevented by his aſking me, with a whiſper, whether the laſt letters brought any accounts that one mght rely upon from Bender? I told him, none that I heard of; and aſked him, whether he had yet married his eldeſt daughter? He told me, no. But pray, ſays he, tell me ſincerely, what are your thoughts of the king of Sweden? (for though his wife and children were ſtarving, I found his chief concern at preſent was for this great monarch.) I told him, that I looked upon him as one of the firſt heroes of the age. But pray, ſays he, do you [143] think there is any thing in the ſtory of his wound? and finding me ſurprized at the queſtion, Nay, ſays he, I only propoſe it to you. I anſwered, that I thought there was no reaſon to doubt of it. But why in the heel, ſays he, more than in any other part of the body? Becauſe, ſays I, the bullet chanced to light there.

This extraordinary dialogue was no ſooner ended, but he began to launch out into a long diſſertation upon the affairs of the North; and after having ſpent ſome time on them, he told me, he was in a great perplexity how to reconcile the Supplement with the Engliſh-poſt, and had been juſt now examining what the other papers ſay upon the ſame ſubject. The Daily-courant, ſays he, has theſe words, We have advices from very good hands, that a cer⯑tain prince has ſome matters of great importance under con⯑ſideration. This is very myſterious; but the Poſt-boy leaves us more in the dark, for he tells us, That there are private intimations of meaſures taken by a certain prince, which time will bring to light. Now the Poſt-man, ſays he, who uſes to be very clear, refers to the ſame news in theſe words; The late conduct of a certain prince affords great matter of ſpeculation. This certain prince, ſays the upholſterer, whom they are all ſo cautious of naming, I take to be—Upon which, though there was no body near us, he whiſ⯑pered ſomething in my ear, which I did not hear, or think worth my while to make him repeat.

We were now got to the upper end of the Mall, where were three or four very odd fellows ſitting together upon the bench. Theſe I found were all of them politicians, who uſed to ſun themſelves, in that place every day a⯑bout dinner-time. Obſerving them to be curioſities in their kind, and my friend's acquaintance, I fat down a⯑mong them.

The chief politician of the bench was a great aſſerter of paradoxes. He told us, with a ſeeming concern, that by ſome news he had lately read from Muſcovy, it ap⯑peared to him that there was a ſtorm gathering in the Black⯑ſea, which might in time do hurt to the naval forces of [144] this nation. To this he added, that for his part, he could not wiſh to ſee the Turk driven out of Europe, which he believed could not but be prejudicial to our woollen ma⯑nufacture. He then told us, that he looked upon thoſe ex⯑traordinary revolutions which had lately happened in theſe parts of the world, to have riſen chiefly from two perſons who were not much talked of; and thoſe, ſays he, are prince Menzikoff, and the ducheſs of Mirandola. He backed his aſſertions with ſo many broken hints, and ſuch a ſhow of depth and wiſdom, that we gave our⯑ſelves up to his opinions.

The diſcourſe at length fell upon a point which ſel⯑dom eſcapes a knot of true-born Engliſhmen, whether in caſe of a religious war, the proteſtants would not be too ſtrong for the papiſts? This we unanimouſly determined on the proteſtants ſide. One who ſate on my right hand, and, as I found by his diſcourſe, had been in the Weſt-Indies, aſſured us, that it would be a very eaſy matter for the proteſtants to beat the pope at ſea; and added, that whenever ſuch a war does break out, it muſt turn to the good of the Leeward iſlands. Upon this, one who ſat at the end of the bench, and, as I afterwards found, was the geographer of the company, ſaid, that in caſe the papiſts ſhould drive the proteſtants from theſe parts of Europe, when the worſt came to the worſt, it would be impoſſible to beat them out of Norway and Greenland, provided the northern crowns hold together, and the Czar of Muſcovy ſtand neuter.

He further told us for our comfort, that there were vaſt tracts of land about the pole, inhabited neither by proteſtants nor papiſts, and of greater extent than all the Roman catholic dominions in Europe.

When we had fully diſcuſſed this point, my friend the Upholſterer began to exert himſelf upon the preſent ne⯑gotiations of peace, in which he depoſed princes, ſettled the bounds of kingdoms, and balanced the power of Eu⯑rope, with great juſtice and impartiality.

I at length took my leave of the company, and was [145] going away; but had not been gone thirty yards, before the Upholſterer hemmed again after me. Upon his advan⯑cing towards me, with a whiſper, I expected to hear ſome ſecret piece of news, which he had not thought fit to com⯑municate to the bench; but inſtead of that, he deſired me in my ear to lend him half-a-crown. In compaſſion to ſo needy a ſtateſman, and to diſſipate the confuſion I found he was in, I told him, if he pleaſed, I would give him five ſhillings, to receive five pounds of him when the Great Turk was driven out of Conſtantinople; which he very readily accepted, but not before he had laid down to me the impoſſibility of ſuch an event, as the affairs of Europe now ſtand.

This paper I deſign for the particular benefit of thoſe worthy citizens who live more in a coffee-houſe than in their ſhops, and whoſe thoughts are ſo taken up with the affairs of the allies, that they forget their cuſtomers.

No. 156. Saturday, April 8, 1710.

WE have already deſcribed out of Homer the voyage of Ulyſſes to the infernal ſhades, with the ſeveral adventures that attended it. If we look into the beauti⯑ful romance publiſhed not many years ſince by the arch⯑biſhop of Cambray, we may ſee the ſon of Ulyſſes bound on the ſame expedition, and after the ſame manner mak⯑ing his diſcoveries among the regions of the dead. The ſtory of Telemachus is formed altogether in the ſpirit of Homer, and will give an unlearned reader a notion of that great poet's manner of writing, more than any tranſlation of him can poſſibly do. As it was written for the in⯑ſtruction of a young prince, who may one day ſit upon the throne of France, the author took care to ſuit the ſe⯑veral parts of his ſtory, and particularly the deſcription [146] we are now entering upon, to the character and quality of his pupil. For which reaſon, he inſiſts very much on the miſery of bad, and the happineſs of good kings, in the account he hath given of puniſhments and rewards in the other world.

We may however obſerve, notwithſtanding the en⯑deavours of this great and learned author, to copy after the ſtile and ſentiments of Homer, that there is a certain tincture of Chriſtianity running through the whole rela⯑tion. The prelate in ſeveral places mixes himſelf with the poet; ſo that his future ſtate puts me in mind of Mi⯑chael Angelo's laſt judgment, where Charon and his boat are repreſented as bearing a part in the dreadful ſolemni⯑ties of that great day.

Telemachus, after having paſſed through the dark ave⯑nues of death in the retinue of Mercury, who every day delivers up a certain tale of ghoſts to the ferryman of Styx, is admitted into the infernal bark. Among the com⯑panions of his voyage, is the ſhade of Nabopharzon, a king of Babylon, and tyrant of all the Eaſt. Among the ceremonies and pomps of his funeral, there were four ſlaves ſacrificed, according to the cuſtom of the country, in order to attend him among the ſhades. The author having deſcribed this tyrant in the moſt odious colours of pride, inſolence, and cruelty, tells us, that his four ſlaves, inſtead of ſerving him after death, were perpetually inſulting him with reproaches and affronts for his paſt u⯑ſage; that they ſpurned him as he lay upon the ground, and forced him to ſhow his face, which he would fain have covered, as lying under all the confuſions of guilt and infamy; and in ſhort, that they kept him bound in a chain, in order to drag him before the tribunal of the dead.

Telemachus, upon looking out of the bark, ſees all the ſtrand covered with an innumerable multitude of ſhades, who, upon his jumping aſhore, immediately vaniſhed. He then purſues his courſe to the palace of Pluto, who is de⯑ſcribed as ſeated on his throne in terrible majeſty, with [147] Proſerpine by his ſide. At the foot of his throne was the pale hideous ſpectre, who, by the ghaſtlineſs of his viſage, and the nature of his apparitions that ſurrounded him, diſcovers himſelf to be Death. His attendants are Melan⯑choly, Diſtruſt, Revenge, Hatred, Avarice, Deſpair, Am⯑bition, Envy, Impiety, with frightful Dreams, and waking Cares, which are all drawn very naturally in proper acti⯑ons and poſtures. The author, with great beauty, places near his frightful Dreams an aſſembly of Phantoms, which are often employed to terrify the living, by appearing in the ſhape and likeneſs of the dead.

The young hero, in the next place, takes a ſurvey of the different kinds of criminals that lay in torture a⯑mong clouds of ſulphur, and torrents of fire. The firſt of theſe were ſuch as had been guilty of impieties, which e⯑very one hath an horror for: to which is added, a cata⯑logue of ſuch offenders that ſcarce appear to be faulty, in the eyes of the vulgar. Among theſe, ſays the author, are malicious critics, that have endeavoured to caſt a blemiſh upon the perfections of others; with whom he likewiſe places ſuch as have often hurt the reputation of the inno⯑cent, by paſſing a raſh judgment on their actions, without knowing the occaſion of them. Theſe crimes, ſays he, are more ſeverely puniſhed after death, becauſe they ge⯑nerally meet with impunity upon earth.

Telemachus, after having taken a ſurvey of ſeveral o⯑ther wretches in the ſame circumſtances, arrives at that region of torments in which wicked kings are puniſhed. There are very fine ſtrokes of imagination in the deſcri⯑ption which he gives of this unhappy multitude. He tells us, that on one ſide of them there ſtood a revengful Fury, thundering in their ears inceſſant repetitions of all the crimes they had committed upon earth, with the aggra⯑vations of ambition, vanity, hardneſs of heart, and all thoſe ſecret affections of mind that enter into the compoſi⯑tion of a tyrant. At the ſame time, ſhe holds up to them a large mirror, in which every one ſees himſelf repreſented in the natural horror and deformity of his character. [148] On the other ſide of them ſtands another Fury, that, with an inſulting deriſion, repeats to them all the praiſes that their flatterers had beſtowed upon them while they ſat up⯑on their reſpective thrones. She too, ſays the author, pre⯑ſents a mirror before their eyes, in which every one ſees himſelf adorned with all thoſe beauties and perfections in which they had been drawn by the vanity of their own hearts, and the flattery of others. To puniſh them for the wantonneſs or the cruelty which they formerly exerciſ⯑ed, they are now delivered up to be treated according to the fancy and caprice of ſeveral ſlaves, who have here an opportunity of tyrannizing in their turns.

The author having given us a deſcription of theſe ghaſtly ſpectres, who, ſays he, are always calling upon Death, and are placed under the diſtillation of that burn⯑ing vengeance which falls upon them drop by drop, and is never to be exhauſted, leads us into a pleaſing ſcene of groves, filled with the melody of birds, and the odours of a thouſand different plants. Theſe groves are repre⯑ſented as riſing among a great many flowery meadows, and watered with ſtreams that diffuſe a perpetual freſh⯑neſs in the midſt of an eternal day, and a never-fading ſpring. This, ſays the author, was the habitation of thoſe good princes who were friends of the gods, and parents of the people. Among theſe Telemachus converſes with the ſhade of one of his anceſtors, who makes a moſt a⯑greeable relation of the joys of Elyſium, and the nature of its inhabitants. The reſidence of Seſoſtris among theſe happy ſhades, with his character and preſent employment, is drawn in a very lively manner, and with a great ele⯑vation of thought.

The deſcription of that pure and gentle light which overflows theſe happy regions, and clothes the ſpirits of theſe virtuous perſons, hath ſomething in it of that en⯑thuſiaſm which this author was accuſed of by his enemies in the church of Rome; but however it may look in re⯑ligion, it makes a very beautiful figure in poetry.

The rays of the fun, ſays he, are darkneſs in compari⯑ſon [149] with this light, which rather deſerves the name of glory, than that of light. It pierces the thickeſt bodies, in the ſame manner as the ſun-beams paſs through chry⯑ſtal; it ſtrengthens the ſight inſtead of dazling it; and nouriſhes in the moſt inward receſſes of the mind, a per⯑petual ſerenity that is not to be expreſſed. It enters and incorporates itſelf with the very ſubſtance of the ſoul: the ſpirits of the bleſſed feel it in all their ſenſes, and in all their perceptions. It produces a certain ſource of peace and joy that ariſes in them for ever, running through all the faculties, and refreſhing all the deſires of the ſoul, External pleaſures and delights, with all their charms and allurements, are regarded with the utmoſt indifference and neglect by theſe happy ſpirits who have this great prin⯑ciple of pleaſure within them, drawing the whole mind to itſelf, calling off their attention from the moſt delight⯑ful objects, and giving them all the tranſports of inebri⯑ation, without the confuſion and folly of it.

I have here only mentioned ſome maſter-touches of this admirable piece, becauſe the original itſelf is under⯑ſtood by the greater part of my readers. I muſt confeſs, I take a particular delight in theſe proſpects of futurity, whether grounded upon the probable ſuggeſtions of a fine imagination, or the more ſevere concluſions of phi⯑loſophy; as a man loves to hear all the diſcoveries or con⯑jectures relating to a foreign country which he is, at ſome time, to inhabit. Proſpects of this nature lighten the bur⯑den of any preſent evil; and refreſh us under the worſt and loweſt circumſtances of mortality. They extinguiſh in us both the fear and envy of human grandeur. In⯑ſolence ſhrinks its head, power diſappears; pain, poverty, and death fly before them. In ſhort, the mind, that is habitutated to the lively ſenſe of an hereafter, can hope for what is the moſt terrifying to the generality of man⯑kind, and rejoice in what is the moſt afflicting.

No. 158. Thurſday, April 13, 1710.

TOM FOLIO is a broker in learning, employed to get together good editions, and ſtock the libraries of great men. There is not a ſale of books begins till Tom Folio is ſeen at the door. There is not an auction where his name is not heard, and that too in the very nick of time, in the critical moment, before the laſt de⯑ciſive ſtroke of the hammer. There is not a ſubſcription goes forward, in which Tom is not privy to the firſt rough draught of the propoſals; nor a catalogue printed, that doth not come to him wet from the preſs. He is an uni⯑verſal ſcholar, ſo far as the title-page of all authors, knows the manuſcripts in which they were diſcovered, the editions through which they have paſſed, with the praiſes or cenſures which they have received from the ſeveral members of the learned world. He has a greater eſteem for Aldus and Elzevir, than for Virgil and Ho⯑race. If you talk of Herodotus, he breaks out into a pane⯑gyric upon Harry Stephens. He thinks he gives you an account of the author, when he tells the ſubject he treats of, the name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. Or if you draw him into further particulars, he cries up the goodneſs of the paper, extols the diligence of the corrector, and is tranſported with the beauty of the letter. This he looks upon to be ſound learning and ſubſtantial criticiſm. As for thoſe who talk of the fineneſs of ſtile, and the juſtneſs of thought, or deſcribe the bright⯑neſs of any particular paſſages; nay, though they write themſelves in the genius and ſpirit of the author they admire, Tom looks upon them as men of ſuperficial learn⯑ing, and flaſhy parts.

I had yeſterday morning a viſit from this learning idi⯑ot, for that is the light in which I conſider every pedant, [151] when I diſcovered in him ſome little touches of the cox⯑comb, which I had not before obſerved. Being very full of the figure which he makes in the republic of letters, and wonderfully ſatisfied with his great ſtock of know⯑lege, he gave me broad intimations, that he did not believe in all points as his forefathers had done. He then com⯑municated to me a thought of a certain author upon a paſſage of Virgil's account of the dead, which I made the ſubject of a late paper. This thought hath taken ve⯑ry much among men of Tom's pitch and underſtanding, though univerſally exploded by all that know how to con⯑ſtrue Virgil, or have any reliſh of antiquity. Not to trou⯑ble my reader with it, I found upon the whole, that Tom did not believe a future ſtate of rewards and puniſhments, becauſe Aeneas, at his living the empire of the dead, paſ⯑ſed through the gate of ivory, and not through that of horn. Knowing that Tom had not ſenſe enough to give up an opinion which he had once received, that he might avoid wrangling, I told him, that Virgil poſſibly had his overſights as well as another author. Ah! Mr. Bicker⯑ſtaffe, ſays he, you would have another opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel Heinſius's edition. I have peruſed him myſelf ſeveral times in that edition, continued he; and after the ſtricteſt and moſt malicious examination could find but two faults in him: one of them is in the Aeneid, where there are two commas in⯑ſtead of a parentheſis; and another in the third Geor⯑gic, where you may find a ſemicolon turned upſide down. Perhaps, ſaid I, theſe were not Virgil's faults but thoſe of the tranſcriber. I do not deſign it, ſays Tom as a re⯑flection on Virgil: on the contrary, I know that all the manuſcripts reclaim againſt ſuch a punctuation. Oh! Mr. Bickerſtaffe, ſays he, what would a man give to ſee one ſimile of Virgil writ in his own hand? I aſked him which was the ſimile he meant; but was anſwered, any ſi⯑mile in Virgil. He then told me all the ſecret hiſtory in the common-wealth of learning; of modern pieces that had the names of the ancient authors annexed to them; of all [152] the books that were now writing or printing in the ſe⯑veral parts of Europe; of many amendments which are made, and not yet publiſhed; and a thouſand other parti⯑culars, which I would not have my memory burdened with for a Vatican.

At length, being fully perſuaded that I thoroughly ad⯑mired him, and looked upon him as a prodigy of learn⯑ing, he took his leave. I know ſeveral of Tom's claſs who are profeſſed admirers of Taſſo without underſtand⯑ing a word of Italian; and one in particular, that carries a Paſtor-fido in his pocket, in which I am ſure he is ac⯑quainted with no other beauty but the clearneſs of the character.

There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom Folio's impertinences, hath greater ſuperſtructures and embelliſhments of Greek and Latin, and is ſtill more in⯑ſupportable than the other, in the ſame degree as he is more learned. Of this kind very often are editors, com⯑mentators, interpreters, ſcholiaſts, and critics; and in ſhort, all men of deep learning without common ſenſe. Theſe perſons ſet a greater value on themſelves for having found out the meaning of a paſſage in Greek, than upon the author for having written it; nay, will allow the paſ⯑ſage itſelf not to have any beauty in it, at the ſame time that they would be conſidered as the greateſt men of the age for having interpreted it. They will look with con⯑tempt upon the moſt beautiful poems that have been com⯑poſed by any of their contemporaries; but will lock them⯑ſelves up in their ſtudies for a twelvemonth together, to correct, publiſh, and expound ſuch trifles of antiquity as a modern author would be contemned for. Men of the ſtricteſt morals, ſevereſt lives, and the graveſt profeſſions, will write volumes upon an idle ſonnet that is originally in Greek or Latin; give editions of the moſt immoral au⯑thors, and ſpin out whole pages upon the various readings of a lewd expreſſion. All that can be ſaid in excuſe for them, is, that their works ſufficiently ſhew they have no taſte of their authors; and that what they do in this kind, [153] is out of their great learning, and not out of any levity or laſciviouſneſs of temper.

A pedant of this nature is wonderfully well deſcribed in ſix lines of Boileau, with which I ſhall conclude his character.

No. 160. Tueſday, April 18, 1710.

A COMMON civility to an impertinent fellow, often draws upon one a great many unforeſeen troubles; and if one doth not take particular care, will be interpre⯑ted by him as an overture of friendſhip and intimacy. This I was very ſenſibly of this morning. About two hours before day, I heard a great rapping at my door, which continued ſome time, till my maid could get her⯑ſelf ready to go down and ſee what was the occaſion of it. She then brought me up word, that there was a gen⯑tleman who ſeemed very much in haſte, and ſaid he muſt needs ſpeak with me. By the deſcription ſhe gave me of him, and by his voice, which I could hear as I lay in my bed, I fancied him to be my old acquaintance the Up⯑holſterer, whom I met the other day in St. James's-Park. For which reaſon, I bid her tell the gentleman, whoever he was, that I was indiſpoſed, that I could ſee no body, and that, if he had any thing to ſay to me, I deſired he would leave it in writing. My maid, after having delivered her meſſage, told me, that the gentleman ſaid he would ſtay at the next coffee-houſe till I was ſtirring, and bid her be ſure to tell me, that the French were driven from the Scarp, and that Douay was inveſted. He gave her the [154] name of another town, which I found ſhe had dropped by the way.

As much as I love to be informed of the ſucceſs of my brave countrymen, I do not care for hearing of a victory before day, and was therefore very much out of humour as this unſeaſonable viſit. I had no ſooner recovered my temper, and was falling aſleep, but I was immediately ſtartled by a ſecond rap; and upon my maid's opening the door, heard the ſame voice aſk her, if her maſter was yet up? And at the ſame time bid her tell me, that he was come on purpoſe to talk with me about a piece of home⯑news that every body in the town will be full of two hours hence. I ordered my maid as ſoon as ſhe came in⯑to the room, without hearing her meſſage, to tell the gen⯑tleman, that whatever his news was, I would rather hear it two hours hence than now; and that I perſiſted in my reſolution not to ſpeak with any body that morning. The wench delivered my anſwer preſently, and ſhut the door. It was impoſſible for me to compoſe myſelf to ſleep after two ſuch unexpected alarms; for which reaſon I put on my clothes in a very peeviſh humour. I took ſeveral turns about my chamber, reflecting with a great deal of anger and contempt on theſe volunteers in politics, that un⯑dergo all the pain, watchfulneſs and diſquiet of a firſt miniſter, without turning it to the advantage either of themſelves or their country; and yet it is ſurprizing to conſider how numerous this ſpecies of men is. There is nothing more frequent than to find a taylor breaking his reſt on the affairs of Europe, and to ſee a cluſter of por⯑ters ſitting upon the miniſtry. Our ſtreets ſwarm with politicians, and there is ſcarce a ſhop which is not held by a ſtateſman. As I was muſing after this manner, I heard the Upholſterer at the door, delivering a letter to my maid, and begging her, in a very great hurry, to give it to her maſter as ſoon as ever he was awake, which I opened and found as follows:

I ſhould have fretted myſelf to death at this promiſe of a ſecond viſit, if I had not found in his letter an intimati⯑on of the good news which I have ſince heard at large. I have however ordered my maid to ty up the knocker of my door, in ſuch a manner as ſhe would do if I was re⯑ally indiſpoſed. By which means I hope to eſcape break⯑ing my morning's reſt.

No. 161. Thurſday, April 20, 1710.

I WAS walking two or three days ago in a very pleaſing retirement, and amuſing myſelf with the reading of that ancient and beautiful allegory, called The Table of Cebes. I was at laſt ſo tired with my walk, that I ſat down to reſt myſelf upon a bench, that ſtood in the midſt of an agreeable ſhade. The muſic of the birds, that filled all the trees about me, lulled me aſleep before I was aware of it; which was followed by a dream, that I impute in ſome meaſure to the foregoing author, who had made an impreſſion upon my imagination, and put me into his own way of thinking.

I fancied myſelf among the Alpes, and, as it is natural in a dream, ſeemed every moment to bound from one ſummit to another, till at laſt, after having made this airy progreſs over the tops of ſeveral mountains, I arrived at the very centre of thoſe broken rocks and precipices. I here, methought, ſaw a prodigious circuit of hills, that [157] reached above the clouds, and encompaſſed a large ſpace of ground, which I had a great curioſity to look into. I thereupon continued my former way of travelling through a great variety of winter ſcenes, till I had gained the top of theſe white mountains, which ſeemed another Alpes of ſnow. I looked down from hence into a ſpacious plain, which was ſurrounded on all ſides by this mound of hills, and which preſented me with the moſt agreeable proſpect I had ever ſeen. There was a greater variety of colours in the embroidery of the meadows, a more lively green in the leaves and graſs, a brighter chryſtal in the ſtreams, than what I ever met with in any other region. The light itſelf had ſomething more ſhining and glorious in it than that of which the day is made in other places. I was wonderfully aſtoniſhed at the diſcovery of ſuch a pa⯑radiſe amidſt the wildneſs of thoſe cold hoary landſkips which lay about it; but found at length, that this happy region was inhabited by the Goddeſs of Liberty; whoſe preſence ſoftened the rigours of the climate, enriched the barrenneſs of the ſoil, and more than ſupplied the abſence of the ſun. The place was covered with a wonderful pro⯑fuſion of flowers, that, without being diſpoſed into regular borders and parterres, grew promiſcuouſly, and had a great⯑er beauty in their natural luxuriancy and diſorder, than they could have received from the checks and reſtraints of art. There was a river that aroſe out of the ſouth ſide of the mountain, that by an infinite number of turns and windings, ſeemed to viſit every plant, and cheriſh the ſeveral beauties of the ſpring, with which the fields a⯑bounded. After having run to and fro in a wonderful variety of Meanders, it at laſt throws itſelf into the hol⯑low of a mountain, from whence it paſſes under a long range of rocks, and at length riſes into that part of the Alpes where the inhabitants think it the firſt ſource of the Rhone. This river, after having made its progreſs through thoſe free nations, ſtagnates in a huge lake at the leaving of them, and no ſooner enters into the regions of Slavery, [158] but runs through them with an incredible rapidity, and takes its ſhorteſt way to the ſea.

I deſcended into the happy fields that lay beneath me, and in the midſt of them, beheld the goddeſs ſitting up⯑on a throne. She had nothing to encloſe her but the bounds of her own dominions, and nothing over her head but the heavens. Every glance of her eye caſt a track of light where it fell, that revived the ſpring, and made all things ſmile about her. My heart grew chearful at the ſight of her, and as ſhe looked upon me, I found a cer⯑tain conſidence growing in me, and ſuch an inward re⯑ſolution as I never felt before that time.

On the left hand of the goddeſs ſat the genius of a com⯑monwealth, with the cap of liberty on her head, and in her hand a wand, like that with which a Roman citizen uſ⯑ed to give his ſlaves their freedom. There was ſomething mean and vulgar, but at the ſame time exceeding bold and daring in her air; her eyes were full of fire, but had in them ſuch caſts of ſierceneſs and cruelty, as made her ap⯑pear to me rather dreadful than amiable. On her ſhoul⯑ders ſhe wore a mantle, on which there was wrought a great confuſion of figures. As it flew in the wind, I could not diſcern the particular deſign of them, but ſaw wounds in the bodies of ſome, and agonies in the faces of others; and over one part of it could read in letters of blood, The Ides of March.

On the right hand of the goddeſs was the genius of monarchy. She was clothed in the whiteſt ermin, and wore a crown of the pureſt gold upon her head. In her hand ſhe held a ſceptre like that which is born by the Britiſh monarchs. A couple of tame lions lay crouching at her feet: her countenance had in it a very great majeſty without any mixture of terror: her voice was like the voice of an angel, filled with ſo much ſweetneſs, accom⯑panied with ſuch an air of condeſcenſion, as tempered the awfulneſs of her appearance, and equally inſpired love and veneration into the hearts of all that beheld her.

[159] In the train of the goddeſs of liberty were the ſeveral Arts and Sciences, who all of them flouriſhed underneath her eye. One of them in particular made a greater figure than any of the reſt, who held a thunderbolt in her hand, which had the power of melting, piercing, or breaking every thing that ſtood in its way. The name of this god⯑deſs was Eloquence.

There were two other dependent goddeſſes, who made a very conſpicuous figure in this bliſsful region. The firſt of them was ſeated upon an hill, that had every plant growing out of it, which the ſoil was in its own nature capable of producing. The other was ſeated in a little iſland, that was covered with groves of ſpices, olives, and orange-trees; and in a word, with the products of every foreign clime. The name of the firſt was Plenty, of the ſecond Commerce. The firſt leaned her right arm upon a plough, and under her left held a huge horn, out of which ſhe poured a whole autumn of fruits. The other wore a roſtral crown upon her head, and kept her eyes fixed upon a compaſs.

I was wonderfully pleaſed in ranging through this de⯑lightful place, and the more ſo, becauſe it was not incumbe⯑red with fences and encloſures; till at length, methoughts, I ſprung from the ground, and pitched upon the top of an hill, that preſented ſeveral objects to my ſight which I had not before taken notice of. The winds that paſſed o⯑ver the flowery plain, and through the tops of trees which were full of bloſſoms, blew upon me in ſuch a continued breeze of ſweets, that I was wonderfully charmed with my ſituation. I here ſaw all the inner declivities of that great circuit of mountains, whoſe outſide was covered with ſnow, overgrown with huge foreſts of fir-trees, which indeed are very frequently found in other parts of the Alpes. Theſe trees were inhabited by ſtorks, that came thither in great ſlights from very diſtant quarters of the world. Methought I was pleaſed in my dream to ſee what became of theſe birds, when upon leaving the places to which they make an annual viſit, they riſe in great flocks [160] ſo high till they are out of ſight; and for that reaſon have been thought by ſome modern philoſophers to take a flight to the moon. But my eyes were ſoon diverted from this proſpect, when I obſerved two great gaps that led through this circuit of mountains, where guards and watches were poſted day and night. Upon examination I found, that there were two formidable enemies encamped before each of theſe avenues, who kept the place in a perpetual alarm, and watched all opportunities of inva⯑ding it.

Tyranny was at the head of one of theſe armies, dreſ⯑ſed in an Eaſtern habit, and graſping in her hand an iron ſceptre. Behind her was Barbarity, with the garb and complexion of an Aethiopian; Ignorance with a turbant upon her head; and Perſecution holding up a bloody flag, embroidered with flower-de-luces. Theſe were followed by Oppreſſion, Poverty, Famine, Torture, and a dreadful train of appearances, that made me tremble to behold them. Among the baggage of this army, I could diſcover racks, wheels, chains, and gibbets, with all the inſtru⯑ments art could invent to make human nature miſe⯑rable.

Before the other avenue I ſaw Licentiouſneſs, dreſſed in a garment not unlike the Poliſh caſſock, and, leading up a whole army of monſters, ſuch as Clamour, with a hoarſe voice and a hundred tongues; Confuſion, with a miſ-ſhapen body and a thouſand heads; Impudence, with a forehead of braſs; and Rapine, with hands of iron. The tumult, noiſe, and uproar in this quarter were ſo very great, that they diſturbed my imagination more than is conſiſtent with ſleep, and by that means awaked me.

No. 162. Saturday, April 22, 1710.

IN my younger years I uſed many endeavours to get a place at court, and indeed continued my purſuits till I arrived at my Grand Climacteric: but at length altoge⯑ther deſpairing of ſucceſs, whether it were for want of capacity, friends, or due application, I at laſt reſolved to erect a new office, and for my encouragement, to place myſelf in it. For this reaſon, I took upon me the title and dignity of Cenſor of Great Britain, reſerving to my⯑ſelf all ſuch perquiſites, profits, and emoluments as ſhould ariſe out of the diſcharge of the ſaid office. Theſe in truth have not been inconſiderable; for beſides thoſe weekly contributions which I receive from John Mor⯑phew, and thoſe annual ſubſcriptions which I propoſe to myſelf from the moſt elegant part of this great iſland, I daily live in a very comfortable affluence of wine, ſtale beer, Hungary water, beef, books, and marrow-bones, which I receive from many well-diſpoſed citizens; not to mention the forfeitures which accrue to me from the ſeveral offenders that appear before me on court-days.

Having now enjoyed this office for the ſpace of a twelvemonth, I ſhall do, what all good officers ought to do, take a ſurvey of my behaviour, and conſider carefully whether I have diſcharged my duty, and acted up to the character with which I am inveſted. For my direction in this particular, I have made a narrow ſearch into the na⯑ture of the old Roman Cenſors, whom I muſt always re⯑gard, not only as my predeceſſors, but as my patterns in this great employment; and have ſeveral times aſked my own heart, with great impartiality, whether Cato will not bear a more venerable figure among poſterity than Bickerſtaſſe?

I find the duty of the Roman Cenſor was twofold. [162] The firſt part of it conſiſted in making frequent reviews of the people, in caſting up their numbers, ranging them un⯑der their ſeveral tribes, diſpoſing them into proper claſ⯑ſes, and ſubdividing them into their reſpective centuries.

In compliance with this part of the office, I have taken many curious ſurveys of this great city. I have collected into particular bodies the Dappers and the Smarts, the Natural and Affected Rakes, the Pretty fel⯑lows and the Very pretty fellows. I have likewiſe drawn out in ſeveral diſtinct parties your Pedants and Men of fire, your Gameſters and Politicians. I have ſeparated Cits from Citizens, Free-thinkers from Philoſophers, Wits from Snuff-takers, and Duelliſts from Men of honour. I have likewiſe made a calculation of Eſquires, not only conſidering the ſeveral diſtinct ſwarms of them that are ſettled in the different parts of this town, but alſo that more rugged ſpecies that inhabit the fields and woods, and are often found in pot-houſes and upon hay-cocks.

I ſhall paſs the ſoft ſex over in ſilence, having not yet reduced them into tolerable order; as likewiſe the ſofter tribe of lovers, which will coſt me a great deal of time, before I ſhall be able to caſt them into their ſeveral cen⯑turies and ſub-diviſions.

The ſecond part of the Roman Cenſor's office was to look into the manners of the people, and to check any growing luxury, whether in diet, dreſs, or building. This duty likewiſe I have endeavoured to diſcharge, by thoſe wholſome precepts which I have given my country-men in regard to beef and mutton, and the ſevere cenſures which I have paſſed upon ragouts and fricacies. There is not, as I am informed, a pair of red heels to be ſeen within ten miles of London, which I may likewiſe aſcribe, without vanity, to the becoming zeal which I expreſſed in that particular. I muſt own, my ſucceſs with the pet⯑ticoat is not ſo great; but as I have not yet done with it, I hope I ſhall in a little time put an effectual ſtop to that growing evil. As for the article of building, I intend hereafter to enlarge upon it, having lately obſerved ſeve⯑ral [163] warehouſes, nay, private ſhops, that ſtand upon Co⯑rinthian pillars, and whole rows of tin pots ſhewing them⯑ſelves, in order to their ſale, through a ſaſh-window.

I have likewiſe followed the example of the Roman Cenſors, in puniſhing offences according to the quality of the offender. It was uſual for them to expel a ſenator who had been guilty of great immoralities out of the ſe⯑nate-houſe, by omitting his name when they called over the liſt of his brethren. In the ſame manner, to remove effectually ſeveral worthleſs men who ſtand poſſeſſed of great honours, I have made frequent draughts of dead men out of the vicious part of the nobility, and given them up to the new ſociety of upholders, with the ne⯑ceſſary orders for their interment. As the Roman Cenſors uſed to puniſh the knights or gentlemen of Rome, by taking away their horſes from them, I have ſeized the canes of many criminals of figure, whom I had juſt rea⯑ſon to animadvert upon. As for the offenders among the common people of Rome, they were generally chaſtiſed, by being thrown out of a higher tribe, and placed in one which was not ſo honourable. My reader cannot but think I have had an eye to this puniſhment, when I have degraded one ſpecies of men into bombs, ſquibs, and crackers, and another into drums, baſs-viols, and bag⯑pipes; not to mention whole packs of delinquents whom I have ſhut up in kennels, and the new hoſpital which I am at preſent erecting, for the reception of thoſe of my country-men who give me but little hopes of their a⯑mendment, on the borders of Moor-fields. I ſhall only obſerve upon this particular, that ſince ſome late ſurveys I have taken of this iſland, I ſhall think it neceſſary to enlarge the plan of the buildings which I deſign in this quarter.

When my great predeceſſor Cato the elder ſtood for the cenſorſhip of Rome, there were ſeveral other compe⯑titors who offered themſelves; and to get an intereſt a⯑mong the people, gave them great promiſes of the mild and gentle treatment which they would uſe towards them [164] in that office. Cato on the contrary told them, he pre⯑ſented himſelf as a candidate, becauſe he knew the age was ſunk in immorality and corruption; and that if they would give him their votes he would promiſe them to make uſe of ſuch a ſtrictneſs and ſeverity of diſcipline as ſhould re⯑cover them out of it. The Roman hiſtorians, upon this occaſion, very much celebrated the public-ſpiritedneſs of that people, who choſe Cato for their Cenſor, not⯑withſtanding his method of recommending himſelf. I may in ſome meaſure extol my own country-men upon the ſame account, who, without any reſpect to party, or any application from myſelf, have made ſuch generous ſubſcriptions for the Cenſor of Great Britain, as will give a magnificence to my old-age, and which I eſteem more than I would any poſt in Europe of an hundred times the value. I ſhall only add, that upon looking into my ca⯑talogue of ſubſcribers, which I intend to print alphabeti⯑cally in the front of my lucubrations, I find the names of the greateſt beauties and wits in the whole iſland of Great Britain, which I only mention for the benefit of any of them who have not yet ſubſcribed; it being my deſign to cloſe the ſubſcription in a very ſhort time.

No. 163. Thurſday, April 25, 1710.

I YESTERDAY came hither about two hours before the company generally make their appearance, with a de⯑ſign to read over all the news-papers; but upon my ſit⯑ting [165] down, I was accoſted by Ned Softly, who ſaw me from a corner in the other end of the room, where I found he had been writing ſomething. Mr. Bickerſtaffe, ſays he, I obſerve by a late paper of yours, that you and I are juſt of a humour; for you muſt know, of all imper⯑tinencies there is nothing which I ſo much hate as news. I never read a Gazette in my life; and never troubled my head about our armies, whether they win or loſe, or in which part of the world they ly encamped. Without giving me time to reply, he drew a paper of verſes out of his pocket, telling me, that he had ſomething which would entertain me more agreeably, and that he would deſire my judgment upon every line, for that we had time enough before us till the company came in.

Ned Softly is a very pretty poet, and a great admirer of eaſy lines. Waller is his favourite: and as that admi⯑rable writer has the beſt and worſt verſes of any among our Engliſh poets, Ned Softly has got all the bad ones without book, which he repeats upon occaſion, to ſhew his reading, and garniſh his converſation. Ned is indeed a true Engliſh reader, incapable of reliſhing the great and maſterly ſtrokes of this art; but wonderfully pleaſed with the little Gothic ornaments of epigrammatical conceits, turns, points, and quibbles, which are ſo frequent in the moſt admired of our Engliſh poets, and practiſed by thoſe who want genius and ſtrength to repreſent, after the manner of the ancients, ſimplicity in its natural beauty and perfection.

Finding myſelf unavoidably engaged in ſuch a con⯑verſation, I was reſolved to turn my pain into a pleaſure, and to divert myſelf as well as I could with ſo very odd a fellow. You muſt underſtand, ſays Ned, that the ſon⯑net I am going to read to you was written upon a lady, who ſhewed me ſome verſes of her own making, and is perhaps the beſt poet of our age. But you ſhall hear it, Upon which he begun to read as follows:

Why, ſays I, this is a little noſegay of conceits, a very Jump of ſalt: every verſe hath ſomething in it that piques; and then the dart in the laſt line is certainly as pretty a ſting in the tail of an epigram, for ſo I think your cri⯑tics call it, as ever entered into the thought of a poet. Dear Mr. Bickerſtaffe, ſays he, ſhaking me by the hand, every body knows you to be a judge of theſe things; and to tell you truly, I read over Roſcommon's tranſlation of Horace's Art of Poetry three ſeveral times, before I ſate down to write the ſonnet which I have ſhewn you. But you ſhall hear it again, and pray obſerve every line of it, for not one of them ſhall paſs without your appro⯑bation.

That is, ſays he, when you have your garland on; when you are writing verſes. To which I replied, I know your meaning: a metaphor! The ſame, ſaid he, and went on:

Pray obſerve the gliding of that verſe; there is ſcarce a conſonant in it: I took care to make it run upon li⯑quids. Give me your opinion of it. Truly, ſaid I, I think it as good as the former. I am very glad to hear you ſay ſo, ſays he; but mind the next:

That is, ſays he, you ſeem a ſiſter of the muſes; for if you look into ancient authors, you will find it was their opinion, that there were nine of them. I remember it very well, ſaid I; but pray proceed.

Phoebus, ſays he, was the god of poetry. Theſe little inſtances, Mr. Bickerſtaffe, ſhew a gentleman's reading. Then to take off from the air of learning, which Phoebus and the muſes have given to this firſt ſtanza, you may ob⯑ſerve, how it falls all of a ſudden into the familiar; in petticoats.

Let us now, ſays I, enter upon the ſecond ſtanza. I find the firſt line is ſtill a continuation of the metaphor.

It is very right, ſays he; but pray obſerve the turn of words in theſe two lines. I was a whole hour in adjuſting of them, and have ſtill a doubt upon me, whether in the ſecond line it ſhould be, Your ſong you ſing; or, you ſing your ſong. You ſhall hear them both:

OR,

Truly, ſaid I, the turn is ſo natural either way, that you have made me almoſt giddy with it. Dear Sir, ſaid he, graſping me by the hand, you have a great deal of patience; but what do you think of the next verſe?

Think! ſays I; I think you have made Cupid look like a little gooſe. That was my meaning, ſays he; I think the ridicule is well enough hit off. But we now come to the laſt, which ſums up the whole matter.

Pray how do you like that Ah! Doth it not make a pretty figure in that place? Ah! It looks as if I felt the dart, and cried out as being pricked with it.

My friend Dick Eaſy, continued he, aſſured me, he would rather have written that Ah! than to have been the author of the Aeneid. He indeed objected, that I made Mira's pen like a quill in one of the lines, and like a dart in the other. But as to that—Oh! as to that, ſays I, it is but ſuppoſing Cupid to be like a porcupine, and his quills and darts will be the ſame thing. He was going to embrace me for the hint; but half a dozen cri⯑tics coming into the room, whoſe faces he did not like, [169] he conveyed the ſonnet into his pocket, and whiſpered me in the ear, he would ſhow it me again as ſoon as his man had written it over fair.

No. 165. Saturday, April 29, 1710.

IT has always been my endeavour to diſtinguiſh between realities and appearances, and to ſeparate true merit from the pretence to it. As it ever ſhall be my ſtudy to make diſcoveries of this nature in human life, and to ſet⯑tle the proper diſtinctions between the virtues and per⯑fections of mankind, and thoſe falſe colours and reſem⯑blances of them that ſhine alike in the eyes of the vulgar; ſo I ſhall be more particularly careful to ſearch into the various merits and pretences of the learned world. This is the more neceſſary, becauſe there ſeems to be a general combination among the pedants to extol one another's la⯑bours, and cry up one another's parts; while men of ſenſe, either through that modeſty which is natural to them, or the ſcorn they have for ſuch trifling commendations, enjoy their ſtock of knowlege like a hidden treaſure with ſatisfaction and ſilence. Pedantry indeed in learning is like hypocriſy in religion, a form of knowlege with⯑out the power of it, that attracts the eyes of the common people, breaks out in noiſe and ſhow, and finds its re⯑ward not from any inward pleaſure that attends it, but from the praiſes and approbations which it receives from men.

Of this ſhallow ſpecies there is not a more importunate, empty, and conceited animal, than that which is general⯑ly known by the name of a critic. This, in the com⯑mon acceptation of the word, is one that, without enter⯑ing into the ſenſe and ſoul of an author, has a few gene⯑ral rules, which, like mechanical inſtruments, he applies to the works of every writer, and as they quadrate with them, pronounces the author perfect or defective. He is maſter of a certain ſet of words, as unity, ſtile, fire, [170] flegm, eaſy, natural, turn, ſentiment, and the like; which he varies, compounds, divides, and throws together, in every part of his diſcourſe, without any thought or mean⯑ing. The marks you may know him by are, an elevat⯑ed eye, and dogmatical brow, a poſitive voice, and a con⯑tempt for every thing that comes out, whether he has read it or not. He dwells altogether in generals. He praiſes or diſpraiſes in the lump. He ſhakes his head very frequently at the pedantry of univerſities, and burſts into laughter when you mention an author that is known at Will's. He hath formed his judgment upon Homer, Ho⯑race, and Virgil, not from their own works, but from thoſe of Rapin and Boſſu. He knows his own ſtrength ſo well, that he never dares praiſe any thing in which he has not a French author for his voucher.

With theſe extraordinary talents and accompliſhments, Sir Timothy Tittle puts men in vogue, or condemns them to obſcurity, and ſits as judge of life and death upon e⯑very author that appears in public. It is impoſſible to re⯑preſent the pangs, agonies, and convulſions, which Sir Timothy expreſſes in every feature of his face and muſ⯑cle of his body, upon the reading of a bad poet.

About a week ago I was engaged at a friend's houſe of mine in an agreeable converſation with his wife and daughters, when in the height of our mirth, Sir Timothy, who makes love to my friend's eldeſt daughter, came in amongſt us puffing and blowing, as if he had been very much out of breath. He immediately called for a chair, and deſired leave to ſit down, without any further cere⯑mony. I aſked him, where he had been? Whether he was out of order? He only replied, that he was quite ſpent, and fell a curſing in ſoliloquy. I could hear him cry, A wicked rogue—An execrable wretch—was there ever ſuch a monſter—The young ladies upon this began to be affrighted, and aſked, whether any one had hurt him? He anſwered nothing, but ſtill talked to himſelf. To lay the firſt ſcene, ſays he, in St. James's Park, and the laſt in Northamptonſhire! Is that all? ſays I: then I ſup⯑poſe [171] you have been at the rehearſal of a play this morn⯑ing. Been! ſays he; I have been at Northampton, in the Park, in a lady's bed-chamber, in a dining-room, every where; the rogue has led me ſuch a dance—Though I could ſcarce forbear laughing at his diſcourſe, I told him I was glad it was no worſe, and that he was on⯑ly metaphorically weary. In ſhort, Sir, ſays he, the au⯑thor has not obſerved a ſingle unity in his whole play; the ſcene ſhifts in every dialogue: the villain has hurried me up and down at ſuch a rate, that I am tired off my legs. I could not but obſerve with ſome pleaſure, that the young lady whom he made love to, conceived a very juſt averſi⯑on towards him, upon ſeeing him ſo very paſſionate in trifles. And as ſhe had that natural ſenſe which makes her a better judge than a thouſand critics, ſhe began to rally him upon this fooliſh humour. For my part, ſays ſhe, I never knew a play take that was written up to your rules, as you call them. How, madam! ſays he, is that your opinion? I am ſure you have a better taſte. It is a pretty kind of magic, ſays ſhe, the poets have to tranſport an audience from place to place without the help of a coach and horſes. I could travel round the world at ſuch a rate. It is ſuch an entertainment as an enchantreſs finds, when ſhe fancies herſelf in a wood, or upon a mountain, at a feaſt, or a ſolemnity; though at the ſame time ſhe has never ſtirred out of her cottage. Your ſimile, madam, ſays Sir Timothy, is by no means juſt. Pray, ſays ſhe, let my ſimiles paſs without a criticiſm. I muſt confeſs, continued ſhe, for I found ſhe was re⯑ſolved to exaſperate him, I laughed very heartily at the laſt new comedy which you found ſo much fault with. But madam, ſays he, you ought not to have laughed; and I defy any one to ſhow me a ſingle rule that you could laugh by. Ought not to laugh! ſays ſhe, pray who ſhould hinder me? Madam, ſays he, there are ſuch people in the world as Rapin, Dacier, and ſeveral others, that ought to have ſpoiled your mirth. I have heard, ſays the young lady, that your great critics are always very bad poets: I [172] fancy there is as much difference between the works of one and the other, as there is between the carriage of a dancing-maſter and a gentleman. I muſt confeſs, continu⯑ed ſhe, I would not be troubled with ſo fine a judgment as yours is; for I find you feel more vexation in a bad come⯑dy, than I do in a deep tragedy. Madam, ſays Sir Timothy, that is not my fault, they ſhould learn the art of writing. For my part, ſays the young lady, I ſhould think the greateſt art in your writers of comedies is to pleaſe. To pleaſe! ſays Sir Timothy; and immediately fell a laugh⯑ing. Truly, ſays ſhe, that is my opinion. Upon this, he compoſed his countenance, looked upon his watch, and took his leave.

I hear that Sir Timothy has not been at my friend's houſe ſince this notable conference, to the ſatisfaction of the young lady, who by this means has got rid of a very impertinent fop.

I muſt confeſs, I could not but obſerve, with a great deal of ſurprize, how this gentleman by his ill-nature, folly and affectation, hath made himſelf capable of ſuf⯑fering ſo many imaginary pains, and looking with ſuch a ſenſeleſs ſeverity upon the common diverſions of life.

No. 192. Saturday, July 1, 1710.

SOME years ſince I was engaged with a coach full of friends to take a journey as far as the Land's-end. We were very well pleaſed with one another the firſt day, every one endeavouring to recommend himſelf by his good-humour and complaiſance to the reſt of the company. This good correſpondence did not laſt long; one of our party was ſowred the very firſt evening by a plate of butter which had not been melted to his mind, and which ſpoiled his temper to ſuch a degree, that he con⯑tinued upon the fret to the end of our journey. A ſecond fell off from his good-humour the next morning, for no [173] other reaſon I could imagine, but becauſe I chanced to ſtep into the coach before him, and place myſelf on the ſhady ſide. This however was but my own private gueſs, for he did not mention a word of it, nor indeed of any thing elſe, for three days following. The reſt of our com⯑pany held out very near half the way, when of a ſud⯑den Mr. Sprightly fell aſleep; and inſtead of endeavour⯑ing to divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto done, car⯑ried himſelf with an unconcerned, careleſs drowzy beha⯑viour, till we came to our laſt ſtage. There were three of us who ſtill held up our heads, and did all we could to make our journey agreeable; but, to my ſhame be it ſpo⯑ken, about three miles on this ſide Exeter I was taken with an unaccountable fit of ſullenneſs, that hung upon me for above threeſcore miles; whether it were for want of reſpect, or from an accidental tread upon my foot, or from a fooliſh maid's calling me The old Gentleman, I cannot tell. In ſhort, there was but one who kept his good-humour to the Land's-end.

There was another coach that went along with us, in which I likewiſe obſerved, that there were many ſecret jealouſies, heart-burnings, and animoſities: for when we joined companies at night, I could not but take notice, that the paſſengers neglected their own company, and ſtudied how to make themſelves eſteemed by us, who were altogether ſtrangers to them; till at length they grew ſo well acquainted with us, that they liked us as lit⯑tle as they did one another. When I reflect upon this journey, I often fancy it to be a picture of human life, in reſpect to the ſeveral friendſhips, contracts, and allian⯑ces, that are made and diſſolved in the ſeveral periods of it. The moſt delightful and moſt laſting engagements are generally thoſe which paſs between man and woman; and yet upon what trifles are they weakened, or entirely bro⯑ken? Sometimes the parties ſly aſunder even in the midſt of courtſhip, and ſometimes grow cool in the very honey⯑month. Some ſeparate before the firſt child, and ſome after the fifth; others continue good till thirty, others [174] till forty; while ſome few, whoſe ſouls are of an happier make, and better fitted to one another, travel on toge⯑ther to the end of their journey, in a continual inter⯑courſe of kind offices and mutual endearments.

When we therefore chuſe our companions for life, if we hope to keep both them and ourſelves in good hu⯑mour to the laſt ſtage of it, we muſt be extremely care⯑ful in the choice we make, as well as in the conduct on our own part. When the perſons to whom we join our⯑ſelves can ſtand an examination, and bear the ſcrutiny, when they mend upon our acquaintance with them, and diſcover new beauties the more we ſearch into their cha⯑racters, our love will naturally riſe in proportion to their perfections.

But becauſe there are very few poſſeſſed of ſuch acom⯑pliſhments of body and mind, we ought to look after thoſe qualifications both in ourſelves and others, which are indiſpenſably neceſſary towards this happy union, and which are in the power of every one to acquire, or at leaſt to cultivate and improve. Theſe, in my opinion, are chearfulneſs and conſtancy. A chearful temper, joined with innocence, will make beauty attractive, knowlege delightful, and with good-natured. It will lighten ſickneſs, poverty, and affliction; convert ignorance into an ami⯑able ſimplicity, and render deformity itſelf agreeable.

Conſtancy is natural to perſons of even tempers and uniform diſpoſitions, and may be acquired by thoſe of the greateſt fickleneſs, violence and paſſion, who conſider ſeriouſly the terms of union upon which they come toge⯑ther, the mutual intereſt in which they are engaged, with all the motives that ought to incite their tenderneſs and compaſſion towards thoſe who have their dependance up⯑on them, and are embarked with them for life in the ſame ſtate of happineſs or miſery. Conſtancy, when it grows in the mind upon conſiderations of this nature, becomes a moral virtue, and a kind of good-nature, that is not ſubject to any change of health, age, fortune, or any of thoſe accidents which are apt to unſettle the beſt diſpoſi⯑tions [175] that are founded rather in conſtitution than in rea⯑ſon. Where ſuch a conſtancy as this is wanting, the moſt inflamed paſſion may fall away into coldneſs and in⯑difference, and the moſt melting tenderneſs degenerate in⯑to hatred and averſion. I ſhall conclude this paper with a ſtory that is very well known in the north of England.

About thirty years ago, a packet-boat that had ſeveral paſſengers on board was caſt away upon a rock, and in ſo great danger of ſinking, that all who were in it endea⯑voured to ſave themſelves as well as they could, though only thoſe who could ſwim well had a bare poſſibility of doing it. Among the paſſengers there were two women of faſhion, who, ſeeing themſelves in ſuch a diſconſolate condition, begged of their huſbands not to leave them. One of them choſe rather to die with his wife, than to forſake her; the other, though he was moved with the utmoſt compaſſion for his wife, told her, that for the good of their children, it was better one of them ſhould live, than both periſh. By a great piece of good luck, next to a miracle, when one of our good men had taken the laſt and long farewel in order to ſave himſelf, and the other held in his arms the perſon that was dearer to him than life, the ſhip was preſerved. It is with a ſecret ſorrow and vexation of mind that I muſt tell the ſequel of the ſtory, and let my reader know, that this faithful pair who were ready to have died in each other's arms, about three years after their eſcape, upon ſome trifling diſguſt, grew to a coldneſs at firſt, and at length fell out to ſuch a degree, that they left one another, and parted for ever. The other couple lived together in an uninterrupted friend⯑ſhip and felicity; and what was remarkable, the huſband, whom the ſhipwreck had like to have ſeparated from his wife, died a few months after her, not being able to ſur⯑vive the loſs of her.

I muſt confeſs, there is ſomething in the changeable⯑neſs and inconſtancy of human nature, that very often both dejects and terrifies me. Whatever I am at preſent, I tremble to think what I may be. While I find this prin⯑ciple [176] in me, how can I aſſure myſelf, that I ſhall be al⯑ways true to my God, my friend, or myſelf? in ſhort, without conſtancy there is neither love, friendſhip, or virtue in the world.

No. 216. Saturday, Auguſt 26, 1710.

NATURE is full of wonders; every atom is a ſtand⯑ing miracle, and endowed with ſuch qualities, as could not be impreſſed on it by a power and wiſdom leſs than infinite. For this reaſon, I would not diſcourage any ſearches that are made into the moſt minute and trivial parts of the creation. However, ſince the world a⯑bounds in the nobleſt fields of ſpeculation, it is, methinks, the mark of a little genius to be wholly converſant a⯑mong inſects, reptiles, animalcules, and thoſe trifling ra⯑rities that furniſh out the apartment of a virtuoſo.

There are ſome men whoſe heads are ſo odly turned this way, that though they are utter ſtrangers to the com⯑mon occurrences of life, they are able to diſcover the ſex of a cockle, or deſcribe the generation of a mite, in all its circumſtances. They are ſo little verſed in the world, that they ſcarce know a horſe from an ox; but at the ſame time will tell you, with a great deal of gravity, that a flea is a rhinoceros, and a ſnail an hermaphrodite. I have known one of theſe whimſical philoſophers who has ſet a greater value upon a collection of ſpiders than he would upon a flock of ſheep, and had ſold his coat off his back to purchaſe a tarantula.

I would not have a ſcholar wholly unacquainted with theſe ſecrets and curioſities of nature; but certainly the mind of man, that is capable of ſo much higher contem⯑plations, ſhould not be altogether fixed upon ſuch mean and diſproportioned objects. Obſervations of this kind are apt to alienate us too much from the knowlege of [177] the world, and to make us ſerious upon trifles, by which means they expoſe philoſophy to the ridicule of the witty, and the contempt of the ignorant. In ſhort, ſtudies of this nature ſhould be the diverſions, relaxations and a⯑muſements, not the care, buſineſs, and concern of life.

It is indeed wonderful to conſider, that there ſhould be a ſort of learned men who are wholly employed in ga⯑thering together the refuſe of nature, if I may call it ſo, and hoarding up in their cheſts and cabinets ſuch crea⯑tures as others induſtriouſly avoid the ſight of. One does not know how to mention ſome of the moſt precious parts of their treaſure, without a kind of an apology for it. I have been ſhewn a beetle valued at twenty crowns, and a toad at an hundred: but we muſt take this for a general rule, that whatever appears trivial or obſcene in the com⯑mon notions of the world, looks grave and philoſophical in the eye of a virtuoſo.

To ſhew this humour in its perfection, I ſhall preſent my reader with the legacy of a certain virtuoſo, who laid out a conſiderable eſtate in natural rarities and curioſities, which upon his death-bed he bequeathed to his relations and friends in the following words:

No. 218. Thurſday, Auguſt 30, 1710.

I CHANCED to riſe very early one particular morning this ſummer, and took a walk into the country to di⯑vert myſelf among the fields and meadows, while the green was new, and the flowers in their bloom. As at this ſeaſon of the year every lane is a beautiful walk, and every hedge full of noſegays, I loſt myſelf with a great deal of pleaſure among ſeveral thickets and buſhes that were filled with a great variety of birds, and an agreeable confuſion of notes, which formed the pleaſanteſt ſcene in the world to one who had paſſed a whole winter in noiſe and ſmoke. The freſhneſs of the dews that lay up⯑on every thing about me, with the cool breath of the morning, which inſpired the birds with ſo many delight⯑ful inſtincts, created in me the ſame kind of animal plea⯑ſure, [180] and made my heart overflow with ſuch ſecret emo⯑tions of joy and ſatisfaction as are not to be deſcribed or accounted for. On this occaſion, I could not but re⯑flect upon a beautiful ſimile in Milton:

Thoſe who are converſant in the writings of polite authors, receive an additional entertainment from the country, as it revives in their memories thoſe charming deſcriptions with which ſuch authors do frequently a⯑bound.

I was thinking of the foregoing beautiful ſimile in Milton, and applying it to myſelf, when I obſerved to the windward of me a black cloud falling to the earth in long trails of rain, which made me betake myſelf for ſhelter to a houſe which I ſaw at a little diſtance from the place where I was walking. As I ſat in the porch, I heard the voices of two or three perſons, who ſeemed very ear⯑neſt in diſcourſe. My curioſity was raiſed when I heard the names of Alexander the Great and Artaxerxes; and as their talk ſeemed to run on ancient heroes, I concluded there could not be any ſecret in it; for which reaſon I thought I might very fairly liſten to what they ſaid.

After ſeveral parallels between great men, which ap⯑peared to me altogether groundleſs and chimerical, I was ſurprized to hear one ſay, that he valued the Black Prince more than the duke of Vendoſme. How the duke of Ven⯑doſme ſhould become a rival of the Black Prince's, I could not conceive: and was more ſtartled when I heard a ſecond affirm with great vehemence, that if the emperor of Germany was not going off, he ſhould like him better [181] than either of them. He added, That though the ſeaſon was ſo changeable, the duke of Marlborough was in blom⯑ing beauty. I was wondering to myſelf from whence they had received this odd intelligence, eſpecially when I heard them mention the names of ſeveral other great generals, as the prince of Heſſe, and the king of Sweden, who, they ſaid, were both running away. To which they added, what I entirely agreed with them in, that the crown of France was very weak, but that the mareſchal Villars ſtill kept his colours. At laſt one of them told the company, if they would go along with him, he would ſhew them a chimney-ſweeper and a painted lady in the ſame bed, which he was ſure would very much pleaſe them. The ſhower which had driven them, as well as myſelf, into the houſe, was now over: and as they were paſſing by me into the garden, I aſked them to let me be one of their company.

The gentleman of the houſe told me, If I delighted in flowers, it would be worth my while, for that he believ⯑ed he could ſhew me ſuch a blow of tulips as was not to be matched in the whole country.

I accepted the offer, and immediately found that they had been talking in terms of gardening, and that the kings and generals they had mentioned were only ſo many tulips, to which the gardeners, according to their uſual cuſtom, had given ſuch high titles and appellations of honour.

I was very much pleaſed and aſtoniſhed at the glorious ſhow of theſe gay vegetables, that aroſe in great profuſion on all the banks about us. Sometimes I conſidered them with the eye of an ordinary ſpectator as ſo many beauti⯑ful objects, varniſhed over with a natural gloſs, and ſtained with ſuch a variety of colours, as are not to be equalled in any artificial dyes or tinctures. Sometimes I conſidered every leaf as an elaborate piece of tiſſue, in which the threads and fibres were woven together into different configurations, which gave a different colouring to the light as it glanced on the ſeveral parts of the ſur⯑face. [182] Sometimes I conſidered the whole bed of tulips, according to the notion of the greateſt mathematician and philoſopher that ever lived, as a multitude of optic inſtruments, deſigned for the ſeparating light into all thoſe various colours of which it is compoſed.

I was awakened out of theſe my philoſophical ſpecu⯑lations, by obſerving the company often ſeemed to laugh at me. I accidentally praiſed a tulip as one of the fineſt that I ever ſaw; upon which they told me, it was a com⯑mon fool's-coat. Upon that I praiſed a ſecond, which it ſeems was but another kind of fool's-coat. I had the ſame fate with two or three more; for which reaſon I deſired the owner of the garden to let me know which were the fineſt of the flowers, for that I was ſo unſkilful in the art, that I thought the moſt beautiful were the moſt valu⯑able, and that thoſe which had the gayeſt colours were the moſt beautiful. The gentleman ſmiled at my ignorance: he ſeemed a very plain honeſt man, and a perſon of good ſenſe, had not his head been touched with that diſtemper which Hippocrates calls the Tulippo-Mania, [...]; inſomuch that he would talk very rationally on any ſubject in the world but a tulip.

He told me, that he valued the bed of flowers which lay before us, and was not above twenty yards in length, and two in breadth, more than he would the beſt hundred acres of land in England; and added, that it would have been worth twice the money it is, if a fooliſh cook-maid of his had not almoſt ruined him the laſt winter, by miſtaking an handful of tulip-roots for an heap of onions, and by that means, ſays he, made me a diſh of pottage, that coſt me above 1000 l. ſterling. He then ſhewed me what he thought the fineſt of his tulips, which I found received all their value from their rarity and oddneſs, and put me in mind of your great fortunes, which are not always the greateſt beauties.

I have often looked upon it as a piece of happineſs, that I have never fallen into any of theſe fantaſtical taſtes, nor eſteemed any thing the more for its being uncommon [183] and hard to be met with. For this reaſon, I look upon the whole country in ſpring-time as a ſpacious garden, and make as many viſits to a ſpot of daiſies, or a bank of violets, as a floriſt does to his borders and parterres. There is not a buſh in bloſſom within a mile of me which I am not acquainted with, nor ſcarce a daffadil or cow⯑ſlip that withers away in my neighbourhood without my miſſing it. I walked home in this temper of mind through ſeveral fields and meadows with an unſpeakable pleaſure, not without reflecting on the bounty of providence, which has made the moſt pleaſing and moſt beautiful ob⯑jects the moſt ordinary and moſt common.

No. 220. Tueſday, September 5, 1710.

HAVING received many letters filled with compli⯑ments and acknowlegements for my late uſeful diſ⯑covery of the political barometer, I ſhall here commu⯑nicate to the public an account of my eccleſiaſtical ther⯑mometer, the latter giving as manifeſt prognoſtications of the changes and revolutions in church, as the former does of thoſe in ſtate, and both of them being abſolutely ne⯑ceſſary for every prudent ſubject who is reſolved to keep what he has, and get what he can.

The church thermometer, which I am now to treat of, is ſuppoſed to have been invented in the reign of Henry the eighth, about the time when that religious prince put ſome to death for owning the pope's ſupremacy, and o⯑thers for denying tranſubſtantiation. I do not find, how⯑ever, any great uſe made of this inſtrument till it fell into the hands of a learned and viligant prieſt or miniſter, for he frequently wrote himſelf both one and the other, who was ſome time vicar of Bray. This gentleman lived in [184] his vicarage to a good old age; and after having ſeen ſeve⯑ral ſucceſſions of his neighbouring clergy either burnt or baniſhed, departed this life with the ſatisfaction of having never deſerted his flock, and died vicar of Bray. As this glaſs was firſt deſigned to calculate the different degrees of heat in religion, as it raged in popery, or as it cooled and grew temperate in the reformation, it was marked at ſeveral diſtances, after the manner our ordinary thermo⯑meter is to this day, viz. Extreme hot, Sultry hot, Very hot, Hot, Warm, Temperate, Cold, Juſt freezing, Froſt, Hard froſt, Great froſt, Extreme cold.

It is well known, that Torricellius, the inventor of the common weather-glaſs, made the experiment in a long tube which held thirty-two foot of water; and that a more modern virtuoſo finding ſuch a machine altogether unwieldy and uſeleſs, and conſidering that thirty-two inches of quickſilver weighed as much as ſo many foot of water in a tube of the ſame circumference, invented that ſizeable inſtrument which is now in uſe. After this manner, that I might adapt the thermometer I am now ſpeaking of to the preſent conſtitution of our church, as divided in⯑to High and Low, I have made ſome neceſſary variations both in the tube and the fluid it contains. In the firſt place, I ordered a tube to be caſt in a planetary hour; and took care to ſeal it hermetically, when the ſun was in conjunction was Saturn. I then took the proper pre⯑cautions about the fluid, which is a compound of two very different liquors: one of them a ſpirit drawn out of a ſtrong heady wine; the other a particular ſort of rock-water, colder than ice, and clearer than cryſtal. The ſpirit is of a red fiery colour, and ſo very apt to ferment, that unleſs it be mingled with a proportion of the water, or pent up very cloſe, it will burſt the veſſel that holds it, and fly up in fume and ſmoke. The water on the contrary is of ſuch a ſubtle piercing cold, that unleſs it be mingled with a proportion of the ſpirits, it will ſink through almoſt every thing that it is put into, and ſeems to be of the ſame nature as the water mentioned by [185] Quintus Curtius, which, ſays the hiſtorian, could be con⯑tained in nothing but in the hoof, or, as the Oxford manuſcript has it, in the ſkull of an aſs. The thermo⯑meter is marked according to the following figure, which I ſet down at length, not only to give my reader a clear idea of it, but alſo to fill up my paper.

• Ignorance.
• Perſecution.
• Wrath.
• Zeal.
• CHURCH.
• Moderation.
• Lukewarmneſs.
• Inſidelity.
• Ignorance.

The reader will obſerve that the church is placed in the middle point of the glaſs, between Zeal and Mode⯑ration, the ſituation in which ſhe always flouriſhes, and in which every good Engliſhman wiſhes her who is a friend to the conſtitution of his country. However, when it mounts to Zeal, it is not amiſs; and when it ſinks to Moderation, is ſtill in a moſt admirable temper. The worſt of it is, that when once it begins to riſe, it has ſtill an inclination to aſcend, inſomuch that it is apt to climb from Zeal to Wrath, and from Wrath to Perſecution, which always ends in Ignorance, and very often proceeds from it. In the ſame manner it frequently takes its pro⯑greſs through the lower half of the glaſs; and when it has a tendency to fall, will gradually deſcend from Mo⯑deration to Lukewarmneſs, and from Lukewarmneſs to Inſidelity, which very often terminates in Ignorance, and always proceeds from it.

It is a common obſervation, that the ordinary ther⯑mometer will be affected by the breathing of people who are in the room where it ſtands; and indeed it is almoſt incredible to conceive how the glaſs I am now deſcribing will fall by the breath of a multitude crying Popery; or on [186] on the contrary, how it will riſe when the ſame multi⯑tude, as it ſometimes happens, cry out in the ſame breath, the Church is in danger.

As ſoon as I had finiſhed this my glaſs, and adjuſted it to the abovementioned ſcale of religion, that I might make proper experiments with it, I carried it under my cloak to ſeveral coffee-houſes, and other places of reſort about this great city. At St. James's coffee-houſe, the liquor ſtood at Moderation; but at Wills's to my ex⯑treme ſurprize, it ſubſided to the very loweſt mark on the glaſs. At the Grecian it mounted but juſt one point higher; at the Rainbow it ſtill aſcended two degrees: Child's fetched it up to Zeal, and other adjacent coffee-houſes to Wrath.

It fell into the lower half of the glaſs as I went fur⯑ther into the city, till at length it ſettled at Moderation, where it continued all the time I ſtayed about the Change, as alſo whilſt I paſſed by the Bank. And here I cannot but take notice, that through the whole courſe of my re⯑marks, I never obſerved my glaſs to riſe at the ſame time that the ſtocks did.

To complete the experiment, I prevailed upon a friend of mine, who works under me in the occult ſcien⯑ces, to make a progreſs with my glaſs through the whole iſland of Great Britain; and after his return, to preſent me with a regiſter of his obſervations. I gueſſed before⯑hand at the temper of ſeveral places he paſſed through, by the characters they have had, time out of mind. Thus that facetious divine, Dr. Fuller, ſpeaking of the town of Banbury, near a hundred years ago, tells us, it was a place famous for cakes and Zeal, which I find by my glaſs is true to this day as to the latter part of this de⯑ſcription; though I muſt confeſs, it is not in the ſame reputation for cakes that it was in the time of that learn⯑ed author; and thus of other places. In ſhort, I have now by me, digeſted in an alphabetical order, all the coun⯑ties, corporations and boroughs in Great Britain, with their reſpective tempers, as they ſtand related to my ther⯑mometer: [187] but this I ſhall keep to myſelf, becauſe I would by no means do any thing that may ſeem to influence any enſuing elections.

The point of doctrine which I would propagate by this my invention, is the ſame which was long ago ad⯑vanced by that able teacher Horace, out of whom I have taken my text for this diſcourſe: we ſhould be care⯑ful not to overſhoot ourſelves in the purſuits even of virtue. Whether Zeal or Moderation be the point we aim at, let us keep fire out of the one, and froſt out of the other. But alas! the world is too wiſe to want ſuch a precaution. The terms High Church and Low Church, as commonly uſed, do not ſo much denote a principle, as they diſtinguiſh a party. They are like words of battle, that have nothing to do with their original ſignification, but are only given out to keep a body of men together, and to let them know friends from enemies.

I muſt confeſs, I have conſidered with ſome little at⯑tention the influence which the opinions of theſe great national ſects have upon their practice; and do look up⯑on it as one of the unaccountable things of our times, that multitudes of honeſt gentlemen, who entirely agree in their lives, ſhould take it in their heads to differ in their religion.

No. 224. Thurſday, September 14, 1710.

IT is my cuſtom in a dearth of news, to entertain my⯑ſelf with thoſe collections of advertiſements that appear at the end of all our public prints. Theſe I conſider as ac⯑counts of news from the little world, in the ſame manner that the foregoing parts of the paper are from the great. If in one we hear that a ſovereign prince is fled from his capital city, in the other we hear of a tradeſman who hath ſhut up his ſhop, and run away. If in one we find [188] the victory of a general, in the other we ſee the deſertion of a private ſoldier. I muſt confeſs, I have a certain weakneſs in my temper, that is often very much affected by theſe little domeſtic occurrences, and have frequently been caught with tears in my eyes over a melancholy advertiſement.

But to conſider this ſubject in its moſt ridiculous lights, advertiſements are of great uſe to the vulgar: firſt of all, as they are inſtruments of ambition. A man that is by no means big enough for the Gazette, may eaſily creep into the advertiſements; by which means we often ſee an apothecary in the ſame paper of news with a plenipo⯑tentiary, or a running-footman with an ambaſſador. An advertiſement from Pickadilly goes down to poſterity, with an article from Madrid; and John Bartlett of Good⯑man's Fields is celebrated in the ſame paper with the emperor of Germany. Thus the fable tells us, that the wren mounted as high as the eagle, by getting upon his back.

A ſecond uſe which this ſort of writings have been turned to of late years, has been the management of con⯑troverſy, inſomuch that above half the advertiſements one meets with now-a-days are purely polemical. The inventors of Strops for Razors have written againſt one another this way for ſeveral years, and that with great bitterneſs; as the whole argument pro and con in the caſe of the Morning Gowns is ſtill carried on after the ſame manner. I need not mention the ſeveral proprietors of Dr. Anderſon's pills; nor take notice of the many ſa⯑tirical works of this nature ſo frequently publiſhed by Dr. Clark, who has had the confidence to advertiſe upon that learned knight, my very worthy friend, Sir William Read: But I ſhall not interpoſe in their quarrel; Sir Wil⯑liam can give him his own in advertiſements, that, in the judgment of the impartial, are as well penned as the do⯑ctor's.

The third and laſt uſe of theſe writings is, to inform the world where they may be furniſhed with almoſt every [189] thing that is neceſſary for life. If a man has pains in his head, cholics in his bowels, or ſpots in his clothes, he may here meet with proper cures and remedies. If a man would recover a wife or a horſe that is ſtolen or ſtrayed; if he wants new ſermons, electuaries, aſſes milk, or any thing elſe, either for his body or his mind, this is the place to look for them in.

The great art in writing advertiſements, is the find⯑ing out a proper method to catch the reader's eye, with⯑out which a good thing may paſs over unobſerved, or be loſt among commiſſions of bankrupt. Aſteriſks and hands were formerly of great uſe for this purpoſe. Of late years, the N.B. has been much in faſhion; as alſo little cuts and figures, the invention of which we muſt aſcribe to the author of ſpring-truſſes. I muſt not here omit the blind Italian character, which being ſcarce legible, always fixes and detains the eye, and gives the curious reader ſomething like the ſatisfaction of prying into a ſecret.

But the great ſkill in an advertiſer is chiefly ſeen in the ſtile which he makes uſe of. He is to mention the univerſal eſteem, or general reputation, of things that were never heard of. If he is a phyſician or aſtrologer, he muſt change his lodgings frequently, and (though he never ſaw any body in them beſides his own family) give public notice of it, For the information of the nobility and gentry. Since I am thus uſefully employed in writing cri⯑ticiſms on the works of theſe diminutive authors, I muſt not paſs over in ſilence an advertiſement which has lately made its appearance, and is written altogether in the Ci⯑ceronian manner. It was ſent to me, with five ſhillings, to be inſerted among my advertiſements; but as it is a pattern of good writing in this way, I ſhall give it a place in the body of my paper.

THE higheſt compound ſpirit of lavender, the moſt glorious, if the expreſſion may be uſed, enlivening ſcent and flavour that can poſſibly be, which ſo raptures the ſpirits, delights the guſt, and gives ſuch airs to the countenance, [190] as are not to be imagined but by thoſe that have tried it. The meaneſt ſort of the thing is admired by moſt gentle⯑men and ladies; but this far more, as by far it exceeds it, to the gaining among all a more than common eſteem. It is ſold (in neat flint bottles fit for the pocket) only at the Golden-key in Wharton's-court near Holborn-bars, for 3 s. 6 d. with directions.

At the ſame time that I recommend the ſeveral flow⯑ers in which this ſpirit of lavender is wrapped up, if the expreſſion may be uſed, I cannot excuſe my fellow-la⯑bourers for admitting into their papers ſeveral uncleanly advertiſements, not at all proper to appear in the works of polite writers. Among theſe I muſt reckon the Car⯑minitive Wind-expelling pills. If the doctor had called them his carminitive pills, he had done as cleanly as any one could have wiſhed; but the ſecond word entirely de⯑ſtroys the decency of the firſt. There are other abſurdi⯑ties of this nature ſo very groſs, that I dare not mention them; and ſhall therefore diſmiſs this ſubject, with a public admonition to Michael Parrot, that he do not preſume any more to mention a certain worm he knows of, which, by the way, has grown ſeven foot in my me⯑mory; for, if I am not much miſtaken, it is the ſame that was but nine foot long about ſix months ago.

By the remarks I have here made, it plainly appears, that a collection of advertiſements is a kind of miſcellany; the writers of which, contrary to all authors, except men of quality, give money to the bookſellers who publiſh their copies. The genius of the bookſeller is chiefly ſhewn in his method of ranging and digeſting theſe lit⯑tle tracts. The laſt paper I took up in my hands, places them in the following order.

• The true Spaniſh blacking for ſhoes, etc.
• The beautifying cream for the face, etc.
• Peaſe and plaiſters, etc.
• Nectar and ambroſia, etc.
• Four freehold tenements of 15 l. per annum, etc.
• [191] *⁎*The preſent ſtate of England, etc.
• † (inverted †)†Annotations upon the Tatler, etc.
• A commiſſion of bankrupt being awarded againſt B. L. Bookſeller, etc.

No. 226. Saturday, September 19, 1710.

IT is one of the deſigns of this paper to tranſmit to po⯑ſterity an account of every thing that is monſtrous in my own times. For this reaſon I ſhall here publiſh to the world the life of a perſon who was neither man nor wo⯑man, as written by one of my ingenious correſpondents, who ſeems to have imitated Plutarch in that multifarious erudition, and thoſe occaſional diſſertations, which he has wrought into the body of his hiſtory. The life I am putting out, is that of Margery, alias John Young, commonly known by the name of Dr. Young, who, as the town very well knows, was a woman that practiſed phyſic in man's clothes, and after having had two wives and ſeveral children, died about a month ſince.

[195] I ſhall add, as a poſtſcript to this letter, that I am in⯑formed, the famous Saltero, who ſells coffee in his muſaeum at Chelſea, has by him a curioſity which helped the do⯑ctor to carry on his impoſture, and will give great ſatis⯑faction to the curious inquirer.

No. 229. Tueſday, September 26, 1710.

THE whole creation preys upon itſelf: every living creature is inhabited. A ſlea has a thouſand inviſible inſects that teaze him as he jumps from place to place, and revenge our quarrels upon him. A very ordinary microſcope ſhews us, that a louſe is itſelf a very louſy creature. A whale, beſides thoſe ſeas and oceans in the ſeveral veſſels of his body, which are filled with innume⯑rable ſhoals of little animals, carries about it a whole world of inhabitants; inſomuch that, if we believe the calcula⯑tions ſome have made, there are more living creatures, which are too ſmall for the naked eye to behold, about the leviathan, than there are of viſible creatures upon the face of the whole earth. Thus every nobler creature is as it were the baſis and ſupport of multitudes that are his inferiors.

This conſideration very much comforts me, when I think on thoſe numberleſs vermin that feed upon this paper, and find their ſuſtenance out of it; I mean the ſmall wits and ſcribblers that every day turn a penny by nibbling at my lucubrations. This has been ſo advan⯑tageous to this little ſpecies of writers, that, if they do me juſtice, I may expect to have my ſtatue erected in Grub-ſtreet, as being a common benefactor to that quar⯑ter.

They ſay, when a fox is very much troubled with fleas, he goes into the next pool with a little lock of wool in his mouth, and keeps his body under water till the ver⯑min [196] get into it, after which he quits the wool, and div⯑ing, leaves his tormentors to ſhift for themſelves, and get their livelihood where they can. I would have theſe gen⯑tlemen take care that I do not ſerve them after the ſame manner; for though I have hitherto kept my temper pretty well, it is not impoſſible but I may ſome time or other diſappear; and what will then become of them? Should I lay down my paper, what a famine would there be among the hawkers, printers, bookſellers and authors? it would be like Dr. B—s's dropping his cloak, with the whole congregation hanging upon the ſkirts of it. To enumerate ſome of theſe my doughty antagoniſts, I was threatened to be anſwered weekly Tit for Tat: I was undermined by the Whiſperer, haunted by Tom Brown's Ghoſt, ſcolded at by a Female Tatler, and ſlandered by another of the ſame character, under the title of Atalan⯑tis. I have been annotated, retattled, examined, and condo⯑led: but it being my ſtanding maxim, never to ſpeak ill of the dead; I ſhall let theſe authors reſt in peace, and take great pleaſure in thinking that I have ſometimes been the means of their getting a belly-full. When I ſee myſelf thus ſurrounded by ſuch formidable enemies, I of⯑ten think of the knight of the Red Croſs in Spenſer's Den of Error, who, after he has cut off the dragon's head, and leſt it wallowing in a flood of ink, ſees a thouſand monſtrous reptiles making their attempts upon him, one with many heads, another with none, and all of them without eyes.

If ever I ſhould want ſuch a fry of little authors to at⯑tend me, I ſhall think my paper in a very decaying con⯑dition. They are like ivy about an oak, which adorns the tree at the ſame time that it eats it; or like a great man's equipage, that do honour to the perſon on whom they feed. For my part, when I ſee myſelf thus attacked, I do not conſider my antagoniſts as malicious, but hun⯑gry, and therefore am reſolved never to take any notice of them.

As for thoſe who detract from my labours without be⯑ing prompted to it by an empty ſtomach, in return to their cenſures I ſhall take pains to excel, and never fail to perſuade myſelf, that their enmity is nothing but their envy or ignorance.

Give me leave to conclude, like an old man and a moraliſt, with a fable:

The owls, bats, and ſeveral other birds of night, were one day got together in a thick ſhade, where they abuſed their neighbours in a very ſociable manner. This ſatire at laſt fell upon the ſun, whom they all agreed to be very troubleſome, impertinent, and inquiſitive. Upon which the ſun, who overheard them, ſpoke to them after this manner: Gentlemen, I wonder how you dare abuſe one that you know could in an inſtant ſcorch you up, and burn every mother's ſon of you: but the only anſwer I ſhall give you, or the revenge I ſhall take of you, is, to ſhine on.

No. 239. Thurſday, October 19, 1710.

IT is ridiculous for any man to criticiſe on the works of another, who has not diſtinguiſhed himſelf by his own performances. A judge would make but an indiffe⯑rent figure who had never been known at the bar. Ci⯑cero was reputed the greateſt orator of his age and coun⯑try before he wrote a book De Oratore; and Horace the greateſt poet before he publiſhed his Art of Poetry. The obſervation ariſes naturally in any one who caſts his eye upon this laſt mentioned author, where he will find the criticiſms placed in the latter end of his book, that is, after the fineſt odes and ſatires in the Latin tongue.

A modern, whoſe name I ſhall not mention, becauſe I would not make a ſilly paper ſell, was born a critic and an examiner, and, like one of the race of the ſer⯑pent's teeth, came into the world with a ſword in his hand. His works put me in mind of the ſtory that is told of a German monk, who was taking a catalogue of a friend's library, and meeting with a Hebrew book in it, entered it under the title of, A book that has the beginning where the end ſhould be. This author, in the laſt of his crudities, has amaſſed together a heap of quotations, to prove that Horace and Virgil were both of them modeſter men than myſelf, and if his works were to live as long as mine, they might poſſibly give poſterity a notion, that Iſaac Bickerſtaffe was a very conceited old fellow, and as vain a man as either Tully or Sir Francis Bacon. Had this ſerious writer fallen upon me only, I could have o⯑ver-looked it; but to ſee Cicero abuſed, is, I muſt confeſs, what I cannot bear. The cenſure he paſſes upon this great man runs thus; The itch of being very abuſive, is almoſt in⯑ſeparable from vain-glory. Tully has theſe two faults in ſo high a degree, that nothing but his being the beſt writer [199] in the world can make amends for them. The ſcurrilous wretch goes on to ſay I am as bad as Tully. His words are theſe; and yet the Tatler, in his paper of September 26th, has out done him in both. He ſpeaks of himſelf with more ar⯑rogance, and with more inſolence of others. I am afraid, by his diſcourſe, this gentleman has no more read Plutarch than he has Tully. If he had, he would have obſerved a paſſage in that hiſtorian, wherein he has with great deli⯑cacy diſtinguiſhed between two paſſions which are uſually complicated in human nature, and which an ordinary wri⯑ter would not have thought of ſeparating. Not having my Greek ſpectacles by me, I ſhall quote the paſſage word for word, as I find it tranſlated to my hand.Neverthe⯑leſs, though he was intemperately fond of his own praiſe, yet he was very free from envying others, and moſt liberally profuſe in commending both the antients and his contemporaries, as is to be underſtood by his writings; and many of thoſe ſayings are ſtill recorded, as that concerning Ariſtotle, that he was a river of flowing gold: of Plato's dialogue, that if Jupiter were to ſpeak, he would diſcourſe as he did. Theophraſtus he was wont to call his peculiar delight; and being asked, which of Demoſthenes's orations he liked beſt? He anſwered, the longeſt.

And as for eminent men of his own time, either for eloquence or philoſophy, there was not one of them whom he did not, by writing or ſpeaking favourably of, render more illuſtrious.

Thus the critic tells us, That Cicero was exceſſively vain-glorious and abuſive; Plutarch, that he was vain, but not abuſive. Let the reader believe which of them he pleaſes.

After this he complains to the world, that I call him names; and that in my paſſion I ſaid, He was a Flea, a Louſe, an Owl, a Bat, a ſmall Wit, a Scribler, and a Ni⯑bler. When he has thus beſpoken his reader's pity, he falls into that admirable vein of mirth, which I ſhall ſet, down at length, it being an exquiſite piece of raillery, and written in great gaiety of heart. After this liſt of names, (viz. Flea, Louſe, Owl, Bat, etc.) I was ſurpriſed [200] to hear him ſay, that he has hitherto kept his temper pretty well; I wonder how he will write when he has loſt his tem⯑per! I ſuppoſe, as he now is very angry and unmannerly, he will then be exceeding courteous and good-humoured. If I can outlive this raillery, I ſhall be able to bear any thing.

There is a method of criticiſm made uſe of by this au⯑thor, (for I ſhall take care how I call him a ſcribler a⯑gain) which may turn into ridicule any work that was ever written, wherein there is a variety of thoughts: this the reader will obſerve in the following words; He, meaning me, is ſo intent upon being ſomething extraordi⯑nary, that he ſcarce knows what he would be; and is as fruit⯑ful in his ſimiles, as a brother of his whom I lately took notice of. In the compaſs of a few lines he compares himſelf to a fox, to Daniel Burgeſs, to the knight of the red croſs, to an oak with ivy about it, and to a great man with an equipage. I think myſelf as much honoured by being joined in this part of his paper with the gentleman whom he here calls my brother, as I am in the beginning of it by being men⯑tioned with Horace and Virgil.

It is very hard that a man cannot publiſh ten papers without ſtealing from himſelf; but to ſhew you that this is only a knack of writing, and that the author is got in⯑to a certain road of criticiſm, I ſhall ſet down his remarks on the works of the gentleman whom he here glances upon, as they ſtand in his 6th paper, and deſire the rea⯑der to compare them with the foregoing paſſage upon mine.

In thirty lines his patron is a river, the Primum Mobile, a pilot, a victim, the ſun, any thing, and nothing. He beſtows increaſe, conceals his ſource, makes the machine move, teaches to ſteer, expiates our offences, raiſes vapours, and looks larg⯑er as he ſets.

What poem can be ſafe from this ſort of criticiſm? I think I was never in my life ſo much offended as at a wag whom I once met with in a coffee-houſe: he had in his hand one of the miſcellanies, and was reading the following ſhort copy of verſes, which without flattery to [201] the author, is, I think, as beautiful in its kind as any one in the Engliſh tongue.

When this coxcomb had done reading them, hey-day! ſays he, what inſtrument is this that Flavia employs in ſuch a manner as is not to be told, or ſafely ſeen? In ten lines it is a toy, a Cupid's bow, a fan, and an engine in love. It has wanton motions, it wounds, it cools, and inflames.

Such criticiſms make a man of ſenſe ſick, and a fool merry.

The next paragraph of the paper we are talking of, falls upon ſome body whom I am at a loſs to gueſs at: but I find the whole invective turns upon a man who, it ſeems, has been impriſoned for debt. Whoever he was, I muſt heartily pity him; but at the ſame time muſt put the Examiner, in mind, that notwithſtanding he is a cri⯑tic, he ſtill ought to remember he is a Chriſtian. Poverty was never thought a proper ſubject for ridicule; and I do not remember that I ever met with a ſatire upon a beggar.

As for thoſe little retortings of my own expreſſions, of being dull by deſign, witty in October, ſhining, excelling, and ſo forth; they are the common cavils of every wit⯑lin, who has no other method of ſhewing his parts, but by little variations and repetitions of the man's words whom he attacks.

[202] But the truth of it is, the paper before me, not only in this particular, but in its very eſſence is like Ovid's echo:

I ſhould not have deſerved the character of a Cenſor, had I not animadverted upon the above-mentioned au⯑thor by a gentle chaſtiſement: But I know my reader will not pardon me, unleſs I declare, that nothing of this nature for the future, unleſs it be written with ſome wit, ſhall divert me from my care of the public.

No. 240. Saturday, October 21, 1710.

I DO not remember that in any of my lucubrations I have touched upon that uſeful ſcience of phyſic, not⯑withſtanding I have declared myſelf more than once a pro⯑feſſor of it. I have indeed joined the ſtudy of aſtrology with it, becauſe I never knew a phyſician recommend himſelf to the public who had not a ſiſter art to embelliſh his knowlege in medicine. It has been commonly obſer⯑ved in compliment to the ingenious of our profeſſion, that Apollo was the god of verſe as well as phyſic; and in all ages the moſt celebrated practitioners of our coun⯑try were the particular favourites of the muſes. Poetry to phyſic is indeed like the gilding to a pill; it makes the art ſhine, and covers the ſeverity of the doctor with the agreeableneſs of the companion.

The very foundation of poetry is good ſenſe, if we may allow Horace to be a judge of the art.

And if ſo, we have reaſon to believe, that the ſame [203] man who writes well can preſcribe well, if he has applied himſelf to the ſtudy of both. Beſides, when we ſee a man making profeſſion of two different ſciences, it is natural for us to believe he is no pretender in that which we are not judges of, when we find him ſkilful in that which we underſtand.

Ordinary quacks and charlatans are throughly ſenſi⯑ble how neceſſary it is to ſupport themſelves by theſe collateral aſſiſtances, and therefore always lay their claim to ſome ſupernumerary accompliſhments which are whol⯑ly foreign to their profeſſion.

About twenty years ago, it was impoſſible to walk the ſtreets without having an advertiſement thruſt into your hand of a doctor who was arrived at the knowlege of the green and red dragon, and had diſcovered the female fern ſeed. No body every knew what this meant; but the green and red dragon ſo amuſed the people, that the doctor lived very comfortably upon them. About the ſame time there was paſted a very hard word upon every corner of the ſtreets. This, to the beſt of my remembrance, was‘TETRACHYMAGOGON,’ which drew great ſhoals of ſpectators about it, who read the bill that it introduced with unſpeakable curioſity; and when they were ſick, would have no body but this learn⯑ed man for their phyſician.

I once received an advertiſement of one who ſtudied thirty years by candle-light for the good of his countrymen. He might have ſtudied twice as long by day-light, and ne⯑ver have been taken notice of: but elucubrations cannot be over-valued. There are ſome who have gained themſelves great reputation ſor phyſic by their birth, as the ſeventh ſon of a ſeventh ſon; and others by not being born at all, as the Unborn Doctor, who, I hear, is lately gone the way of his patients, having died worth five hundred pounds per annum, though he was not born to a halfpenny.

My ingenious friend doctor Saffold ſucceeded my old [204] contemporary doctor Lilly in the ſtudies both of phyſic and aſtrology, to which he added that of poetry, as was to be ſeen both upon the ſign where he lived, and in the bills which he diſtributed. He was ſucceeded by doctor Caſe, who eraſed the verſes of his predeceſſor out of the ſign-poſt, and ſubſtituted in their ſtead two of his own, which were as follow:

He is ſaid to have got more by this diſtich, than Mr. Dryden did by all his works. There would be no end of enumerating the ſeveral imaginary perfections and unac⯑countable artifices by which this tribe of men enſnare the minds of the vulgar, and gain crouds of admirers. I have ſeen the whole front of a mountebank's ſtage from one end to the other faced with patents, certificates, me⯑dals, and great ſeals, by which the ſeveral princes of Europe have teſtified their particular reſpect and eſteem for the doctor. Every great man with a ſounding title has been his patient. I believe I have ſeen twenty mountebanks that have given phyſic to the Czar of Muſcovy. The great duke of Tuſcany eſcapes no better. The elector of Bran⯑denburg was likewiſe a very good patient.

This great condeſcenſion of the doctor draws upon him much good-will from his audience; and it is ten to one, but if any of them be troubled with an aching tooth, his ambition will prompt him to get it drawn by a perſon who has had ſo many princes, kings, and emperors un⯑der his hands.

I muſt not leave this ſubject without obſerving, that as phyſicians are apt to deal in poetry, apothecaries endea⯑vour to recommend themſelves by oratory, and are there⯑fore without controverſy the moſt eloquent perſons in the whole Britiſh nation. I would not willingly diſcou⯑rage any of the arts, eſpecially that of which I am an humble profeſſor; but I muſt confeſs, for the good of [205] my native country, I could wiſh there might be a ſuſ⯑penſion of phyſic for ſome years, that our kingdom, which has been ſo much exhauſted by the wars, might have leave to recruit itſelf.

As for myſelf, the only phyſic which has brought me ſafe to almoſt the age of man, and which I preſcribe to all my friends, is abſtinence. This is certainly the beſt phyſic for prevention, and very often the moſt effectual againſt the preſent diſtemper. In ſhort, my recipe is, Take nothing.

Were the body politic to be phyſicked like particular perſons, I ſhould venture to preſcribe to it after the ſame manner. I remember when our whole iſland was ſhaken with an earthquake ſome years ago, there was an impu⯑dent mountebank who ſold pills, which (as he told the country people) were very good againſt an earthquake. It may perhaps be thought as abſurd to preſcribe a diet for the allaying popular commotions, and national fer⯑ments. But I am verily perſuaded, that if in ſuch a caſe a whole people were to enter into a courſe of abſtinence, and eat nothing but water-gruel for a fortnight, it would abate the rage and animoſity of parties, and not a little contribute to the cure of a diſtracted nation. Such a faſt would have a natural tendency to the procuring of thoſe ends for which a faſt is uſually proclaimed. If any man has a mind to enter on ſuch a voluntary abſtinence, it might not be improper to give him the caution of Py⯑thagoras in particular,

That is, ſay the interpreters, meddle not with elections, beans having been made uſe of by the voters among the Athenians in the choice of magiſtrates.

No. 243. Saturday, October 28. 1710.

I HAVE ſomewhere made mention of Gyges's ring, and intimated to my reader, that it was at preſent in my poſſeſſion, though I have not ſince made any uſe of it. The tradition concerning this ring is very romantic, and taken notice of both by Plato and Tully, who each of them make an admirable uſe of it for the advancement of morality. This Gyges was the maſter ſhepherd to king Candaules. As he was wandering over the plains of Ly⯑dia, he ſaw a great chaſm in the earth, and had the curi⯑oſity to enter it. After having deſcended pretty far into it, he found the ſtatue of an horſe in braſs, with doors in the ſides of it. Upon opening of them, he found the body of a dead man bigger than ordinary, with a ring upon his finger, which he took off, and put it upon his own. The virtues of it were much greater than he at firſt imagined; for upon his going into the aſſembly of ſhepherds, he obſerved, that he was inviſible when he turn⯑ed the ſtone of the ring within the palm of his hand, and viſible when he turned it towards his company. Had Pla⯑to and Cicero been as well verſed in the occult ſciences as I am, they would have found a great deal of myſtic learn⯑ing in this tradition; but it is impoſſible for an adept to be underſtood by one who is not an adept.

As for myſelf, I have with much ſtudy and application arrived at this great ſecret of making myſelf inviſible, and by that means conveying myſelf where I pleaſe; or to ſpeak in Roſycrucian lore, I have entered into the clefts of the earth, diſcovered the brazen horſe, and robbed the dead giant of his ring. The tradition ſays further of Gy⯑ges, that by the means of this ring he gained admiſſion [207] into the moſt retired parts of the court, and made ſuch uſe of thoſe opportunities, that he at length became king of Lydia. For my own part, I, who have always rather endeavoured to improve my mind than my fortune, have turned this ring to no other advantage than to get a thorough inſight into the ways of men, and to make ſuch obſervations upon the errors of others as may be uſeful to the public, whatever effect they may have upon my⯑ſelf.

About a week ago, not being able to ſleep, I got up and put on my magical ring, and with a thought tranſ⯑ported myſelf into a chamber where I ſaw a light. I found it inhabited by a celebrated beauty, though ſhe is of that ſpecies of women which we call a ſlattern. Her head-dreſs and one of her ſhoes lay upon a chair, her petticoat in one corner of the room, and her girdle, that had a copy of verſes made upon it but the day before, with her thread ſtockings, in the middle of the floor. I was ſo fooliſhly officious, that I could not forbear gathering up her clothes together to lay them upon the chair that ſtood by her bed-ſide, when, to my great ſurprize, after a little mut⯑tering, ſhe cried out, What do you do? Let my petticoat a⯑lone. I was ſtartled at firſt, but ſoon found that ſhe was in a dream; being one of thoſe who (to uſe Shakeſpear's expreſſion) are ſo looſe of thought, that they utter in their ſleep every thing that paſſes in their imagination. I left the apartment of this female rake, and went into her neigh⯑bour's, where there lay a male-coquet. He had a bottle of ſalts hanging over his head, and upon the table, by his bed-ſide, Suckling's poems, with a little heap of black patches on it. His ſnuff-box was within reach on a chair: but while I was admiring the diſpoſition which he made of the ſeveral parts of his dreſs, his ſlumber ſeemed in⯑terrupted by a pang, that was accompanied by a ſudden oath, as he turned himſelf over haſtily in his bed. I did not care for ſeeing him in his nocturnal pains, and left the room.

I was no ſooner got into another bed-chamber, but I [208] heard very harſh words uttered in a ſmooth uniform tone. I was amazed to hear ſo great a volubility in reproach, and thought it too coherent to be ſpoken by one aſleep; but upon looking nearer, I ſaw the head dreſs of the per⯑ſon who ſpoke, which ſhewed her to be a female with a man lying by her ſide broad awake, and as quiet as a lamb. I could not but admire his exemplary patience, and diſ⯑covered by his whole behaviour, that he was then lying under the diſcipline of a curtain-lecture.

I was entertained in many other places with this kind of nocturnal eloquence, but obſerved, that moſt of thoſe whom I found awake, were kept ſo either by envy or by love. Some of theſe were ſighing, and others curſing, in ſoliloquy; ſome hugged their pillows, and others gnaſh⯑ed their teeth.

The covetous I likewiſe found to be a very wakeful people. I happened to come into a room where one of them lay ſick. His phyſician and his wife were in cloſe whiſper near his bed-ſide. I overheard the doctor ſay to the gentlewoman, He cannot poſſibly live till five in the morning. She received it like the miſtreſs of a family prepared for all events. At the ſame inſtant came in a ſervant maid, who ſaid, Madam, The undertaker is below according to your order. The words were ſcarce out of her mouth, when the ſick man cried out with a feeble voice, Pray, doctor, how went bank ſtock to day at Change? This melancholy object made me too ſerious for divert⯑ing myſelf further this way; but as I was going home, I ſaw a light in a garret, and entering into it, heard a voice crying, And, Hand, Stand, Band, Fann'd, Tann'd. I con⯑cluded him by this and the furniture of his room to be a lunatic; but upon liſtening a little longer, perceived it was a poet, writing an heroic upon the enſuing peace.

It was now towards morning, an hour when ſpirits, witches, and conjurers are obliged to retire to their own apartments; and feeling the influence of it, I was haſten⯑ing home, when I ſaw a man had got half way into a neighbour's houſe. I immediately called to him, and turn⯑ing [209] my ring, appeared in my proper perſon. There is ſomething magiſterial in the aſpect of the Bickerſtaffes, which made him run away in confuſion.

As I took a turn or two in my own lodging, I was thinking, that, old as I was, I need not go to bed alone, but that it was in my power to marry the fineſt lady in this kingdom, if I would wed her with this ring. For what a figure would ſhe, that ſhould have it, make at a vi⯑ſit, with ſo perfect a knowlege as this would give her of all the ſcandal in the town! But inſtead of endeavouring to diſpoſe of myſelf and it in matrimony, I reſolved to lend it to my loving friend the author of the Atalantis, to fur⯑niſh a new Secret Hiſtory of Secret Memoirs.

No. 249. Saturday, November 11. 1710.

I WAS laſt night viſited by a friend of mine, who has an inexhauſtible fund of diſcourſe, and never fails to en⯑tertain his company with a variety of thoughts and hints that are altogether new and uncommon. Whether it were in complaiſance to my way of living, or his real opinion, he advanced the following paradox, That it required much greater talents to fill up and become a retired life, than a life of buſineſs. Upon this occaſion he rallied very a⯑greeably the buſy men of the age, who only valued them⯑ſelves for being in motion, and paſſing through a ſeries of trifling and inſignificant actions. In the heat of his diſ⯑courſe, ſeeing a piece of money lying on my table, I de⯑fy, ſays he, any of theſe active perſons to produce half the adventures that this twelvepeny-piece has been en⯑gaged in, were it poſſible for him to give us an account of his life.

My friends's talk made ſo odd an impreſſion upon my [210] mind, that ſoon after I was a-bed I fell into a moſt un⯑accountable reſverie, that had neither moral nor deſign in it, and cannot be ſo properly called a dream as a de⯑lirium.

Methoughts the ſhilling that lay upon the table rear⯑ed itſelf upon its edge, and turning the face towards me, opened its mouth, and in a ſoft ſilver ſound gave me the following account of his life and adventures:

I was born, ſays he, on the fide of a mountain, near a little village of Peru, and made a voyage to England in an ingot, under the convoy of Sir Francis Drake. I was, ſoon after my arrival, taken out of my Indian habit, re⯑ſined, naturalized, and put into the Britiſh mode, with the face of queen Elizabeth on one fide, and the arms of the country on the other. Being thus equipped, I found in me a wonderful inclination to ramble, and viſit all the parts of the new world into which I was brought. The people very much favoured my natural diſpoſition, and ſhifted me ſo faſt from hand to hand, that before I was five years old, I had travelled into almoſt every corner of the nation. But in the beginning of my ſixth year, to my unſpeakable grief, I fell into the hands of a miſe⯑rable old fellow, who clapped me into an iron cheſt, where I found five hundred more of my own quality who lay under the ſame conſinement. The only relief we had, was to be taken out and counted over in the freſh air e⯑very morning and evening. After an impriſonment of ſeveral years, we heard ſome body knocking at our cheſt, and breaking it open with an hammer. This we found was the old man's heir, who, as his father lay a dying, was ſo good as to come to our releaſe: he ſeparated us that very day. What was the fate of my companions I know not: as for myſelf, I was ſent to the apothecary's ſhop for a pint of ſack. The apothecary gave me to an herb-woman, the herb-woman to a butcher, the butcher to a brewer, and the brewer to his wife, who made a pre⯑ſent of me to a nonconformiſt preacher. After this man⯑ner I made my way merrily through the world; for, as [211] I told you before, we ſhillings love nothing ſo much as travelling. I ſometimes fetched in a ſhoulder of mutton, ſometimes a play-book, and often had the ſatisfaction to treat a Templer at the twelve-peny ordinary, or carry him with three friends to Weſtminſter-Hall.

In the midſt of this pleaſant progreſs which I made from place to place, I was arreſted by a ſuperſtitious old woman, who ſhut me up in a greazy purſe, in purſuance of a fooliſh ſaying, That while ſhe kept a queen Eliza⯑beth's ſhilling about her, ſhe ſhould never be without mo⯑ney. I continued here a cloſe priſoner for many months, till at laſt I was exchanged for eight and forty farthings.

I thus rambled from pocket to pocket till the begin⯑ning of the civil wars, when, to my ſhame be it ſpoken, I was employed in raiſing ſoldiers againſt the king: for being of a very tempting breadth, a ſergeant made uſe of me to inveigle country fellows, and liſt them in the ſer⯑vice of the parliament.

As ſoon as he had made one man ſure, his way was to oblige him to take a ſhilling of a more homely figure, and then practiſe the ſame trick upon another. Thus I continued doing great miſchief to the crown, till my of⯑ficer, chancing one morning to walk abroad earlier than ordinary, ſacrificed me to his pleaſures, and made uſe of me to ſeduce a milk-maid. This wench bent me, and gave me to her ſweet-heart, applying more properly than ſhe intended the uſual form of, To my love and from my love. This ungenerous gallant, marrying her within few days after, pawned me for a dram of brandy, and drink⯑ing me out next day, I was beaten flat with an hammer, and again ſet a running.

After many adventures, which it would be tedious to relate, I was ſent to a young ſpendthrift, in company with the will of his deceaſed father. The young fellow, who I found was very extravagant, gave great demonſtrations of joy at the receiving of the will: but opening it, he found himſelf diſinherited and cut off from the poſſeſſion of a fair eſtate, by virtue of my being made a preſent to [212] him. This put him into ſuch a paſſion, that after hav⯑ing taken me in his hand, and curſed me, he ſquirred me away from him as far as he could fling me. I chanced to light in an unfrequented place under a dead wall, where I lay undiſcovered and uſeleſs, during the uſurpation of Oliver Cromwell.

About a year after the king's return, a poor cavalier, that was walking there about dinner-time, fortunately caſt his eye upon me, and, to the great joy of us both, car⯑ried me to a cook's ſhop, where he dined upon me, and drank the king's health. When I came again into the world, I found that I had been happier in my retirement than I thought, having probably by that means eſcaped wearing a monſtrous pair of breeches.

Being now of great credit and antiquity, I was rather looked upon as a medal than an ordinary coin; for which reaſon a gameſter laid hold of me, and converted me to a counter, having got together ſome dozens of us for that uſe. We led a melancholy life in his poſſeſſion, be⯑ing buſy at thoſe hours wherein current coin is at reſt, and partaking the fate of our maſter, being in a few mo⯑ments valued at a crown, a pound, or a ſixpence, accord⯑ing to the ſituation in which the fortune of the cards placed us. I had at length the good luck to ſee my ma⯑ſter break, by which means I was again ſent abroad un⯑der my primitive denomination of a ſhilling.

I ſhall paſs over many other accidents of leſs moment, and haſten to that fatal cataſtrophe when I fell into the hands of an artiſt who conveyed me under ground, and with an unmerciful pair of ſheers cut off my titles, clip⯑ped my brims, retrenched my ſhape, rubbed me to my in⯑moſt ring, and, in ſhort, ſo ſpoiled and pillaged me, that he did not leave me worth a groat. You may think what a confuſion I was in to ſee myſelf thus curtailed and dis⯑figured. I ſhould have been aſhamed to have ſhewn my head, had not all my old acquaintance been reduced to the ſame ſhameful figure, excepting ſome few that were punched through the belly. In the midſt of this gene⯑ral [213] calamity, when every body thought our misfortune irretrievable, and our caſe deſperate, we were thrown in⯑to the furnace together, and (as it often happens with cities riſing out of a fire) appeared with greater beauty and luſtre than we could ever boaſt of before. What has happened to me ſince this change of ſex which you now ſee, I ſhall take ſome other opportunity to relate. In the mean time I ſhall only repeat two adventures, as being very extraordinary, and neither of them having ever hap⯑pened to me above once in my life. The firſt was, my being in a poet's pocket, who was ſo taken with the bright⯑neſs and novelty of my appearance, that it gave occaſion to the fineſt burleſque poem in the Britiſh language, en⯑titled from me, The ſplendid Shilling. The ſecond ad⯑venture, which I muſt not omit, happened to me in the year 1703, when I was given away in charity to a blind man; but indeed this was by a miſtake, the perſon who gave me having heedleſly thrown me into the hat among a penyworth of farthings.

No. 250. Tueſday, November 14, 1710.

I LAST winter erected a court of juſtice for the cor⯑recting of ſeveral enormities in dreſs and behaviour, which are not cognizable in any other courts of this realm. The vintner's caſe, which I there tried, is ſtill freſh in every man's memory. That of the petticoat gave alſo a general ſatisfaction, not to mention the more important points of the cane and perſpective; in which, if I did not give judgments and decrees according to the ſtricteſt rules of equity and juſtice, I can ſafely ſay, I acted according to the beſt of my underſtanding. But as for the proceed⯑ings of that court, I ſhall refer my reader to an account [214] of them, written by my ſecretary, which is now in the preſs, and will ſhortly be publiſhed under the title of, Lillie's Reports.

As I laſt year preſided over a court of juſtice, it is my intention this year to ſet myſelf at the head of a court of honour. There is no court of this nature any where at preſent, except in France, where, according to the beſt of my intelligence, it conſiſts of ſuch only as are marſhals of that kingdom. I am likewiſe informed, that there is not one of that honourable board at preſent who has not been driven out of the field by the duke of Marlbo⯑rough: but whether this be only an accidental or a ne⯑ceſſary qualification, I muſt confeſs I am not able to de⯑termine.

As for the court of honour of which I am here ſpeak⯑ing, I intend to ſit myſelf in it as preſident, with ſeveral men of honour on my right hand, and women of virtue on my left, as my aſſiſtants. The firſt place of the bench I have given to an old Tangereen captain with a wooden leg. The ſecond is a gentleman of a long twiſted periwig without a curl in it, a muff with very little hair upon it, and a thread-bare coat with new buttons, being a perſon of great worth, and ſecond brother to a man of quality. The third is a gentleman uſher, extremely well read in ro⯑mances, and grandſon to one of the greateſt wits in Ger⯑many, who was ſome time maſter of the ceremonies to the duke of Wolfembuttel.

As for thoſe who ſit further on my right hand, as it is uſual in public courts, they are ſuch as will fill up the number of faces upon the bench, and ſerve rather, for or⯑nament than uſe.

The chief upon my left hand are, an old maiden lady, that preſerves ſome of the beſt blood of England in her veins.

A Welſh woman of a little ſtature, but high ſpirit.

An old prude that has cenſured every marriage for theſe thirty years, and is lately wedded to a young rake.

Having thus furniſhed my bench, I ſhall eſtabliſh cor⯑reſpondencies [215] with the horſe-guards, and the veterans of Chelſea-College; the former to furniſh me with twelve men of honour as often as I ſhall have occaſion for a grand jury, and the latter with as many good men and true for a petty jury.

As for the women of virtue, it will not be difficult for me to find them about mid-night at crimp and baſ⯑ſet.

Having given this public notice of my court, I muſt further add, that I intend to open it on this day ſeven⯑night, being Monday the twentieth inſtant; and do here⯑by invite all ſuch as have ſuffered injuries and affronts, that are not to be redreſſed by the common laws of this land, whether they be ſhort bows, cold ſalutations, ſu⯑percilious looks, unreturned ſmiles, diſtant behaviour, or forced familiarity; as alſo all ſuch as have been aggrieved by any ambiguous expreſſion, accidental juſtle, or unkind repartee; likewiſe all ſuch as have been defrauded of their right to the wall, tricked out of the upper end of the table, or have been ſuffered to place themſelves in their own wrong on the back-ſeat of the coach: Theſe, and all of theſe, I do, as is above-ſaid, invite to bring in their ſeveral caſes and complaints, in which they ſhall be relieved with all imaginable expedition.

I am very ſenſible, that the office I have now taken up⯑on me will engage me in the diſquiſition of many weigh⯑ty points that daily perplex the youth of the Britiſh na⯑tion, and therefore I have already diſcuſſed ſeveral of them for my future uſe; as, How far a man may brandiſh his cane in the telling a ſtory, without inſulting his hearer? What degree of contradiction amounts to the lie? How a man ſhould reſent another's ſtaring and cocking a hat in his face? If aſking pardon is an atonement for tread⯑ing upon one's toes? Whether a man may put up a box on the ear received from a ſtranger in the dark? Or, Whether a man of honour may take a blow of his wife? with ſeveral other ſubtilties of the like nature.

For my direction in the duties of my office, I have fur⯑niſhed [216] myſelf with a certain aſtrological pair of ſcales which I have contrived for this purpoſe. In one of them I lay the injuries, in the other the reparations. The firſt are repreſented by little weights made of a metal reſembling iron, and the other in gold. Theſe are not only lighter than the weights made uſe of in averdupois, but alſo than ſuch as are uſed in troy-weight. The heavieſt of thoſe that repreſent the injuries, amount to but a ſcruple; and decreaſe by ſo many ſub-diviſions, that there are ſeveral imperceptible weights which cannot be ſeen without the help of a very fine microſcope. I might acquaint my reader, that theſe ſcales were made under the influence of the ſun when he was in libra, and deſcribe many ſigna⯑tures on the weights both of injury and reparation: but as this would look rather to proceed from an oſtentation of my own art than any care for the public, I ſhall paſs it over in ſilence.

No. 253. Tueſday, November 21, 1710.
Extract of the Journal of the Court of Honour, 1710.

THE court being ſate, an oath prepared by the cen⯑ſor was adminiſtered to the aſſiſtants on his right hand, who were all ſworn upon their honour. The women on his left hand took the ſame oath upon their reputation. Twelve gentlemen of the horſe-guards were impannelled, having unanimouſly choſen Mr. Alexander Truncheon, who is their right-hand man in the troop, for their fore⯑man in the jury. Mr. Truncheon immediately drew his ſword, and holding it with the point towards his own body, preſented it to the cenſor. Mr. Bickerſtaffe receiv⯑ed [217] it, and after having ſurveyed the breadth of the blade, and ſharpneſs of the point, with more than ordinary at⯑tention, returned it to the foreman in a very graceful manner. The reſt of the jury, upon the delivery of the ſword to their foreman, drew all of them together as one man, and ſaluted the bench with ſuch an air, as ſignified the moſt reſigned ſubmiſſion to thoſe who commanded them, and the greateſt magnanimity to execute what they ſhould command.

Mr. Bickerſtaffe, after having received the compliments on his right-hand, caſt his eye upon the left, where the whole female jury paid their reſpects by a low curtſie, and by laying their hands upon their mouths. Their fore⯑woman was a profeſſed Platoniſt, that had ſpent much of her time in exhorting the ſex to ſet a juſt value upon their perſons, and to make the men know themſelves.

There followed a profound ſilence, when at length, af⯑ter ſome recollection, the cenſor, who continued hither⯑to uncovered, put on his hat with great dignity; and af⯑ter having compoſed the brims of it in a manner ſuitable to the gravity of his character, he gave the following charge, which was received with ſilence and attention, that being the only applauſe which he admits of, or is ever given in his preſence.

N.B. The ſequel of the proceedings of this day will be publiſhed on Tueſday next.

No. 254. Thurſday, November 23. 1710.

THERE are no books which I more delight in than in travels, eſpecially thoſe that deſcribe remote coun⯑tries, and give the writer an opportunity of ſhewing his parts without incurring any danger of being examined or contradicted. Among all the authors of this kind, our re⯑nowned country-man Sir John Mandeville has diſtin⯑guiſhed himſelf by the copiouſneſs of his invention, and greatneſs of his genius. The ſecond to Sir John I take to have been Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, a perſon of in⯑finite adventure, and unbounded imagination. One reads the voyages of theſe two great wits with as much aſto⯑niſhment [221] as the travels of Ulyſſes in Homer, or of the Red-Croſs knight in Spenſer. All is enchanted ground, and fairy land.

I have got into my hands by great chance ſeveral ma⯑nuſcripts of theſe two eminent authors, which are filled with greater wonders than any of thoſe they have com⯑municated to the public; and indeed, were they not ſo well atteſted, would appear altogether improbable. I am apt to think, the ingenious authors did not publiſh them with the reſt of their works, leſt they ſhould paſs for fi⯑ctions and fables: a caution not unneceſſary, when the re⯑putation of their veracity was not yet eſtabliſhed in the world. But as this reaſon has now no further weight, I ſhall make the public a preſent of theſe curious pieces at ſuch times as I ſhall find myſelf unprovided with other ſubjects.

The preſent paper I intend to fill with an extract of Sir John's journal, in which that learned and worthy knight gives an account of the freezing and thawing of ſeveral ſhort ſpeeches which he made in the territories of Nova Zembla. I need not inform my reader, that the author of Hudibras alludes to this ſtrange quality in that cold climate, when, ſpeaking of abſtracted notions clothed in a viſible ſhape, he adds that apt ſimile,

Not to keep my reader any longer in ſuſpence, the re⯑lation put into modern language is as follows:

We were ſeparated by a ſtorm in the latitude of 73, in⯑ſomuch that only the ſhip which I was in; with a Dutch and a French veſſel, got ſafe into a creek of Nova Zembla. We landed, in order to reſit our veſſels, and ſtore ourſelves with proviſions. The crew of each veſſel made themſelves a cabin of turf and wood, at ſome diſtance from each o⯑ther, to fence themſelves againſt the inclemencies of the weather, which was ſevere beyond imagination. We ſoon obſerved, that in talking to one another we loſt ſeveral of our words, and could not hear one another at above [222] two yards diſtance, and that too when we ſate very near the fire. After much perplexity, I found that our words froze in the air before they could reach the ears of the perſon to whom they were ſpoken. I was ſoon confirm⯑ed in this conjecture, when, upon the encreaſe of the cold, the whole company grew dumb or rather deaf; for every man was ſenſible, as we afterwards found, that he ſpoke as well as ever; but the ſounds no ſooner took air, than they were condenſed and loſt. It was now a miſerable ſpectacle to ſee us nodding and gaping at one another, e⯑very man talking, and no man heard. One might ob⯑ſerve a ſeaman, that could hail a ſhip at a league diſtance, beckoning with his hands, ſtraining his lungs, and tear⯑ing his throat, but all in vain.

We continued here three weeks in this diſmal plight. At length, upon a turn of wind, the air about us began to thaw. Our cabin was immediately filled with a dry clat⯑tering ſound, which I afterwards found to be the crack⯑ling of conſonants that broke above our heads, and were often mixed with a gentle hiſſing, which I imputed to the letter S, that occurs ſo frequently in the Engliſh tongue. I ſoon after felt a breeze of whiſpers ruſhing by my ear; for thoſe being of a ſoft and gentle ſubſtance, immediate⯑ly liquefied in the warm wind that blew acroſs our cabin. Theſe were ſoon followed by ſyllables and ſhort words, and at length by entire ſentences, that melted ſooner or latter, as they were more or leſs congealed; ſo that we now heard every thing that had been ſpoken during the whole three weeks that we had been ſilent, if I may uſe that expreſſion. It was now very early in the morning, and yet, to my ſurprize, I heard ſome body ſay, Sir John, it is midnight, and time for the ſhip's crew to go to bed. This I knew to be the pilot's voice, and upon recollect⯑ing myſelf, I concluded that he had ſpoken theſe words to me ſome days before, though I could not hear them be⯑fore the preſent thaw. My reader will eaſily imagine how [223] the whole crew was amazed, to hear every man talking, and ſee no man opening his mouth. In the midſt of this great ſurprize we were all in, we heard a volley of oaths and curſes, laſting for a long while, and uttered in a ve⯑ry hoarſe voice, which I knew belonged to the boatſwain, who was a very choleric fellow, and had taken his oppor⯑tunity of curſing and ſwearing at me when he thought I could not hear him; for I had ſeveral times given him the ſtrapado on that account, as I did not fail to repeat it for theſe his pious ſoliloquies when I got him on ſhip⯑board.

I muſt not omit the names of ſeveral beauties in Wap⯑ping, which were heard every now and then, in the midſt of a long ſigh that accompanied them; as, Dear Kate! Pretty Mrs. Peggy! When ſhall I ſee my Sue again? this betrayed ſeveral amours which had been concealed till that time, and furniſhed us with a great deal of mirth in our return to England.

When this confuſion of voices was pretty well over, though I was afraid to offer at ſpeaking, as fearing I ſhould not be heard, I propoſed a viſit to the Dutch cabin, which lay about a mile further up into the country. My crew were extremely rejoiced to find they had again recover⯑ed their hearing, though every man uttered his voice with the ſame apprehenſions that I had done:

At about half a mile's diſtance from our cabin, we heard the groanings of a bear, which at firſt ſtartled us; but upon enquiry we were informed by ſome of our compa⯑ny, that he was dead, and now lay in ſalt, having been killed upon that very ſpot about a fortnight before, in the time of the froſt. Not far from the ſame place we were likewiſe entertained with ſome poſthumous ſnarls and barkings of a fox.

We at length arrived at the little Dutch ſettlement, and upon entering the room, found it filled with ſighs that ſmelt of brandy, and ſeveral other unfavoury ſounds [224] that were altogether inarticulate. My valet, who was an Iriſhman, fell into ſo great a rage at what he heard, that he drew his ſword; but not knowing where to lay the blame, he put it up again. We were ſtunned with theſe confuſed noiſes, but did not hear a ſingle word till about half an hour after; which I aſcribed to the harſh and ob⯑durate ſounds of that language, which wanted more time than ours to melt and become audible.

After having here met with a very hearty welcome, we went to the French cabin, who, to make amends for their three weeks ſilence, were talking and diſputing with great⯑er rapidity and confuſion than ever I heard in an aſſem⯑bly even of that nation. Their language, as I found, up⯑on the firſt giving of the weather, fell aſunder and diſ⯑ſolved. I was here convinced of an error into which I had before fallen; for I fancied, that for the freezing of the ſound, it was neceſſary for it to be wrapped up, and, as it were, preſerved in breath; but I found my miſtake, when I heard the ſound of a kit playing a minuit over our heads. I aſked the occaſion of it; upon which one of the company told me, that it would play there above a week longer if the thaw continued; for, ſays he, find⯑ing ourſelves bereft of ſpeech, we prevailed upon one of the company, who had this muſical inſtrument about him, to play to us from morning to night; all which time we employed in dancing, in order to diſſipate our chagrin, et tuer le temps.

Here Sir John gives very good philoſophical reaſons, why the kit could be heard during the froſt; but as they are ſomething prolix, I paſs over them in ſilence, and ſhall only obſerve, that the honourable author ſeems, by his quotations, to have been well verſed in the ancient poets, which perhaps raiſed his fancy above the ordina⯑ry pitch of hiſtorians, and very much contributed to the embelliſhment of his writings.

No. 255. Saturday, November 25. 1710.

The caſe of this gentleman deſerves pity, eſpecially if he loves ſweet-meats, to which, if I may gueſs by his letter, he is no enemy. In the mean time, I have often wondered at the indecency of diſcarding the holieſt man from the table as ſoon as the moſt delicious parts of the entertainment are ſerved up, and could never conceive a reaſon for ſo abſurd a cuſtom. Is it becauſe a liquoriſh palate, or a ſweet tooth (as they call it) is not conſiſtent with the ſanctity of his character? This is but a trifling pretence. No man of the moſt rigid virtue gives offence [226] by any exceſſes in plumb-pudding or plumb-porridge, and that becauſe they are the firſt parts of the dinner. Is there any thing that tends to incitation in ſweetmeats more than in ordinary diſhes? Certainly not. Sugar-plumbs are a very innocent diet, and conſerves of a much colder nature than our common pickles. I have ſometimes thought, that the ceremony of the chaplain's flying away from the deſſert was typical and figurative, to mark out to the company how they ought to retire from all the lu⯑ſcious baits of temptation, and deny their appetites the gratifications that are moſt pleaſing to them; or at leaſt to ſignify, that we ought to ſtint ourſelves in our moſt lawful ſatisfactions, and not make our pleaſure, but our ſupport, the end of eating: but moſt certainly, if ſuch a leſſon of temperance had been neceſſary at a table, our clergy would have recommended it to all the lay-maſters of families, and not have diſturbed other mens tables with ſuch unſeaſonable examples of abſtinence. The original therefore of this barbarous cuſtom, I take to have been meerly accidental. The chaplain retired out of pure com⯑plaiſance to make room for the removal of the diſhes, or poſſibly for the ranging of the deſſert. This by degrees grew into a duty, till at length, as the faſhion improved, the good man found himſelf cut off from the third part of the entertainment; and if the arrogance of the patron goes on, it is not impoſſible but, in the next generation, he may ſee himſelf reduced to the tythe, or tenth diſh of the table; a ſufficient caution not to part with any pri⯑vilege we are once poſſeſſed of. It was uſual for the prieſt in old times to feaſt upon the ſacrifice, nay the ho⯑ney-cake, while the hungry laity looked upon him with great devotion, or as the late lord Rocheſter deſcribes it in a lively manner,

At preſent the cuſtom is inverted; the laity feaſt, while the prieſt ſtands by as an humble ſpectator. This neceſ⯑ſarily puts the good man upon making great ravages upon [227] all the diſhes that ſtand near him, and diſtinguiſhing him⯑ſelf by voraciouſneſs of appetite, as knowing that his time is ſhort. I would fain aſk theſe ſtiffnecked patrons, whe⯑ther they would not take it ill of a chaplain that, in his grace after meat, ſhould return thanks for the whole en⯑tertainment, with an exception to the deſſert? And yet I cannot but think, that in ſuch a proceeding he would but deal with them as they deſerved. What would a Ro⯑man catholic prieſt think, who is always helped firſt, and placed next the ladies, ſhould he ſee a clergyman giving his company the ſlip at the firſt appearance of the tarts or ſweet-meats? Would not he believe that he had the ſame antipathy to a candied orange, or a piece of puff⯑paſte, as ſome have to a Cheſhire cheeſe, or a breaſt of mutton? Yet to ſo ridiculous a height is this fooliſh cu⯑ſtom grown, that even the Chriſtmas pye, which in its very nature is a kind of conſecrated cate, and a badge of diſtinction, is often forbidden to the druid of the fami⯑ly. Strange! that a ſirloin of beef, whether boiled or roaſt⯑ed, when entire, is expoſed to his utmoſt depredations and inciſions; but if minced into ſmall pieces, and toſ⯑ſed up with plumbs and ſugar, changes its property, and ſorſooth, is meat for his maſter.

In this caſe I know not which to cenſure, the patron or the chaplain, the inſolence of power, or the abjectneſs of dependence. For my own part, I have often bluſhed to ſee a gentleman, whom I knew to have much more wit and learning than myſelf, and who was bred up with me at the univerſity upon the ſame foot of a liberal edu⯑cation, treated in ſuch an ignominious manner, and ſunk beneath thoſe of his own rank, by reaſon of that chara⯑cter which ought to bring him honour. This deters men of generous minds from placing themſelves in ſuch a ſta⯑tion of life, and by that means frequently excludes per⯑ſons of quality from the improving and agreeable con⯑verſation of a learned and obſequious friend.

Mr. Oldham lets us know, that he was affrighted from [228] the thought of ſuch an employment, by the ſcandalous ſort of treatment which often accompanies it.

This author's raillery is the raillery of a friend, and does not turn the ſacred order into ridicule, but is a juſt cenſure on ſuch perſons as take advantage from the neceſſities of a man of merit, to impoſe on him hard⯑ſhips that are by no means ſuitable to the dignity of his profeſſion.

No. 256. Tueſday, November 28. 1710.
The proceedings of the Court of Honour, held in Sheer-lane on Monday the 20th of November 1710, before Iſaac Bickerſtaffe Eſq cenſor of Great Britain.

PETER PLUMB, of London, merchant, was in⯑dicted by the honourable Mr. Thomas Gules of Gule-hall in the county of Salop, for that the ſaid Pe⯑ter Plumb did in Lombard-ſtreet, London, between the hours of two and three in the afternoon, meet the ſaid Mr. Thomas Gules, and after a ſhort ſalutation, put on his hat, value fivepence, while the honourable Mr. Gules ſtood bareheaded for the ſpace of two ſeconds. It was further urged againſt the criminal, that during his diſ⯑courſe with the proſecutor, he feloniouſly ſtole the wall of him, having clapped his back againſt it in ſuch a man⯑ner that it was impoſſible for Mr. Gules to recover it a⯑gain at his taking leave of him. The proſecutor al⯑leged, that he was the cadet of a very ancient family, and that according to the principles of all the younger brothers of the ſaid family, he had never ſullied himſelf with buſineſs, but had choſen rather to ſtarve like a man of honour, than do any thing beneath his quality. He produced ſeveral witneſſes, that he had never employed himſelf beyond the twiſting of a whip, or the making of a pair of nut-crackers, in which he only worked for his diverſion, in order to make a preſent now and then to his friends. The priſoner being aſked what he could ſay for himſelf, caſt ſeveral reflections upon the honour⯑able Mr. Gules; as, that he was not worth a groat; that no body in the city would truſt him for a halfpenny; that he owed him money which he had promiſed to pay him ſeveral times, but never kept his word: and in ſhort, that he was an idle, beggarly fellow, and of no uſe to the [230] public. This ſort of language was very ſeverely repri⯑manded by the cenſor, who told the criminal, that he ſpoke in contempt of the court, and that he ſhould be proceeded againſt for contumacy, if he did not change his ſtyle. The priſoner therefore deſired to be heard by his council, who urged in his defence, that he put on his hat through ignorance, and took the wall by accident. They likewiſe produced ſeveral witneſſes, that he made ſeveral motions with his hat in his hand, which are generally underſtood as an invitation to the perſon we talk with to be covered; and that the gentleman not taking the hint, he was forced to put on his hat, as being troubled with a cold. There was likewiſe an Iriſhman who de⯑poſed, that he had heard him cough three and twenty times that morning. And as for the wall, it was alleged, that he had taken it inadvertently, to ſave himſelf from a ſhower of rain which was then falling. The cenſor hav⯑ing conſulted the men of honour who ſate at his right hand on the bench, found they were of opinion, that the defence made by the priſoner's council did rather aggra⯑vate than extenuate his crime; that the motions and in⯑timations of the hat were a token of ſuperiority in con⯑verſation, and therefore not to be uſed by the criminal to a man of the proſecutor's quality, who was likewiſe veſted with a double title to the wall at the time of their converſation, both as it was the upper hand, and as it was a ſhelter from the weather. The evidence being ve⯑ry full and clear, the jury, without going out of the court, declared their opinion unanimouſly by the mouth of their foreman, that the proſecutor was bound in honour to make the ſun ſhine through the criminal, or, as they af⯑terwards explained themſelves, to whip him through the lungs.

The cenſor knitting his brows into a frown, and look⯑ing very ſternly upon the jury, after a little pauſe, gave them to know, that this court was erected for the find⯑ing out of penalties ſuitable to offences, and to reſtrain the outrages of private juſtice; and that he expected they [231] ſhould moderate their verdict. The jury therefore re⯑tired, and being willing to comply with the advices of the cenſor, after an hour's conſultation, declared their opi⯑nion as follows:

That in conſideration this was Peter Plumb's firſt of⯑fence, and that there did not appear any malice propenſe in it, as alſo that he lived in good reputation among his neighbours, and that his taking the wall was only ſe de⯑fendendo, the proſecutor ſhould let him eſcape with life, and content himſelf with the ſlitting of his noſe, and the cutting off both his ears. Mr. Bickerſtaffe ſmiling upon the court, told them, that he thought the puniſhment, even under its preſent mitigation, too ſevere; and that ſuch penalties might be of ill conſequence in a trading nation. He therefore pronounced ſentence againſt the criminal, in the following manner: That his hat, which was the inſtrument of offence, ſhould be forfeited to the court; that the criminal ſhould go to the warehouſe from whence he came, and thence, as occaſion ſhould require, proceed to the Exchange, or Garraway's coffee-houſe, in what manner he pleaſed; but that neither he nor any of the family of the Plumbs ſhould hereafter appear in the ſtreets of London out of their coaches, that ſo the foot-way might be left open and undiſturbed for their betters.

Dathan, a peddling Jew, and T. R—, a Welſh⯑man, were indicted by the keeper of an ale-houſe in Weſt⯑minſter, for breaking the peace and two earthen mugs, in a diſpute about the antiquity of their families, to the great detriment of the houſe, and diſturbance of the whole neighbourhood. Dathan ſaid for himſelf, that he was provoked to it by the Welſhman, who pretended, that the Welſh were an ancienter people than the Jews; where⯑as, ſays he, I can ſhew by this genealogy in my hand, that I am the ſon of Meſheck, that was the ſon of Naboth, that was the ſon of Shalem, that was the ſon of—The Welſhman here interrupted him, and told him, that he could produce ſhennalogy as well as himſelf; for that he was John ap Rice, ap Shenkin, ap Shones. He then [232] turned himſelf to the cenſor, and told him in the ſame broken accent, and with much warmth, that the Jew would needs uphold, that king Cadwallader was younger than Iſſachar. Mr. Bickerſtaffe ſeemed very much inclined to give ſentence againſt Dathan, as being a Jew, but find⯑ing reaſons, by ſome expreſſions which the Welſhman let fall in aſſerting the antiquity of his family, to ſuſpect that the ſaid Welſhman was a Prae-Adamite, he ſuffered the jury to go out, without any previous admonition. Af⯑ter ſome time they returned, and gave their verdict, that it appearing the perſons at the bar did neither of them wear a ſword, and that conſequently they had no right to quarrel upon a point of honour; to prevent ſuch frivolous appeals for the future, they ſhould both of them be toſ⯑ſed in the ſame blanket, and there adjuſt the ſuperiority as they could agree it between themſelves. The cenſor confirmed the verdict.

Richard Newman was indicted by major Punto, for having uſed the words, Perhaps it may be ſo, in a diſpute with the ſaid major. The major urged, that the word, perhaps, was queſtioning his veracity, and that it was an indirect manner of giving him the lie. Richard Newman had nothing more to ſay for himſelf, than that he intend⯑ed no ſuch thing, and threw himſelf upon the mercy of the court. The jury brought in their verdict ſpecial.

Mr. Bickerſtaffe ſtood up, and after having caſt his eyes over the whole aſſembly, hemmed thrice. He then acquainted them, that he had laid down a rule to himſelf, which he was reſolved never to depart from, and which, as he conceived, would very much conduce to the ſhort⯑ening the buſineſs of the court; I mean, ſays he, never to allow of the lie being given by conſtruction, implica⯑tion, or induction, but by the ſole uſe of the word itſelf. He then proceeded to ſhew the great miſchiefs that had ariſen to the Engliſh nation from that pernicious mono⯑ſyllable; that it had bred the moſt fatal quarrels between the deareſt friends; that it had frequently thinned the guards, and made great havoc in the army; that it had [233] ſometimes weakened the city trained-bands; and, in a word, had deſtroyed many of the braveſt men in the iſle of Great Britain. For the prevention of which evils for the future, he inſtructed the jury to preſent the word itſelf as a nuiſance in the Engliſh tongue; and further promiſed them, that he would, upon ſuch their preſentment, pub⯑liſh an edict of the court for the entire baniſhment and excluſion of it out of the diſcourſes and converſation of all civil ſocieties.

Monday next is ſet apart for the trial of ſeveral female cauſes.

N.B. The caſe of the haſſoc will come on between the hours of nine and ten.

No. 257. Thurſday, November 30, 1710.

EVERY nation is diſtinguiſhed by productions that are peculiar to it. Great Britain is particularly fruit⯑ful in religions, that ſhoot up and flouriſh in this climate more than in any other. We are ſo famous abroad for our great variety of ſects and opinions, that an ingenious friend of mine, who is lately returned from his travels, aſſures me, there is a ſhow at this time carried up and down in Germany, which repreſents all the religions in Great Britain in wax-work. Notwithſtanding that the pliancy of the matter in which the images are wrought [234] makes it capable of being moulded into all ſhapes and fi⯑gures, my friend tells me, that he did not think it poſ⯑ſible for it to be twiſted and tortured into ſo many ſkrew⯑ed faces and wry features as appeared in ſeveral of the fi⯑gures that compoſed the ſhow. I was indeed ſo pleaſed with the deſign of the German artiſt, that I begged my friend to give me an account of it in all its particulars, which he did after the following manner:

I have often, ſays he, been preſent at a ſhow of ele⯑phants, camels, dromedaries, and other ſtrange creatures, but I never ſaw ſo great an aſſembly of ſpectators as were met together at the opening of this great piece of wax⯑work. We were all placed in a large hall, according to the price that we had paid for our ſeats: the curtain that hung before the ſhow was made by a maſter of tapeſtry, who had woven it in the figure of a monſtrous Hydra that had ſeveral heads, which brandiſhed out their tongues, and ſeemed to hiſs at each other. Some of theſe heads were large and entire; and where any of them had been lopped away, there ſprouted up ſeveral in the room of them; inſomuch that for one head cut off, a man might ſee ten, twenty, or an hundred of a ſmaller ſize, creeping through the wound. In ſhort, the whole picture was no⯑thing but confuſion and bloodſhed. On a ſudden, ſays my friend, I was ſtartled with a flouriſh of many muſical inſtruments that I had never heard before, which was fol⯑lowed by a ſhort tune (if it might be ſo called) wholly made up of jars and diſcords. Among the reſt, there was an organ, a bag-pipe, a groaning-board, a Stentoropho⯑nic trumpet, with ſeveral wind-inſtruments of a moſt diſagreeable ſound, which I do not ſo much as know the names of. After a ſhort flouriſh, the curtain was drawn up, and we were preſented with the moſt extraordinary aſſembly of figures that ever entered into a man's ima⯑gination. The deſign of the workman was ſo well ex⯑preſſed in the dumb thow before us, that it was not hard for an Engliſhman to comprehend the meaning of it.

The principal figures were placed in a row, conſiſting [235] of ſeven perſons. The middle figure, which immediate⯑ly attracted the eyes of the whole company, and was much bigger than the reſt, was formed like a matron, dreſſed in the habit of an elderly woman of quality in queen E⯑liſabeth's days. The moſt remarkable parts of her dreſs, was the beaver with the ſteeple crown, the ſcarf that was darker than ſable, and the lawn apron that was whiter than ermin. Her gown was of the richeſt black velvet, and juſt upon her heart ſtudded with large diamonds of an ineſtimable value, diſpoſed in the form of a croſs. She bore an inexpreſſible chearfulneſs and dignity in her aſ⯑pect; and though ſhe ſeemed in years, appeared with ſo much ſpirit and vivacity, as gave her at the ſame time an air of old age and immortality. I found my heart touch⯑ed with ſo much love and reverence at the ſight of her, that the tears ran down my face as I looked upon her; and ſtill the more I looked upon her, the more my heart was melted with the ſentiments of filial tenderneſs and duty. I diſcovered every moment ſomething ſo charm⯑ing in this figure, that I could ſcarce take my eyes off it. On its right hand there ſate the figure of a woman ſo co⯑vered with ornaments, that her face, her body, and her hands, were almoſt entirely hid under them. The little you could ſee of her face was painted; and what I thought very odd, had ſomething in it like artificial wrinkles; but I was the leſs ſurpriſed at it, when I ſaw upon her fore⯑head an old faſhioned tower of grey hairs. Her head⯑dreſs roſe very high by three ſeveral ſtories or degrees; her garments had a thouſand colours in them, and were embroidered with croſſes in gold, ſilver and ſilk: ſhe had nothing on, ſo much as a glove or a ſlipper, which was not marked with this figure; nay, ſo ſuperſtitiouſly fond did ſhe appear of it, that ſhe ſate croſs-legged. I was quickly ſick of this tawdry compoſition of ribands, ſilks and jewels, and therefore caſt my eye on a dame which was juſt the reverſe of it. I need not tell my reader, that the lady before deſcribed was Popery, or that ſhe I am going to deſcribe is Preſbytery. She ſate on the left [236] hand of the venerable matron, and ſo much reſembled her in the features of her countenance, that ſhe ſeemed her ſiſter; but at the ſame time that one obſerved a likeneſs in her beauty, one could not but take notice, that there was ſomething in it ſickly and ſplenetic. Her face had e⯑nough to diſcover the relation, but it was drawn up into a peeviſh figure, ſoured with diſcontent, and overcaſt with melancholy. She ſeemed offended at the matron for the ſhape of her hat, as too much reſembling the triple coronet of the perſon who ſate by her. One might ſee likewiſe, that ſhe diſſented from the white apron and the croſs; for which reaſon ſhe had made herſelf a plain home⯑ly dowdy, and turned her face towards the ſectaries that ſate on the left hand, as being afraid of looking upon the matron, left ſhe ſhould ſee the harlot by her.

On the right hand of Popery ſate Judaiſm, repreſent⯑ed by an old man embroidered with phylacteries, and diſtinguiſhed by many typical figures, which I had not ſkill enough to unriddle. He was placed among the rub⯑biſh of a temple; but inſtead of weeping over it, (which I ſhould have expected from him) he was counting out a bag of money upon the ruins of it.

On his right hand was Deiſm, or Natural Religion. This was a figure of an half-naked aukward country wench, who with proper ornaments and education would have made an agreeable and beautiful appearance; but for want of thoſe advantages, was ſuch a ſpectacle as a man would bluſh to look upon.

I have now, continued my friend, given you an ac⯑count of thoſe who were placed on the right hand of the matron, and who, according to the order in which they ſate, were Deiſm, Judaiſm, and Popery On the left hand, as I told you, appeared Preſbytery. The next to her was a figure which ſomewhat puzzled me: It was that of a man looking, with horror in his eyes, upon a ſilver ba⯑ſon filled with water. Obſerving ſomething in his coun⯑tenance that looked like lunacy, I fancied at firſt that he was to expreſs that kind of diſtraction which the phyſi⯑cians [237] call the hydro-phobia; but conſidering what the intention of the ſhow was, I immediately recollected my⯑ſelf, and concluded it to be Anabaptiſm.

The next figure was a man that ſate under a moſt profound compoſure of mind: he wore an hat whoſe brims were exactly parallel with the horizon: his gar⯑ment had neither ſleeve nor ſkirt, nor ſo much as a ſu⯑perfluous button. What he called his cravat, was a lit⯑tle piece of white linnen quilled with great exactneſs, and hanging below his chin about two inches. Seeing a book in his hand, I aſked our artiſt what it was, who told me it was the Quakers religion; upon which I de⯑ſired a ſight of it. Upon peruſal, I found it to be no⯑thing but a new-faſhioned grammar, or an art of abridg⯑ing ordinary diſcourſe. The nouns were reduced to a very ſmall number, as the light, friend, Babylon. The principal of his pronouns was thou, and as for you, ye, and yours, I found they were not looked upon as parts of ſpeech in this grammar. All the verbs wanted the ſecond perſon plural; the participles ending all in ing or ed, which were marked with a particular accent. There were no adverbs beſides yea and nay. The ſame thrift was obſerved in the prepoſitions. The conjunctions were only hem! and ha! and the interjections brought under the three heads of ſighing, ſobbing, and groaning. There was at the end of the grammar a little nomencla⯑ture, called, the Chriſtian man's vocabulary, which gave new appellations, or (if you will) Chriſtian names to al⯑moſt every thing in life. I replaced the book in the hand of the figure, not without admiring the ſimplicity of its garb, ſpeech and behaviour.

Juſt oppoſite to this row of religions, there was a ſtatue dreſſed in a fool's coat, with a cap of bells upon his head, laughing and pointing at the figures that ſtood before him. This ideot is ſuppoſed to ſay in his heart what David's fool did ſome thouſands of years ago, and was therefore deſigned as a proper repreſentative of thoſe [238] among us who are called Atheiſts and Infidels by others, and Free-thinkers by themſelves.

There were many other groupes of figures which I did not know the meaning of; but ſeeing a collection of both ſexes turning their backs upon the company, and laying their heads very cloſe together, I enquired after their religion, and found that they called themſelves the Philadelphians, or the family of love.

In the oppoſite corner there ſate another little con⯑gregation of ſtrange figures, opening their mouths as wide as they could gape, and diſtinguiſhed by the title of the ſweet ſingers of Iſrael.

I muſt not omit, that in this aſſembly of wax there were ſeveral pieces that moved by clock-work, and gave great ſatisfaction to the ſpectators. Behind the matron there ſtood one of theſe figures, and behind Popery ano⯑ther, which, as the artiſt told us, were each of them the genius of the perſon they attended. That behind Po⯑pery repreſented Perſecution, and the other Moderation. The firſt of theſe moved by ſecret ſprings towards a great heap of dead bodies that lay piled upon one another at a conſiderable diſtance behind the principal figures. There were written on the foreheads of theſe dead men ſeveral hard words, as Prae-Adamites, Sabbatarians, Ca⯑meronians, Muggletonians, Browniſts, Independents, Maſonites, Camiſars, and the like. At the approach of Perſecution, it was ſo contrived, that as ſhe held up her bloody flag, the whole aſſembly of dead men, like thoſe in the Rehearſal, ſtarted up and drew their ſwords. This was followed by great claſhings and noiſe, when, in the midſt of the tumult, the figure of Moderation moved gently towards this new army, which, upon her hold⯑ing up a paper in her hand, inſcribed Liberty of Conſci⯑ence, immediately fell into a heap of carcaſſes, remain⯑ing in the ſame quiet poſture that they lay at firſt.

No. 259. Tueſday, December 5, 1710.
A continuation of the journal of the Court of Honour, held in Sheer-Lane on Monday the 27th of November, before Iſaac Bickerſtaffe, Eſq cenſor of Great Britain.

ELIZABETH MAKEBATE, of the pariſh of St Ca⯑therine's, ſpinſter, was indicted for ſurreptitiouſly taking away the haſſoc from under the lady Grave-Airs, between the hours of four and five, on Sunday the 26th of November. The proſecutor depoſed, that as ſhe ſtood up to make a curtſy to a perſon of quality in a neigh⯑bouring pew, the criminal conveyed away the haſſoc by ſtealth, inſomuch that the proſecutor was obliged to ſit all the while ſhe was at church, or to ſay her prayers in a poſture that did not become a woman of her quality. The priſoner pleaded inadvertency, and the jury were going to bring it in chance-medly, had not ſeveral wit⯑neſſes been produced againſt the ſaid Elizabeth Make⯑bate, that ſhe was an old offender, and a woman of a bad reputation. It appeared in particular, that on the Sun⯑day before ſhe had detracted from a new petticoat of Mrs. Mary Doelittle, having ſaid in the hearing of ſeve⯑ral credible witneſſes, that the ſaid petticoat was ſcowr⯑ed, to the great grief and detriment of the ſaid Mary Doelittle. There were likewiſe many evidences produ⯑ced againſt the criminal, that though ſhe never failed to come to church on Sunday, ſhe was a moſt notorious Sabbath-breaker, and that ſhe ſpent her whole time, du⯑ring divine ſervice, in diſparaging other people's clothes, and whiſpering to thoſe who ſate next her. Upon the whole, ſhe was found guilty of the indictment, and re⯑ceived ſentence to aſk pardon of the proſecutor upon her bare knees, without either cuſhion or haſſoc under her, in the face of the court.

[240] N.B. As ſoon as the ſentence was executed on the criminal, which was done in open court with the utmoſt ſeverity, the firſt lady of the bench on Mr. Bickerſtaffe's right hand ſtood up, and made a motion to the court, that whereas it was impoſſible for women of faſhion to dreſs themſelves before the church was half done, and whereas many confuſions and inconveniencies did ariſe thereupon, it might be lawful for them to ſend a foot⯑man, in order to keep their places, as was uſual in o⯑ther polite and well-regulated aſſemblies. The motion was ordered to be entered in the books, and conſidered at a more convenient time.

Charles Cambric, linen-draper, in the city of Weſt⯑minſter, was indicted for ſpeaking obſcenely to the la⯑dy Penelope Touchwood. It appeared, that the proſe⯑cutor and her woman going in a ſtage-coach from Lon⯑don to Brentford, where they were to be met by the la⯑dy's own chariot, the criminal and another of his ac⯑quaintance travelled with them in the ſame coach, at which time the priſoner talked bawdy for the ſpace of three miles and a half. The proſecutor alleged, that over-againſt the old fox at Knightſbridge he mentioned the word linen; that at the further end of Kenſington he made uſe of the term ſmock; and that before he came to Hammerſmith, he talked almoſt a quarter of an hour upon wedding-ſhifts. The proſecutor's woman con⯑firmed what her lady had ſaid, and added further, that ſhe had never ſeen her lady in ſo great a confuſion, and in ſuch a taking, as ſhe was during the whole diſcourſe of the criminal. The priſoner had little to ſay for him⯑ſelf, but that he talked only in his own trade, and meant no hurt by what he ſaid. The jury however found him guilty, and repreſented by their forewoman, that ſuch diſcourſes were apt to ſully the imagination, and that by a concatenation of ideas, the word linen implied many things that were not proper to be ſtirred up in the mind of a woman who was of the proſecutor's qua⯑lity, and therefore gave it as their verdict, that the li⯑nen-draper [241] ſhould loſe his tongue. Mr. Bickerſtaffe ſaid, he thought the proſecutor's ears were as much to blame as the priſoner's tongue, and therefore gave ſen⯑tence as follows: that they ſhould both be placed over⯑againſt one another in the midſt of the court, there to remain for the ſpace of one quarter of an hour, during which time, the linen-draper was to be gagged, and the lady to hold her hands cloſe upon both her ears, which was executed accordingly.

Edward Callicoat was indicted as an accomplice to Charles Cambric, for that he the ſaid Edward Callicoat did, by his ſilence and his ſmiles, ſeem to approve and a⯑bet the ſaid Charles Cambric in every thing he ſaid. It appeared, that the priſoner was foreman of the ſhop to the aforeſaid Charles Cambric, and by his poſt obliged to ſmile at every thing that the other ſhould be pleaſed to ſay: upon which he was acquitted.

Joſias Shallow was indicted in the name of dame Wi⯑nifred, ſole relict of Richard Dainty, Eſq for having ſaid ſeveral times in company, and in the hearing of ſe⯑veral perſons there preſent, that he was extremely obli⯑ged to the widow Dainty, and that he ſhould never be able ſufficiently to expreſs his gratitude. The proſecu⯑tor urged, that this might blaſt her reputation, and that it was in effect a boaſting of favours which he had ne⯑ver received. The priſoner ſeemed to be much aſto⯑niſhed at the conſtruction which was put upon his words, and ſaid, that he meant nothing by them, but that the widow had befriended him in a leaſe, and was very kind to his younger ſiſter. The jury finding him a little weak in his underſtanding, without going out of the court, brought in their verdict Ignoramus.

Urſula Goodenough was accuſed by the the lady Betty Wou'dbe, for having ſaid, that ſhe the lady Betty Wou'd⯑be was painted. The priſoner brought ſeveral perſons of good credit to witneſs to her reputation, and proved by undeniable evidences, that ſhe was never at the place where the words were ſaid to have been uttered. The [242] cenſor, obſerving the behaviour of the proſecutor, found reaſon to believe that ſhe had indicted the priſoner for no other reaſon but to make her complexion be taken notice of, which indeed was very freſh and beautiful: he therefore aſked the offender with a very ſtern voice, how ſhe could preſume to ſpread ſo groundleſs a report? and whether ſhe ſaw any colours in the lady Wou'dbe's face that could procure credit to ſuch a falſhood? do you ſee (ſays he) any lilies or roſes in her cheeks, any bloom, any probability?—The proſecutor, not able to bear ſuch language any longer, told him, that he talk⯑ed like a blind old fool, and that ſhe was aſhamed to have entertained any opinion of his wiſdom: but ſhe was put to ſilence, and ſentenced to wear her maſk for five months, and not to preſume to ſhew her face till the town ſhould be empty.

Benjamin Buzzard, Eſq was indicted for having told the lady Everbloom at a public ball, that ſhe looked ve⯑ry well for a woman of her years. The priſoner not denying the fact, and preſiſting before the court that he looked upon it as a compliment, the jury brought him in non compos mentis.

The court then adjourned to Monday the 11th inſtant.

No. 260. Thurſday, December 7. 1710.

WE have a very learned and elaborate diſſertation upon thumbs in Montaigne's Eſſays, and another upon ears in the Tale of a Tub. I am here going to write one upon noſes, having choſon for my text the fol⯑lowing verſes out of Hudibras:

Notwithſtanding that there is nothing obſcene in na⯑tural knowlege, and that I intend to give as little offence as may be to readers of a well-bred imagination, I muſt, for my own quiet, deſire the critics (who in all times have been famous for good noſes) to refrain from the lecture of this curious tract. Theſe gentlemen were formerly marked out and diſtinguiſhed by the little rhi⯑nocerical noſe, which was always looked upon as an in⯑ſtrument of deriſion, and which they were uſed to cock, toſs, or draw up in a contemptuous manner, upon read⯑ing the works of their ingenious contemporaries. It is not therefore for this generation of men that I write the preſent tranſaction,

But for the ſake of ſome of my philoſophical friends in the royal ſociety, who peruſe diſcourſes of this nature with a becoming gravity, and a deſire of improving by them.

Many are the opinions of learned men concerning the riſe of that fatal diſtemper which has always taken a particular pleaſure in venting its ſpight upon the noſe. I have ſeen a little burleſque poem in Italian that gives a very pleaſant account of this matter. The fable of it runs thus: Mars, the God of war, having ſerved during the ſiege of Naples in the ſhape of a French colonel, re⯑ceived a viſit one night from Venus, the goddeſs of love, who had been always his profeſſed miſtreſs and admirer. The poem ſays, ſhe came to him in the diſguiſe of a ſut⯑tling [244] wench, with a bottle of brandy under her arm. Let that be as it will, he managed matters ſo well, that ſhe went away big-bellied, and was at length brought to bed of a little Cupid. This boy, whether it were by rea⯑ſon of any bad food that his father had eaten during the ſiege, or of any particular malignity in the ſtars that reigned at his nativity, came into the world with a ve⯑ry ſickly look, and crazy conſtitution. As ſoon as he was able to handle his bow, he made diſcoveries of a moſt perverſe diſpoſition. He dipped all his arrows in poiſon, that rotted every thing they touched; and what was more particular, aimed all his ſhafts at the noſe, quite contrary to the practice of his elder brothers, who had made a human heart their butt in all countries and ages. To break him of this roguiſh trick, his parents put him to ſchool to Mercury, who did all he could to hinder him from demoliſhing the noſes of mankind; but in ſpight of education, the boy continued very unlucky; and though his malice was a little ſoftened by good in⯑ſtructions, he would very frequently let fly an invenom⯑ed arrow, and wound his votaries oftner in the noſe than in the heart. Thus far the fable.

I need not tell my learned reader, that Correggio has drawn a Cupid taking his leſſon from Mercury, confor⯑mable to this poem; nor that the poem itſelf was de⯑ſigned as a burleſque upon Fracaſtorius.

It was a little after this fatal ſiege of Naples that Ta⯑licotius begun to practiſe in a town of Germany. He was the firſt clap-doctor that I meet with in hiſtory, and a greater man in his age than our celebrated Dr. Wall. He ſaw his ſpecies extremely mutilated and disfigured by this new diſtemper that was crept into it; and therefore, in purſuance of a very ſeaſonable invention, ſet up a ma⯑nufacture of noſes, having firſt got a patent that none ſhould preſume to make noſes beſides himſelf. His firſt patient was a great man of Portugal, who had done good ſervices to his country, but in the midſt of them unfor⯑tunately loſt his noſe. Talicotius grafted a new one [245] on the remaining part of the griſtle or cartilaginous ſub⯑ſtance, which would ſneeze, ſmell, take ſnuff, pronounce the letters M or N, and in ſhort, do all the functions of a genuine and natural noſe. There was however one misfortune in this experiment. The Portugueſe's complexion was a little upon the ſubfuſc, with very black eyes and dark eyebrows, and the noſe being taken from a porter that had a white German ſkin, and cut out of thoſe parts that are not expoſed to the ſun, it was very viſible that the features of his face were not fellows. In a word, the Conde reſembled one of thoſe maimed an⯑tique ſtatues that has often a modern noſe of freſh mar⯑ble glewed to a face of ſuch a yellow ivory complexion as nothing can give but age. To remedy this particular for the future, the doctor got together a great collecti⯑on of porters, men of all complexions, black, brown, fair, dark, ſallow, pale, and ruddy; ſo that it was im⯑poſſible for a patient of the moſt out-of-the-way colour not to find a noſe to match it.

The doctor's houſe was now very much enlarged, and become a kind of college, or rather hoſpital, for the faſhionable cripples of both ſexes that reſorted to him from all parts of Europe. Over his door was faſtened a large golden ſnout, not unlike that which is placed o⯑ver the great gates at Brazen-Noſe college in Oxford; and as it is uſual for the learned in foreign univerſities to diſtinguiſh their houſes by a Latin ſentence, the do⯑ctor writ underneath this great golden proboſcis two verſes out of Ovid:

It is reported, that Talicotius had at one time in his houſe twelve German counts, nineteen French marquiſ⯑ſes, and a hundred Spaniſh cavaliers, beſides one ſolita⯑ry Engliſh eſquire, of whom more hereafter. Though the doctor had the monopoly of noſes in his own hands, [246] he is ſaid not to have been unreaſonable. Indeed if a man had occaſion for a high Roman noſe, he muſt go to the price of it. A carbuncle noſe likewiſe bore an ex⯑ceſſive rate: but for your ordinary ſhort turned-up no⯑ſes, of which there was the greateſt conſumption, they coſt little or nothing; at leaſt the purchaſers thought ſo, who would have been content to have paid much dearer for them, rather than to have gone without them.

The ſympathy betwixt the noſe and its parent was very extraordinary. Hudibras has told us, that when the porter died, the noſe dropped of courſe, in which caſe it was always uſual to return the noſe, in order to have it interred with its firſt owner. The noſe was like⯑wiſe affected by the pain as well as death of the original proprietor. An eminent inſtance of this nature happen⯑ed to three Spaniards, whoſe noſes were all made out of the ſame piece of brawn. They found them one day ſhoot and ſwell extremely, upon which they ſent to know how the porter did, and heard upon enquiry, that the parent of the noſes had been ſeverely kicked the day be⯑fore, and that the porter kept his bed on account of the bruiſes it had received. This was highly reſented by the Spaniards, who found out the perſon that had uſed the porter ſo unmercifully, and treated him in the ſame manner as if the indignity had been done to their own noſes. In this and ſeveral other caſes it might be ſaid, that the porters led the gentlemen by the noſe.

On the other hand, if any thing went amiſs with the noſe, the porter felt the effects of it, inſomuch that it was generally articled with the patient, that he ſhould not only abſtain from all his old courſes, but ſhould on no pretence whatſoever ſmell pepper, or eat muſtard; on which occaſion, the part where the inciſion had been made was ſeized with unſpeakable twinges and prick⯑ings.

The Engliſhman I before mentioned was ſo very ir⯑regular, and relapſed ſo frequently into the diſtemper [247] which at firſt brought him to the learned Talicotius, that in the ſpace of two years he wore out five noſes, and by that means ſo tormented the porters, that if he would have given 500l. for a noſe, there was not one of them that would accommodate him. This young gentleman was born of honeſt parents, and paſſed his firſt years in foxhunting; but accidentally quitting the woods, and coming up to London, he was ſo charmed with the beau⯑ties of the play-houſe, that he had not been in town two days before he got the misfortune which carried off this part of his face. He uſed to be called in Germa⯑ny, the Engliſhman of five noſes, and, the gentleman that had thrice as many noſes as he had ears: ſuch was the raillery of thoſe times.

I ſhall cloſe this paper with an admonition to the young men of this town, which I think the more neceſ⯑ſary, becauſe I ſee ſeveral new freſh-coloured faces, that have made their firſt appearance in it this winter. I muſt therefore aſſure them, that the art of making no⯑ſes is entirely loſt; and in the next place, beg of them not to ſollow the example of our ordinary town-rakes, who live as if there was a Talicotius to be met with at the corner of every ſtreet. Whatever young men may think, the noſe is a very becoming part of the face, and a man makes but a very ſilly figure without it. But it is the nature of youth not to know the value of any thing till they have loſt it. The general precept there⯑fore I ſhall leave with them is, to regard every town-wo⯑man as a particular kind of ſiren, that has a deſign upon their noſes; and that, amidſt her flatteries and allure⯑ments, they will fancy ſhe ſpeaks to them in that humo⯑rous phraſe of old Plautus:

No. 262. Tueſday, December 12, 1710.
Journal of the Court of Honour, etc.

TIMOTHY TREATALL, gent. was indicted by ſe⯑veral ladies of his ſiſter's acquaintance for a very rude affront offered to them at an entertainment, to which he had invited them on Tueſday the 7th of November laſt paſt, between the hours of eight and nine in the e⯑vening. The indictment ſet forth, that the ſaid Mr. Treatall, upon the ſerving up of the ſupper, deſired the ladies to take their places according to their different age and ſeniority, for that it was the way always at his table to pay reſpect to years. The indictment added, that this produced an unſpeakable confuſion in the company; for that the ladies, who before had preſſed together for a place at the upper end of the table, immediately croud⯑ed with the ſame diſorder towards the end that was quite oppoſite; that Mrs. Frontly had the inſolence to clap herſelf down at the very loweſt place of the table; that the widow Partlett ſeated herſelf on the right hand of Mrs Frontly, alleging for her excuſe, that no ceremo⯑ny was to be uſed at a round table; that Mrs. Fidget and Mrs. Feſcue diſputed above half an hour for the ſame chair, and that the latter would not give up the cauſe till it was decided by the pariſh regiſter, which happened to be kept hard by. The indictment further ſaid, that the reſt of the company who ſate down, did it with a reſerve to their right, which they were at liberty to aſſert on a⯑nother occaſion; and that Mrs. Mary Pippe, an old maid, was placed by the unanimous vote of the whole company at the upper end of the table, from whence ſhe had the confuſion to behold ſeveral mothers of families [249] among her inferiors. The criminal alleged in his de⯑fence, that what he had done, was to raiſe mirth, and a⯑void ceremony, and that the ladies did not complain of his rudeneſs till the next morning, having eaten up what he had provided for them with great readineſs and ala⯑crity. The cenſor frowning upon him, told him, that he ought not to diſcover ſo much levity in matters of a ſe⯑rious nature, and (upon the jury's bringing in him guil⯑ty) ſentenced him to treat the whole aſſembly of ladies over again, and to take care that he did it with the de⯑corum which was due to perſons of their quality.

Rebecca Shapely, ſpinſter, was indicted by Mrs. Sarah Smack, for ſpeaking many words reflecting upon her re⯑putation, and the heels of her ſilk ſlippers, which the pri⯑ſoner had maliciouſly ſuggeſted to be two inches higher than they really were. The proſecutor urged, as an aggra⯑vation of her guilt, that the priſoner was herſelf guilty of the ſame kind of forgery which ſhe had laid to the pro⯑ſecutor's charge, for that ſhe the ſaid Rebecca Shapely did always wear a pair of ſteel bodice, and a falſe rump. The cenſor ordered the ſlippers to be produced in open court, where the heels were adjudged to be of the ſtatutable ſize. He then ordered the grand jury to ſearch the criminal, who, after ſome time ſpent therein, acquitted her of the bodice, but found her guilty of the rump; upon which ſhe received ſentence as is uſual in ſuch caſes.

William Trippitt, eſq of the Middle Temple, brought his action againſt the lady Elizabeth Prudely, for hav⯑ing refuſed him her hand as he offered to lead her to her coach from the opera. The plaintiff ſet forth, that he had entered himſelf into the liſt of thoſe volunteers who offi⯑ciate every night behind the boxes as gentlemen-uſhers of the play-houſe; that he had been at a conſiderable charge in white gloves, periwigs, and ſnuff-boxes, in or⯑der to qualify himſelf for that employment, and in hopes of making his fortune by it. The council for the defen⯑dant replied, that the plaintiff had given out that he was within a month of wedding their client, and that ſhe had [250] refuſed her hand to him in ceremony, leſt he ſhould in⯑terpret it as a promiſe that ſhe would give it him in mar⯑riage. As ſoon as their pleadings on both ſides were fi⯑niſhed, the cenſor ordered the plaintiff to be caſhiered from his office of gentleman-uſher to the play-houſe, ſince it was too plain that he had undertaken it with an ill de⯑ſign; and at the ſame time ordered the defendent either to marry the ſaid plaintiff, or to pay him half a crown for the new pair of gloves and coach-hire that he was at the expence of in her ſervice.

The lady Townly brought an action of debt againſt Mrs. Flambeau, for that Mrs. Flambeau had not been to ſee the ſaid lady Townly, and wiſh her joy, ſince her marriage with Sir Ralph, notwithſtanding ſhe the ſaid la⯑dy Townly had paid Mrs. Flambeau a viſit upon her firſt coming to town. It was urged in the behalf of the de⯑fendant, that the plaintiff had never given her any regu⯑lar notice of her being in town; that the viſit ſhe alleged had been made on a Monday, which ſhe knew was a day on which Mrs. Flambeau was always abroad, having ſet aſide that only day in the week to mind the affairs of her family; that the ſervant who enquired whether ſhe was at home, did not give the viſiting knock; that it was not between the hours of five and eight in the evening; that there were no candles lighted up; that it was not on Mrs. Flambeau's day; and in ſhort, that there was not one of the eſſential points obſerved that conſtitute a viſit. She further proved by her porter's book, which was produced in court, that ſhe had paid the lady Town⯑ly a viſit on the twenty fourth day of March, juſt before her leaving the town, in the year 1709-10, for which ſhe was ſtill creditor to the ſaid lady Townly. To this the plaintiff only replied, that ſhe was now only under covert, and not liable to any debts contracted when ſhe was a ſingle woman. Mr. Bickerſtaffe finding the cauſe to be very intricate, and that ſeveral points of honour were likely to ariſe in it, he deferred giving judgment upon it till the next ſeſſion day, at which time he ordered the [251] ladies on his left hand to preſent to the court a table of all the laws relating to viſits.

Winifred Leer brought her action againſt Richard Sly, for having broken a marriage contract, and wedded an⯑other woman, after he had engaged himſelf to marry the ſaid Winifred Leer. She alleged, that he had ogled her twice at an opera, thrice in St. James's church, and once at Powel's puppet-ſhow, at which time he promiſed her marriage by a ſide-glance, as her friend could teſtify that ſate by her. Mr. Bickerſtaffe finding that the defendant had made no further overture of love or marriage, but by looks and ocular engagement; yet at the ſame time con⯑ſidering how very apt ſuch impudent ſeducers are to lead the ladies hearts aſtray, ordered the criminal to ſtand up⯑on the ſtage in the Hay-market, between each act of the next opera, there to be expoſed to public view as a falſe ogler.

Upon the riſing of the court, Mr. Bickerſtaffe having taken one of theſe counterfeits in the very fact, as he was ogling a lady of the grand jury, ordered him to be ſeiz⯑ed, and proſecuted upon the ſtatute of ogling. He like⯑wiſe directed the clerk of the court to draw up an e⯑dict againſt theſe common cheats that make women be⯑lieve they are diſtracted for them by ſtaring them out of countenance, and often blaſt a lady's reputation whom they never ſpoke to, by ſaucy looks and diſtant famili⯑arities.

No. 265. Tueſday, December 19, 1710.
Continuation of the journal of the Court of Honour, etc.

AS ſoon as the court was ſate, the ladies of the bench preſented, according to order, a table of all the laws [252] now in force, relating to viſits and viſiting-days, metho⯑dically digeſted under their reſpective heads, which the cenſor ordered to be laid upon the table, and afterwards proceeded upon the buſineſs of the day.

Henry Heedleſs, Eſq was indicted by colonel Tou⯑chy, of her majeſty's trained-bands, upon an action of aſſault and battery; for that he the ſaid Mr. Heedleſs hav⯑ing eſpied a feather upon the ſhoulder of the ſaid colo⯑nel, ſtruck it off gently with the end of a walking-ſtaff, value three pence. It appeared, that the proſecutor did not think himſelf injured till a few days after the afore⯑ſaid blow was given him; but that having ruminated with himſelf for ſeveral days, and conferred upon it with other officers of the militia, he concluded, that he had in effect been cudgelled by Mr. Heedleſs, and that he ought to reſent it accordingly. The council for the proſecu⯑tor alleged, that the ſhoulder was the tendereſt part in a man of honour; that it had a natural antipathy to a ſtick, and that every touch of it, with any thing made in the faſhion of a cane, was to be interpreted as a wound in that part, and a violation of the perſon's honour who re⯑ceived it. Mr. Heedleſs replied, that what he had done was out of kindneſs to the proſecutor, as not thinking it proper for him to appear at the head of the trained⯑bands with a feather upon his ſhoulder; and further add⯑ed, that the ſtick he had made uſe of on this occaſion was ſo very ſmall, that the proſecutor could not have felt it, had he broken it on his ſhoulders. The cenſor here⯑upon directed the jury, to examine into the nature of the ſtaff, for that a great deal would depend upon that particular. Upon which he explained to them the diffe⯑rent degrees of offence that might be given by the touch of crab-tree from that of cane, and by the touch of cane from that of a plain hazle ſtick. The jury, after a ſhort peruſal of the ſtaff, declared their opinion by the mouth of their foreman, that the ſubſtance of the ſtaff was Britiſh oak. The cenſor then obſerving that there was ſome duſt on the ſkirts of the criminal's coat, order⯑ed [253] the proſecutor to beat it off with his aforeſaid oaken plant; and thus, ſaid the cenſor, I ſhall decide this cauſe by the law of retaliation: If Mr. Heedleſs did the colo⯑nel a good office, the colonel will by this means return it in kind; but if Mr. Heedleſs ſhould at any time boaſt that he had cudgelled the colonel, or laid his ſtaff over his ſhoulders, the colonel might boaſt in his turn, that he has bruſhed Mr. Heedleſs jacket, or (to uſe the phraſe of an ingenious author) that he has rubbed him down with an oaken towel.

Benjamin Buſy, of London, merchant, was indicted by Jaſper Tattle, Eſq for having puiled out his watch and looked upon it thrice, while the ſaid eſquire Tattle was giving him an account of the ſuneral of the ſaid eſquire Tattle's firſt wife. The priſoner alleged in his defence, that he was going to buy ſtocks at the time when he met the proſecutor; and that, during the ſtory of the proſe⯑cutor, the ſaid ſtocks roſe above two per cent. to the great detriment of the priſoner. The priſoner further brought ſeveral witneſſes, that the ſaid Jaſper Tattle, Eſq was a moſt notorious ſtory teller; that before he met the priſo⯑ner, he had hindered one of the priſoner's acquaintance from the purſuit of his lawful buſineſs, with the account of his ſecond marriage; and that he had detained another by the button of his coat that very morning, till he had heard ſeveral witty ſayings and contrivances of the pro⯑ſecutor's eldeſt ſon, who was a boy of about five years of age. Upon the whole matter, Mr. Bickerſtaffe diſmiſſed the accuſation, as frivolous, and ſentenced the proſecu⯑tor to pay damages to the priſoner for what the priſoner had loſt by giving him ſo long and patient an hearing. He further reprimanded the proſecutor very ſeverely, and told him, that if he proceeded in his uſual manner to interrupt the buſineſs of mankind, he would ſet a fine upon him for every quarter of an hour's impertinence, and regulate the ſaid fine according as the time of the perſon ſo injured ſhould appear to be more or leſs pre⯑cious.

[254] Sir Paul Swaſh, kt. was indicted by Peter Double, gent. for not returning the bow which he received of the ſaid Peter Double, on Wedneſday the ſixth inſtant, at the play⯑houſe in the Hay-market. The priſoner denied the re⯑ceipt of any ſuch bow, and alleged in his defence, that the proſecutor would oftentimes look full in his face, but that when he bowed to the proſecutor he would take no notice of it; or bow to ſome body elſe that ſate quite on the other ſide of him. He likewiſe alleged, that ſeveral ladies had complained of the proſecutor, who, after og⯑ling them a quarter of an hour, upon their making a curt⯑ſy to him, would not return the civility of a bow. The cenſor obſerving ſeveral glances of the proſecutor's eye, and perceiving, that when he talked to the court, he look⯑ed upon the jury, found reaſon to ſuſpect that there was a wrong caſt in his ſight, which upon examination proved true. The cenſor therefore ordered the priſoner (that he might not produce any more confuſions in public aſſem⯑blies) never to bow to any body whom he did not at the ſame time call to by his name.

Oliver Bluff, and Benjamin Browbeat, were indicted for going to fight a duel ſince the erection of the Court of Honour. It appeared, that they were both taken up in the ſtreet as they paſſed by the court, in their way to the fields behind Montague-houſe. The criminals would anſwer nothing for themſelves, but that they were going to execute a challenge which had been made above a week before the Court of Honour was erected. The cenſor finding ſome reaſons to ſuſpect (by the ſturdineſs of their behaviour) that they were not ſo very brave as they would have the court believe them, ordered them both to be ſearched by the grand jury, who found a breaſt-plate up⯑on the one, and two quires of paper upon the other. The breaſt-plate was immediately ordered to be hung upon a peg over Mr. Bickerſtaffe's tribunal, and the paper to be laid upon the table for the uſe of his clerk. He then or⯑dered the criminals to button up their boſoms, and, if they pleaſed, proceed to their duel. Upon which they [255] both went very quietly out of the court, and retired to their reſpective lodgings.

The court then adjourned till after the holydays,

No. 267. Saturday, December 23. 1710.

I HAVE heard, that it is a rule among the conventuals of ſeveral orders in the Romiſh church, to ſhut them⯑ſelves up at a certain time of the year, not only from the world in general, but from the members of their own fraternity, and to paſs away ſeveral days by themſelves in ſettling accounts between their maker and their own ſouls, in cancelling unrepented crimes, and renewing their contracts of obedience for the future. Such ſtated times for particular acts of devotion, or the exerciſe of certain religious duties, have been enjoined in all civil govern⯑ments, whatever deity they worſhipped, or whatever re⯑ligion they profeſſed. That which may be done at all times is often totally neglected and forgotten, unleſs fix⯑ed and determined to ſome time more than another; and therefore, though ſeveral duties may be ſuitable to every day of our lives, they are moſt likely to be performed if ſome days are more particularly ſet apart for the practice of them. Our church has accordingly inſtituted ſeveral ſeaſons of devotion, when time, cuſtom, preſcription, and (if I may ſo ſay) the faſhion itſelf, call upon a man to be ſerious and attentive to the great end of his being.

[256] I have hinted in ſome former papers, that the great⯑eſt and wiſeſt of men in all ages and countries, particu⯑larly in Rome and Greece, were renowned for their pie⯑ty and virtue. It is now my intention to ſhew how thoſe in our nation. that have been unqueſtionably the moſt e⯑minent for learning and knowlege, were likewiſe the moſt eminent for their adherence to the religion of their country.

I might produce very ſhining examples from among the clergy; but becauſe prieſt craſt is the common cry of every cavilling empty ſcribler, I ſhall ſhew, that all the laymen who have exerted a more than ordinary genius in their writings, and were the glory of their times, were men whoſe hopes were filled with immortality, and the proſpect of future rewards, and men who lived in a dutiful ſubmiſſion to all the doctrines of revealed reli⯑gion.

I ſhall in this paper only inſtance Sir Francis Bacon, a man, who, for the greatneſs of genius, and compaſs of knowlege, did honour to his age and country; I could almoſt ſay to human nature itſelf. He poſſeſſed at once all thoſe extraordinary talents which were divided amongſt the greateſt authors of antiquity. He had the ſound, di⯑ſtinct, comprehenſive knowlege of Ariſtotle, with all the beautiful lights, graces and embelliſhments of Cicero. One does not know which to admire moſt in his writ⯑ings, the ſtrength of reaſon, force of ſtyle, or brightneſs of imagination.

This author has remarked in ſeveral parts of his works, that a thorough inſight into philoſophy makes a good be⯑liever, and that a ſmattering in it naturally produces ſuch a race of deſpicable infidels as the little profligate writ⯑ers of the preſent age, whom (I muſt confeſs) I have al⯑ways accuſed to myſelf, not ſo much for their want of faith as their want of learning.

I was infinitely pleaſed to find among the works of this extraordinary man a prayer of his own compoſing, which, for the elevation of thought, and greatneſs of ex⯑preſſion, [257] ſeems rather the devotion of an angel than of a man. His principal fault ſeems to have been the ex⯑ceſs of that virtue which covers a multitude of faults. This betrayed him to ſo great an indulgence towards his ſervants, who made a corrupt uſe of it, that it ſtripped him of all thoſe riches and honours which a long ſeries of merits had heaped upon him. But in this prayer, at the ſame time that we find him proſtrating himſelf before the great mercy-ſeat, and humbled under afflictions which at that time lay heavy upon him; we ſee him ſupported by the ſenſe of his integrity, his zeal, his devotion, and his love to mankind, which give him a much higher fi⯑gure in the minds of thinking men, than that greatneſs had done from which he was fallen. I ſhall beg leave to write down the prayer itſelf, with the title to it, as it was found among his lordſhip's papers, written in his own hand; not being able to furniſh my reader with an enter⯑tainment more ſuitable to this ſolemn time.