THE LD 
 Ol 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 MRS. VIRGINIA B. SPORER
 
 Englteb 
 ComlSle t>umafne 
 
 "Romance anD Tbumor 
 
 ENGLISH HUMORISTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 
 
 SIR RICHARD STEELE 
 JOSEPH ADDISON 
 LAURENCE STERNE 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
 
 Comebie_1bumaine 
 Romance anfc Dumor 
 
 Masterpieces of the great 
 English novelists in which 
 are portrayed the varying 
 aspects of English life from 
 the time of Addison to the 
 present day : a series anal- 
 ogous to that in which 
 Balzac depicted the man- 
 ners and morals of his 
 French contemporaries.
 
 Bnglisb Come'&te t>umaine 
 'Romance and tmmor 
 
 ENGLISH HUMORISTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 
 
 SIR RICHARD STEELE 
 JOSEPH ADDISON 
 LAURENCE STERNE 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 
 
 ILLUSTRATED AFTER DRAWINGS BY 
 
 WILLIAM HOGARTH 
 
 SHOWING THE DRESS, MANNERS AND CUSTOMS 
 OF THAT PERIOD 
 
 
 M44<*<tS <^M^>^ 
 
 0^ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Centurp Co 
 
 1907
 
 Copyright, 1906, by 
 THE CENTURY Co. 
 
 Published April, 1906. 
 
 THE De VINNE PRESS
 
 PUBLISHER'S NOTE. 
 
 In this, the initial volume of the second series of the English 
 Comedie Humaine, the delightful sketches and essays of Eigh- 
 teenth Century Life by the early English humorists and satirists, 
 will be enjoyed as thoroughly by the modern reader as by the 
 society whose shortcomings they aimed to correct ; and a sort of 
 visualizing emphasis is given to this unique collection of papers by 
 the remarkable Hogarth drawings. 
 
 The papers from The Tatler, and its successor, The Spectator, 
 include some of the best work of both Addison and Steele. In 
 touching on the various social follies of the day with his own 
 exquisitely gentle ridicule, Addison is at his humorous best ; while 
 Steele is most felicitous perhaps when he aims at the fashionable 
 absurdities of women which he does in forceful yet sympathetic 
 style. 
 
 The Tatler was started in 1709 and in 1711 was merged into 
 The Spectator which in turn survived but a year and a half a 
 brief life indeed in which to have attained undying fame. 
 
 The chief work of Laurence Sterne, the celebrated English 
 novelist and humorist, is "The Life and Opinions of Tristram 
 Shandy, Gentleman," containing nine volumes, and written during 
 the period, 1760 to 1767. In this present volume appear books 
 VI and VII, the first containing the beautiful story of Le Fever, 
 perhaps the most genuinely touching narrative ever penned by 
 the sentimental Sterne ; and the second containing the vivacious 
 account of the author's saunterings in France written in his most 
 vivacious and fanciful strain. 
 
 "The Citizen of the World ; or Letters of a Chinese Philosopher" 
 which rounds out this volume, is Oliver Goldsmith's most brilliant 
 contribution to humorous literature. This collection of letters 
 first appeared in an English newspaper and was issued in book 
 form in 1762. On the surface is gay and sparkling facetiousness, 
 which does not blind one however to the shrewd observation and 
 keen delineation of national character. Beau Tibbs, a prominent 
 character in this work, "is the best comic sketch," says Hazlitt, 
 "since the time of Addison ; unrivalled in his fancy, his vanity and 
 his poverty,"
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 STEELE PAGB 
 
 From Thackeray's English Humorists I 
 
 The Tatler 
 
 No. 25 Duelling 43 
 
 35 Snuff 45 
 
 60 Tom Wildair 47 
 
 77 Fashionable affectations 49 
 
 79 Marriage of Jenny Distaff 52 
 
 86 Scene of country etiquette 56 
 
 88 A dancing-master practising by book 59 
 
 89 Mr. Bickerstaff on himself 33 
 
 95 A visit to a friend 39 
 
 103 Applications for permission to use canes, etc 6 1 
 
 104 Mrs. Tranquillus 66 
 
 1 1 6 The petticoat 70 
 
 124 On the lottery 73 
 
 126 The prude and the coquette 76 
 
 131 Trial of the wine-brewers 80 
 
 132 Our club 84 
 
 136 Tom Varnish 87 
 
 148 Kickshaws 89 
 
 151 Beauty unadorned 93 
 
 1 5 5 The political upholsterer 96 
 
 1 58 Tom Folio 99 
 
 1 60 A visit and letter from the upholsterer 102 
 
 165 The critic 104 
 
 181 Memories of his childhood 35 
 
 192 Characters in a stage-coach 108 
 
 vii
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGR 
 
 No. 202 Ambition 1 1 1 
 
 208 Flattery as an art 114 
 
 224 On advertisements 117 
 
 249 Adventures of a shilling 120 
 
 254 Frozen words 1 24 
 
 263 Late hours 127 
 
 264 On long-winded people 130 
 
 266 On the art of growing old 133 
 
 ADDISON 
 
 From Thackeray's English Humorists 137 
 
 The Spectator 
 
 No. 7 Popular superstitions 149 
 
 9 Clubs 152 
 
 10 The uses of the Spectator 155 
 
 12 Effect of the supernatural on the imagination 158 
 
 1 5 Dress and show 162 
 
 18 Italian opera 165 
 
 2 1 Choice of a profession 168 
 
 25 Letter from a valetudinarian 171 
 
 26 Reflections in Westminster Abbey 1 74 
 
 28 Office for the regulation of signs 177 
 
 34 The club of spectators 1 80 
 
 35 False wit and humour 183 
 
 37 A lady's library 1 86 
 
 45 French fashions 190 
 
 49 The coffee-house 193 
 
 69 The Royal Exchange 196 
 
 72 The everlasting club , 199 
 
 86 On physiognomy 205 
 
 8 1 Party patches 202 
 
 90 Adventure of M. Pontignan 208 
 
 102 Exercise of the fan 212 
 
 viii
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 No. 105 On pedantry 215 
 
 151 The man of pleasure 217 
 
 156 A woman's man 221 
 
 173 Account of a grinning-match 224 
 
 179 Account of a whistling-match 227 
 
 195 On temperance 230 
 
 198 Character of the salamanders 234 
 
 209 Satire on women 237 
 
 215 On education 241 
 
 25 1 The cries of London 244 
 
 262 The Spectator's success 248 
 
 295 Pin-money 251 
 
 299 Letter from Sir John Envil 254 
 
 317 On waste of time 258 
 
 323 A young lady's journal of a week 262 
 
 367 Various advantages of the spectators 266 
 
 371 Humourous way of sorting companies 268 
 
 397 On compassion 272 
 
 403 On the death of the King of France 275 
 
 435 On female extravagances 278 
 
 447 Custom 28 1 
 
 452 On news-writers and readers 284 
 
 458 On true and false modesty 288 
 
 530 Marriage of Will Honeycomb 291 
 
 549 On retirement 293 
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 From Thackeray's English Humorists 297 
 
 STERNE 
 
 The Story of Le Fever (from the Life and Opinions of Tristram 
 
 Shandy) 325 
 
 Saunterings in France, Book VII (from the Life and Opinions 
 
 of Tristram Shandy) 339 
 
 ix
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 GOLDSMITH 
 
 Papers from The Citizen of the World : letters from a Chinese 
 philosopher, residing in London, to his friends in the East. 
 
 No. I Introduction 389 
 
 2 Arrival of the Chinese philosopher in London. His 
 
 motives for the journey. Some description of the 
 streets and houses 389 
 
 3 The description of London continued. The luxury 
 
 of the English. Its benefits. The fine gentle- 
 man. The fine lady 392 
 
 4 English pride. Liberty. An instance of both. 
 
 Newspapers. Politeness 395 
 
 5 English passion for politics. A specimen of a news- 
 
 paper. Characteristics of the manners of 
 different countries 398 
 
 12 The funeral solemnities of the English. Their 
 
 passion for nattering epitaphs 401 
 
 13 An account of Westminster Abbey. (First appear- 
 
 ance of the " Man in Black ") 404 
 
 14 The reception of the philosopher from a lady of 
 
 distinction 408 
 
 21 The philosopher goes to see a play 411 
 
 26 The character of the Man in Black; with some in- 
 
 stances of his inconsistent conduct 415 
 
 27 The history of the Man in Black 418 
 
 28 On the great number of old maids and bachelors in 
 
 London. Some of the causes 423 
 
 29 A description of a club of authors , 426 
 
 30 The proceedings of the club of authors 428 
 
 41 The behaviour of the congregation in St. Paul's 
 
 church at prayers 433 
 
 45 The ardour of the people of London in running after 
 
 sights and monsters 435 
 
 46 (The looking-glass of Lao), a dream 439
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 No. 51 A bookseller's visit to the Chinese philosopher 443 
 
 52 The impossibility of distinguishing men in England 
 
 by their dress. Two instances of this 446 
 
 53 The absurd taste for certain forms of literature .... 449 
 
 54 The character of an important trifler, (Beau Tibbs). 452 
 5 5 The character of the trifler continued : with that 
 
 of his wife, his house, and furniture 455 
 
 58 A visitation dinner described 458 
 
 64 The great exchange happiness for show. Their 
 
 folly in this respect of use to society 462 
 
 65 The history of a philosophic cobbler 464 
 
 71 The shabby Beau, the Man in Black, the Chinese 
 
 Philosopher, etc., at Vauxhall 466 
 
 74 The description of a little great man 470 
 
 77 The behaviour of a shopkeeper and his journeyman 473 
 
 78 The French ridiculed after their own manner 475 
 
 79 The preparations of both theatres, for a winter cam- 
 
 paign 477 
 
 81 The ladies' trains ridiculed 479 
 
 86 The races of Newmarket ridiculed. Description of 
 
 a cart race 48 1 
 
 88 The ladies advised to get husbands. A story to 
 
 this purpose 484 
 
 90 The English subject to the spleen 487 
 
 91 The influence of climate and soil upon the tempers 
 
 and dispositions of the English 490 
 
 96 The condolence and congratulation upon the death 
 of the late king ridiculed. English mourning 
 described 492 
 
 98 A description of the courts of justice in Westminster 
 
 Hall 495 
 
 99 A visit from the little Beau. The indulgence with 
 
 which the fair sex are treated in several parts of 
 Asia. 498 
 
 xi
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 No. 102 The passion for gaming among ladies ridiculed. . . 500 
 
 105 The intended coronation described 501 
 
 112 An election described 505 
 
 1 17 A city night-piece 507 
 
 119 On the distresses of the poor; exemplified in the life 
 
 of a private sentinel 509 
 
 123 The conclusion 513 
 
 XH
 
 ILLUSTRA TING " THE TA TLER" 
 Marriage a la mode, Plate I Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 Roast Beef at the Gate of Calais No. 148 90 
 
 The Politician 155 98 
 
 The Country Inn Yard 192 108 
 
 Modern Midnight Conversation 263 128 
 
 ILLUSTRATING "THE SPECTATOR" 
 
 Taste in High Life No. 15 164 
 
 Marriage a la mode, Plate IV 45 192 
 
 The Rake's Progress, Plate II 151 218 
 
 South wark Fair 1 73 & 1 79 . . 226 
 
 The Enraged Musician 251 246 
 
 ILLUSTRATING "THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD" 
 
 Morning Letter II 390 
 
 Noon Ill 394 
 
 England, Plate II IV 396 
 
 The Election, Plate II, canvassing for votes. . V 400 
 
 The Sleeping Congregation XLI 434 
 
 France, Plate I LXXVIII.476 
 
 Marriage a la mode, Plate II CII 500 
 
 The Election, Plate I, the Entertainment CXI 1 506 
 
 Kill
 
 PAPERS FROM 
 THE TATLER AND THE SPECTATOR 
 
 BY SIR RICHARD STEELE AND 
 JOSEPH ADDISON 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTIONS FROM 
 
 THACKERAY'S " ENGLISH HUMORISTS"
 
 STEELE
 
 STEELE 
 
 FROM THACKERAY'S "ENGLISH HUMORISTS" 
 
 WHAT do we look for in studying the history of a past age ? 
 Is it to learn the political transactions and characters of the 
 leading public men? is it to make ourselves acquainted with the 
 life and being of the time ? If we set out with the former grave 
 purpose, where is the truth, and who believes that he has it entire ? 
 What character of what great man is known to you? You can 
 but make guesses as to character more or less happy. In common 
 life don't you often judge and misjudge a man's whole conduct, 
 setting out from a wrong impression? The tone of a voice, a 
 word said in joke, or a trifle in behavior the cut of his hair or 
 the tie of his neck-cloth may disfigure him in your eyes, or poison 
 your good opinion; or at the end of years of intimacy it may be 
 your closest friend says something, reveals something which had 
 previously been a secret, which alters all your views about him, and 
 shows that he has been acting on quite a different motive to that 
 which you fancied you knew. And if it is so with those you know, 
 how much more with those you don't know ? Say, for example, 
 that I want to understand the character of the Duke of Marlborough. 
 I read Swift's history of the times in which he took a part; the 
 shrewdest of observers and initiated, one would think, into the 
 politics of the age he hints to me that Marlborough was a coward, 
 and even of doubtful military capacity: he speaks of Walpole as a 
 contemptible boor, and scarcely mentions, except to flout it, the 
 great intrigue of the Queen's latter days, which was to have ended 
 in bringing back the Pretender. Again, I read Marlborough's 
 life by a copious archdeacon, who has the command of immense 
 papers, of sonorous language, of what is called the best information; 
 and I get little or no insight into this secret motive which, I believe, 
 influenced the whole of Marlborough's career, which caused his 
 turnings and windings, his opportune fidelity and treason, stopped 
 his army almost at Paris gate, and landed him finally on the Hano-
 
 STEELE 
 
 verian side the winning side: I get, I say, no truth, or only a 
 portion of it, in the narrative of either writer, and believe that Coxe's 
 portrait, or Swift's portrait, is quite unlike the real Churchill. 
 I take this as a single instance, prepared to be as sceptical about 
 any other, and say to the Muse of History, " O venerable daughter 
 of Mnemosyne, I doubt every single statement you ever made 
 since your ladyship was a Muse ! For all your grave airs and high 
 pretensions, you are not a whit more trustworthy than some of 
 your lighter sisters on whom your partisans look down. You bid 
 me listen to a general's oration to his soldiers : Nonsense ! He no 
 more made it than Turpin made his dying speech at Newgate. 
 You pronounce a panegyric of a hero: I doubt it, and say you 
 flatter outrageously. You utter the condemnation of a loose 
 character: I doubt it, and think you are prejudiced and take the 
 side of the Dons. You offer me an autobiography: I doubt all 
 autobiographies I ever read; except those, perhaps, of Mr. Robin- 
 son Crusoe, Mariner, and writers of his class. These have 
 no object in setting themselves right with the public or their own 
 consciences; these have no motive for concealment or half-truths; 
 these call for no more confidence than I can cheerfully give, and do 
 not force me to tax my credulity or to fortify it by evidence. I take 
 up a volume of Dr. Smollett, or a volume of the Spectator, and 
 say the fiction carries a greater amount of truth in solution than 
 the volume which purports to be all true. Out of the fictitious 
 book I get the expression of the life of the time ; of the manners, of 
 the movement, the dress, the pleasures, the laughter, the ridicules 
 of society the old times live again, and I travel in the old country 
 of England. Can the heaviest historian do more for me?" 
 
 As we read in these delightful volumes of the Taller and Specta- 
 tor the past age returns, the England of our ancestors is revivified. 
 The Maypole rises in the Strand again in London ; the churches are 
 thronged with daily worshippers; the beaux are gathering in the 
 coffee-houses; the gentry are going to the Drawing-room; the ladies 
 are thronging to the toy-shops; the chairmen are jostling in the 
 streets ; the footmen are running with links before the chariots, or 
 fighting round the theatre doors. In the country I see the young 
 Squire riding to Eton with his servants behind him, and Will 
 Wimble, the friend of the family, to see him safe. To make that 
 journey from the Squire's and back, Will is a week on horseback. 
 The coach takes five days between London and Bath. The judges
 
 STEELE 
 
 and the bar ride the circuit. If my lady comes to town in her post- 
 chariot, her people carry pistols to fire a salute on Captain Macheath 
 if he should appear, and her couriers ride ahead to prepare apart- 
 ments for her at the great caravanserais on the road; Boniface 
 receives her under the creaking sign of the "Bell" or the "Ram," 
 and he and his chamberlains bow her up the great stair to the 
 state-apartments, whilst her carriage rumbles into the court-yard, 
 where the "Exeter Fly" is housed that performs the journey in 
 eight days, God willing, having achieved its daily flight of twenty 
 miles, and landed its passengers for supper and sleep. The curate 
 is taking his pipe in the kitchen, where the Captain's man having 
 hung up his master's half pike is at his bacon and eggs, bragging 
 of Ramillies and Malplaquet to the town's-folk, who have their 
 club in the chimney-corner. The Captain is ogling the chamber- 
 maid in the wooden gallery, or bribing her to know who is the 
 pretty young mistress that has come in the coach. The pack- 
 horses are in the great stable, and the drivers and ostlers carousing 
 in the tap. And in Mrs. Landlady's bar, over a glass of strong 
 waters, sits a gentleman of military appearance, who travels with 
 pistols, as all the rest of the world does, and has a rattling gray 
 mare in the stables which will be saddled and away with its owner 
 half an hour before the " Fly" sets out on its last day's flight. And 
 some five miles on the road, as the "Exeter Fly" comes jingling 
 and creaking onwards, it will suddenly be brought to a halt by a 
 gentleman on a gray mare, with a black vizard on his face, who 
 thrusts a long pistol into the coach window, and bids the company 
 to hand out their purses. ... It must have been no small pleasure 
 even to sit in the great kitchen in those days, and see the tide of 
 humankind pass by. We arrive at places now, but we travel no 
 more. Addison talks jocularly of a difference of manner and cos- 
 tume being quite perceivable at Staines, where there passed a 
 young fellow "with a very tolerable periwig," though, to be sure, 
 his hat was out of fashion, and had a Ramillies cock. I would 
 have liked to travel in those days (being of that class of travellers 
 are who proverbially pretty easy coram latronibus) and have seen 
 my friend with the gray mare and the black vizard. Alas! there 
 always came a day in the life of that warrior when it was the fashion 
 to accompany him as he passed without his black mask, and 
 with a nosegay in his hand, accompanied by halberdiers and at- 
 tended by the sheriff, in a carriage without springs, and a clergy- 
 
 5
 
 STEELE 
 
 man jolting beside him, to a spot close by Cumberland Gate and 
 the Marble Arch, where a stone still records that here Tyburn turn- 
 pike stood. What a change in a century; in a few years! Within 
 a few yards of that gate the fields began : the fields of his exploits, 
 behind the hedges of which he lurked and robbed. A great and 
 wealthy city has grown over those meadows. Were a man brought 
 to die there now, the windows would be closed and the inhabitants 
 keep their houses in sickening horror. A hundred years back, 
 people crowded to see that last act of a highwayman's life, and 
 make jokes on it. Swift laughed at him, grimly advising him to 
 provide a Holland shirt and white cap crowned with a crimson 
 or black ribbon for his exit, to mount the cart cheerfully shake 
 hands with the hangman, and so farewell. Gay wrote the most 
 delightful ballads, and made merry over the same hero. Contrast 
 these with the writings of our present humorists! Compare those 
 morals and ours those manners and ours! 
 
 We can't tell you would not bear to be told the whole truth 
 regarding those men and manners. You could no more suffer in a 
 British drawing-room, under the reign of Queen Victoria, a fine 
 gentleman or fine lady of Queen Anne's time, or hear what they 
 heard and said, than you would receive an ancient Briton. It is 
 as one reads about savages, that one contemplates the wild ways, 
 the barbarous feasts, the terrific pastimes, of the men of pleasure 
 of that age. We have our fine gentlemen, and our "fast men"; 
 permit me to give you an idea of one particularly fast nobleman 
 of Queen Anne's days, whose biography has been preserved to us 
 by the law reporters. 
 
 In 1691, when Steele was a boy at school, my Lord Mohun was 
 tried by his peers for the murder of William Mountford, comedian. 
 In "Howell's State Trials," the reader will find not only an edify- 
 ing account of this exceedingly fast nobleman, but of the times and 
 manners of those days. My lord's friend, a Captain Hill, smitten 
 with the charms of the beautiful Mrs. Bracegirdle, and anxious to 
 marry her at all hazards, determined to carry her off, and for this 
 purpose hired a hackney-coach with six horses, and a half-dozen 
 of soldiers, to aid him in the storm. The coach with a pair of 
 horses (the four leaders being in waiting elsewhere) took its station 
 opposite my Lord Craven's house in Drury Lane, by which door 
 Mrs. Bracegirdle was to pass on her way from the theatre. As she 
 passed in company of her mamma and a friend, Mr. Page, the 
 
 6
 
 STEELE 
 
 Captain seized her by the hand, the soldiers hustled Mr. Page and 
 attacked him sword in hand, and Captain Hill and his noble friend 
 endeavored to force Madam Bracegirdle into the coach. Mr. 
 Page called for help: the population of Drury Lane rose: it was 
 impossible to effect the capture; and bidding the soldiers go about 
 their business, and the coach to drive off, Hill let go of his prey 
 sulkily, and waited for other opportunities of revenge. The man 
 of whom he was most jealous was Will Mountford, the comedian; 
 Will removed, he thought Mrs. Bracegirdle might be his: and ac- 
 cordingly the Captain and his lordship lay that night in wait for 
 Will, and as he was coming out of a house in Norfolk Street, while 
 Mohun engaged him in talk, Hill, in the words of the Attorney- 
 General, made a pass and ran him clean through the body. 
 
 Sixty-one of my lord's peers finding him not guilty of murder, 
 while but fourteen found him guilty, this very fast nobleman was 
 discharged: and made his appearance seven years after in another 
 trial for murder when he, my Lord Warwick, and three gentle- 
 men of the military profession, were concerned in the fight which 
 ended hi the death of Captain Coote. 
 
 This jolly company were drinking together at "Lockit's" in 
 Charing Cross, when angry words arose between Captain Coote 
 and Captain French; whom my Lord Mohun and my Lord the 
 Earl of Warwick and Holland endeavored to pacify. My Lord 
 Warwick was a dear friend of Captain Coote, lent him a hundred 
 pounds to buy his commission in the Guards; once when the cap- 
 tain was arrested for i3/. by his tailor, my lord lent him five guineas, 
 often paid his reckoning for him, and showed him other offices of 
 friendship. On this evening the disputants, French and Coote, 
 being separated whilst they were upstairs, unluckily stopped to 
 drink ale again at the bar of " Lockit's." The row began afresh 
 Coote lunged at French over the bar, and at last all six called for 
 chairs, and went to Leicester Fields, where they fell to. Their 
 lordships engaged on the side of Captain Coote. My Lord of 
 Warwick was severely wounded hi the hand, Mr. French also was 
 stabbed, but honest Captain Coote got a couple of wounds one 
 especially, "a wound in the left side just under the short ribs, and 
 piercing through the diaphragma," which did for Captain Coote. 
 Hence the trials of my Lords Warwick and Mohun : hence the as- 
 semblage of peers, the report of the transaction, in which these 
 defunct fast men still live for the observation of the curious. My 
 
 7
 
 STEELE 
 
 Lord of Warwick is brought to the bar by the Deputy Governor 
 of the Tower of London, having the axe carried before him by the 
 gentleman gaoler, who stood with it at the bar at the right hand 
 of the prisoner, turning the edge from him; the prisoner, at his 
 approach, making three bows, one to his Grace the Lord High 
 Steward, the other to the peers on each hand; and his Grace and 
 the peers return the salute. And besides these great personages, 
 august in periwigs, and nodding to the right and left, a host of the 
 small come up out of the past and pass before us the jolly cap- 
 tains brawling in the tavern, and laughing and cursing over their 
 cups the drawer that serves, the bar-girl that waits, the bailiff 
 on the prowl, the chairmen trudging through the black lampless 
 streets, and smoking their pipes by the railings, whilst swords are 
 clashing in the garden within. " Help there ! a gentleman is hurt ! " 
 The chairmen put up their pipes, and help the gentleman over the 
 railings, and carry him, ghastly and bleeding, to the Bagnio in 
 Long Acre, where they knock up the surgeon a pretty tall gentle- 
 man : but that wound under the short ribs has done for him. Sur- 
 geon, lords, captains, bailiffs, chairmen, and gentleman gaoler 
 with your axe, where be you now? The gentleman axeman's 
 head is off his own shoulders; the lords and judges can wag theirs 
 no longer; the bailiff's writs have ceased to run; the honest chair- 
 men's pipes are put out, and with their brawny calves they have 
 walked away into Hades all as irrecoverably done for as Will 
 Mountford or Captain Coote. The subject of our night's lecture 
 saw all these people rode in Captain Coote's company of the 
 Guards very probably wrote and sighed for Bracegirdle, went 
 home tipsy in many a chair, after many a bottle, in many a tavern 
 fled from many a bailiff. 
 
 In 1709, when the publication of the Tatter began, our great- 
 great-grandfathers must have seized upon that new and delightful 
 paper with much such eagerness as lovers of light literature in a 
 later day exhibited when the Waverley novels appeared, upon 
 which the public rushed, forsaking that feeble entertainment of 
 which the Miss Porters, the Anne of Swanseas, and worthy Mrs. 
 Radcliffe herself, with her dreary castles and exploded old ghosts, 
 had had pretty much the monopoly. I have looked over many 
 of the comic books with which our ancestors amused themselves, 
 from the novels of Swift's coadjutrix, Mrs. Manley, the delectable 
 author of the " New Atlantis," to the facetious productions of Tom 
 
 8
 
 STEELE 
 
 Durfey, and Tom Brown, and Ned Ward, writer of the "London 
 Spy" and several other volumes of ribaldry. The slang of the 
 taverns and ordinaries, the wit of the Bagnios, form the strongest 
 part of the farrago of which these libels are composed. In the 
 excellent newspaper collection at the British Museum, you may see 
 besides, the Craftsman and Postboy specimens, and queer speci- 
 mens they are, of the higher literature of Queen Anne's time. Here 
 is an abstract from a notable journal bearing date, Wednesday, 
 October i3th, 1708, and entitled " The British Apollo; or, curious 
 amusements for the ingenious, by a society of gentlemen." The 
 British Apollo invited and professed to answer questions upon 
 all subjects of wit, morality, science, and even religion; and two 
 out of its four pages are filled with queries and replies much like 
 some of the oracular penny prints of the present time. 
 
 One of the first querists, referring to the passage that a bishop 
 should be the husband of one wife, argues that polygamy is justifi- 
 able in the laity. The society of gentlemen conducting the British 
 Apollo are posed by this casuist, and promise to give him an answer. 
 Celinda then wishes to know from "the gentlemen," concerning 
 the souls of the dead, whether they shall have the satisfaction to 
 know those whom they most valued in this transitory life. The 
 gentlemen of the Apollo give but cold comfort to poor Celinda. 
 They are inclined to think not : for, say they, since every inhabitant 
 of those regions will be infinitely dearer than here are our nearest 
 relatives what have we to do with a partial friendship in that 
 happy place ? Poor Celinda ! it may have been a child or a lover 
 whom she had lost, and was pining after, when the oracle of British 
 Apollo gave her this dismal answer. She has solved the question 
 for herself by this time, and knows quite as well as the society of 
 gentlemen. 
 
 From theology we come to physics, and Q. asks, " Why does hot 
 water freeze sooner than cold ? " Apollo replies, " Hot water cannot 
 be said to freeze sooner than cold; but water once heated and cold, 
 may be subject to freeze by the evaporation of the spirituous parts 
 of the water, which renders it less able to withstand the power of 
 frosty weather." 
 
 The next query is rather a delicate one. "You, Mr. Apollo, 
 who are said to be the God of wisdom, pray give us the reason why 
 kissing is so much in fashion: what benefit one receives by it, and 
 who was the inventor, and you will oblige Corinna." To this
 
 STEELE 
 
 queer demand the lips of Phoebus, smiling, answer: "Pretty inno- 
 cent Corinna! Apollo owns that he was a little surprised by your 
 kissing question, particularly at that part of it where you desire 
 to know the benefit you receive by it. Ah! madam, had you a 
 lover, you would not come to Apollo for a solution; since there is 
 no dispute but the kisses of mutual lovers give infinite satisfaction. 
 As to its invention, 'tis certain nature was its author, and it began 
 with the first courtship." 
 
 After a column more of questions, follow nearly two pages of 
 poems, signed by Philander, Armenia, and the like, and chiefly 
 on the tender passion ; and the paper wound up with a letter from 
 Leghorn, an account of the Duke of Marlborough and Prince 
 Eugene before Lille, and proposals for publishing two sheets on the 
 present state of Ethiopia, by Mr. Hill: all of which is printed for 
 the authors by J. Mayo, at the Printing Press against Water Lane 
 in Fleet Street. What a change it must have been how Apollo's 
 cracles must have been struck dumb, when the Taller appeared, 
 and scholars, gentlemen, men of the world, men of genius, began 
 to speak ! 
 
 Shortly before the Boyne was fought, and young Swift had begun 
 to make acquaintance with English court manners and English 
 servitude, in Sir William Temple's family, another Irish youth 
 was brought to learn his humanities at the old school of Charter- 
 house, near Smithfield; to which foundation he had been appointed 
 by James Duke of Ormond, a governor of the House, and a patron 
 of the lad's family. The boy was an orphan, and described, twenty 
 years after, with a sweet pathos and simplicity, some of the earliest 
 recollections of a life which was destined to be chequered by a 
 strange variety of good and evil fortune. 
 
 I am afraid no good report could be given by his masters and 
 ushers of that thick-set, square -faced, black-eyed, soft-hearted 
 little Irish boy. He was very idle. He was whipped deservedly 
 a great number of times. Though he had very good parts of his 
 own, he got other boys to do his lessons for him, and only took just 
 as much trouble as should enable him to scuffle through his exer- 
 cises, and by good fortune escape the flogging-block. One hundred 
 and fifty years after, I have myself inspected, but only as an ama- 
 teur, that instrument of righteous torture still existing, and in occa- 
 sional use, in a secluded private apartment of the old Charterhouse 
 School; and have no doubt it is the very counterpart, if not the 
 
 10
 
 STEELE 
 
 ancient and interesting machine itself, at which poor Dick Steele 
 submitted himself to the tormentors. 
 
 Besides being very kind, lazy, and good-natured, this boy went 
 invariably into debt with the tart -woman; ran out of bounds, and 
 entered into pecuniary, or other promissory, engagements with the 
 neighboring lollipop-venders and piemen exhibited an early 
 fondness and capacity for drinking mum and sack, and borrowed 
 from all his comrades who had money to lend. I have no sort of 
 authority for the statements here made of Steele's early life; but 
 if the child is father of the man, the father of young Steele of Mer- 
 ton, who left Oxford without taking a degree, and entered the Life 
 Guards the father of Captain Steele of Lucas's Fusiliers, who 
 got his company through the patronage of my Lord Cutts the 
 father of Mr. Steele the Commissioner of Stamps, the editor of the 
 Gazette, the Taller, and Spectator, the expelled Member of Parlia- 
 ment, and the author of the "Tender Husband" and the "Con- 
 scious Lovers " ; if man and boy resembled each other, Dick Steele 
 the schoolboy must have been one of the most generous, good-for- 
 nothing, amiable little creatures that ever conjugated the verb 
 tupto, I beat, tuptomai, I am whipped, in any school in Great 
 Britain. 
 
 Almost every gentleman who does me the honor to hear me 
 will remember that the very greatest character which he has seen 
 in the course of his life, and the person to whom he has looked up 
 with the greatest wonder and reverence, was the head boy at his 
 school. The schoolmaster himself hardly inspires such an awe. 
 The head boy construes as well as the schoolmaster himself. When 
 he begins to speak the hall is hushed, and every little boy listens. 
 He writes off copies of Latin verses as melodiously as Virgil. He 
 is good-natured, and, his own masterpieces achieved, pours out 
 other copies of verses for other boys with an astonishing ease and 
 fluency; the idle ones only trembling lest they should be discovered 
 on giving in their exercises, and whipped because their poems were 
 too good. I have seen great men in my time, but never such a 
 great one as that head boy of my childhood: we all thought he 
 must be Prime Minister, and I was disappointed on meeting him 
 in after life to find he was no more than six feet high. 
 
 Dick Steele, the Charterhouse gownboy, contracted such an 
 admiration in the years of his childhood, and retained it faith- 
 fully through his life. Through the school and through the world, 
 
 ii
 
 STEELE 
 
 whithersoever his strange fortune led this erring, wayward, affec- 
 tionate creature, Joseph Addison was always his head boy. Addi- 
 son wrote his exercises. Addison did his best themes. He ran 
 Addison 's messages: fagged for him and blacked his shoes: to be 
 in Joe's company was Dick's greatest pleasure; and he took a 
 sermon or a caning from his monitor with the most boundless 
 reverence, acquiescence, and affection. 
 
 Steele found Addison a stately college Don at Oxford, and 
 himself did not make much figure at this place. He wrote a 
 comedy, which, by the advice of a friend, the humble fellow burned 
 there; and some verses, which I dare say are as sublime as other 
 gentlemen's composition at that age; but being smitten with a 
 sudden love for military glory, he threw up the cap and gown for 
 the saddle and bridle, and rode privately in the Horse Guards, in 
 the Duke of Ormond's troop the second and probably, with 
 the rest of the gentlemen of his troop, " all mounted on black horses 
 with white feathers in their hats, and scarlet coats richly laced," 
 marched by King William, in Hyde Park, in November, 1699, and 
 a great show of the nobility, besides twenty thousand people, and 
 above a thousand coaches. " The Guards had just got their new 
 clothes," the London Post said: "they are extraordinary grand, 
 and thought to be the finest body of horse in the world." But 
 Steele could hardly have seen any actual service. He who wrote 
 about himself, his mother, his wife, his loves, his debts, his friends, 
 and the wine he drank, would have told us of his battles if he had 
 seen any. His old patron, Ormond, probably got him his cornetcy 
 in the Guards, from which he was promoted to be a captain in 
 Lucas's Fusiliers, getting his company through the patronage of 
 Lord Cutts, whose secretary he was, and to whom he dedicated 
 his work called the " Christian Hero." As for Dick, whilst writing 
 this ardent devotional work, he was deep in debt, in drink, and in 
 all the follies of the town ; it is related that all the officers of Lucas's, 
 and the gentlemen of the Guards, laughed at Dick. And hi truth 
 a theologian in liquor is not a respectable object, and a hermit, 
 though he may be out at elbows, must not be in debt to the tailor. 
 Steele says of himself that he was always sinning and repenting. 
 He beat his breast and cried most piteously when he did repent : 
 but as soon as crying had made him thirsty, he fell to sinning again. 
 In that charming paper in the Tatter, in which he records his 
 father's death, his mother's griefs, his own most solemn and tender 
 
 12
 
 STEELE 
 
 emotions, he says he is interrupted by the arrival of a hamper of 
 wine, "the same as is to be sold at Garraway's, next week"; upon 
 the receipt of which he sends for three friends, and they fall to 
 instantly, " drinking two bottles apiece, with great benefit to them- 
 selves, and not separating till two o'clock in the morning." 
 
 His life was so. Jack the drawer was always interrupting it, 
 bringing him a bottle from the "Rose," or inviting him over to a 
 bout there with Sir Plume and Mr. Diver; and Dick wiped his 
 eyes, which were whimpering over his papers, took down his laced 
 hat, put on his sword and wig, kissed his wife and children, told 
 them a lie about pressing business, and went off to the "Rose" 
 to the jolly fellows. 
 
 While Mr. Addison was abroad, and after he came home in rather 
 a dismal way to wait upon Providence in his shabby lodging in the 
 Haymarket, young Captain Steele was cutting a much smarter 
 figure than that of his classical friend of Charterhouse Cloister 
 and Maudlin Walk. Could not some painter give an interview 
 between the gallant captain of Lucas's, with his hat cocked, and 
 his lace, and his face too, a trifle tarnished with drink, and that 
 poet, that philosopher, pale, proud, and poor, his friend and moni- 
 tor of school-days, of all days? How Dick must have bragged 
 about his chances and his hopes, and the fine company he kept, 
 and the charms of the reigning toasts and popular actresses, and 
 the number of bottles that he and my lord and some other pretty 
 fellows had cracked over-night at the "Devil," or the "Garter!" 
 Cannot one fancy Joseph Addison 's calm smile and cold gray 
 eyes following Dick for an instant, as he struts down the Mall, 
 to dine with the Guard at St. James's, before he turns with his 
 sober pace and threadbare suit, to walk back to his lodgings up the 
 two pair of stairs? Steele's name was down for promotion, Dick 
 always said himself, in the glorious, pious, and immortal William's 
 last table-book. Jonathan Swift's name had been written there 
 by the same hand too. 
 
 Our worthy friend, the author of the "Christian Hero," con- 
 tinued to make no small figure about town by the use of his wits. 
 He was appointed Gazetteer: he wrote, in 1703, "The Tender 
 Husband," his second play, in which there is some delightful 
 farcical writing, and of which he fondly owned in after-life, and 
 when Addison was no more, that there were "many applauded 
 strokes" from Addison's beloved hand. Is it not a pleasant part-
 
 STEELE 
 
 nership to remember ? Can't one fancy Steele full of spirits and 
 youth, leaving his gay company to go to Addison's lodging, where 
 his friend sits in the shabby sitting-room, quite serene, and cheer- 
 ful, and poor? In 1704, Steele came on the town with another 
 comedy, and behold it was so moral and religious, as poor Dick 
 insisted, so dull the town thought, that the "Lying Lover" 
 was damned. 
 
 Addison's hour of success now came, and he was able to 
 help our friend the "Christian Hero" in such a way, that, if 
 there had been any chance of keeping that poor tipsy cham- 
 pion upon his legs, his fortune was safe, and his competence as- 
 sured. Steele procured the place of Commissioner of Stamps: he 
 wrote so richly, so gracefully often, so kindly always, with such a 
 pleasant wit and easy frankness, with such a gush of good spirits 
 and good humor, that bis early papers may be compared to 
 Addison's own, and are to be read, by a male reader at least, 
 with quite an equal pleasure. 
 
 After the Tatter in 1711, the famous Spectator made its ap- 
 pearance, and this was followed, at various intervals, by many 
 periodicals under the same editor the Guardian the English- 
 man the Lover, whose love was rather insipid the Reader, 
 of whom the public saw no more after his second appearance 
 the Theatre, under the pseudonym of Sir John Edgar, which 
 Steele wrote while Governor of the Royal Company of Comedians, 
 to which post, and to that of Surveyor of the Royal Stables at 
 Hampton Court, and to the Commission of the Peace for Middle- 
 sex, and to the honor of knighthood, Steele had been preferred 
 soon after the accession of George I. ; whose cause honest Dick had 
 nobly fought, through disgrace, and danger, against the most 
 formidable enemies, against traitors and bullies, against Boling- 
 broke and Swift in the last reign. With the arrival of the King, 
 that splendid conspiracy broke up ; and a golden opportunity came 
 to Dick Steele, whose hand, alas, was too careless to gripe it. 
 
 Steele married twice; and outlived his places, his schemes, his 
 wife, his income, his health, and almost everything but his kind 
 heart. That ceased to trouble him in 1729, when he died, worn 
 out and almost forgotten by his contemporaries, in Wales, where 
 he had the remnant of a property. 
 
 Posterity has been kinder to this amiable creature; all women 
 especially are bound to be grateful to Steele, as he was the first 
 
 14
 
 STEELE 
 
 of our writers who really seemed to admire and respect them. 
 Congreve the Great, who alludes to the low estimation in which 
 women were held in Elizabeth's time, as a reason why the women 
 of Shakspeare make so small a figure in the poet's dialogues, 
 though he can himself pay splendid compliments to women, yet 
 looks on them as mere instruments of gallantry, and destined, like 
 the most consummate fortifications, to fall, after a certain time, 
 before the arts and bravery of the besieger, man. There is a letter 
 of Swift's, entitled "Advice to a very Young Married Lady," 
 which shows the Dean's opinion of the female society of his day, 
 and that if he despised man he utterly scorned women to. No 
 lady of our time could be treated by any man, were he ever so 
 much a wit or Dean, in such a tone of insolent patronage and 
 vulgar protection. In this performance, Swift hardly take pains 
 to hide his opinion that a woman is a fool: tells her to read books, 
 as if reading was a novel accomplishment; and informs her that 
 "not one gentleman's daughter hi a thousand has been brought 
 to read or understand her own natural tongue." Addison laughs 
 at women equally; but, with the gentleness and politeness of his 
 nature, smiles at them and watches them, as if they were harmless, 
 half-witted, amusing, pretty creatures, only made to be man's 
 playthings. It was Steele who first began to pay a manly homage 
 to their goodness and understanding, as well as to their tenderness 
 and beauty. In his comedies, the heroes do not rant and rave 
 about the divine beauties of Gloriana or Statira, as the characters 
 were made to do in the chivalry romances and the high-flown 
 dramas just going out of vogue; but Steele admires women's 
 virtue, acknowledges their sense, and adores their purity and 
 beauty, with an ardor and strength which should win the good-will 
 of all women to their hearty and respectful champion. It is this 
 ardor, this respect, this manliness, which makes his comedies so 
 pleasant and their heroes such fine gentlemen. He paid the finest 
 compliment to a woman that perhaps ever was offered. Of one 
 woman, whom Congreve had also admired and celebrated, Steele 
 says, that "to have loved her was a liberal education." "How 
 often," he says, dedicating a volume to his wife, "how often has 
 your tenderness removed pain from my sick head, how often anguish 
 from my afflicted heart! If there are such beings as guardian 
 angels, they are thus employed. I cannot believe one of them to 
 be more good in inclination, or more more charming in form than 
 
 15
 
 STEELE 
 
 my wife." His breast seems to warm and his eyes to kindle when 
 he meets with a good and beautiful woman, and it is with his heart 
 as well as with his hat that he salutes her. About children, and 
 all that relates to home, he is not less tender, and more than once 
 speaks in apology of what he calls his softness. He would have 
 been nothing without that delightful weakness. It is that which 
 gives his works their worth and his style its charm. It, like his 
 life, is full of faults and careless blunders; and redeemed, like that, 
 by his sweet and compassionate nature. 
 
 We possess of poor Steele's wild and chequered life some of the 
 most curious memoranda that ever were left of a man's biography.* 
 
 * The Correspondence of Steele passed after his death into the possession 
 of his daughter Elizabeth, by his second wife, Miss Scurlock, of Carmarthen- 
 shire. She married the Hon. John, afterwards third Lord Trevor. At her 
 death, part of the letters passed to Mr. Thomas, a grandson of a natural 
 daughter of Steele's; and part to Lady Trevor's next of kin, Mr. Scurlock. 
 They were published by the learned Nichols from whose later edition of 
 them, in 1809, our specimens are quoted. 
 Here we have him, in his courtship which was not a very long one : 
 
 "To MRS. SCURLOCK. 
 
 "Aug. 30, 1707. 
 
 "MADAM, I beg pardon that my paper is not finer, but I am forced to 
 write from a coffee-house, where I am attending about business. There is a 
 dirty crowd of busy faces all around me, talking of money; while all my am- 
 bition, all my wealth, is love! Love which animates my heart, sweetens my 
 humor, enlarges my soul, and affects every action of my life. It is to my 
 lovely charmer I owe, that many noble ideas are continually affixed to my 
 words and actions; it is the natural effect of that generous passion to create in 
 the admirer some similitude of the object admired. Thus, my dear, am I 
 every day to improve from so sweet a companion. Look up, my fair one, to 
 that Heaven which made thee such; and join with me to implore its influence 
 on our tender innocent hours, and beseech the Author of love to bless the rites 
 He has ordained and mingle with our happiness a just sense of our transient 
 condition, and a resignation to His will, which only can regulate our minds to 
 a steady endeavour to please Him and each other. 
 
 " I am for ever your faithful servant, 
 
 "RICH. STEELE." 
 
 Some few hours afterwards, apparently, Mistress Scurlock received the 
 next one obviously written later in the day: 
 
 "Saturday night (Aug. 30, 1707). 
 
 "DEAR, LOVELY MRS. SCURLOCK, I have been in very good company, 
 where your health, under the character of the woman I loved best, has been 
 
 16
 
 STEELE 
 
 Most men's letters, from Cicero down to Walpole, or down to the 
 great men of our own time, if you will, are doctored compositions, 
 and written with an eye suspicious towards posterity. That dedi- 
 cation of Steele's to his wife is an artificial performance, possibly; 
 at least, it is written with that degree of artifice which an orator 
 uses in arranging a statement for the House, or a poet employs in 
 preparing a sentiment in verse or for the stage. But there are 
 some 400 letters of Dick Steele's to his wife, which that thrifty 
 woman preserved accurately, and which could have been written 
 but for her and her alone. They contain details of the business, 
 pleasures, quarrels, reconciliations of the pair; they have all the 
 
 often drunk; so that I may say that I am dead drunk for your sake; which is 
 more than I die for you. 
 
 RICH. STEELE." 
 "To MRS. SCURLOCK. 
 
 "Sept. i, 1707. 
 
 " MADAM, It is the hardest thing in the world to be in love, and yet 
 attend business. As for me, all who speak to me find me out, and I must 
 lock myself up, or other people will do it for me. 
 
 "A gentleman asked me this morning, 'What news from Lisbon?" and I 
 answered, 'She is exquisitely handsome.' Another desired to know 'when 
 I had last been at Hampton Court?' I replied, 'It will be on Tuesday come 
 se'nnight.' Pr'ythee allow me at least to kiss your hand before that day, 
 that my mind may be in some composure. O Love! 
 
 'A thousand torments dwell about thee, 
 Yet who could live, to live without thee?' 
 
 "Methinks I could write a volume to you; but all the language on earth 
 would fail in saying how much, and with what disinterested passion, 
 
 "I am ever yours, 
 
 "RICH. STEELE." 
 
 Two days after this, he is found expounding his circumstances and pros- 
 pects to the young lady's mamma. He dates from " Lord Sunderland's office, 
 Whitehall"; and states his clear income at i,o25/. per annum. " I promise 
 myself," says he, "the pleasure of an industrious and virtuous life, in studying 
 to do things agreeable to you." 
 
 They were married, according to the most probable conjectures, about the 
 7th Sept. There are traces of a tiff about the middle of the next month; she 
 being prudish and fidgety, as he was impassioned and reckless. General prog- 
 ress, however, may be seen from the following notes. The "house in Bury 
 Street, St. James's" was now taken. 
 
 "To MRS. STEELE.. 
 
 "Oct. 16, 1707. 
 "DEAREST BEING ON EARTH, Pardon me if you do not see me till eleven
 
 STEELE 
 
 genuineness of conversations ; they are as artless as a child's prattle, 
 and as confidential as a curtain -lecture. Some are written from 
 the printing-office, where he is waiting for the proof-sheets of his 
 Gazette, or his Tatter; some are written from the tavern, whence 
 he promises to come to his wife "within a pint of wine," and where 
 he has given a rendezvous to a friend, or a money-lender: some 
 are composed in a high state of vinous excitement, when his head 
 is flustered with burgundy, and his heart abounds with amorous 
 warmth for his darling Prue: some are under the influence of the 
 dismal headache and repentance next morning: some, alas, are 
 from the lock-up house, where the lawyers have impounded him, 
 
 o'clock, having met a school-fellow from India, by whom I am to be informed 
 on things this night which expressly concern your obedient husband, 
 
 RICH. STEELE." 
 
 "To MRS. STEELE. 
 
 "Eight o'clock, FOUNTAIN TAVERN, 
 Oct. 22, 1707. 
 
 "Mv DEAR, I beg of you not to be uneasy; for I have done a great deal 
 of business to-day very successfully, and wait an hour or two about my 
 Gazette." 
 
 "Dec. 22, 1707. 
 
 "Mv DEAR, DEAR WIFE, I write to let you know I do not come home 
 to dinner, being obliged to attend some business abroad, of which I shall give 
 you an account (when I see you in the evening), as becomes your dutiful and 
 obedient husband." 
 
 "DEVIL TAVERN, TEMPLE BAR, 
 Jan. 3, 1707-8. 
 
 " DEAR PRTJE, I have partly succeeded in my business to-day, and 
 inclose two guineas as earnest of more. Dear Prue, I cannot come home 
 to dinner. I languish for your welfare, and will never be a moment care- 
 less more. Your faithful husband," &c. 
 
 "Jan. 14, 1707-8. 
 
 "DEAR WIFE, Mr. Edgecombe, Ned Ask, and Mr. Lumley have desired 
 me to sit an hour with them at the 'George,' in Pall Mall, for which I desire 
 your patience till twelve o'clock, and that you will go to bed," &c. 
 
 "GRAY'S INN, Feb. 3, 1708. 
 
 "DEAR PRUE, If the man who has my shoemaker's bill calls, let him 
 be answered that I shall call on him as I come home. I stay here in order to 
 
 18
 
 STEELE 
 
 and where he is waiting for bail. You trace many years of the poor 
 fellow's career in these letters. In September, 1707, from which 
 day she began to save the letters, he married the beautiful Mistress 
 Scurlock. You have his passionate protestations to the lady; 
 his respectful proposals to her mamma ; his private prayer to Heaven 
 when the union so ardently desired was completed; his fond pro- 
 fessions of contrition and promises of amendment, when, immedi- 
 ately after his marriage there began to be just cause for the one 
 and need for the other. 
 
 Captain Steele took a house for his lady upon their marriage, 
 "the third door from Germain Street, left hand of Berry Street," 
 
 get Jonson to discount a bill for me, and shall dine with him for that end. 
 He is expected at home every minute. 
 
 "Your most humble, obedient servant," &c. 
 
 "TENNIS-COURT, COFFEE-HOUSE, May 5, 1708. 
 
 " DEAR WIFE, I hope I have done this day what will be pleasing to 
 you; in the meantime shall lie this night at a baker's, one Leg, over against 
 the 'Devil Tavern,' at Charing Cross. I shall be able to confront the fools 
 who wish me uneasy, and shall have the satisfaction to see thee cheerful 
 and at ease. 
 
 "If the printer's boy be at home, send him hither; and let Mrs. Todd 
 send by the boy my night-gown, slippers, and clean linen. You shall hear 
 from me early in the morning," &c. 
 
 Dozens of similar letters follow, with occasional guineas, little parcels 
 of tea, or walnuts, &c. In 1709 the Tatter made its appearance. The fol- 
 lowing curious note dates April yth, 1710: 
 
 " I inclose to you [' Dear Prue '] a receipt for the saucepan and spoon, and 
 a note of 23^. of Lewis's, which will make up the 50^. I promised for your en- 
 suing occasions. 
 
 "I know no happiness in this life in any degree comparable to the pleasure 
 I have in your person and society. I only beg of you to add to your other 
 charms a fearfulness to see a man that loves you in pain and uneasiness, to 
 make me as happy as it is possible to be in this life. Rising a little in a morn- 
 ing, and being disposed to a cheerfulness .... would not be amiss." 
 
 In another, he is found excusing his coming home, being "invited to supper 
 to Mr. Boyle's." "Dear Prue," he says on this occasion, "do not send after 
 me, for I shall be ridiculous." 
 
 19
 
 STEELE 
 
 and the next year he presented his wife with a country-house at 
 Hampton. It appears she had a chariot and pair, and sometimes 
 four horses: he himself enjoyed a little horse for his own riding. 
 He paid, or promised to pay, his barber fifty pounds a year, and 
 always went abroad in a laced^ coat and a large black buckled peri- 
 wig, that must have cost somebody fifty guineas. He was rather 
 a well-to-do gentleman, Captain Steele, with the proceeds of his 
 estates in Barbadoes (left to him by his first wife), his incoine as 
 a writer of the Gazette, and his office of gentleman waiter to his 
 Royal Highness Prince George. His second wife brought him a 
 fortune too. But it is melancholy to relate, that with these houses 
 and chariots and horses and income, the Captain was constantly 
 in want of money, for which his beloved bride was asking as con- 
 stantly. In the course of a few pages we begin to find the shoe- 
 maker calling for money, and some directions from the Captain, 
 who has not thirty pounds to spare. He sends his wife," the beauti- 
 fullest object in the world," as he calls her, and evidently in reply 
 to. applications of her own, which have gone the way of all waste 
 paper, and lighted Dick's pipes, which were smoked a hundred 
 and forty years ago he sends his wife now a guinea, then a half- 
 guinea, then a couple of guineas, then half a pound of tea; and 
 again no money and no tea at all, but a promise that his darling 
 Prue shall have some in a day or two: or a request, perhaps, 
 that she will send over his night-gown and shaving-plate to the 
 temporary lodging where the nomadic Captain is lying, hidden 
 from the bailiffs. Oh! that a Christian hero and late Captain in 
 Lucas's should be afraid of a dirty sheriff's officer! That the pink 
 and pride of chivalry should turn pale before a writ! It stands to 
 record in poor Dick's own handwriting the queer collection is 
 preserved at the British Museum to this present day that the 
 rent of the nuptial house in Jermyn Street, sacred to unutterable 
 tenderness and Prue, and three doors from Bury Street, was not paid 
 until after the landlord had put in an execution on Captain Steele's 
 furniture. Addison sold the house and furniture at Hampton, and, 
 after deducting the sum in which his incorrigible friend was indebted 
 to him, handed over the residue of the proceeds of the sale to poor 
 Dick, who wasn't in the least angry at Addison's summary proceed- 
 ing, and I dare say was very glad of any sale or execution, the result 
 of which was to give him a little ready money. Having a small 
 house in Jermyn Street for which he couldn't pay, and a country- 
 
 20
 
 STEELE 
 
 house at Hampton on which he had borrowed money, nothing must 
 content Captain Dick but the taking, in 1712, a much finer, larger, 
 and grander house, in Bloomsbury Square; where his unhappy 
 landlord got no better satisfaction than his friend in St. James's, 
 and where it is recorded that Dick, giving a grand entertainment, 
 had a half-dozen queer -looking fellows in livery to wait upon his 
 noble guests, and confessed that his servants were bailiffs to a man. 
 " I fared like a distressed prince," the kindly prodigal writes, gener- 
 ously complimenting Addison for his assistance in the Taller, "I 
 fared like a distressed prince, who calls in a powerful neighbor to 
 his aid. I was undone by my auxiliary ; when I had once called him 
 in, I could not subsist without dependence on him." Poor, needy 
 Prince of Bloomsbury! think of him in his palace, with his allies 
 from Chancery Lane ominously guarding him. 
 
 All sorts of stories are told indicative of his recklessness and his 
 good humor. One narrated by Dr. Hoadly is exceedingly charac- 
 teristic; it shows the life of the time: and our poor friend very weak, 
 but very kind both in and out of his cups. 
 
 "My father," says Dr. John Hoadly, the Bishop's son, "when 
 Bishop of Bangor, was, by invitation, present at one of the Whig 
 meetings, held at the 'Trumpet,' in Shire Lane, when Sir Richard, 
 in his zeal, rather exposed himself, having the double duty of the 
 day upon him, as well to celebrate the immortal memory of King 
 William, it being the 4th November, as to drink his friend Addison 
 up to conversation pitch, whose phlegmatic constitution was hardly 
 warmed for society by that time. Steele was not fit for it. Two 
 remarkable circumstances happened. John Sly, the hatter of 
 facetious memory, was in the house; and John, pretty mellow, 
 took it into his head to come into the company on his knees, with a 
 tankard of ale in his hand to drink off to the immortal memory, and 
 to return in the same manner. Steele, sitting next my father, 
 whispered him Do laugh. It is humanity to laugh. Sir Richard, 
 in the evening, being too much in the same condition, was put into a 
 chair, and sent home. Nothing would serve him but being carried 
 to the Bishop of Bangor's, late as it was. However, the chairmen 
 carried him home, and got him up stairs, when his great complai- 
 sance would wait on them down stairs, which he did, and then was 
 got quietly to bed." 
 
 There is another amusing story which, I believe, that renowned 
 collector, Mr. Joseph Miller, or his successors, have incorporated 
 
 21
 
 STEELE 
 
 into their work. Sir Richard Steele, at a time when he was much 
 occupied with theatrical affairs, built himself a pretty private 
 theatre, and, before it was opened to his friends and guests, was 
 anxious to try whether the hall was well adapted for hearing. Ac- 
 cordingly he placed himself in the most remote part of the gallery, 
 and begged the carpenter who had built the house to speak up from 
 the stage. The man at first said that he was unaccustomed to 
 public speaking, and did not know what to say to his honor; but 
 the good-natured knight called out to him to say whatever was upper- 
 most; and, after a moment, the carpenter began, in a voice per- 
 fectly audible: "Sir Richard Steele!" he said, "for three months 
 past me and my men has been a working in this theatre, and we've 
 never seen the color of your honor's money : we will be very much 
 obliged if you'll pay it directly, for until you do we won't drive in 
 another nail." Sir Richard said that his friend's elocution was 
 perfect, but that he didn't like his subject much. 
 
 The great charm of Steele 's writing is its naturalness. He wrote 
 so quickly and carelessly, that he was forced to make the reader his 
 confidant, and had not the time to deceive him. He had a small 
 share of book-learning, but a vast acquaintance with the world. 
 He had known men and taverns. He had lived with gownsmen, 
 with troopers, with gentlemen ushers of the Court, with men and 
 women of fashion ; with authors and wits, with the inmates of the 
 spunging-houses, and with the frequenters of all the clubs and coffee- 
 houses in the town. He was liked in all company because he liked 
 it; and you like to see his enjoyment as you like to see the glee of a 
 boxful of children at the pantomime. He was not of those lonely 
 ones of the earth whose greatness obliged them to be solitary; on 
 the contrary, he admired, I think, more than any man who ever 
 wrote; and full of hearty applause and sympathy, wins upon you 
 by calling you to share his delight and good humor. His laugh 
 rings through the whole house. He must have been invaluable at 
 a tragedy, and have cried as much as the most tender young lady in 
 the boxes. He has a relish for beauty and goodness wherever he 
 meets it. He admired Shakspeare affectionately, and more than 
 any man of his time; and, according to his generous expansive 
 nature, called upon all his company to like what he liked himself. 
 He did not damn with faint praise: he was hi the world and of it; 
 and his enjoyment of life presents the strangest contrast to Swift's 
 
 22
 
 STEELE 
 
 savage indignation and Addison's lonely serenity.* Permit me to 
 read to you a passage from each writer, curiously indicative of his 
 
 * Here we have some of his later letters: 
 "To LADY STEELE. 
 
 "HAMPTON COURT, March 16, 1716-17. 
 
 "DEAR PRUE, If you have written anything to me which I should 
 have received last night, I beg your pardon that I cannot answer till the next 
 post .... Your son at the present writing is mighty well employed in tum- 
 bling on the floor of the room and sweeping the sand with a feather. He grows 
 a most delightful child, and very full of play and spirit. He is also a very great 
 scholar: he can read his primer; and I have brought down my Virgil. He 
 makes most shrewd remarks about the pictures. We are very intimate friends 
 and playfellows. He begins to be very ragged; and I hope I shall be pardoned 
 if I equip him with new clothes and frocks, or what Mrs. Evans and I shall 
 think for his service." 
 
 "To LADY STEELE. 
 
 [UNDATED.} 
 
 "You tell me you want a little flattery from me. I assure you I know 
 no one who deserves so much commendation as yourself, and to whom saying 
 the best things would be so little like flattery. The thing speaks for itself, 
 considering you as a very handsome woman that loves retirement one who 
 does not want wit, and yet is extremely sincere; and so I could go through all 
 the vices which attend the good qualities of other people, of which you are 
 exempt. But, indeed, though you have every perfection, you have an extrava- 
 gant fault, which almost frustrates the good in you to me; and that is, that you 
 do not love to dress, to appear, to shine out, even at my request, and to make 
 me proud of you, or rather to indulge the pride I have that you are mine. . . . 
 "Your most affectionate, obsequious husband, 
 
 "RICHARD STEELE. 
 "A quarter of Molly's schooling is paid. The children are perfectly well." 
 
 "To LADY STEELE. 
 
 "March 26, 1717. 
 
 "MY DEAREST PRUE, I have received yours, wherein you give me 
 the sensible affliction of telling me enow of the continual pain in your head. 
 .... When I lay in your place, and on your pillow, I assure you I fell into 
 tears last night, to think that my charming little insolent might be then awake 
 and in pain; and took it to be a sin to go to sleep. 
 
 "For this tender passion towards you, I must be contented that your 
 Prueship will condescend to call yourself my well-wisher " 
 
 At the time when the above later letters were written, Lady Steele was in 
 Wales, looking after her estate there Steele, about this time, was much oc- 
 cupied with a project for conveying fish alive, by which, as he constantly 
 assures his wife, he firmly believed he should make his fortune. It did not 
 succeed, however. 
 
 Lady Steele died in December of the succeeding year. She lies buried in 
 Westminster Abbey. 
 
 2 3
 
 STEELE 
 
 peculiar humor: the subject is the same, and the mood the very- 
 gravest. We have said that upon all the actions of man, the most 
 trifling and the most solemn, the humorist takes upon himself to 
 comment. All readers of our old masters know the terrible lines of 
 Swift, in which he hints at his philosophy and describes the end of 
 mankind: 
 
 " Amazed, confused, its fate unknown, 
 
 The world stood trembling at Jove's throne; 
 While each pale sinner hung his head, 
 Jove, nodding, shook the heavens and said: 
 
 'Offending race of human kind, 
 By nature, reason, learning, blind; 
 You who through frailty stepped aside, 
 And you who never err'd through pride; 
 You who in different sects were shamm'd, 
 And come to see each other damn'd; 
 (So some folk told you, but they knew 
 No more of Jove's designs than you;) 
 The world's mad business now is o'er, 
 And I resent your freaks no more; 
 7 to such blockheads set my wit, 
 I damn such fools go, go, you're bit!'" 
 
 Addison, speaking on the very same theme, but with how differ- 
 ent a voice, says, in his famous paper on Westminster Abbey (Spec- 
 tator, No. 26): "For my own part, though I am always serious, 
 I do not know what it is to be melancholy, and can therefore take a 
 view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes with the same pleas- 
 ure as in her most gay and delightful ones. When I look upon the 
 tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies within me; when I 
 read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; 
 when I meet with the grief of parents on a tombstone, my heart 
 melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents them- 
 selves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those we must quickly 
 follow." (I have owned that I do not think Addison's heart melted 
 very much, or that he indulged very inordinately in the " vanity of 
 grieving.") "When," he goes on, "when I see kings lying by those 
 who deposed them: when I consider rival wits placed side by side, 
 or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and dis- 
 putes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little com- 
 petitions, factions, and debates of mankind. And, when I read 
 the several dates on the tombs of some that died yesterday and 
 
 24
 
 STEELE 
 
 some 600 years ago, I consider that Great Day when we shall all of 
 us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together." 
 
 Our third humorist comes to speak upon the same subject. You 
 will have observed in the previous extracts the characteristic humor 
 of each writer the subject and the contrast the fact of Death, 
 and the play of individual thought, by which each comments on it, 
 and now hear the third writer death, sorrow, and the grave being 
 for the moment also his theme. " The first sense of sorrow I ever 
 knew," Steele says in the Taller, "was upon the death of my father, 
 at which time I was not quite five years of age: but was rather 
 amazed at what all the house meant, than possessed of a real under- 
 standing why nobody would play with us. I remember I went 
 into the room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping 
 alone by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a beating the 
 coffin, and calling papa; for, I know not how, I had some idea that 
 he was locked up there. My mother caught me in her arms, and, 
 transported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was before in, 
 she almost smothered me in her embraces, and told me in a flood of 
 tears, ' Papa could not hear me, and would play with me no more : 
 for they were going to put him under ground, whence he would never 
 come to us again.' She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble 
 spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the wildness 
 of her transport, which methought struck me with an instinct of 
 sorrow that, before I was sensible what it was to grieve, seized my 
 very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my heart ever since." 
 
 Can there be three more characteristic moods of minds and men ? 
 "Fools, do you know anything of this mystery?" says Swift, stamp- 
 ing on a grave, and carrying his scorn for mankind actually beyond 
 it. "Miserable, purblind wretches, how dare you to pretend to 
 comprehend the Inscrutable, and how can your dim eyes pierce the 
 unfathomable depths of yonder boundless heaven?" Addison,in 
 a much kinder language and gentler voice, utters much the same 
 sentiment: and speaks of the rivalry of wits, and the contests of 
 holy men, with the same sceptic placidity. "Look what a little 
 vain dust we are," he says, smiling over the tombstones; and catch- 
 ing, as is his wont, quite a divine effulgence as he looks heavenward, 
 he speaks, in words of inspiration almost, of "the Great Day, 
 when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appear- 
 ance together." 
 
 The third, whose theme is death, too, and who will speak his 
 
 25
 
 STEELE 
 
 word of moral as Heaven teaches him, leads you up to his father's 
 coffin, and shows you his beautiful mother weeping, and himself an 
 unconscious little boy wondering at her side. His own natural 
 tears flow as he takes your hand and confidingly asks your sym- 
 pathy. "See how good and innocent and beautiful women are," 
 he says; "how tender little children! Let us love these and one 
 another, brother God knows we have need of love and pardon." 
 So it is each man looks with his own eyes, speaks with his own 
 voice, and prays his own prayer. 
 
 When Steele asks your sympathy for the actors in that charming 
 scene of Love and Grief and Death, who can refuse it ? One yields 
 to it as to the frank advance of a child, or to the appeal of a woman. 
 A man is seldom more manly than when he is what you call un- 
 manned the source of his emotion is championship, pity, and 
 courage; the instinctive desire to cherish those who are innocent 
 and unhappy, and defend those who are tender and weak. If 
 Steele is not our friend he is nothing. He is by no means the most 
 brilliant of wits nor the deepest of thinkers: but he is our friend; 
 we love him, as children love their love with an A, because he is 
 amiable. Who likes a man best because he is the cleverest or the 
 wisest of mankind; or a woman because she is the most virtuous, 
 or talks French, or plays the piano better than the rest of her sex ? 
 I own to liking Dick Steele the man, and Dick Steele the author, 
 much better than much better men and much better authors. 
 
 The misfortune regarding Steele is, that most part of the com- 
 pany here present must take his amiability upon hearsay, and cer- 
 tainly can't make his intimate acquaintance. Not that Steele 
 was worse than his time; on the contrary, a far better, truer, and 
 higher-hearted man than most who lived in it. But things were 
 done in that society, and names were named, which would make 
 you shudder now. What would be the sensation of a polite youth 
 of the present day, if at a ball he saw the young object of his affec- 
 tions taking a box out of her pocket and a pinch of snuff; or if at 
 dinner, by the charmer's side, she deliberately put her knife into 
 her mouth? If she cut her mother's throat with it, mamma would 
 scarcely be more shocked. I allude to these peculiarities of bygone 
 times as an excuse for my favorite, Steele, who was not worse, and 
 often much more delicate than his neighbors. 
 
 Theie exists a curious document descriptive of the manners of 
 the last age, which describes most minutely the amusements and 
 
 26
 
 STEELE 
 
 occupations of persons of fashion in London at the time of which 
 we are speaking; the time of Swift, and Addison, and Steele. 
 
 When Lord Sparkish, Tom Neverout, and Colonel Alwit, the 
 immortal personages of Swift's polite conversation, came to break- 
 fast with my Lady Smart, at eleven o'clock in the morning, my 
 Lord Smart was absent at the leve"e. His lordship was at home 
 to dinner at three o'clock to receive his guests; and we may sit 
 down to this meal, like the Barmecide's, and see the fops of the 
 last century before us. Seven of them sat down at dinner, and 
 were joined by a country baronet who told them they kept court 
 hours. These persons of fashion began their dinner with a sirloin 
 of beef, fish, a shoulder of veal, and a tongue. My Lady Smart 
 carved the sirloin, my Lady Answerall helped the fish, and the 
 gallant Colonel cut the shoulder of veal. All made a considerable 
 inroad on the sirloin and the shoulder of veal with the exception 
 of Sir John, who had no appetite, having already partaken of a 
 beefsteak and two mugs of ale, besides a tankard of March beer 
 as soon as he got out of bed. They drank claret, which the master 
 of the house said should always be drunk after fish; and my Lord 
 Smart particularly recommended some excellent cider to my Lord 
 Sparkish, which occasioned some brilliant remarks from that 
 nobleman. When the host called for wine, he nodded to one or 
 other ot his guests, and said, "Tom Neverout, my service to you." 
 
 After the first course came almond-pudding, fritters, which the 
 Colonel took with his hands out of the dish, in order to help the 
 brilliant Miss Notable; chickens, black puddings, and soup; and 
 Lady Smart, the elegant mistress of the mansion, finding a skewer 
 in a dish, placed it in her plate with the directions that it should 
 be carried down to the cook and dressed for the cook's own dinner. 
 Wine and small beer were drunk during this second course; and 
 when the Colonel called for beer, he called the butler Friend, and 
 asked whether the beer was good. Various jocular remarks passed 
 from the gentlefolks to the servants; at breakfast several persons 
 had a word and a joke for Mrs. Betty, my lady's maid, who warmed 
 the cream and had charge of the canister (the tea cost thirty shil- 
 lings a pound in those days). When my Lady Sparkish sent her 
 footman out to my Lady Match to come at six o'clock and play at 
 quadrille, her ladyship warned the man to follow his nose, and if 
 he fell by the way not to stay to get up again. And when the 
 gentleman asked the hall-porter if his lady was at home, that func- 
 
 27
 
 STEELE 
 
 tionary replied, with manly waggishness, " She was at home just 
 now, but she's not gone out yet." 
 
 After the puddings, sweet and black, the fritters and soup, 
 came the third course, of which the chief dish was a hot venison 
 pasty, which was put before Lord Smart, and carved by that noble- 
 man. Besides the pasty, there was a hare, a rabbit, some pigeons, 
 partridges, a goose, and a ham. Beer and wine were freely imbibed 
 during this course, the gentlemen always pledging somebody with 
 every glass which they drank; and by this time the conversation 
 between Tom Neverout and Miss Notable had grown so brisk and 
 lively, that the Derbyshire baronet began to think the young gentle- 
 woman was Tom's sweetheart; on which Miss remarked, that she 
 loved Tom "like pie." After the goose, some of the gentlemen 
 took a dram of brandy, "which was very good for the wholesomes," 
 Sir John said ; and now having had a tolerably substantial dinner, 
 honest Lord Smart bade the butler bring up the great tankard full 
 of October to Sir John. The great tankard was passed from hand 
 to hand and mouth to mouth, but when pressed by the noble 
 host upon the gallant Tom Neverout, he said, "No, faith, my 
 lord; I like your wine, and won't put a churl upon a gentleman. 
 Your honor's claret is good enough for me." And so, the dinner 
 over, the host said, " Hang saving, bring up us a ha'porth of cheese." 
 
 The cloth was now taken away, and a bottle of burgundy was 
 set down, of which the ladies were invited to partake before they 
 went to their tea. When they withdrew, the gentlemen promised 
 to join them in an hour: fresh bottles were brought; the "dead 
 men," meaning the empty bottles, removed; and "D'you hear, 
 John? bring clean glasses," my Lord Smart said. On which the 
 gallant Colonel Alwit said, " I'll keep my glass; for wine is the best 
 liquor to wash glasses in." 
 
 After an hour the gentlemen joined the ladies, and then they 
 all sat and played quadrille until three o'clock in the morning, 
 when the chairs and the flambeaux came, and this noble company 
 went to bed. 
 
 Such were manners six or seven score years ago. I draw no 
 inference from this queer picture let all moralists here present 
 deduce their own. Fancy the moral condition of that society in 
 which a lady of fashion joked with a footman, and carved a sirloin, 
 and provided besides a great shoulder of veal, a goose, hare, rabbit, 
 chickens, partridges, black puddings, and a ham for a dinner for eight 
 
 28
 
 STEELE 
 
 Christians. What what could have been the condition of that 
 polite world in which people openly ate goose after almond-pudding, 
 and took their soup in the middle of dinner ? Fancy a Colonel in 
 the Guards putting his hand into a dish of beignets d'abricot, and 
 helping his neighbor, a young lady du monde ! Fancy a noble lord 
 calling out to the servants, before the ladies at his table, "Hang 
 expense, bring up a ha'porth of cheese!" Such were the ladies 
 of Saint James's such were the frequenters of " White's Choco- 
 late-House," when Swift used to visit it, and Steele described it as 
 the centre of pleasure, gallantry, and entertainment, a hundred 
 and forty years ago! 
 
 Dennis, who ran amuck at the literary society of his day, falls 
 foul of poor Steele, and thus depicts him : "Sir John Fxigar, of 
 
 the county of in Ireland, is of a middle stature, broad shoulders, 
 
 thick legs, a shape like the picture of somebody over a farmer's 
 chimney a short chin, a short nose, a short forehead, a broad 
 flat face, and a dusky countenance. Yet with such a face and 
 such a shape, he discovered at sixty that he took himself for a 
 beauty, and appeared to be more mortified at being told that he 
 was ugly, than he was by any reflection made upon his honor or 
 understanding. 
 
 "He is a gentleman born, witness himself, of very honorable 
 family; certainly of a very ancient one, for his ancestors flourished 
 in Tipperary long before the English ever set foot in Ireland. He 
 has testimony of this more authentic than the Herald's Office, 
 or any human testimony. For God has marked him more abun- 
 dantly than he did Cain, and stamped his native country on his 
 face, his understanding, his writings, his actions, his passions, and, 
 above all, his vanity. The Hibernian brogue is still upon all these, 
 though long habit and length of days have worn it off his tongue." 
 
 Although this portrait is the work of a man who was neither the 
 friend of Steele nor of any other man alive, yet there is a dreadful 
 resemblance to the original in the savage and exaggerated traits 
 of the caricature, and everybody who knows him must recognize 
 Dick Steele. Dick set about almost all the undertakings of his 
 life with inadequate means, and, as he took and furnished a house 
 with the most generous intentions towards his friends, the most 
 tender gallantry towards his wife, and with this only drawback, 
 that he had not wherewithal to pay the rent when quarter-day 
 came, so, in his life he proposed to himself the most magnificent 
 
 29
 
 STEELE 
 
 schemes of virtue, forbearance, public and private good, and the 
 advancement of his own and the national religion; but when he 
 had to pay for these articles so difficult to purchase and so costly 
 to maintain poor Dick's money was not forthcoming: and when 
 Virtue called with her little bill, Dick made a shuffling excuse that 
 he could not see her that morning, having a headache from being 
 tipsy over-night; or when stern Duty rapped at the door with his 
 account, Dick was absent and not ready to pay. He was shirk- 
 ing at the tavern; or had some particular business (of somebody's 
 else) at the ordinary: or he was in hiding, or worse than in hiding, 
 in the lock-up house. What a situation for a man ! for a philan- 
 thropist for a lover of right and truth for a magnificent de- 
 signer and schemer! Not to dare to look in the face the Religion 
 which he adored and which he had offended: to have to shirk down 
 back lanes and alleys, so as to avoid the friend whom he loved and 
 who had trusted him; to have the house, which he had intended 
 for his wife, whom he loved passionately, and for her ladyship's 
 company which he wished to entertain splendidly, in the posses- 
 sion of a bailiff's man ; with a crowd of little creditors, grocers, 
 butchers, and small-coal men lingering round the door with 
 their bills and jeering at him. Alas! for poor Dick Steele! For 
 nobody else, of course. There is no man or woman in our time 
 who makes fine projects and gives them up from idleness or want 
 of means. When Duty calls upon us, we no doubt are always at 
 home and ready to pay that grim tax-gatherer. When we are 
 stricken with remorse and promise reform, we keep our promise, 
 and are never angry, or idle, or extravagant any more. There are 
 no chambers in our hearts, destined for family friends and ac- 
 tions, and now occupied by some Sin's emissary and bailiff in pos- 
 session. There are no little sins, shabby peccadilloes, importunate 
 remembrances, or disappointed holders of our promises to reform, 
 hovering at our steps, or knocking at our door! Of course not. 
 We are living in the nineteenth century; and poor Dick Steele 
 stumbled and got up again, and got into jail and out again, and 
 sinned and repented, and loved and suffered, and lived and died, 
 scores ,of years ago. Peace be with him! Let us think gently of 
 one who was so gentle: let us speak kindly of one whose own breast 
 exuberated with human kindness.
 
 THE TATLER
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 I 
 
 MR. BICKERSTAFF ON HIMSELF 
 
 No. 89.] THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1709. [STEELE.] 
 
 Rura mihi placeant, riguique in evallibus amnes, 
 
 Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius 
 
 VIRG. GEORG. ii. 485. 
 
 My next desire is, void of care and strife, 
 To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life: 
 A country cottage near a crystal flood, 
 A winding valley, and a lofty wood. 
 
 HAVE received this short epistle from an unknown hand. 
 
 " SIR, I have no more to trouble you with, than to desire you 
 would in your next help me to some answer to the inclosed concern- 
 ing yourself. In the mean time I congratulate you upon the in- 
 crease of your fame, which you see has extended itself beyond the 
 bills of mortality." 
 
 " SIR, That the country is barren of news has been the excuse, 
 time out of mind, for dropping a correspondence with our friends 
 in London ; as if it were impossible out of a coffee-house to write 
 an agreeable letter. I am too ingenuous to endeavour at the 
 covering of my negligence with so common an excuse. Doubtless, 
 amongst friends, bred, as we have been, to the knowledge of books 
 as well as men, a letter dated from a garden, a grotto, a fountain, a 
 wood, a meadow, or the banks of a river, may be more entertaining 
 than one from Tom's, Will's, White's, or Saint James's. I promise, 
 therefore, to be frequent for the future in my rural dates to you. 
 But for fear you should, from what I have said, be induced to believe 
 I shun the commerce of men, I must inform you, that there is a 
 fresh topic of discourse lately arisen amongst the ingenious in our 
 
 33
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 part of the world, and is become the more fashionable for the ladies 
 giving into it. This we owe to Isaac Bickerstaff , who is very much 
 censured by some, and as much justified by others. Some criticise 
 his style, his humour, and his matter; others admire the whole man. 
 Some pretend, from the informations of their friends in town, to de- 
 cypher the author; and others confess they are lost in then- guesses. 
 For my part, I must own myself a professed admirer of the paper, 
 and desire you to send me a complete set, together with your 
 thoughts of the squire and his lucubrations." 
 
 There is no pleasure like that of receiving praise from the praise- 
 worthy; and I own it a very solid happiness, that these my lucubra- 
 tions are approved by a person of so fine a taste as the author of this 
 letter, who is capable of enjoying the world in the simplicity of its 
 natural beauties. This pastoral letter, if I may so call it, must be 
 written by a man who carries his entertainment wherever he goes, 
 and is undoubtedly one of those happy men who appear far other- 
 wise to the vulgar. I dare say, he is not envied by the vicious, the 
 vain, the frolic, and the loud; but is continually blessed with that 
 strong and serious delight, which flows from a well-taught and 
 liberal mind. With great respect to country sports, I may say, this 
 gentleman could pass his time agreeably, if there were not a hare or 
 a fox in his county. That calm and elegant satisfaction which the 
 vulgar call melancholy is the true and proper delight of men of 
 knowledge and virtue. What we take for diversion, which is a 
 kind of forgetting ourselves, is but a mean way of entertainment, 
 in comparison of that which is considering, knowing, and enjoying 
 ourselves. The pleasures of ordinary people are in their passions ; 
 but the seat of this delight is hi the reason and understanding. 
 Such a frame of mind raises that sweet enthusiasm, which warms 
 the imagination at the sight of every work of nature, and turns all 
 round you into a picture and landscape. I shall be ever proud of 
 advices from this gentleman; for I prof ess 'writing news from the 
 learned, as well as the busy world. 
 
 As for my labours, which he is pleased to inquire after, if they 
 can but wear one impertinence out of human life, destroy a single 
 vice, or give a morning's cheerfulness to an honest mind; in short, 
 if the world can be but one virtue the better, or hi any degree less 
 vicious, or receive from them the smallest addition to their innocent 
 diversions; I shall not think my pains, or indeed my life, to have 
 been spent in vain. 
 
 34
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 Thus far as to my studies. It will be expected I should in the 
 next place give some account of my life. I shall therefore, for the 
 satisfaction of the present age, and the benefit of posterity, present 
 the world with the following abridgement of it. 
 
 It is remarkable, that I was bred by hand, and eat nothing but 
 milk until I was a twelve-month old ; from which time, to the eighth 
 year of my ge, I was observed to delight in pudding and potatoes; 
 and indeed I retain a benevolence for that sort of food to this day. 
 I do not remember that I distinguished myself in any thing at those 
 years, but by my great skill at taw, for which I was so barbarously 
 used, that it has ever since given me an aversion to gaming. In 
 my twelfth year, I suffered very much for two or three false con- 
 cords. At fifteen I was sent to the university, and staid there for 
 some time ; but a drum passing by, being a lover of music, I inlisted 
 myself for a soldier. As years came on, I began to examine things, 
 and grew discontented at the times. This made me quit the sword, 
 and take to the study of the occult sciences, hi which I was so 
 wrapped up, that Oliver Cromwell had been buried, and taken up 
 again, five years before I heard he was dead. This gave me first 
 the reputation of a conjurer, which has been of great disadvantage 
 to me ever since, and kept me out of all public employments. The 
 greater part of my later years has been divided between Dick's 
 coffee-house, the Trumpet in Sheer-lane, and my own lodgings. 
 
 MEMORIES OF HIS CHILDHOOD 
 
 No. 181.] TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1710. [STEELE.] 
 
 Dies, ni fallor, adest, quern semper acerbum, 
 
 Semper honoratum, sic dii voluistis habebo. 
 
 VIRG. ./EN. v. 49. 
 
 And now the rising day renews the year, 
 A day for ever sad, for ever dear. 
 
 THERE are those among mankind, who can enjoy no relish of 
 their being, except the world is made acquainted with all that 
 relates to them, and think every thing lost that passes unobserved; 
 
 35
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 but others find a solid delight in stealing by the crowd, and model- 
 ling their life after such a manner, as is as much above the appro- 
 bation as the practice of the vulgar. Life being too short to give 
 instances great enough of true friendship or good will, some sages 
 have thought it pious to preserve a certain reverence for the Manes 
 of their deceased friends; and have withdrawn themselves from 
 the rest of the world at certain seasons, to commemorate in their 
 own thoughts such of their acquaintance who have gone before 
 them out of this life. And indeed, when we are advanced in years, 
 there is not a more pleasing entertainment, than to recollect in a 
 gloomy moment the many we have parted with, that have been dear 
 and agreeable to us, and to cast a melancholy thought or two after 
 those, with whom, perhaps, we have indulged ourselves in whole 
 nights of mirth and jollity. With such inclinations in my heart 
 I went to my closet yesterday in the evening, and resolved to be 
 sorrowful; upon which occasion I could not but look with disdain 
 upon myself, that though all the reasons which I had to lament the 
 loss of many of my friends are now as forcible as at the moment 
 of their departure, yet did not my heart swell with the same sorrow 
 which I felt at that time; but I could, without tears, reflect upon 
 many pleasing adventures I have had with some, who have long 
 been blended with common earth. 
 
 Though it is by the benefit of nature, that length of tune thus 
 blots out the violence of afflictions; yet with tempers too much 
 given to pleasure, it is almost necessary to revive the old places 
 of grief in our memory; and ponder step by step on past life, to 
 lead the mind into that sobriety of thought which poises the heart, 
 and makes it beat with due time, without being quickened with 
 desire, or retarded with despair, from its proper and equal motion. 
 When we wind up a clock that is out of order, to make it go well 
 for the future, we do not immediately set the hand to the present 
 instant, but we make it strike the round of all its hours, before it 
 can recover the regularity of its time. Such, thought I, shall be my 
 method this evening; and since it is that day of the year which 
 I dedicate to the memory of such in another life as I much delighted 
 in when living, an hour or two shall be sacred to sorrow and their 
 memory, while I run over all the melancholy circumstances of this 
 kind which have occurred to me in my whole life. The first sense 
 of sorrow I ever knew was upon the death of my father at which 
 time I was not quite five years of age; but was rather amazed at 
 
 36
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 what all the house meant, than possessed with a real understand- 
 ing why nobody was willing to play with me. I remember I went 
 into the room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping alone 
 by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a-beating the 
 coffin, and calling papa; for, I know not how, I had some slight idea 
 that he was locked up there. My mother catched me in her arms, 
 and, transported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was 
 before in, she almost smothered me in her embraces; and told me, 
 in a flood of tears, "Papa could not hear me, and would play with 
 me no more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence 
 he could never come to us again." She was a very beautiful woman, 
 of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the 
 wildness of her transport, which, methought, struck me with an 
 instinct of sorrow, that, before I was sensible of what it was to 
 grieve, seized my very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my 
 heart ever since. The mind in infancy is, methinks, like the body 
 in embryo, and receives impressions so forcible, that they are as 
 hard to be removed by reason, as any mark, with which a child 
 is born, is to be taken away by any future application. Hence 
 it is, that good-nature in me is no merit; but having been so fre- 
 quently overwhelmed with her tears before I knew the cause of 
 any affliction, or could draw defences from my own judgment. 
 I imbibed commiseration, remorse, and an unmanly gentleness 
 of mind, which have since insnared me into ten thousand calami- 
 ties; from whence I can reap no advantage, except it be, that, in 
 such a humour as I am now in, I can the better indulge myself 
 in the softnesses of humanity, and enjoy that sweet anxiety which 
 arises from the memory oi past afflictions. 
 
 We, that are very old, are better able to remember things which 
 befel us in our distant youth, than the passages of later days. For 
 this reason it is, that the companions of my strong and vigorous 
 years present themselves more immediately to me hi this office of 
 sorrow. Untimely and unhappy deaths are what we are most apt 
 to lament ; so little are we able to make it indifferent when a thing 
 happens, though we know it must happen. Thus we groan under 
 life, and bewail those who are relieved from it. Every object that 
 returns to our imagination raises different passions, according to 
 the circumstances of their departure. Who can have lived in an 
 army, and in a serious hour reflect upon the many gay and agree- 
 able men that might long have flourished in the arts of peace, and 
 
 37
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 not join with the imprecations of the fatherless and widow on the 
 tyrant to whose ambition they fell sacrifices? But gallant men, 
 who are cut off by the sword, move rather our veneration than our 
 pity; and we gather relief enough from their own contempt of death, 
 to make that no evil, which was approached with so much cheer- 
 fulness, and attended with so much honour. But when we turn our 
 thoughts from the great parts of life on such occasions, and instead 
 of lamenting those who stood ready to give death to those from 
 whom they had the fortune to receive it; I say, when we let our 
 thoughts wander from such noble objects, and consider the havock 
 which is made among the tender and the innocent, pity enters with 
 an unmixed softness, and possesses all our souls at once. 
 
 Here (were there words to express such sentiments with proper 
 tenderness) I should record the beauty, innocence and untimely 
 death, of the first object my eyes ever beheld with love. The beau- 
 teous virgin! how ignorantly did she charm, how carelessly excel! 
 Oh Death! thou hast right to the bold, to the ambitious, to the high, 
 and to the haughty; but why this cruelty to the humble, to the meek, 
 to the undiscerning, to the thoughtless? Nor age, nor business, 
 nor distress, can erase the dear image from my imagination. In 
 the same week, I saw her dressed for a ball, and in a shroud. How 
 ill did the habit of death become the pretty trifler ? I still behold 
 
 the smiling earth A large train of disasters were coming on to 
 
 my memory, when my servant knocked at my closet-door, and 
 interrupted me with a letter, attended with a hamper of wine, of the 
 same sort with that which is to be put to sale, on Thursday next, at 
 Garraway's coffee-house. Upon the receipt of it, I sent for three 
 of my friends. We are so intimate, that we can be company in 
 whatever state of mind we meet, and can entertain each other with- 
 out expecting always to rejoice. The wine we found to be generous 
 and warming, but with such an heat as moved us rather to be 
 cheerful than frolicksome. It revived the spirits, without firing the 
 blood. We commended it until two of the clock this morning ; and 
 having to-day met a little before dinner, we found, that though we 
 drank two bottles a man, we had much more reason to recollect than 
 forget what had passed the night before.
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 A VISIT TO A FRIEND 
 
 No. 95,] THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1709. [STEELE.] 
 
 Interea dulces pendent circum oscula nati, 
 
 Casta pudicitiam servat domus 
 
 VIRG. GEORO. ii. 523. 
 
 His cares are eas'd with intervals of bliss; 
 His little children, climbing for a kiss, 
 Welcome their father's late return at night; 
 His faithful bed is crown'd with chaste delight. 
 
 THERE are several persons who have many pleasures and en- 
 tertainments in their possession, which they do not enjoy. It 
 is, therefore, a kind and good office to acquaint them with their own 
 happiness, and turn their attention to such instances of their good 
 fortune as they are apt to overlook. Persons in the married state 
 often want such a monitor; and pine away then- days, by looking 
 upon the same condition in anguish and murmur, which carries 
 with it in the opinion of others a complication of all the pleasures of 
 life, and a retreat from its inquietudes. 
 
 I am led into this thought by a visit I made an old friend, who 
 was formerly my schoolfellow. He came to town last week with his 
 family for the winter, and yesterday morning sent me word his wife 
 expected me to dinner. I am as it were at home at that house, and 
 every member of it knows me for their well-wisher. I cannot indeed 
 express the pleasure it is, to be met by the children with so much joy 
 as I am when I go thither. The boys and girls strive who shall 
 come first, when they think it is I that am knocking at that door; 
 and that child which loses the race to me runs back again to tell the 
 father it is Mr. Bickerstaff . This day I was led in by a pretty girl, 
 that we all thought must have forgot me; for the family has been 
 out of town these two years. Her knowing me again was a 
 mighty subject with us, and took up our discourse at the first en- 
 trance. After which, they began to rally me upon a thousand little 
 stories they heard in the country, about my marriage to one of my 
 neighbour's daughters. Upon which the gentleman, my friend 
 said, "Nay, if Mr. Bickerstaff marries a child of any of his old com- 
 panions, I hope mine shall have the preference ; there is Mrs. Mary 
 
 39
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 is now sixteen, and would make him as fine a widow as the best of 
 them. But I know him too well; he is so enamoured with the very 
 memory of those who flourished in our youth, that he will not so 
 much as look upon the modern beauties. I remember, old gentle- 
 man, how often you went home in a day to refresh your counte- 
 nance and dress, when Teraminta reigned in your heart. As we 
 came up in the coach, I repeated to my wife some of your verses on 
 her." 
 
 With such reflections on little passages which happened long ago, 
 we passed our time, during a cheerful and elegant meal. After 
 dinner, his lady left the room, as did also the children. As soon 
 as we were alone, he took me by the hand; " Well, my good friend," 
 says he, "I am heartily glad to see thee; I was afraid you would 
 never have seen all the company that dined with you to-day 
 again. Do not you think the good woman of the house a little 
 altered, since you followed her from the play-house to find out who 
 she was for me?" I perceived a tear fall down his cheek as he 
 spoke, which moved me not a little. But, to turn the discourse, I 
 said, " She is not indeed quite that creature she was, when she re- 
 turned me the letter I carried from you ; and told me, ' she hoped, 
 as I was a gentleman, I would be employed no more to trouble her, 
 who had never offended me; but would be so much the gentleman's 
 friend as to dissuade him from a pursuit, which he could never 
 succeed in.' You may remember, I thought her in earnest; and 
 you were forced to employ your cousin Will, who made his sister 
 get acquainted with her, for you. You cannot expect her to be for 
 ever fifteen." "Fifteen!" replied my good friend: "Ah! you 
 little understand, you that have lived a bachelor, how great, how 
 exquisite a pleasure there is, in being really beloved ! It is impossi- 
 ble, that the most beauteous face in nature should raise in me such 
 pleasing ideas, as when I look upon that excellent woman. That 
 fading hi her countenance is chiefly caused by her watching with 
 me, in my fever. This was followed by a fit of sickness, which had 
 like to have carried her off last winter. I tell you sincerely, I have 
 so many obligations to her, that I cannot, with any sort of modera- 
 tion, think of her present state of health. But as to what you say 
 of fifteen, she gives me every day pleasures beyond what I ever knew 
 in the possession of her beauty, when I was in the vigour of youth. 
 Every moment of her life brings me fresh instances of her compla- 
 cency to my inclinations, and her prudence in regard to my fortune. 
 
 40
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 Her face is to me much more beautiful than when I first saw it; 
 there is no decay in any feature, which I cannot trace, from the very 
 instant it was occasioned by some anxious concern for my welfare 
 and interests. Thus, at the same time, methinks, the love I con- 
 ceived towards her for what she was is heightened by my gratitude 
 for what she is. The love of a wife is as much above the idle passion 
 commonly called by that name, as the loud laughter of buffoons is 
 inferior to the elegant mirth of gentlemen. Oh! she is an inestim- 
 able jewel. In her examination of her household affairs, she shews 
 a certain fearfulness to find a fault, which makes her servants obey 
 her like children ; and the meanest we have has an ingenuous shame 
 for an offence, not always to be seen in children in other families. 
 I speak freely to you, my old friend ; ever since her sickness, things 
 that gave me the quickest joy before turn now to a certain anxiety. 
 As the children play in the next room, I know the poor things by 
 their steps, and am considering what they must do, should they lose 
 their mother in their tender years. The pleasure I used to take in 
 telling my boy stories of battles, and asking my girl questions about 
 the disposal of her baby, and the gossiping of it, is turned into in- 
 ward reflection and melancholy." 
 
 He would have gone on in this tender way, when the good lady 
 entered, and with an inexpressible sweetness in her countenance 
 told us, " she had been searching her closet for something very good, 
 to treat such an old friend as I was." Her husband's eyes sparkled 
 with pleasure at the cheerfulness of her countenance; and I saw all 
 his fears vanish in an instant. The lady observing something in 
 our looks which shewed we had been more serious than ordinary, 
 and seeing her husband receive her with great concern under 
 a forced cheerfulness, immediately guessed at what we had been 
 talking of; and applying herself to me, said, with a smile, "Mr. 
 Bickerstaff, do not believe a word of what he tells you; I shall still 
 live to have you for my second, as I have often promised you, unless 
 he takes more care of himself than he has done since his coming to 
 town. You must know, he tells me that he finds London is a much 
 more healthy place than the country; for he sees several of his old 
 acquaintance and schoolfellows are here young fellows with fair full- 
 bottomed periwigs. I could scarce keep him this morning from going 
 out open breasted." My friend, who is always extremely delighted 
 with her agreeable humour, made her sit down with us. She did 
 it with that easiness which is peculiar to women of sense; and, to 
 
 41
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 keep up the good humour she had brought in with her, turned her 
 raillery upon me. "Mr. Bickerstaff, you remember you followed 
 me one night from the play-house; suppose you should carry me 
 thither to-morrow night, and lead me into the front-box." This 
 put us into a long field of discourse about the beauties, who were 
 mothers to the present, and shined in the boxes twenty years ago. 
 I told her, " I was glad she had transferred so many of her charms, 
 and I did not question but her eldest daughter was within half a 
 year of being a Toast." 
 
 We were pleasing ourselves with this fantastical preferment of 
 the young lady, when on a sudden we were alarmed with the noise 
 of a drum, and immediately entered my little godson to give me a 
 point of war. His mother, between laughing and chiding, would 
 have put him out of the room; but I would not part with him so. 
 I found upon conversation with him, though he was a little noisy 
 in his mirth, that the child had excellent parts, and was a great 
 master of all the learning on the other side eight years old. I 
 perceived him a very great historian in ^Esop's Fables; but he 
 frankly declared to me his mind, "that he did not delight in that 
 learning, because he did not believe they were true"; for which 
 reason I found he had very much turned his studies, for about a 
 twelve-month past, into the lives and adventures of don Bellianis 
 of Greece, Guy of Warwick, the Seven Champions, and other 
 historians of that age. I could not but observe the satisfaction 
 the father took in the forwardness of his son ; and that these diver- 
 sions might turn to some profit, I found the boy had made remarks, 
 which might be of service to him during the course of his whole 
 life. He would jtell you the mismanagements of John Hickathrif t, 
 find fault with the passionate temper in Be vis of Southampton, and 
 loved Saint George for being the champion of England; and by 
 this means had his thoughts insensibly moulded into the notions 
 of discretion, virtue, and honour. I was extolling his accomplish- 
 ments, when the mother told me, "that the little girl who led me in 
 this morning was in her way a better scholar than he. Betty," 
 says she, "deals chiefly in fairies and sprights; and sometimes hi 
 a winter-night will terrify the maids with her accounts, until they 
 are afraid to go up to bed." 
 
 I sat with them until it was very late, sometimes in merry, some- 
 times in serious discourse, with this particular pleasure, which gives 
 the only true relish to all conversation, a sense that every one of 
 
 42
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 us liked each other. I went home, considering the different con- 
 ditions of a married life and that of a bachelor ; and I must confess 
 it struck me with a secret concern, to reflect, that whenever I go off 
 I shall leave no traces behind me. 
 
 DUELLING 
 
 No. 25.] TUESDAY, JUNE 7, 1709. [STEELE.] 
 
 A LETTER from a young lady, written in the most passionate 
 terms, wherein she laments the misfortune of a gentleman, 
 her lover, who was lately wounded in a duel, has turned my thoughts 
 to that subject, and inclined me to examine into the causes which 
 precipitate men into so fatal a folly. And as it has been proposed 
 to treat of subjects of gallantry in the article from hence, and no 
 one point in nature is more proper to be considered by the com- 
 pany who frequent this place than that of duels, it is worth our 
 consideration to examine into this chimerical groundless humour, 
 and to lay every other thought aside, until we have stripped it of 
 all its false pretences to credit and reputation amongst men. 
 
 But I must confess, when I consider what I am going about, and 
 run over in my imagination all the endless crowd of men of honour 
 who will be offended at such a discourse; I am undertaking, me- 
 thinks, a work worthy an invulnerable hero in romance, rather 
 than a private gentleman with a single rapier : but as I am pretty 
 well acquainted by great opportunities with the nature of man, 
 and know of a truth that all men fight against their will, the danger 
 vanishes, and resolution rises upon this subject. For this reason, 
 I shall talk very freely on a custom which all men wish exploded, 
 though no man has courage enough to resist it. 
 
 But there is one unintelligible word, which I fear will extremely 
 perplex my dissertation, and I confess to you I find very hard to 
 explain, which is the term "satisfaction." An honest country 
 gentleman had the misfortune to fall into company with two or 
 three modern men of honour, where he happened to be very ill- 
 treated; and one of the company, being conscious of his offence 
 sends a note to him in the morning, and tells him, he was ready 
 
 43
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 to give him satisfaction. "This is fine doing," says the plain 
 fellow; "last night he sent me away cursedly out of humour, and 
 this morning he fancies it would be a satisfaction to be run through 
 the body." 
 
 As the matter at present stands, it is not to do handsome actions 
 denominates a man of honour; it is enough if he dares to defend 
 ill ones. Thus you often see a common sharper in competition 
 with a gentleman of the first rank; though all mankind is convinced, 
 that a fighting gamester is only a pickpocket with the courage of 
 an highwayman. One cannot with any patience reflect on the 
 unaccountable jumble of persons and things in this town and 
 nation, which occasions very frequently, that a brave man falls 
 by a hand below that of a common hangman, and yet his execu- 
 tioner escapes the clutches of the hangman fordoing it. I shall 
 therefore hereafter consider, how the bravest men in other ages 
 and nations have behaved themselves upon such incidents as we 
 decide by combat; and shew, from their practice, that this resent- 
 ment neither has its foundation from true reason or solid fame; 
 but is an imposture, made of cowardice, falsehood, and want of 
 understanding. For this work, a good history of quarrels would 
 be very edifying to the public, and I apply myself to the town for 
 particulars and circumstances within their knowledge, which may 
 serve to embellish the dissertation with proper cuts. Most of the 
 quarrels I have ever known, have proceeded from some valiant 
 coxcomb's persisting in the wrong, to defend some prevailing folly, 
 and preserve himself from the ingenuousness of owning a mistake. 
 
 By this means it is called "giving a man satisfaction," to urge 
 your offence against him with your sword ; which puts me in mind 
 of Peter's order to the keeper, in The Tale of a Tub : " if you neglect 
 to do all this, damn you and your generation for ever: and so we 
 bid you heartily farewell." If the contradiction in the very terms 
 of one of our challenges were as well explained and turned into 
 downright English, would it not run after this manner ? 
 
 " SIR, Your extraordinary behaviour last night, and the liberty 
 you were pleased to take with me, makes me this morning give you 
 this, to tell you, because you are an ill-bred puppy, I will meet you 
 in Hyde-park, an hour hence; and because you want both breed- 
 ing and humanity, I desire you would come with a pistol in your 
 hand, on horseback, and endeavour to shoot me through the head, 
 
 44
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 to teach you more manners. If you fail of doing me this pleasure, 
 I shall say, you are a rascal, on every post in town: and so, sir, if 
 you will not injure me more, I shall never forgive what you have 
 done already. Pray, sir, do not fail of getting everything ready; 
 and you will infinitely oblige, sir, your most obedient humble 
 servant, &c. " 
 
 SNUFF 
 
 No. 35.] THURSDAY, JUNE 30, 1709. [STEELE.] 
 
 THERE is a habit or custom which I have put my patience to 
 the utmost stretch to have suffered so long, because several 
 of my intimate friends are in the guilt; and that is, the humour of 
 taking snuff, and looking dirty about the mouth by way of orna- 
 ment. 
 
 My method is, to dive to the bottom of a sore before I pretend 
 to apply a remedy. For this reason, I sat by an eminent story- 
 teller and politician, who takes half an ounce in five seconds, and 
 has mortgaged a pretty tenement near the town, merely to improve 
 and dung his brains with this prolific powder. I observed this 
 gentleman, the other day, in the midst of a story, diverted from it 
 by looking at something at a distance, and I softly hid his box. But 
 he returns to his tale, and, looking for his box, he cries, " And so, 
 sir " Then, when he should have taken a pinch, "As I was 
 saying " says he, "has nobody seen my box?" His friend 
 beseeches him to finish his narration: then he proceeds: "And so, 
 sir where can my box be ? " Then turning to me, " Pray, sir, 
 did you see my box?" "Yes, sir," said I, "I took it to see how 
 long you could live without it." He resumes his tale, and I took 
 notice that his dulness was much more regular and fluent than 
 before. A pinch supplied the place of "As I was saying," and 
 " So, sir " ; and he went on currently enough in that style which the 
 learned call the insipid. This observation easily led me into a 
 philosophic reason for taking snuff, which is done only to supply 
 with sensations the want of reflection. This I take to be an fvpym, 
 a nostrum; upon which I hope to receive the thanks of this board; 
 for as it is natural to lift a man's hand to a sore, when you fear 
 
 45
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 anything coming at you; so when a person feels his thoughts are 
 run out, and he has no more to say, it is as natural to supply his 
 weak brain with powder at the nearest place of access, viz. the 
 nostrils. This is so evident that nature suggests the use accord- 
 ing to the indigence of the persons who take this medicine, with- 
 out being prepossessed with the force of fashion or custom. For 
 example; the native Hibernians, who are reckoned not much 
 unlike the antient Boeotians, take this specific for emptiness in the 
 head, in greater abundance than any other nation under the sun. 
 The learned Sotus, as sparing as he is in his words, would be 
 still more silent if it were not for this powder. 
 
 However low and poor the taking of snuff argues a man to be 
 hi his own stock of thoughts, or means to employ his brains and his 
 fingers ; yet there is a poorer creature in the world than he, and this 
 is a borrower of snuff; a fellow that keeps no box of his own but is 
 always asking others for a pinch. Such poor rogues put me always 
 in mind of a common phrase among school-boys when they are 
 composing their exercise, who run to an upper scholar, and cry, 
 " Pray give me a little sense. " But of all things commend me to 
 the ladies who are got into this pretty help to discourse. I have 
 been these three years persuading Sagissa to leave it off; but she 
 talks so much, and is so learned, that she is above contradiction. 
 However, an accident the other day brought that about, which my 
 eloquence could never accomplish. She had a very pretty fellow in 
 her closet, who ran thither to avoid some company that came to 
 visit her; she made an excuse to go in to him for some implement 
 they were talking of. Her eager gallant snatched a kiss; but, 
 being unused to snuff, some grains from off her upper lip made him 
 sneeze aloud, which alarmed the visitants, and has made a discovery, 
 that profound reading, very much intelligence, and a general 
 knowledge of who and who are together, cannot fill her vacant 
 hours so much, but she is sometimes obliged to descend to enter- 
 tainments less intellectual.
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 TOM WILDAIR 
 
 No. 60.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 1709. [STEELE. 
 
 TO proceed regularly in the history of my worthies, I ought to 
 give an account of what has passed from day to day in this 
 place; but a young fellow of my acquaintance has so lately been 
 rescued out of the hands of the Knights of the Industry, that I 
 rather choose to relate the manner of his escape from them, and 
 the uncommon way which was used to reclaim him, than to go on 
 in my intended diary. 
 
 You are to know then, that Tom Wildair is a student of the Inner 
 Temple, and has spent his time, since he left the university for that 
 place, in the common diversions of men of fashion; that is to say, 
 in whoring, drinking, and gaming. The two former vices he had 
 from his father; but was led into the last by the conversation of a 
 partizan of the Myrmidons who had chambers near him. His 
 allowance from his father was a very plentiful one for a man of 
 sense, but as scanty for a modern fine gentleman. His frequent 
 losses had reduced him to so necessitous a condition, that his lodg- 
 ings were always haunted by impatient creditors; and all his 
 thoughts employed in contriving low methods to support himself 
 in a way of life from which he knew not how to retreat, and in 
 which he wanted means to proceed. There is never wanting some 
 good-natured person to send a man an account of what he has no 
 mind to hear; therefore many epistles were conveyed to the father 
 of this extravagant, to inform him of the company, the pleasures, 
 the distresses, and entertainments, in which his son passed his 
 time. The old fellow received these advices with all the pain of a 
 parent, but frequently consulted his pillow, to know how to behave 
 himself on such important occasions, as the welfare of his son, and 
 the safety of his fortune. After many agitations of mind, he re- 
 flected, that necessity was the usual snare which made men fall into 
 meanness, and that a liberal fortune generally made a liberal and 
 honest mind; he resolved therefore to save him from his ruin, by 
 giving him opportunities of tasting what it is to be at ease, and 
 inclosed to him the following order upon Sir Tristram Cash. 
 
 47
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 " SIR, Pray pay to Mr. Thomas Wildair, or order, the sum 
 of one thousand pounds, and place it to the account of yours, 
 
 HUMPHREY WILDAIR." 
 
 Tom was so astonished with the receipt of this order, that though 
 he knew it to be his father's hand, and that he had always large 
 sums at Sir Tristram's; yet a thousand pounds was a trust of which 
 his conduct had always made him appear so little capable, that he 
 kept his note by him, until he writ to his father the following letter: 
 
 "HONOURED FATHER, I have received an order under your 
 hand for a thousand pounds, in words at length; and I think I 
 could swear it is your own hand. I have looked it over and over 
 twenty thousand times. There is hi plain letters, T,h,o,u,s,a,n,d; 
 and after it, the letters P,o,u,n,d,s. I have it still by me, and shall, 
 I believe, continue reading it until I hear from you." 
 
 The old gentleman took no manner of notice of the receipt of 
 his letter; but sent him another order for three thousand pounds 
 more. His amazement on this second letter was unspeakable. 
 He immediately double-locked his door, and sat down carefully 
 to reading and comparing both his" orders. After he had read 
 them until he was half mad, he walked six or seven turns in his 
 chamber, then opens his door, then locks it again; and, to examine 
 thoroughly this matter, he locks his door again, puts his table and 
 chairs against it; then goes into his closet, and, locking himself in, 
 reads his notes over again about nineteen times, which did but 
 increase his astonishment. Soon after, he began to recollect many 
 stories he had formerly heard of persons, who had been possessed 
 with imaginations and appearances which had no foundation in 
 nature, but had been taken with sudden madness in the midst of a 
 seeming clear and untainted reason. This made him very gravely 
 conclude he was out of his wits; and, with a design to compose 
 himself, he immediately betakes him to his night-cap, with a reso- 
 lution to sleep himself into his former poverty and senses. To bed 
 therefore he goes at noon -day; but soon rose again, and resolved to 
 visit Sir Tristram upon this occasion. He did so, and dined 
 with the knight, expecting he would mention some advice from 
 his father about paying him money; but no such thing being said, 
 "Look you, Sir Tristram," said he, "you are to know, that an 
 affair has happened, which " "Look you," says Tristram, "I 
 
 48
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 know, Mr. Wildair, you are going to desire me to advance ; but the 
 late call of the bank, where I have not yet made my last payment, 
 has obliged me " Tom interrupted him, by shewing him the 
 bill of a thousand pounds. When he had looked at it for a con- 
 venient time, and as often surveyed Tom's looks and countenance; 
 "Look you, Mr. Wildair, a thousand pounds " Before he 
 could proceed, he shews him the order for three thousand more 
 Sir Tristram examined the orders at the light, and finding at the 
 writing the name, there was a certain stroke in one letter, which 
 the father and he had agreed should be to such directions as he 
 desired might be more immediately honoured, he forthwith pays 
 the money. The possession of four thousand pounds gave my 
 young gentleman a new train of thoughts: he began to reflect upon 
 his birth, the great expectations he was born to, and the unsuitable 
 ways he had long pursued. Instead of that unthinking creature 
 he was before, he is now provident, generous, and discreet. The 
 father and son have an exact and regular correspondence, with 
 mutual and unreserved confidence in each other. The son looks upon 
 his father as the best tenant he could have hi the country, and the 
 father finds the son the most safe banker he could have in the city. 
 
 FASHIONABLE AFFECTATIONS 
 
 No. 77.] THURSDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1709. [STEELE.] 
 
 AS bad as the world is, I find by very strict observation upon 
 virtue and vice, that if men appeared no worse than they 
 really are, I should have less work than at present I am obliged to 
 undertake for their reformation. They have generally taken up a 
 kind of inverted ambition, and affect even faults and imperfections 
 of which they are innocent. The other day in a coffee-house I 
 stood by a young heir, with a fresh, sanguine, and healthy look, who 
 entertained us with an account of his diet-drinks; though, to my 
 knowledge, he is as sound as any of his tenants. 
 
 This worthy youth put me into reflections upon that subject; 
 and I observed the fantastical humour to be so general, that there 
 is hardly a man who is not more or less tainted with it. The first 
 
 49
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 of this order of men are the Valetudinarians, who are never in 
 health; but complain of want of stomach or rest every day until 
 noon, and then devour all which comes before them. Lady 
 Dainty is convinced, that it is necessary for a gentlewoman to 
 be out of order; and, to preserve that character, she dines every 
 day in her closet at twelve, that she may become her table at two, 
 and be unable to eat in public. About five years ago, I remember, 
 it was the fashion to be short-sighted. A man would not own an 
 acquaintance until he had first examined him with his glass. At 
 a lady's entrance into the play-house, you might see tubes immedi- 
 ately levelled at her from every quarter of the pit and side-boxes. 
 However, that mode of infirmity is out, and the age has recovered 
 its sight: but the blind seem to be succeeded by the lame, and a 
 jaunty limp is the present beauty. I think I have formerly observed, 
 a cane is part of the dress of a prig, and always worn upon a button, 
 for fear he should be thought to have an occasion for it, or be 
 esteemed really, and not genteelly, a cripple. I have considered, 
 but could never find out, the bottom of this vanity. I indeed have 
 heard of a Gascon general, who, by the lucky grazing of a bullet 
 on the roll of his stocking, took occasion to halt all his life after. 
 But as for our peaceable cripples, I know no foundation for their 
 behaviour, without it may be supposed that, in this warlike age, 
 some think a cane the next honour to a wooden leg. This sort of 
 affectation I have known run from one limb or member to another. 
 Before the limpers came in, I remember a race of lispers, fine 
 persons, who took an aversion to particular letters in our language. 
 Some never uttered the letter H ; and others had as mortal an aver- 
 sion to S. Others have had their fashionable defect in their ears, 
 and would make you repeat all you said twice over. I know an 
 ancient friend of mine, whose table is every day surrounded with 
 flatterers, that makes use of this, sometimes as a piece of grandeur, 
 and at others as an art, to make them repeat their commendations. 
 Such affectations have been indeed hi the world in ancient times; 
 but they fell into them out of politic ends. Alexander the Great 
 had a wry neck, which made it the fashion in his court to carry 
 their heads on one side when they came into the presence. One 
 who thought to outshine the whole court, carried his head so over 
 complaisantly, that this martial prince gave him so great a box on 
 the ear, as set all the heads of the court upright. 
 This humour takes place in our minds as well as bodies. I 
 
 5
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 know at this time a young gentlemen, who talks atheistically all 
 day in coffee-houses, and in his degrees of understanding sets up 
 for a Free-thinker; though it can be proved upon him, he says his 
 prayers every morning and evening. But this class of modern 
 wits I shall reserve for a chapter by itself. 
 
 Of the like turn are all your marriage-haters, who rail at the 
 noose, at the words, "for ever and aye," and at the same time 
 are secretly pining for some young thing or other that makes their 
 hearts ache by her refusal. The next to these, are such as pretend 
 to govern their wives, and boast how ill they use them; when at 
 the same time, go to their houses, and you shall see them step as 
 if they feared making a noise, and as fond as an alderman. I do 
 not know but sometimes these pretences may arise from a desire 
 to conceal a contrary defect than that they set up for. I remember, 
 when I was a young fellow, we had a companion of a very fearful 
 complexion, who, when we sat in to drink, would desire us to take 
 his sword from him when he grew fuddled, for it was his misfortune 
 to be quarrelsome. 
 
 There are many, many of these evils, which demand my obser- 
 vation; but because I have of late been thought somewhat too 
 satirical, I shall give them warning, and declare to the whole 
 world, that they are not true, but false hypocrites; and make it out 
 that they are good men in their hearts. The motive of this mon- 
 strous affectation, in the above-mentioned and the like particulars, 
 I take to proceed from that noble thirst of fame and reputation 
 which is planted in the hearts of all men. As this produces elegant 
 writings and gallant actions in men of great abilities, it also brings 
 forth spurious productions in men who are not capable of distin- 
 guishing themselves by things which are really praise-worthy. As 
 the desire of fame in men of true wit and gallantry shews itself in 
 proper instances, the same desire in men who have the ambition 
 without proper faculties, runs wild, and discovers itself in a thousand 
 extravagances, by which they would signalize themselves from 
 others, and gain a set of admirers. When I was a middle-aged 
 man, there were many societies of ambitious young men in Eng- 
 land, who, in their pursuits after fame, were every night employed 
 in roasting porters, smoaking coblers, knocking down watchmen, 
 overturning constables, breaking windows, blackening sign-posts, 
 and the like immortal enterprizes, that dispersed their reputation 
 throughout the whole kingdom. One could hardly find a knocker 
 
 5 1
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 at a door in a whole street after a midnight expedition of these 
 Beaux Esprits. I was lately very much surprised by an account 
 of my maid, who entered my bed-chamber this morning in a very 
 great fright, and told me, she was afraid my parlour was haunted ; 
 for that she had found several panes of my windows broken, and 
 the floor strewed with half-pence. I have not yet a full light into 
 this new way, but am apt to think, that it is a generous piece of 
 wit that some of my contemporaries make use of, to break windows, 
 and leave money to pay for them. 
 
 MARRIAGE OF JENNY DISTAFF 
 
 No. 79.] TUESDAY, OCTOBER n, 1709. [STEELE.] 
 
 Felices, ter et amplius, 
 
 Quos irrupta tenet copula; nee mails 
 
 Divulsus querimoniis, 
 
 Suprema citius solvet amor die. 
 
 HOR. x Od. jriii. 17. 
 
 Thrice happy they, in pure delights 
 Whom love in mutual bonds unites, 
 Unbroken by complaints or strife 
 Even to the latest hours of life. 
 
 MY sister Jenny's lover, the honest Tranquillus, for that shall 
 be his name, has been impatient with me to dispatch the 
 necessary directions for his marriage; that while I am taken up with 
 imaginary schemes, as he calls them, he might not burn with real 
 desire, and the torture of expectation. When I had reprimanded 
 him for the ardour wherein he expressed himself, which I thought 
 had not enough of that veneration with which the marriage-bed is 
 to be ascended, I told him, " the day of his nuptials should be on 
 the Saturday following, which was the eighth instant. " On the 
 seventh in the evening, poor Jenny came into my chamber, and, 
 having her heart full of the great change of life from a virgin con- 
 dition to that of a wife, she long sat silent. I saw she expected me 
 to entertain her on this important subject, which was too delicate a 
 circumstance for herself to touch upon; whereupon I relieved her 
 modesty in the following manner: "Sister," said I, "you are now 
 going from me: and be contented, that you leave the company of a 
 
 52
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 talkative old man, for that of a sober young one: but take this along 
 with you, that there is no mean in the state you are entering into, 
 but you are to be exquisitely happy or miserable, and your fortune 
 in this way of life will be wholly of your own making. In all the 
 marriages I have ever seen, most of which have been unhappy ones, 
 the great cause of evil has proceeded from slight occasions; and I 
 take it to be the first maxim in a married condition, that you are 
 be above trifles. When two persons have so good an opinion of 
 each other as to come together for life, they will not differ in matters 
 of importance, because they think of each other with respect; and 
 in regard to all things of consideration that may affect them, they 
 are prepared for mutual assistance and relief in such occurrences. 
 For less occasions, they form no resolutions, but leave their minds 
 unprepared. 
 
 "This, dear Jenny, is the reason that the quarrel between Sir 
 Harry Willit and his lady, which began about her squirrel, is irre- 
 concilable. Sir Harry was reading a grave author; she runs into 
 his study, and, in a playing humour, claps the squirrel upon the 
 folio: he threw the animal in a rage on the floor; she snatches it 
 up again, calls Sir Harry a sour pedant, without good nature or 
 good manners. This cast him into such a rage, that he threw 
 down the table before him, kicked the book round the room; then 
 recollected himself: 'Lord, madam,' said he, 'why did you run 
 into such expressions? I was,' said he, 'in the highest delight 
 with that author, when you clapped your squirrel upon my book;' 
 and, smiling, added upon recollection, 'I have a great respect for 
 your favourite, and pray let us all be friends.' My lady was so 
 far from accepting this apology, that she immediately conceived a 
 resolution to keep him under for ever; and, with a serious air, 
 replied, 'There is no regard to be had to what a man says, who 
 can fall into so indecent a rage, and such an abject submission, in 
 the same moment, for which I absolutely despise you.' Upon 
 which she rushed out of the room. Sir Harry staid some minutes 
 behind, to think and command himself; after which he followed 
 her into her bed-chamber, where she was prostrate upon the bed, 
 tearing her hair, and naming twenty coxcombs who would have 
 used her otherwise. This provoked him to so high a degree, that 
 he forbore nothing but beating her; and all the servants in the 
 family were at their several stations listening, whilst the best man 
 and woman, the best master and mistress, defamed each other in a 
 
 53
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 way that is not to be repeated even at Billingsgate. You know 
 this ended in an immediate separation: she longs to return home 
 but knows not how to do it: he invites her home every day, and 
 lies with every woman he can get. Her husband requires no sub- 
 mission of her; but she thinks her very return will argue she is to 
 blame, which she is resolved to be for ever, rather than acknowledge 
 it. Thus, dear Jenny, my great advice to you is, be guarded against 
 giving or receiving little provocations. Great matters of offence 
 I have no reason to fear either from you or your husband. " 
 
 After this, we turned our discourse into a more gay style, and 
 parted : but before we did so, I made her resign her snuff-box for 
 ever, and half drown herself with washing away the stench of the 
 musty. 
 
 But the wedding morning arrived, and our family being very 
 numerous, there was no avoiding the inconvenience of making 
 the ceremony and festival more public, than the modern way of 
 celebrating them makes me approve of. The bride next morning 
 came out of her chamber, dressed with all the art and care that 
 Mrs. Toilet, the tire-woman, could bestow on her. She was on her 
 wedding-day three-and-twenty : her person is far from what we call 
 a regular beauty; but a certain sweetness in her countenance, an 
 ease in her shape and motion, with an unaffected modesty in her 
 looks, had attractions beyond what symmetry and exactness can 
 inspire, without the addition of these endowments. When her 
 lover entered the room, her features flushed with shame and joy; 
 and the ingenuous manner, so full of passion and of awe, with which 
 Tranquillus approached to salute her, gave me good omens of his 
 future behaviour towards her. The wedding was wholly under 
 my care. After the ceremony at church, I was resolved to enter- 
 tain the company with a dinner suitable to the occasion, and pitched 
 upon the Apollo, at the Old-Devil at Temple-Bar, as a place sacred 
 to mirth tempered with discretion, where Ben Jonson and his sons 
 used to make their liberal meetings. Here the chief of the Staffian 
 race appeared; and as soon as the company were come into that 
 ample room, Lepidus Wagstaff began to make me compliments for 
 choosing that place, and fell into a discourse upon the subject of 
 pleasure and entertainment, drawn from the rules of Ben's club, 
 which are in gold letters over the chimney. Lepidus has a way very 
 uncommon, and speaks on subjects on which any man else would 
 certainly offend, with great dexterity. He gave us a large account 
 
 54
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 of the public meetings of all the well-turned minds who had passed 
 through this life in ages past, and closed his pleasing narrative with 
 a discourse on marriage, and a repetition of the following verses out 
 of Milton. 
 
 "Hail, wedded love! mysterious law! true source 
 Of human offspring, sole propriety 
 In paradise, of all things common else. 
 By thee adult'rous lust was driven from men 
 Among the bestial herds to range; by thee, 
 Founded in reason, loyal, just and pure, 
 Relations dear, and all the charities 
 Of father, son, and brother, first were known. 
 Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets, 
 Whose bed is undefil'd and chaste pronounc'd, 
 Present or past, as saints or patriarchs us'd. 
 Here Love his golden shafts employs; here lights 
 His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings: 
 Reigns here, and revels not in the bought smile 
 Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendcar'd, 
 Casual fruition; nor in court amours, 
 Mix'd dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, 
 Or serenade, which the starv'd lover sings 
 To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain." 
 
 In these verses, all the images that can come into a young woman's 
 head on such an occasion are raised; but that in so chaste and 
 elegant a manner, that the bride thanked him for his agreeable 
 talk, and we sat down to dinner. 
 
 Among the rest of the company, there was got in a fellow you call 
 a Wag. This ingenious person is the usual life of all feasts and 
 merriments, by speaking absurdities, and putting everybody of 
 breeding and modesty out of countenance. As soon as we sat 
 down, he drank to the bride's diversion that night; and then made 
 twenty double meanings on the word thing. We are the best-bred 
 family, for one so numerous, in this kingdom; and indeed we 
 should all of us have been as much out of countenance as the bride, 
 but that we were relieved by an honest rough relation of ours at the 
 lower end of the table, who is a lieutenant of marines. The soldier 
 and sailor had good plain sense, and saw what was wrong as well 
 as another; he had a way of looking at his plate, and speaking 
 aloud in an inward manner; and whenever the Wag mentioned the 
 word thing, or the words, that same, the lieutenant in that voice 
 cried, "Knock him down." The merry man, wondering, angry, 
 
 55
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 and looking round, was the diversion of the table. When he 
 offered to recover, and say, "To the bride's best thoughts," " Knock 
 him down," says the lieutenant, and so on. This silly humour 
 diverted, and saved us from the fulsome entertainment of an ill- 
 bred coxcomb; and the bride drank the lieutenant's health. We 
 returned to my lodging, and Tranquillus led his wife to her apart- 
 ment, without the ceremony of throwing the stocking. 
 
 SCENE OF COUNTRY ETIQUETTE 
 
 No. 86.] THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1709. [ADDISON AND 
 
 STEELE.] 
 
 WHEN I came home last night, my servant delivered me 
 the following letter: 
 
 Oct. 24. 
 
 "SiR, I have orders from Sir Harry Quickset, of Staffordshire, 
 Bart., to acquaint you, that his honour Sir Harry himself, Sir Giles 
 Wheelbarrow, Knt., Thomas Rentfree, Esq., justice of the quorum, 
 Andrew Windmill, Esq., and Mr. Nicholas Doubt of the Inner 
 Temple, Sir Harry's grandson, will wait upon you at the hour of 
 nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the 25th of October, 
 upon business which Sir Harry will impart to you by word of 
 mouth. I thought it proper to acquaint you before-hand so many 
 persons of quality came, that you might not be surprised there- 
 with. Which concludes, though by many years' absence since I 
 saw you at Stafford, unknown, 
 
 " Sir, your most humble servant, 
 
 "JOHN THRIFTY." 
 
 I received this message with less surprise than I believe Mr. 
 Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too well to feel 
 any palpitations at their approach: but I was in very great con- 
 cern how I should adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to 
 all these great men, who perhaps had not seen anything above 
 themselves for these twenty years last past. I am sure that is the 
 case of Sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a 
 great point in adjusting my behaviour to the simple squire, so as 
 to give him satisfaction, and not disoblige the justice of the quorum. 
 
 56
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner 
 set chairs (by the stewards' 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 steward in the rear whispered the young 
 Templar, "That is true to my knowledge." I had the misfor- 
 tune, as they stood cheek by jole, to desire the squire to sit down 
 before the justice of the quorum, to the no small satisfaction oi 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 hon- 
 our, 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 whip proposed that we should 
 adjourn to some public-house, where everybody might call for 
 what they pleased, and enter upon the business. We all stood 
 up in an instant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left very dis- 
 creetly, counter-marching 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 possibility of recovering our 
 
 57
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 order: for the young jackanapes seemed to make a jest of this 
 matter, and had so contrived, by pressing amongst us under pre- 
 tence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the middle, 
 and he knew nobody was of quality to stir a step, till Sir Harry 
 moved first. We were fixed hi 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 run 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 Templar driving 
 us before him, as in a string, and pointing to his acquaintance 
 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 overheard him whisper the steward, "That he thought it hard 
 that a common conjurer 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 hi very good order before Ben. Tooke's shop, who fav- 
 oured our rallying with great humanity. From hence we proceeded 
 again, till 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 proceeded 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 enclosed 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 hi 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 Templar tipped me 
 a second wink, and if I had not looked 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 
 upon business till after their morning draught, for which reason 
 
 58
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 business ; but he would call upon me again to-morrow 
 morning at my own lodgings, and bring some more friends with 
 him. 
 
 A DANCING-MASTER PRACTISING BY 
 BOOK 
 
 No. 88.] TUESDAY, NOVEMBER i, 1709. [ADDISON.] 
 
 I WAS this morning awakened by a sudden shake of the house ; 
 and as soon as I had got a little out of my 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 everybody 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 upstairs with 
 my hand upon the hilt of my rapier, and approached this new 
 logder'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 ceiling. 
 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 surprise, he stooped himself incredibly 
 low, and turned gently on his toes. After this circular motion, he 
 continued bent in that humble posture for some time, looking on 
 
 59
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 his book. After this he recovered himself by a sudden spring, 
 and flew round the room in all the violence 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 
 learned person an enthusiast, who possibly had his first education 
 hi the peripatetic way, which was a sect of philosophers who always 
 studied when walking. But observing him much out of breath, I 
 thought it the best time to master him if he were disordered, and 
 knocked at his door. I was surprised 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 interval, and desired he 
 would please to let me see his book. He did so, smiling. I could 
 not make anything 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 communicate 
 his knowledge without a consideration." I answered, "That I 
 hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himself; for his 
 meditation this morning had cost me three coffee dishes, and a clean 
 pipe. He seemed concerned 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 sounds, 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 
 meditate in a ground-room, for that otherwise it would be impos- 
 sible 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. 
 
 60
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 APPLICATIONS FOR PERMISSON TO 
 USE CANES, ETC. 
 
 No. 103.] TUESDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1709. [ADDISON AND 
 STEELE.] 
 
 Hae nugae seria ducunt 
 In mala, derisum semel exceptumque sinistrd. HOE. 
 
 THERE is nothing gives a man greater satisfaction, than the 
 sense of having despatched a great deal of business, espe- 
 cially when it turns to the public emolument. I have much plea- 
 sure of this kind upon my spirits at present, 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 Beaufort Buildings, to prepare a great bundle of blank 
 licences in the following words: 
 
 "You are hereby required to permit the bearer of this cane to 
 pass and repass through the streets and suburbs of London, or any 
 place within ten miles of it, without let or molestation: provided 
 that he does not walk with it under his arm, brandish it in the air, 
 or hang it on a button: in which case it shall be forfeited; and I 
 hereby declare it forfeited to any one who shall think it safe to take 
 it from him. 
 
 "ISAAC BlCKERSTAFFE." 
 
 The same form, differing only in the provisos, will serve for a 
 perspective, snuff-box, or perfumed handkerchief. I had placed 
 myself in my elbow-chair at the upper end of my great parlour, 
 having ordered Charles Lillie 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, 
 appointed him my chamber-keeper upon court days. He let me 
 know, that there were a great number attending without. Upon 
 which I ordered him to give notice, that I did not intend to sit upon 
 
 61
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 snuff-boxes that day; but that those who appeared for canes might 
 enter. The first presented me with the following petition, which 
 I ordered Mr. Lillie to read. 
 
 "To Isaac Bickerstaffe, Esq., Censor of Great Britain. 
 
 "The humble Petition of Simon Trippit, 
 " Showeth, 
 
 "That your petitioner having been bred up to a cane from his 
 youth, it is now become as necessary to him as any other of his 
 limbs. 
 
 "That a great part of his behaviour depending upon it, he should 
 be reduced to the utmost necessities if he should lose the use of it. 
 
 " That the knocking of it upon his shoe, leaning one leg upon it, 
 or whistling with it on his mouth, are such great reliefs to him in 
 conversation, that he does not know how to be good company 
 without it. 
 
 " That he is at present engaged in an armour, and must despair 
 of success, if it be taken from him. 
 
 "Your petitioner therefore hopes, that (the premises tenderly 
 considered) your Worship will not deprive him of so useful and 
 so necessary a support. 
 
 "And your petitioner shall ever," &c. 
 
 Upon the hearing of his case, I was touched with some compas- 
 sion, 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 transparent 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, permitted 
 him to wear it three days in the week, and to abate proportiona- 
 bly till he found himself able to go alone. 
 
 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 dif- 
 ferent 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. 
 
 62
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 A third made his entry 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, hi 
 which he had represented, that he was extremely afflicted with the 
 gout, and set his foot upon the ground with the caution and dig- 
 nity which accompany that distemper. I suspected him ior an 
 impostor, and having 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 out- 
 ward room; and inquiring what 'was the occasion 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 
 upon 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 creature as man to make a very imperfect 
 figure without 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 properly 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 property 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, 
 
 63
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 that are all within the laws of the land. I did not care for dis- 
 couraging 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 pretensions 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 despatched 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 forward 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 same time it set forth, that he 
 could see nothing distinctly, and was within a 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 destruc- 
 tion. " As you are now (said I) you are out of the reach of beauty; 
 the shafts of the finest eyes lose their force before they can come 
 at you; you cannot distinguish a toast from an orange-wench; you 
 can see a whole circle of beauty without any interruption from an 
 impertinent 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 occasioned 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 licence 
 for a perspective, but allowed him a pair of spectacles, with full 
 permission to use them in any public assembly 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, perfumed so 
 
 64
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 strongly with musk, that I was almost overcome with the scent; and 
 for my own sake, was obliged forthwith to licence their handker- 
 chiefs, especially when I found they had sweetened them at Charles 
 Lillie's, and that some of their persons would not be altogether 
 inoffensive without them. John Morphew, whom I have made 
 the general of my dead men, acquainted me, that the petitioners 
 were all of that order, and could produce certificates to prove it 
 if I required it. I was so well pleased with this way of their em- 
 balming themselves, that I commanded 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 method to keep himself sweet during his present state 
 of putrefaction. 
 
 I finished my session with great content of mind, reflecting upon 
 the good I had done; for however slightly 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 singulari- 
 ties, 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 often- 
 times render a man so ridiculous, as discredit his virtues and capaci- 
 ties, and unqualify them from doing any good in the world. Be- 
 sides, the giving in to 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 
 remember a gentleman of great integrity and worth was very re- 
 markable for wearing a broad belt, and a hanger instead of a fashion- 
 able sword, though in ah 1 other points a very well-bred man. I 
 suspected him at first sight to have something wrong in him, but 
 was not able for a long while to discover any collateral proofs of it, 
 I watched him narrowly for six and thirty years, when at last, to 
 the surprise of everybody but myself, who had long expected to 
 see the folly break out, he married his own cook-maid.
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 MRS. TRAN^UILLUS 
 
 No. 104.] THURSDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1709. [STEELE.] 
 
 Garrit aniles 
 
 Ex re fabellas . HOR. 2 Sat. vi. 78. 
 
 He tells an old wife's tale very pertinently. 
 
 MY brother Tranquillus being gone out of town for some days, 
 my sister Jenny sent me word she would come and dine with 
 me, and therefore desired me to have no other company. I took 
 care accordingly, and was not a little pleased to see her enter the 
 room with a decent and matron-like behaviour, which I thought 
 very much became her. I saw she had a great deal to say to me, 
 and easily discovered in her eyes, and the air of her countenance, 
 that she had abundance of satisfaction in her heart, which she 
 longed to communicate. However, I was resolved to let her break 
 into her discourse her own way, and reduced her to a thousand 
 little devices and intimations to bring me to the mention of her hus- 
 band. But, finding I was resolved not to name him, she began 
 of her own accord. " My husband," said she, " gives his humble 
 service to you;" to which I only answered, "I hope he is well;" 
 and, without waiting for a reply, fell into other subjects. She at 
 last was out of all patience, and said, with a smile and manner that 
 I thought had more beauty and spirit than I had ever observed 
 before in her, " I did not think, brother, you had been so ill-natured. 
 You have seen, ever since I came in, that I had a mind to talk of 
 my husband, and you will not be so kind as to give me an occasion." 
 "I did not know," said I, "but it might be a disagreeable subject 
 to you. You do not take me for so old-fashioned a fellow as to 
 think of entertaining a young lady with the discourse of her hus- 
 band. I know, nothing is more acceptable than to speak of one 
 who is to be so; but to speak of one who is so! indeed, Jenny, I am 
 a better bred man than you think me." She shewed a little dislike 
 at my raillery; and, by her bridling up, I perceived she expected 
 to be treated hereafter not as Jenny Distaff, but Mrs. Tranquillus. 
 I was very well pleased with this change in her humour; and, upon 
 talking with her on several subjects, I could not but fancy that 
 
 66
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 I saw a great deal of her husband's way and manner in her remarks, 
 her phrases, the tone of her voice, and the very air of her counte- 
 nance. This gave me an unspeakable satisfaction, not only because 
 I had found her an husband, from whom she could learn many 
 things that were laudable, but also because I looked upon her imita- 
 tion of him as an infallible sign that she entirely loved him. 
 
 This is an observation that I never knew fail, though I do not 
 remember that any other has made it. The natural shyness of 
 her sex hindered her from telling me the greatness of her own pas- 
 sion ; but I easily collected it from the representation she gave me of 
 his. "I have everything/' says she, "in Tranquillus, that I can 
 wish for; and enjoy in him, what indeed you have told me were to 
 be met with in a good husband the fondness of a lover, the tender- 
 ness of a parent, and the intimacy of a friend." It transported me 
 to see her eyes swimming in tears of affection when she spoke. 
 " And is there not, dear sister," said I, " more pleasure in the pos' 
 session of such a man, than in all the little impertinences of balls, 
 assemblies, and equipage, which it cost me so much pains to make 
 you contemn?" She answered, smiling, "Tranquillus has made 
 me a sincere convert in a few weeks, though I am afraid you could 
 not have done it in your whole life. To tell you truly, I have only 
 one fear hanging upon me, which is apt to give me trouble in the 
 midst of all my satisfactions: I am afraid, you must know, that I 
 shall not always make the same amiable appearance in his eyes 
 that I do at present. You know, brother Bickerstaffe, that you 
 have the reputation of a conjurer ; and if you have any one secret in 
 your art to make your sister always beautiful, I should be happier 
 than if I were mistress of all the worlds you have shown me in a 
 starry night." "Jenny," said I, "without having recourse to 
 magic, I shall give you one plain rule, that will not fail of making 
 you always amiable to a man who has so great a passion for you, 
 and is of so equal and reasonable a temper as Tranquillus. Endeav- 
 our to please, and you must please ; be always in the same disposi- 
 tion as you are when you ask for this secret, and you may take my 
 word, you will never want it. An inviolable fidelity, good humour 
 and complacency of temper, out-live all the charms of a fine face, 
 and make the decays of it invisible." 
 
 We discoursed very long upon this head, which was equally agree- 
 able to us both ; for I must confess, as I tenderly love her, I take as 
 much pleasure in giving her instructions for her welfare, as she her- 
 
 67
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 self does in receiving them. I proceeded, therefore, to inculate 
 these sentiments, by relating a very particular passage that happened 
 within my own knowledge. 
 
 There were several of us making merry at a friend's house in a 
 country village, when the sexton of the parish church entered the 
 room in a sort of surprise, and told us, "that as he was digging a 
 grave in the chancel, a little blow of his pickaxe opened a decayed 
 coffin, in which there were several written papers." Our\ curios- 
 ity was immediately raised, so that we went to the place where the 
 sexton had been at work, and found a great concourse of people 
 about the grave. Among the rest, there was an old woman, who 
 told us, the person buried there was a lady whose name I do not 
 think fit to mention, though there is nothing in the story but what 
 tends very much to her honour. This lady lived several years an 
 exemplary pattern of conjugal love, and, dying soon after her hus- 
 band, who every way answered her character in virtue and affection, 
 made it her death-bed request, "that all the letters which she had 
 received from him both before and after her marriage should be 
 buried in the coffin with her." These, I found upon examination, 
 were the papers before us. Several of them had suffered so much 
 by time, that I could only pick out a few words ; as my soul I lilies I 
 roses I dearest angel I and the like. One of them, which was legible 
 throughout, ran thus: 
 
 " MADAM, If you would know the greatness of my love, con- 
 sider that of your own beauty. That blooming countenance, that 
 snowy bosom, that graceful person, return every moment to my 
 imagination: the brightness of your eyes hath hindered me from 
 closing mine since I last saw you. You may still add to your 
 beauties by a smile. A frown will make me the most wretched 
 of men, as I am the most passionate of lovers." 
 
 It filled the whole company with a deep melancholy, to compare 
 the description of the letter with the person that occasioned it, who 
 was now reduced to a few crumbling bones and a little mouldering 
 heap of earth. With much ado I decyphered another letter, which 
 began with, " My dear, dear wife." This gave me a curiosity to see 
 how the style of one written in marriage differed from one written 
 in courtship. To my surprise, I found the fondness rather aug- 
 
 68
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 mented than lessened, though the panegyric turned upon a different 
 accomplishment. The words were as follows: 
 
 " Before this short absence from you, I did not know that I loved 
 you so much as I really do; though, at the same time, I thought I 
 loved you as much as possible. I am under great apprehension, 
 lest you should have any uneasiness whilst I am defrauded of my 
 share in it, and cannot think of tasting any pleasures that you do not 
 partake with me. Pray, my dear, be careful of your health, if for 
 no other reason, but because you know I could not outlive you. It 
 is natural in absence to make professions of an inviolable con- 
 stancy; but towards so much merit, it is scarce a virtue, especially 
 when it is but a bare return to that of which you have given me such 
 continued proofs ever since our first acquaintance. I am, &c." 
 
 It happened that the daughter of these two excellent persons was 
 by when I was reading this letter. At the sight of the coffin, in 
 which was the body of her mother, near that of her father, she 
 melted into a flood of tears. As I had heard a great character of 
 her virtue, and observed in her this instance of filial piety, I could 
 not resist my natural inclination of giving advice to young people, 
 and therefore addressed myself to her. "Young lady," said I, 
 "you see how short is the possession of that beauty, in which 
 nature has been so liberal to you. You find the melancholy sight 
 before you is a contradiction to the first letter that you heard on that 
 subject; whereas you may observe, the second letter, which cele- 
 brates your mother's constancy, is itself, being found in this place, 
 an argument of it. But, madam, I ought to caution you, not to 
 think the bodies that lie before you your father and your mother. 
 Know, their constancy is rewarded by a nobler union than by this 
 mingling of their ashes, in a state where there is no danger or possi- 
 bility of a second separation." 
 
 69
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 THE PETTICOAT 
 
 No. 116.] THURSDAY, JANUARY 5, 1709-10. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Pars minima est ipsa puella sui. OVID. 
 
 The young lady is the least part of herself. 
 
 THE court being prepared for proceeding on the cause of the 
 petticoat, I gave orders to bring in a criminal, who was taken 
 up as she went out of the puppet-shew 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 petticoat, 
 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 appear- 
 ance separate from her petticoat. This was managed with great 
 discretion, and had such an effect, that upon the return of the ver- 
 dict from the bench of matrons, I issued out an order forthwith, 
 "that the criminal should be stripped of her incumbrances, until 
 she became little enough to enter my house." I had before given 
 directions for an engine of several legs, that could contract or open 
 itself like the top of an umbrella, in order to place the petticoat upon 
 it, by which means I might take a leisurely survey of it, as it should 
 appear hi its proper dimensions. This was all done accordingly; 
 and forthwith, 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 shew 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 im- 
 moderate a circle, that the lower part of it brushed upon my face as 
 I sat hi my chair of judicature. I then inquired for the person that 
 belonged to the petticoat; and, to my great surprise, was directed 
 to a very beautiful young damsel, with so pretty a face and shape, 
 that I bid her come out of the crowd, 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?" 
 
 70
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 until she began to appear little in the eyes of her acquain- 
 tance; 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 dis- 
 pleased with the defence of my pretty criminal. I then ordered 
 the vest which stood before us to be drawn up by a pulley to the top 
 of my great hall, and afterwards 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 Saint Paul's. I entered upon the whole cause with great 
 satisfaction as I sat under the shadow of it. 
 
 The counsel for the petticoat were now called in, and ordered 
 to produce what they had to say against the popular 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 woolen 
 manufactory from this invention, which was calculated as follows. 
 The common petticoat has not above four yards in the circum- 
 ference; whereas this over our heads had more in the semi -diameter; 
 so that, by allowing 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 improve- 
 ment 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 ropemakers, wherein it was represented, "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
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 Green- 
 land trade, which likewise represented the great consumption 
 of whalebone which would be occasioned by the present fashion, 
 and the benefit which would thereby accrue to that branch of 
 the British trade. 
 
 To conclude, they gently touched upon the weight and un- 
 wieldiness 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 hi a long and elaborate discourse, 
 had I not considered the great and additional expense .which 
 such fashions would bring upon fathers and husbands; and, there- 
 fore, by no means to be thought of until some years after a peace. 
 I farther urged, that it would be a prejudice to the ladies them- 
 selves, 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. 
 
 At the same time, in answer to the several petitions produced 
 on that side, I shewed one subscribed by the women of several 
 persons of quality, humbly setting forth, "that, since the intro- 
 duction of this mode, their respective ladies had, instead of bestow- 
 ing on them their cast gowns, cut them into shreds, and mixed them 
 with the cordage and buckram, 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 ordered it to be folded 
 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 waistcoat-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 ornaments 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 
 
 72
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 them bestow upon themselves all the additional beauties that art 
 can supply them with, provided it does not interfere 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, parrot, and swan shall pay contributions to 
 her muff; the sea shall be searched for shells, and the rocks for 
 gems; and every part of nature furnish out its share towards the 
 embellishment 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. 
 
 ON THE LOTTERY 
 
 No. 124.] TUESDAY, JANUARY 24, 1709-10 [STEELE.] 
 
 Ex humili summa ad fastigia rerum 
 
 Extollit, quoties voluit Fortuna jocari. 
 
 JTTV. SAT. iii. 39. 
 
 Fortune can, for her pleasure, fools advance, 
 And toss them on the wheels of Chance. 
 
 I WENT on Saturday last to make a visit in the city; and as 
 I passed through Cheapside, I saw crowds of people turning 
 down towards the Bank, and struggling who should first get their 
 money into the new-erected lottery. It gave me a great notion of 
 the credit of our present government and administration, to find 
 people press as eagerly to pay money, as they would to receive it; 
 and, at the same time, a due respect for that body of men who have 
 found out so pleasing an expedient for carrying on the common 
 cause, that they have turned a tax into a diversion. The cheerful- 
 ness of spirit, and the hopes of success, which this project has 
 occasioned in this great city, lightens the burden of the war, and 
 puts me in mind of some games which, they say, were invented by 
 'wise men, who were lovers of their country, to make their fellow- 
 citizens undergo the tediousness and fatigues of a long siege. I 
 think there is a kind of homage due to fortune, if I may call it so, 
 
 73
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 and that I should be wanting to myself, if I did not lay in my 
 pretences to her favour, and pay my compliments to her by recom- 
 mending a ticket to her disposal. For this reason, upon my return 
 to my lodgings, I sold off a couple of globes and a telescope, which, 
 with the cash I had by me, raised the sum that was requisite for 
 that purpose. I find by my calculations, that it is but an hundred 
 and fifty thousand to one, against my being worth a thousand pounds 
 per annum for thirty-two years; and if any Plumb in the city will 
 lay me an hundred and fifty thousand pounds to twenty shillings, 
 which is an even bet, that I am not this fortunate man, I will take 
 the wager, and shall look upon him as a man of singular courage 
 and fair-dealing ; having given orders to Mr. Morphew to subscribe 
 such a policy in my behalf, if any person accepts of the offer. I 
 must confess, I have had such private intimations from the twink- 
 ling of a certain star in some of my astronomical observations, that 
 I should be unwilling to take fifty pounds a year for my chance, 
 unless it were to oblige a particular friend. 
 
 My chief business at present is, to prepare my mind for this 
 change of fortune: for as Seneca, who was a greater moralist, and 
 a much richer man than I shall be with this addition to my present 
 income, says, Munera ista Fortunes putatis? Insidi'.e sunt. " What 
 we look upon as gifts and presents of fortune, are traps and snares 
 which she lays for the unwary." I am arming myself against her 
 favours with all my philosophy; and that I may not lose myself 
 in such a redundance of unnecessary and superfluous wealth, I 
 have determined to settle an annual pension out of it upon a family 
 of Palatines, and by that means give these unhappy strangers a 
 taste of British property. At the same time, as I have an excellent 
 servant-maid, whose diligence in attending me has increased in 
 proportion to my infirmities, I shall settle upon her the revenue 
 arising out of the ten pounds, and amounting to fourteen shillings 
 per annum; with which she may retire into Wales, where she was 
 born a gentlewoman, and pass the remaining part of her days in a 
 condition suitable to her birth and quality. It was impossible 
 for me to make an inspection into my own fortune on this occasion, 
 without seeing, at the same time, the fate of others who are em- 
 barked in the same adventure. And indeed it was a great pleasure 
 to me to observe, that the war, which generally impoverishes those 
 who furnish out the expense of it, will by this means give estates * 
 to some, without making others the poorer for it. I have lately 
 
 74
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 seen several in liveries, who will give as good of their own very 
 suddenly ; and took a particular satisfaction in the sight of a young 
 country-wench, whom I this morning passed by as she was whirl- 
 ing her mop, with her petticoats tucked up very agreeably, who, 
 if there is any truth in my art, is within ten months of being the 
 handsomest great fortune in town. I must confess, I was so struck 
 with the foresight of what she is to be, that I treated her accord- 
 ingly, and said to her, " Pray, young lady, permit me to pass by." 
 I would for this reason advise all masters and mistresses, to carry 
 it with great moderation and condescension towards their servants 
 until -next Michaelmas, lest the superiority at that time should be 
 inverted. 
 
 I must likewise admonish all my brethren and fellow-adven- 
 turers, to fill their minds with proper arguments for their sup- 
 port and consolation in case of ill success. It so happens in this 
 particular, that though the gainers will have reason to rejoice, 
 the losers will have no reason to complain. I remember, the day 
 after the thousand pound prize was drawn in the Penny-lottery, 
 I went to visit a splenetic acquaintance of mine, who was under 
 much dejection, and seemed to me to have suffered some great 
 disappointment. Upon inquiry, I found he had put two-pence for 
 himself and his son into the lottery, and that neither of them had 
 drawn the thousand pounds. Hereupon this unlucky person took 
 occasion to enumerate the misfortunes of his life, and concluded 
 with telling me, "that he never was successful in any of his under- 
 takings." I was forced to comfort him with the common reflec- 
 tion upon such occasions, "that men of the greatest merit are not 
 always men of the greatest success, and that persons of his char- 
 acter must not expect to be as happy as fools." I shall proceed 
 in the like manner with my rivals and competitors for the thousand 
 pounds a year, which we are now in pursuit of ; and that I may give 
 general content to the whole body of candidates, I shall allow all 
 that draw prizes to be fortunate, and all that miss them to be wise. 
 
 I must not here omit to acknowledge, that I have received 
 several letters upon this subject, but find one common error run- 
 ning through them all, which is, that the writers of them believe 
 their fate in these cases depends upon the astrologer, and not upon 
 the stars; as in the following letter from one, who, I fear, flatters 
 himself with hopes of succebs which are altogether groundless, since 
 he does not seem to me so great a fool as he takes himself to be. 
 
 75
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 "SiR, Coming to town, and finding my friend Mr. Partridge 
 dead and buried, and you the only conjurer in repute, I am under 
 a necessity of applying myself to you for a favour, which never- 
 theless I confess it would better become a friend to ask, than one 
 who is, as I am, altogether a stranger to you; but poverty, you 
 know, is impudent; and as that gives me the occasion, so that alone 
 could give me the confidence to be thus importunate. 
 
 " I am, sir, very poor, and very desirous to be otherwise : I have 
 got ten pounds, which I design to venture in the lottery now on 
 foot. What I desire of you is, that by your art, you will choose 
 such a ticket for me as shall arise a benefit sufficient to maintain 
 me. I must beg leave to inform you, that I am good for nothing, 
 and must therefore insist upon a larger lot than would satisfy 
 those who are capable, by their own abilities, of adding something 
 to what you should assign them; whereas I must expect an abso- 
 lute independent maintenance, because, as I said, I can do noth- 
 ing. It is possible, after this free confession of mine, you may 
 think I do not deserve to be rich; but I hope you will likewise 
 observe, I can ill afford to be poor. My own opinion is, that I 
 am well qualified for an estate, and have a good title to luck in 
 a lottery; but I resign myself wholly to your mercy, not without 
 hopes that you will consider, the less I deserve, the greater the 
 generosity in you. If you reject me, I have agreed with an acquain- 
 tance of mine to bury me for my ten pounds. I once more recom- 
 mend myself to your favour, and bid you adieu!" 
 
 THE PRUDE AND THE COQUETTE 
 
 No. 126.] SATURDAY, JANUARY 28, 1709-10. [STEELE.] 
 
 Anguillam cauda tenes. T. D'URFEY. 
 You have got an eel by the tail. 
 
 THERE is no sort of company so agreeable as that of women 
 who have good sense without affectation, and can converse 
 with men without any private design of imposing chains and 
 fetters. Belvidera, whom I visited this evening, is one of these. 
 
 76
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 There is an invincible prejudice in favour of all she says, from 
 her being a beautiful woman; because she does not consider her- 
 self as such when she talks to you. This amiable temper gives a 
 certain tincture to all her discourse, and made it very agreeable 
 to me until we were interrupted by Lydia, a creature who has 
 all the charms that can adorn a woman. Her attractions would 
 indeed be irresistible, but that she thinks them so, and is always 
 employing them in stratagems and conquests. When I turned 
 my eye upon her as she sat down, I saw she was a person of that 
 character, which, for the farther information of my country corres- 
 pondents, I had long wanted an opportunity of explaining. Lydia 
 is a finished coquette, which is a sect among women of all others 
 the most mischievous, and makes the greatest havoc and disorder in 
 society. I went on in the discourse I was in with Belvidera, without 
 shewing that I had observed anything extraordinary in Lydia: 
 upon which, I immediately saw her look me over as some very 
 ill-bred fellow; and casting a scornful glance on my dress, give a 
 shrug at Belvidera. But, as much as she despised me, she wanted 
 my admiration, and made twenty offers to bring my eyes her way: 
 but I reduced her to a restlessness in her seat, and impertinent 
 playing of her fan, and many other motions and gestures before 
 I took the least notice of her. At last I looked at her with a kind 
 of surprise, as if she had before been unobserved by reason of an 
 ill light where she sat. It is not to be expressed what a sudden 
 joy I saw arise hi her countenance, even at the approbation of such 
 a very old fellow : but she did not long enjoy her triumph without 
 a rival; for there immediately entered Castabella, a lady of a quite 
 contrary character, that is to say, as eminent a prude as Lydia 
 is a coquette. Belvidera gave me a glance, which methought inti- 
 mated, that they were both curiosities in their kind, and worth 
 remarking. As soon as we were again seated, I stole looks at each 
 lady, as if I was comparing their perfections. Belvidera observed 
 it, and began to lead me into a discourse of them both to their faces, 
 which is to be done easily enough; for one woman is generally so 
 intent upon the faults of another, that she has not reflection enough 
 to observe when her own are represented. "I have taken notice, 
 Mr. Bickers taffe," said Belvidera, "that you have, hi some parts 
 of your writings, drawn characters of our sex, hi which you have 
 not, to my apprehension, been clear enough and distinct; particu- 
 larly in those of a Prude and a Coquette." Upon the mention of 
 
 77
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 this, Lydia was roused with the expectation of seeing Castabella's 
 picture, and Castabella, with the hopes of that of Lydia. 
 " Madam," said I to Belvidera, " when we consider nature, we shall 
 often find very contrary effects flow from the same cause. The 
 Prude and Coquette, as different as they appear in their behaviour, 
 are in reality the same kind of women. The motive of action in 
 both is the affectation of pleasing men. They are sisters of the 
 same blood and constitution ; only one chooses a grave, and the other 
 a light dress. The Prude appears more virtuous, the Coquette 
 more vicious than she really is. The distant behaviour of the 
 Prude tends to the same purpose as the advances of the Coquette; 
 and you have as little reason to fall into despair from the severity 
 of the one, as to conceive hopes from the familiarity of the other. 
 What leads you into a clear sense of their character is, that you may 
 observe each of them has the distinction of sex in all her thoughts, 
 words, and actions. You can never mention any assembly you 
 were lately in, but one asks you with a rigid, the other with 
 a sprightly air, "Pray, what men were there?" As for Prudes, 
 it must be confessed, that there are several of them who, like hypo- 
 crites, by long practice of a false part become sincere; or at least 
 delude themselves into a belief that they are so. 
 
 For the benefit of the society of ladies, I shall propose one rule 
 to them as a test of their virtue. I find in a very celebrated modern 
 author, that the great foundress of Pietists, madam de Bourignon, 
 who was no less famous for the sanctity of her life than for the sin- 
 gularity of some of her opinions, used to boast, that she had not only 
 the spirit of continency in herself, but that she had also the power 
 of communicating it to all who beheld her. This the scoffers of 
 those days called, "The gift of infrigidation," and took occasion 
 from it to rally her face, rather than admire her virtue. I would 
 therefore advise the Prude, who has a mind to know the integrity 
 of her own heart, to lay her hand seriously upon it, and to examine 
 herself, whether she could sincerely rejoice in such a gift of con- 
 veying chaste thoughts to all her male beholders. If she has any 
 aversion to the power of inspiring so great a virtue, whatever notion 
 she may have of her perfection, she deceives her own heart, and is 
 still in the state of prudery. Some perhaps will look upon the 
 boast of madam de Bourignon, as the utmost ostentation of a Prude. 
 
 If you would see the humour of a Coquette pushed to the last 
 excess, you may find an instance of it in the following story: which 
 
 78
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 I will set down at length, because it pleased me when I read it, 
 though I cannot recollect in what author. 
 
 "A young coquette widow in France having been followed by a 
 Gascon of quality, who had boasted among his companions of some 
 favours which he had never received; to be revenged of him, sent 
 for him one evening, and told him, "it was in his power to do her 
 a very particular service." The Gascon, with much profession 
 of his readiness to obey her commands, begged to hear in what 
 manner she designed to employ him. "You know," said the 
 widow, "my friend Belinda; and must often have heard of the 
 jealousy of that impotent wretch her husband. Now it is abso- 
 lutely necessary, for the carrying on a certain affair, that his wife 
 and I should be together a whole night. What I have to ask of 
 you is, to dress yourself in her night-cloaths, and lie by him a whole 
 night in her place, that he may not miss her while she is with me." 
 The Gascon, though of a very lively and Undertaking complexion, 
 began to startle at the proposal. "Nay," says the widow, "if you 
 have not the courage to go through what I ask of you, I must em- 
 ploy somebody else that will." "Madam," says the Gascon, "I 
 
 will kill him for you if you please ; but for lying with him! How 
 
 is it possible to do it without being discovered?" "If you do not 
 discover yourself," says the widow, "you will lie safe enough, for 
 he is past all curiosity. He comes in at night while she is asleep, 
 and goes out in a morning before she awakes; and is in pain for 
 nothing, so he knows she is there." " Madam," replied the Gascon, 
 "how can you reward me for passing a night with this old fellow ?" 
 The widow answered with a laugh, " Perhaps by admitting you to 
 pass a night with one you think more agreeable." He took the 
 hint; put on his night-cloaths; and had not been a-bed above an 
 hour before he heard a knocking at the door, and the treading of one 
 who approached the other side of the bed, and who he did not ques- 
 tion was the good man of the house. I do not know, whether the 
 story would be better by telling you in this place, or at the end of 
 it, that the person who went to bed to him was our young coquette 
 widow. The Gascon was in a terrible fright every time she moved 
 in the bed, or turned towards him; and did not fail to shrink from 
 her, until he had conveyed himself to the very ridge of the bed. 
 I will not dwell upon the perplexity he was in the whole night 
 which was augmented, when he observed that it was now broad 
 day, and that the husband did not yet offer to get up and go about 
 
 70
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 his business. All that the Gascon had for it, was to keep his face 
 turned from him, and to feign himself asleep, when, to his utter 
 confusion, the widow at last puts out her arm, and pulls the bell 
 at her bed's head. In came her friend, and two or three com- 
 panions to whom the Gascon had boasted of her favours. The 
 widow jumped into a wrapping gown, and joined with the rest in 
 laughing at this man of intrigue. 
 
 TRIAL OF THE WINE-BREWERS 
 
 No. 131.] THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1709-10. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Scelus est jugulare Falernum, 
 
 Et dare Campano toxica saeva mere. MART. i. 19. 
 
 How great the crime, how flagrant the abuse! 
 T' adulterate generous wine with noxious juice. 
 
 THERE is in this city a certain fraternity of chemical oper- 
 ators, who work underground in holes, caverns, and dark 
 retirements, to conceal their mysteries from the eyes and observa- 
 tion of mankind. These subterraneous philosophers are daily 
 employed in the transmutation of liquors, and, by the power of 
 magical drugs and incantations, raising under the streets of London 
 the choicest products of the hills and valleys of France. They 
 can squeeze Bordeaux out of the sloe, and draw Champagne from 
 an apple. Virgil, in that remarkable prophecy, 
 
 Incultisque rubens pendebit sentibus uva. 
 
 VIRG. ECL. iv. 29. 
 
 The ripening grape shall hang on every thorn, 
 
 seems to have hinted at this art, which can turn a plantation 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 invisible work- 
 So
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 men, 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 accordingly. 
 
 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 believe 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 ex- 
 hibited to the court, with great eloquence, "that this new corpora- 
 tion of druggists had inflamed the bills of mortality, and puzzled 
 the college of physicians with diseases, for which they neither knew 
 a name or cure. He accused some of giving all their customers 
 colics and megrims; 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 healthfulest 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 pam- 
 phlets, speeches, and sermons, a swell as from the ordinary conversa- 
 tions of the youth of this age. He then quoted an ingenious person, 
 who would undertake to know by a man's writings the wine he 
 most delighted in; and on that occasion named a certain satirist, 
 whom he had discovered to be the author of a lampoon, by a mani- 
 fest taste of the sloe, which showed itself hi it, by much roughness, 
 and little spirit. 
 
 In the last place, he ascribed to the unnatural tumults and fer- 
 mentations which these mixtures raise in our blood, the divisions, 
 heats, and animosities, that reign among us; and, in particular, 
 asserted most of the modern enthusiasms and agitations to be noth- 
 ing else but the effects of adulterated Port. 
 
 The counsel 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 expected from the common draught, which 
 I found he often drank to a great excess. Indeed, I was so sur- 
 prised at his figure and parts, that I ordered him to give me a taste 
 of his usual liquor; which I had no sooner drunk, but I found a 
 pimple rising in my forehead ; and felt such a terrible decay in my 
 
 Si
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 understanding, that I would not proceed in the trial until 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 
 keep open their doors ; it being the nature of mankind to love every- 
 thing that is prohibited. He farther 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 practice 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 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 into two rows on each side of the court. The 
 workmen were drawn up in ranks behind them. The merchant 
 informed me, "that in one row of phials were the several colours 
 they dealt in, and in the other, the tastes." He then showed 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 phials, converted it into a most beautiful pale Burgundy. 
 Two more of the same kind heightened it into perfect Languedoc: 
 from thence it passed into a florid Hermitage: and after having 
 gone through two or three other changes, by the addition of a single 
 drop, ended in a very deep Pontac. This ingenious virtuoso, seeing 
 me very much surprised at his art, told me, that he had not an oppor- 
 tunity of showing it in perfection, having only made use of water for 
 the ground-work of his colouring; but that, if I were to see an oper- 
 ation upon liquors of stronger bodies, the art would appear to a 
 much greater advantage. He added, that he doubted not but it 
 would please my curiosity to see the cyder of one apple take only a 
 vermilion, when another, with a less quantity of the same infusion, 
 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 
 
 82
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 having advised him to quit so dishonest a profession, I promised 
 him, in consideration of his great genius, to recommend him as a 
 partner to a friend of mine, who has heaped up great riches, and is 
 a scarlet-dyer. 
 
 The artists on my other hand were ordered, in the second place, 
 to make some experiments of their skill before me: upon which the 
 famous Harry Sippet stepped 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 liquor before 
 him was as the naked substance, or first matter of his compound, to 
 which he and his friend, who stood over-against him, could give 
 what accidents, or form they pleased." Finding him so great a 
 philosopher, I desired he would convey into it the qualities and es- 
 sence of right Bordeaux. "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, presented it to me; and told me, "this 
 was the wine, over which most of the business of the last term had 
 been dispatched." I must confess, I looked upon that sooty drug, 
 which he held up in his cruet, as the quintessence of English Bor- 
 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 myself, 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 cer- 
 tainly have died under the operation. 
 
 I was so incensed by the tortures of my innocent domestic, 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 profit. I therefore bid them look upon themselves as no better 
 than as a kind of assassins and murderers within the law. How- 
 ever, 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 
 
 83
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 and acquaintance, and take to some honest livelihood without 
 loss of time. 
 
 For my own part, I have 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. 
 
 OUR CLUB 
 
 No. 132.] SATURDAY, FEBRUARY n, 1709-10. [STEELE.] 
 
 Habeo senectuti magnam gratiam, quae mihi sermonis aviditatem auxit, 
 potionis et cibi sustulit. TULL. de Sen. 
 
 I am much beholden to old age, which has increased my eagerness for con- 
 versation in proportion as it has lessened my appetites of hunger and thirst. 
 
 AFTER having applied my mind with more than ordinary at- 
 tention to my studies, it is my usual cusom to relax and un- 
 bend it in the conversation of such, as are rather easy than shining 
 companions. This I find particularly necessary for me before I retire 
 to rest, in order to draw my slumbers upon me by degrees, and fall 
 asleep insensibly. This is the particular use I make of a set of 
 heavy honest men, with whom I have passed many hours with much 
 indolence, though not with great pleasure. Their conversation is a 
 kind of preparative for sleep : it takes the mind down from its ab- 
 stractions, leads it into the familiar traces of thought, and lulls it 
 into that state of tranquillity, which is the condition of a thinking 
 man, when he is but half awake. After this, my reader will not 
 be surprised to hear the account, which I am about to give of a club 
 of my own contemporaries, among whom I pass two or three hours 
 every evening. This I look upon as taking my first nap before I 
 go to bed. The truth of it is, I should think myself unjust to pos- 
 terity, as well as to the society at the Trumpet, of which I am a 
 member, did not I in some part of my writings give an account of the 
 persons among whom I have passed almost a sixth part of my time 
 for these last forty years. Our club consisted originally of fifteen; 
 but, partly by the severity of the law in arbitrary times, and partly 
 by the natural effects of old age, we are at present reduced to a third 
 
 84
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 part of that number: in which, however, we hear this consolation, 
 that the best company is said to consist of five persons, I must con- 
 fess, besides the aforementioned benefit which I meet with in the 
 conversation of this select society, I am not the less pleased with the 
 company, in that I find myself the greatest wit among them, and am 
 heard as their oracle in all points of learning and difficulty. 
 
 Sir Jeoffrey Notch, who is the oldest of the club, has been in pos- 
 session of the right-hand chair time out of mind, and is the only 
 man among us that has the liberty of stirring the fire. This our 
 foreman is a gentleman of an ancient family, that came to a great 
 estate some years before he had discretion, and run it out in hounds, 
 horses, and cock-fighting; for which reason he looks upon himself 
 as an honest, worthy gentleman, who has had misfortunes in the 
 world, and calls every thriving man a pitiful upstart. 
 
 Major Matchlock is the next senior, who served in the last civil 
 wars, and has all the battles by heart. He does not think any action 
 in Europe worth talking of since the fight of Marston Moor; and 
 every night tells us of his having been knocked off his horse at the 
 rising of the London apprentices* for which he is in great esteem 
 among us. 
 
 Honest old Dick Reptile is the third of our society. He is a 
 good-natured indolent man, who speaks little himself, but laughs 
 at our jokes; and brings his young nephew along with him, a youth 
 of eighteen years old, to shew him good company, and give him a 
 taste of the world. This young fellow sits generally silent; but 
 whenever he opens his mouth, or laughs at anything that passes, 
 he is constantly told by his uncle, after a jocular manner, " Ay, ay, 
 Jack, you young men think us fools; but we old men know you are." 
 
 The greatest wit of our company, next to myself, is a Bencher 
 of the neighbouring Inn, who in his youth frequented the ordi- 
 naries about Charing Cross, and pretends to have been intimate 
 with Jack Ogle. He has about ten distichs of Hudibras without 
 book, and never leaves the club until he has applied them all. If 
 any modern wit be mentioned, or any town-frolic spoken of, he 
 shakes his head at the dulness of the present age, and tells us a 
 story of Jack Ogle. 
 
 For my own part, I am esteemed among them, because they see 
 I am something respected by others; though at the same time I 
 understand by their behaviour, that I am considered by them as 
 a man of a great deal of learning, but no knowledge of the world; 
 
 85
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 insomuch, that the Major sometimes, in the height of his military 
 pride, calls me the Philosopher: and Sir Jeoffrey, no longer ago 
 than last night, upon a dispute what day of the month it was then 
 in Holland, pulled his pipe out of his mouth, and cried, "What 
 does the scholar say to it?" 
 
 Our club meets precisely at six o'clock in the evening; but I did 
 not come last night until half an hour after seven, by which means 
 I escaped the battle of Naseby, which the Major usually begins at 
 about three-quarters after six: I found also, that my good friend 
 the Bencher had already spent three of his distichs; and only waited 
 an opportunity to hear a sermon spoken of, that he might introduce 
 the couplet where "a stick" rhymes to "ecclesiastic." At my 
 entrance into the room, they were naming a red petticoat and a 
 cloak, by which I found that the Bencher had been diverting them 
 with a story of Jack Ogle. 
 
 I had no sooner taken my seat, but Sir Jeoffrey, to show his good- 
 will towards me, gave me a pipe of his own tobacco, and stirred up 
 the fire. I look upon it as a point of morality, to be obliged by those 
 who endeavour to oblige me; and therefore, in requittal for his kind- 
 ness, and to set the conversation a-going, I took the best occasion 
 I could to put him upon telling us the story of old Gantlett, which 
 he always does with very particular concern. He traced up his 
 descent on both sides for several generations, describing his diet 
 and manner of life, with his several battles, and particularly that 
 in which he fell. This Gantlett was a gamecock, upon whose head 
 the knight, in his youth, had won five hundred pounds, and lost 
 two thousand. This naturally set the Major upon the account 
 of Edge Hill fight, and ended in a duel of Jack Ogle's. 
 
 Old Reptile was extremely attentive to all that was said, though 
 it was the same he had heard every night for these twenty years, 
 and, upon all occasions, winked upon his nephew to mind what 
 passed. 
 
 This may suffice to give the world a taste of our innocent conver- 
 sation, which we spun out until about ten of the clock, when my 
 maid came with a lantern to light me home. I could not but reflect 
 with myself, as I was going out, upon the talkative humour of old 
 men, and the little figure which that part of life makes in one who 
 cannot employ his natural propensity in discourses which would 
 make him venerable. I must own, it makes me very melancholy 
 in company, when I hear a young man begin a story; and have 
 
 86
 
 often observed, that one of a quarter of an hour long in a man of 
 five-and-twenty, gathers circumstances every time he tells it, until 
 it grows into a long Canterbury tale of two hours by that time he 
 is threescore. 
 
 The only way of avoiding such a trifling and frivolous old age 
 is, to lay up in our way to it such stores of knowledge and observa- 
 tion, as may make us useful and agreeable in our declining years. 
 The mind of man in a long life will become a magazine of wisdom 
 or folly, and will consequently discharge itself in something imperti- 
 nent or improving. For which reason, as there is nothing more 
 ridiculous than an old trifling story-teller, so there is nothing more 
 venerable, than one who has turned his experience to the enter- 
 tainment and advantage of mankind. 
 
 In short, we, who are in the last stage of life, and are apt to 
 indulge ourselves in talk, ought to consider, if what we speak be 
 worth being heard, and endeavour to make our discourse like that 
 of Nestor, which Homer compares to the flowing of honey for its 
 sweetness. 
 
 TOM VARNISH 
 
 No. 136.] TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1709-10. [STEELE.] 
 
 Deprendi miserum est: Fabio vel judice vincam. 
 
 HOR. i SAT. ii. ver. ult. 
 
 To be surpris'd, is, sure a wretched tale, 
 And for the truth to Fabius I appeal. 
 
 BECAUSE I have a professed aversion to long beginnings of 
 stories, I will go into this at once, by telling you, that there 
 dwells near the Royal Exchange as happy a couple as ever entered 
 into wedlock. These live in that mutual confidence of each other, 
 which renders the satisfaction of marriage even greater than those 
 of friendship, and makes wife and husband the dearest appellations 
 of human life. Mr. Balance is a merchant of good consideration, 
 and understands the world, not from speculation, but practice. 
 His wife is the daughter of an honest house, ever bred in a family- 
 way; and has, from a natural good understanding, and great inno- 
 
 87
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 cence, a freedom which men of sense know to be the certain sign of 
 virtue, and fools take to be an encouragement to vice. 
 
 Tom Varnish, a young gentleman of the Middle-Temple, by the 
 bounty of a good father, who was so obliging as to die, and leave 
 him, in his twenty-fourth year, besides a good estate, a large sum 
 which lay in the hands of Mr. Balance, had by this means an 
 intimacy at his house; and being one of those hard students who 
 read plays for the improvement in the law, took his rules of life 
 from thence. Upon mature deliberation, he conceived it very 
 proper, that he, as a man of wit and pleasure of the town, should 
 have an intrigue with his merchant's wife. He no sooner thought 
 of this adventure, but he began it by an amorous epistle to the 
 lady, and a faithful promise to wait upon her at a certain hour the 
 next evening, when he knew her husband was to be absent. 
 
 The letter was no sooner received, but it was communicated to 
 the husband, and produced no other effect in him, than that he 
 joined with his wife to raise all the mirth they could out of this 
 fantastical piece of gallantry. They were so little concerned at 
 this dangerous man of mode, that they plotted ways to perplex him 
 without hurting him. Varnish comes exactly at his hour; and the 
 lady's well-acted confusion at his entrance gave him opportunity to 
 repeat some couplets very fit for the occasion with very much grace 
 and spirit. His theatrical manner of making love was interrupted 
 by an alarm of the husband's coming; and the wife, in a personated 
 terror, beseeched him, "if he had any value for the honour of a 
 woman that loved him, he would jump out of the window." He 
 did so, and fell upon feather-beds placed on purpose to receive him. 
 
 It is not to be conceived how great the joy of an amorous man is, 
 when he has suffered for his mistress, and is never the worse for it. 
 Varnish the next day writ a most elegant billet, wherein he said all 
 that imagination could form upon the occasion. He violently pro- 
 tested, " going out of the window was no way terrible, but as it was 
 going from her;" with several other kind expressions, which pro- 
 cured him a second assignation. Upon his second visit, he was con- 
 veyed by a faithful maid into her bed chamber, and left there to 
 expect the arrival of her mistress. But the wench, according to 
 her instructions, ran in again to him, and locked the door after her 
 to keep out her master. She had just time enough to convey the 
 lover into a chest before she admitted the husband and his wife into 
 the room. 
 
 88
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 You may be sure that trunk was absolutely necessary to be 
 opened; but upon her husband's ordering it, she assured him, 
 "she had taken all the care imaginable in packing up the things 
 with her own hands, and he might send the trunk abroad as soon 
 as he thought fit." The easy husband believed his wife, and the 
 good couple went to bed ; Varnish having the happiness to pass the 
 night in the mistress's bedchamber without molestation. The 
 morning arose, but our lover was not well situated to observe her 
 blushes; so that all we know of his sentiments on this occasion is, 
 that he heard Balance ask for the key, and say, " he would himself 
 go with this chest, and have it opened before the captain of the 
 ship, for the greater safety of so valuable a lading." 
 
 The goods were hoisted away; and Mr. Balance, marching by 
 his chest with great care and diligence, omitting nothing that might 
 give his passenger perplexity. But, to consummate all, he deliv- 
 ered the chest, with strict charge, "in case they were in danger of 
 being taken, to throw it overboard, for there were letters in it, the 
 matter of which might be of great service to the enemy." 
 
 KICKSHAWS 
 
 No. 148.] TUESDAY, MARCH 21, 1709-10. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Gustus elementa per omnia quaerunt, 
 
 Nunquam animo pretiis obstantibus . 
 
 Juv. SAT. xi. 14. 
 
 They ransack every element for choice 
 Of every fish and fowl, at any price. 
 
 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 the 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 eaten 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 cer-
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 tainly the best way to preserve the gravy; and it is farther added, 
 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 mention the history of the Surloin, or the institution 
 of the order of Beef -eaters ; which are all so many evident and unde- 
 niable 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 regis- 
 ters 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 countrymen; but was formerly 
 observed to be the food rather of men of nice and delicate appe- 
 tites, than those of strong 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 degenerate palates, 
 according to that wholesome remark of Daniel the historian; 
 who takes notice, that in all taxes upon 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 mature for slaughter. The common people of this king- 
 dom 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 con- 
 sider, what work our countrymen would have made at Blenheim 
 and Ramillies, if they had been fed with fricassees and ragouts. 
 
 For this reason, we at present see the florid complexion, 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 or mountains. Whereas many 
 great families are insensibly fallen off from the athletic constitution 
 of their progenitors, and are dwindled away into a pale, sickly, 
 spindle-legged generation of valetudinarians. 
 
 I may perhaps, be thought extravagant hi my notion; but I 
 must confess, I am apt to impute the dishonours that sometimes 
 
 90
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 without nourishing it; as physicians 
 observe, that the poorest and most dispirited blood is most subject 
 to fevers. I look upon a French ragout 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 soups, seasoned sauces, and 
 forced meats, I have wondered at the despair or tedious fighting of 
 her lovers. 
 
 The rules among these false Delicates are, to be as contradictory 
 as they can be to nature. 
 
 Without expecting the return of hunger, they eat for an appetite, 
 and prepare dishes, not to allay, but to excite it. 
 
 They admit of nothing at their tables in its natural form, or 
 without a disguise. 
 
 They are to eat of everything before it comes in season, and 
 to leave it off as soon as it is good to be eaten. 
 
 They are not to approve anything 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 pheasant, and, 
 therefore desired to be helped to a whig of it; but, to my great 
 surprise, my friend told me it was a rabbit, 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 it 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 so tragical a death. I was 
 
 91
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 now in great hunger and confusion, when methought I smelled the 
 agreeable savour of roast beef; but could not tell from which dish it 
 arose, though I did not question but it lay disguised in one of them, 
 Upon turning my head, I saw a noble surloin 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 sub- 
 stantial English dish banished in so ignominious a manner, to make 
 way for French kickshaws. 
 
 The desert was brought up at last, which in truth was as extraor- 
 dinary as anything that had come before it. The whole, when 
 ranged in its proper order, looked like a very beautiful winter- 
 piece. There were several pyramids of candied 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 quantities 
 of cream beaten up into a snow, and near them little plates of sugar- 
 plums, disposed like so many heaps of hail-stones, with a multitude 
 of congelations in jellies 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 lemon-peel, or a sugar- 
 plum, would spoil so pleasing a picture. Indeed, I could not but 
 smile to see several of them cooling their mouths with lumps of ice 
 which they had just before 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 everything love 
 what is simple and natural, so particularly in my food; two plain 
 dishes, with two or three good-natured, cheerful, 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." 
 
 92
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 BEAUTY UNADORNED 
 
 No. 151.] TUESDAY, MARCH 28, 1710. [STEELE. 
 
 Ni vis boni 
 
 In ipsa inesset forma, haec formam extinguerent. TER. 
 
 These things would extinguish beauty, if there were not an innate pleasure- 
 giving energy in beauty itself. 
 
 WHEN artists would expose their diamonds to an advantage, 
 they usually set them to show in little cases of black velvet. 
 By this means the jewels appear in their true and genuine lustre, 
 while there is no colour that can infect their brightness, or give a false 
 cast to the water. When I was at the opera the other night, the 
 assembly of ladies in mourning made me consider them in the 
 same kind of view. A dress wherein there is so little variety shews 
 the face in all its natural charms, and makes one differ from another 
 only as it is more or less beautiful. Painters are ever careful of 
 offending against a rule which is so essential in all just representa- 
 tions. The chief figure must have the strongest point of light, and 
 not be injured by any gay colourings, that may draw away the 
 attention to any less considerable part of the picture. The present 
 fashion obliges every body to be dressed with propriety, and makes 
 the ladies' faces the principal objects of sight. Every beautiful 
 person shines out in all the excellence with which nature has 
 adorned her; gaudy ribbands and glaring colours being now out of 
 use, the sex has no opportunity given them to disfigure themselves, 
 which they seldom fail to do whenever it lies in their power. When 
 a woman comes to her glass, she does not employ her time in making 
 herself look more advantageously what she really is; but endeavours 
 to be as much another creature as she possibly can. Whether this 
 happens because they stay so long, and attend their work so dili- 
 gently, that they forget the faces and persons which they first sat 
 down with, or whatever it is, they seldom rise from the toilet the 
 same women they appeared when they began to dress. What 
 jewel can the charming Cleora place in her ears, that can please 
 her beholders so much as her eyes ? The cluster of diamonds upon 
 the breast can add no beauty to the fair chest of ivory which supports 
 it. It may indeed tempt a man to steal a woman, but never to love 
 
 93
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 her. Let Thalestris change herself into a motley, party-coloured 
 animal: the pearl necklace, the flowered stomacher, the artificial 
 nosegay, and shaded furbelow, may be of use to attract the eye of 
 her beholder, and turn it from the imperfections of her features 
 and shape. But if ladies will take my word for it (and as they 
 dress to please men, they ought to consult our fancy rather than 
 their own in this particular), I can assure them, there is nothing 
 touches our imagination so much as a beautiful woman hi a plain 
 dress. There might be more agreeable ornaments found in our 
 own manufacture, than any that rise out of the looms of Persia. 
 
 This, I know, is a very harsh doctrine to woman-kind, who are 
 carried away with every thing that is showy, and with what delights 
 the eye, more than any other species of living creatures whatso- 
 ever. Were the minds of the sex laid open, we should find the 
 chief idea in one to be a tippet, in another a muff, in a third a fan, 
 and hi a fourth a fardingal. The memory of an old visiting lady 
 is so filled with gloves, silks, and ribbands, that I can look upon it 
 as nothing else but a toy-shop. A matron of my acquaintance, 
 complaining of her daughter's vanity, was observing, that she had 
 all of a sudden held up her head higher than ordinary, and taken 
 an air that shewed a secret satisfaction in herself, mixed with a 
 scorn of others. "I did not know," says my friend, "what to 
 make of the carriage of this fantastical girl, until I was informed 
 by her eldest sister, that she had a pah* of striped garters on." 
 This odd turn of mind makes the sex unhappy, and disposes them 
 to be struck with every thing that makes a show, however trifling 
 and superficial. 
 
 Many a lady has fetched a sigh at the toss of a wig, and been 
 ruined by the tapping of a snuff-box. It is impossible to describe 
 all the execution that was done by the shoulder-knot, while that 
 fashion prevailed, or to reckon up all the virgins that have fallen a 
 sacrifice to a pair of fringed gloves. A sincere heart has not made 
 half so many conquests as an open waistcoat; and I should be glad 
 to see an able head make so good a figure in a woman's company as 
 a pair of red heels. A Grecian hero, when he was asked whether 
 he could play upon the lute, thought he had made a good reply, 
 when he answered, " No; but I can make a great city of a little one." 
 Notwithstanding his boasted wisdom, I appeal to the heart of any 
 Toast in town, whether she would not think the lutenist preferable 
 to the statesman ? I do not speak this out of any aversion that I 
 
 94
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 have to the sex: on the contrary, I have always had a tenderness 
 for them; but, I must confess, it troubles me very much, to see the 
 generality of them place their affections on improper objects, and 
 give up all the pleasures of life for gewgaws and trifles. 
 
 Mrs. Margery Bickerstaff, my great aunt, had a thousand 
 pounds to her portion, which our family was desirous of keeping 
 among themselves, and therefore used all possible means to turn off 
 her thoughts from marriage. The method they took was, in any 
 time of danger, to throw a new gown or petticoat in her way. When 
 she was about twenty-five years of age, she fell in love with a man 
 of an agreeable temper and equal fortune, and would certainly have 
 married him, had not my grandfather, Sir Jacob, dressed her up in 
 a suit of flowered satin ; upon which she set so immoderate a value 
 upon herself, that the lover was contemned and discarded. In the 
 fortieth year of her age, she was again smitten; but very luckily 
 transferred her passion to a tippet, which was presented to her by 
 another relation who was in the plot. This, with a white sarsenet 
 hood, kept her safe in the family until fifty. About sixty, which 
 generally produces a kind of latter spring in amorous constitutions, 
 my aunt Margery had again a colt's tooth in her head; and would 
 certainly have eloped from the mansion-house, had not her brother 
 Simon, who was a wise man and a scholar, advised to dress her in 
 cherry-coloured ribbands, which was the only expedient that could 
 have been found out by the wit of man to preserve the thousand 
 pounds in our family, part of which I enjoy at this time. 
 
 This discourse puts me in mind of an humourist mentioned by 
 Horace, called Eutrapelus, who, when he designed to do a man a 
 mischief, made him a present of a gay suit; and brings to my mem- 
 ory another passage of the same author, when he describes the 
 most ornamental dress that a woman can appear in with two words, 
 Simplex Munditiis, which I have quoted for the benefit of my fe- 
 male readers.
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 THE POLITICAL UPHOLSTERER 
 
 No. 155.] THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Aliena negotia curat, 
 
 Excussus propriis. HOR. 3 SAT. ii. 19. 
 
 When he had lost all business of his own, 
 He ran in puest of news through all the town. 
 
 THERE lived some years since, within my neighbourhood, 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 neigh- 
 bours. He had a particular 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 inquiry 
 into his life and conversation, I found him to be the greatest news- 
 monger in our quarter; that he rose 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 Poland 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, until 
 about three days ago, as I was walking in St. James's Park, I heard 
 somebody 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, 
 notwithstanding 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 to me, 
 I was going to inquire into his present circumstances ; but was pre- 
 vented by his asking me, with a whisper, " whether the last letters 
 
 96
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 brought any accounts that one might 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 starv- 
 ing, 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 think there is any truth 
 in the story of his wound?" And finding me surprised 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," said 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 hand, that 
 a certain 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 used 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 whispered 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 about dinner-time. Observing them to be 
 curiosities in their kind, and my friend's acquaintance, I sat down 
 among them. 
 
 The chief politician of the bench was a great asserter of para- 
 doxes. He told us, with a seeming concern, "that, by some news 
 he had lately read from Muscovy, it appeared to him that there 
 
 97
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 was a storm gathering in the Black Sea, which might in time do 
 hurt to the naval forces of 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 manu- 
 facture." He then told us, " that he looked upon those extraordi- 
 nary revolutions which had lately happened in those 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 
 ourselves up to his opinions. 
 
 The discourse at length fell upon a point which seldom 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 Protestant side. One who sat 
 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 com- 
 pany, 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 Mus- 
 covy stand neuter." 
 
 He farther told us, for our comfort, " that there were vast tracks 
 of lands 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 negotiations of peace; in 
 which he deposed princes, settled the bounds of kingdoms, and 
 balanced the power of Europe, with great justice and impartiality. 
 
 I at length took my leave of the company, and was going away; 
 but had not gone thirty yards, before the upholsterer hemmed again 
 after me. Upon his advancing towards me with a whisper, I ex- 
 pected to hear some secret piece of news, which he had not thought 
 fit to communicate to the bench; but, instead of that, he desired 
 me in my ear to lend him half a crown. In compassion to so needy 
 
 98
 
 The Politician.
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 Con- 
 stantinople;" 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 custom 
 
 TOM FOLIO 
 
 No. 158.] THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Faciunt nae intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant. TER. 
 While they pretend to know more than others, they know nothing in reality. 
 
 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 until 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 decisive 
 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 universal 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 Horace. If you talk of Heredotus, he breaks 
 out into a panegyric upon Harry Stephens. He thinks he gives you 
 an account of an author, when he tells you the subject he treats of, 
 the name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. Or 
 if you draw him into farther 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 leam 
 
 99
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 ing, and substantial criticism. As for those who talk of the fine- 
 ness of style, and the justness of thought or describe the brightness 
 of any particular passages; nay, though they themselves write in 
 the genius and spirit of the author they admire; Tom looks upon 
 them as men of superficial learning, and flashy parts. 
 
 I had yesterday morning a visit from this learned ideot, for that 
 is the light in which I consider every pedant, when I discovered in 
 him some little touches of the coxcomb, which I had not before ob- 
 served. Being very full of the figure which he makes in the republic 
 of letters, and wonderfully satisfied with his great stock of knowl- 
 edge, he gave me broad intimations, that he did not believe in all 
 points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated 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 very much among men of Tom's pitch and understand- 
 ing, though universally exploded by all that know how to construe 
 Virgil, or have any relish of antiquity. Not to trouble my reader 
 with it, I found, upon the whole, that Tom did not believe a future 
 state of rewards and punishments, because ^Eneas, at his leaving 
 the empire of the dead, passed 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 I might 
 avoid wrangling, I told him " that Virgil possibly had his oversights 
 as well as another author." "Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff," 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 
 ^neids, where there are two commas instead of a parenthesis ; and 
 another in the third Georgic, 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 reflection on Virgil; on the contrary, I know that all the manu- 
 scripts declaim against such a punctuation. Oh! Mr. Bickerstaff," 
 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 simile in Virgil. He then told me all the secret 
 history in the commonwealth of learning ; of modern pieces that had 
 the names of ancient authors annexed to them; of all the books that 
 were now writing or printing in the several parts of Europe; of 
 
 100
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 many amendments which are made, and not yet published, and a 
 thousand other particulars, which I would not have my memory 
 burdened with for a Vatican. 
 
 At length, being fully persuaded that I thoroughly admired him, 
 and looked upon him as a prodigy of learning, he took his leave. I 
 know several of Tom's class, who are professed admirers of Tasso, 
 without understanding a word of Italian: and one in particular, 
 that carries a Pastor Fido in his pocket, in which, I am sure, he is 
 acquainted with no other beauty but the clearness of the character. 
 
 There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom Folio's im- 
 pertinences, hath greater superstructures and embellishments of 
 Greek and Latin; and is still more insupportable than the other, 
 in the same degree as he is more learned. Of this kind very often 
 are editors, commentators, 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 passage 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 on the most beautiful poems that have been composed by any 
 of their contemporaries; but will lock themselves 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 profes- 
 sions, will write volumes upon an idle sonnet, that is originally in 
 Greek or Latin; give editions of the most immoral authors; 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 suffi- 
 ciently shew they have no taste of their authors; and that what they 
 do in this kind, 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 hi six lines 
 of Boileau, with which I shall conclude his character: 
 
 Un Pedant enyvre" de sa vaine science, 
 Tout herisse de Grec, tout bouffi d'arrogance. 
 Et qui de mille auteurs retenus mot pour mot, 
 Dans sa tte entassez n'a souvent fait qu'un sot, 
 Croit qu'un livre fait tout, and que sans Aristote 
 La raison ne voit goute, and le bon sens radote. 
 
 101
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 Brim-full of learning see that pedant stride, 
 Bristling with horrid Greek, and puff'd with pride! 
 A thousand authors he in vain has read, 
 And with their maxims stuff'd his empty head; 
 And thinks that, without Aristotle's rule, 
 Reason is blind, and common sense a fooL 
 
 A VISIT AND LETTER FROM THE 
 UPHOLSTERER 
 
 No. 160.] TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 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 interpreted by him as an overture of 
 friendship and intimacy. This I was very sensible 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 herself ready to 
 go down and see what was the occasion of it. She then brought 
 me up word, that there was a gentleman 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 upholsterer, 
 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 nobody, and that, if he had anything to say to me, I 
 desired he would leave it in writing. My maid, after having de- 
 livered 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 the 
 Douay was invested. He gave her the 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 at this unseasonable visit. 
 I had no sooner recovered my temper, and was falling asleep, but I 
 was immediately startled by a second rap; and uoon my maid's 
 
 102
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 everybody 
 in town will be full of two hours hence. I ordered my maid, as soon 
 as she came into the room, without hearing her message, to tell the 
 gentleman, 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 anybody 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 undergo 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 surprising to consider how numerous this species of men is. 
 There is nothing more frequent than to find a tailor breaking his 
 rest on the affairs of Europe, and to see a cluster of porters 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 very great hurry, to give it 
 to her master as soon as ever he was awake, which I opened and 
 found as follows: 
 
 " MR. BICKERSTAFFE, I was to wait upon you about a week 
 ago, to let you know, that the honest gentleman whom you con- 
 versed with upon the bench at the end of the Mall, having heard that 
 I had received five shillings of you, to give you a hundred pounds 
 upon the Great Turk's being driven out of Europe, desired me 
 to acquiant you, that every one of that company would be willing 
 to receive five shillings, to pay a hundred pounds on the same condi- 
 tions. Our last advices from Muscovy making this a fairer bet than 
 it was a week ago, I do not question but you will accept the wager. 
 
 " But this is not my present business. If you remember, I whis- 
 pered a word in your ear as we were walking up the Mall, and you 
 see what has happened since. If I had seen you this morning, 
 I would have told you in your ear another secret. I hope you will 
 be recovered of your indisposition by to-morrow morning, when 
 I will wait on you at the same hour as I did this; my private cir- 
 
 103
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 cumstances being such, that I cannot well appear in this quarter 
 of the town after it is day. 
 
 " I have been so taken up with the late good news from Holland, 
 and expectation of further particulars, as well as with other trans- 
 actions, of which I will tell you more to-morrow morning, that I 
 have not slept a wink these three nights. 
 
 "I have reason to believe, that Picardy will soon follow the 
 example of Artois, in case the enemy continue in their present reso- 
 lution of flying away from us. I think I told you last time we were 
 together my opinion about the Deulle. 
 
 "The honest gentlemen upon the bench bid me tell you, they 
 would be glad to see you often among them. We shall be there 
 all the warm hours of the day during the present posture of affairs. 
 
 " This happy opening of the campaign will, I hope, give us a very 
 joyful summer; and I propose to take many a pleasant walk with 
 you, if you will sometimes come into the Park; for that is the only 
 place in which I can be free from the malice of my enemies. Fare- 
 well till three-a-clock to-morrow morning, 
 "lam 
 
 Your most humble servant," &c. 
 
 "P.S. The king of Sweden is still at Bender." 
 
 I should have fretted myself to death at this promise of a second 
 visit, if I had not found in his letter an intimation of the good news 
 which I have since heard at large. I have, however, ordered my 
 maid to tie up the knocker of my door, in such a manner as she 
 would do if I was really indisposed. By which means I hope to 
 escape breaking my morning's rest. 
 
 THE CRITIC 
 
 No. 165.] SATURDAY, APRIL 29, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 IT has always been my endeavour to distinguish between 
 realities and appearances, and separate true merit from the 
 pretence to it. As it shall ever be my study to make discoveries 
 of this nature in human life, and to settle the proper distinctions 
 
 104
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 between the virtues and perfections of mankind, and those false 
 colours and resemblances 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 labours, 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 knowledge like a hidden trea- 
 sure, with satisfaction and silence. Pedantry, indeed, in learning, 
 is like hypocrisy in religion, a form of knowledge without the power 
 of it, that attracts the eyes of common people, breaks out in noise 
 and show, and finds its reward, 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 generally known by the 
 name of a critic. This, in the common acceptation of the word, 
 is one that, without entering into the sense and soul of an author, 
 has a few general 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, Style, Fire, Phlegm, Easy, 
 Natural, Turn, Sentiment, and the like; which he varies, com- 
 pounds, divides, and throws together, in every part of his discourse, 
 without any thought or meaning. The marks you may know him 
 by are, an elevated eye, and dogmatical brow, a positive voice, and 
 a contempt for everything that comes out, whether he has read it 
 or not. He dwells altogether in generals. He praises or dis- 
 praises in the lump. He. shakes his head very frequently at the 
 pedantry of universities, and bursts into laughter when you men- 
 tion an author that is known at Will's. He hath formed his judg- 
 ment upon Homer, Horace, and Virgil, not from then- own works, 
 but from those of Rapin and Bossu. He knows his own strength 
 so well, that he never dares praise anything 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 every author that appears 
 in public. It is impossible to represent the pangs, agonies, and con-
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 vulsions, which Sir Timothy expresses in every feature of his face, 
 and muscle of his body, upon the reading of a bad poet. 
 
 About a week ago I w.as 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 
 ceremony. 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 suppose you have been at the rehearsal of the 
 play this morning." "Been! (says he;) I have been at Northamp- 
 ton, 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 only metaphorically weary. "In 
 short, sir, (says he,) the author 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 aversion 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. 'Tis such an enter- 
 tainment 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 
 
 1 06
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 she,) let my similes pass without a criticism. I must confess, 
 (continued she, for I found she was resolved 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 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, (continued she,) I would not be troubled with so fine 
 a judgment as yours is; for I find you feel more vexation in a bad 
 comedy, than I do in a deep tragedy." " Madam, (says Sir Tim- 
 othy,) 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 laughing. "Truly, (says 
 she,) that is my opinion." Upon this, he composed his counte- 
 nance, 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 sur- 
 prise, how this gentleman, by his ill-nature, folly, and affectation, 
 hath made himself capable of suffering so many imaginary pains, 
 and looking with such a senseless severity upon the common diver- 
 sions of life. 
 
 107
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 CHARACTERS IN A STAGE-COACH 
 No. 192.] SATURDAY, JULY i, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Tecum vivere amem,tecum obeam libens. HOR. 
 
 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 soured 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 continued upon the fret to the 
 end of our journey. A second fell off from his good humour the 
 next morning, for no other reason that 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 anything else, for 
 three days following. The rest of our company held out very near 
 half the way, when of a sudden Mr. Sprightly fell asleep; and 
 instead of endeavouring to divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto 
 done, carried himself with an unconcerned, careless, drowsy be- 
 haviour, 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 spoken, 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 humor 
 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 little as they did one 
 another. When I reflect upon this journey, I often fancy it to be a 
 
 108
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 picture of human life, in respect to the several friendships, con- 
 tracts, and alliances 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 broken! Some- 
 times the parties fly 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 till forty; while some few, whose souls are of an 
 happier make, and better fitted to one another, travel on together 
 to the end of their journey, in a continual intercourse of kind offices 
 and mutual endearments. 
 
 When we, therefore, choose our companions for life, if we hope 
 to keep both them and ourselves in good humour to the last stage 
 of it, we must be extremely careful in the choice we make, as well 
 as in the conduct on our own part. When the persons to whom we 
 join ourselves 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 characters, our love will 
 naturally rise in proportion to their perfections. 
 
 But because there are very few possessed of such accomplish- 
 ments 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 cheerfulness and constancy. A cheerful temper, 
 joined with innocence, will make beauty attractive, knowledge 
 delightful, and wit good-natured. It will lighten sickness, poverty, 
 and affliction; convert ignorance into an amiable 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 fickle- 
 ness, violence, and passion, who consider seriously the terms of 
 union upon which they are come together, 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 
 dependence upon 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 
 
 109
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 of health, age, fortune, or any of those accidents which are apt to 
 unsettle the best dispositions that are founded rather in constitu- 
 tion than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting, 
 the most inflamed passion may fall away into coldness and indif- 
 ference, and the most melting tenderness degenerate into 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 endeavoured 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 disconso- 
 late 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 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 farewell 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 cold- 
 ness 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 friendship and felicity; and, what was remark- 
 able, the husband whom the shipwreck had like to have separated 
 from his wife, died a few months after her, not being able to survive 
 the loss of her. 
 
 I must confess, there is something in the changeableness 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 principle in me, how can I assure myself, 
 that I shall be always true to my God, my friend, or myself? in 
 short, without constancy there is neither love, friendship, or virtue 
 in the world. 
 
 no
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 AMBITION 
 
 No. 202.] TUESDAY, JULY 25, 1710. [STEELE.] 
 
 Est hie, 
 
 Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit aequus. 
 
 HOR. i Ep. ad. 
 
 True happiness is to no spot confin'd: 
 If you preserve a firm and equal mind, 
 'Tis here, 'tis there, and every where. 
 
 THIS afternoon I went to visit a gentleman of my acquaintance 
 at Mile-End; and passing through Stepney church-yard, I 
 could not forbear entertaining myself with the inscriptions on the 
 tombs and graves. Among others, I observed one with this notable 
 memorial : 
 
 "HERE LIES THE BODY OF T. B." 
 
 This fanatical desire, of being remembered only by the two 
 first letters of a name, led me into the contemplation of the vanity 
 and imperfect attainments of ambition in general. When I run 
 back in my imagination all the men whom I have ever known and 
 conversed with in my whole life, there are but very few who have 
 not used their faculties in the pursuit of what it is impossible to 
 acquire; or left the possession of what they might have been, at 
 their setting out, masters, to search for it where it was out of their 
 reach. In this thought it was not possible to forget the instance 
 of Pyrrhus, who proposing to himself in discourse with a philosopher, 
 one, and another, and another conquest, was asked, what he would 
 after all that? "Then," says the king, "we will make merry." 
 He was well answered, " What hinders you doing that in the condi- 
 tion you are already?" The restless desire of exerting themselves 
 above the common level of mankind is not to be resisted in some 
 tempers ; and minds of this make may be observed in every condition 
 of life. Where such men do not make to themselves, or meet with 
 employment, the soil of their constitution runs into tares and weeds. 
 An old friend of mine, who lost a major's post forty years ago, and 
 quitted, has ever since studied maps, encampments, retreats, and 
 counter-marches; with no other design but to feed his spleen and 
 ill-humour, and furnish himself with matter for arguing against all 
 the successful actions of others. He that, at his first setting out in 
 
 in
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 the world, was the gayest man in our regiment; ventured his life 
 with alacrity, and enjoyed it with satisfaction ; encouraged men be- 
 low him, and was courted by men above him, has been ever since 
 the most froward creature breathing. His warm complexion spends 
 itself now only in a general spirit of contradiction ; for which he 
 watches all occasions, and is in his conversation still upon centry, 
 treats all men like enemies, with every other impertinence of a 
 speculative warrior. 
 
 He, that observes in himself this natural inquietude, should take 
 all imaginable care to put his mind in some method of gratification ; 
 or he will soon find himself grow into the condition of this disap- 
 pointed major. Instead of courting proper occasions to rise above 
 others, he will be ever studious of pulling others down to him: it 
 being the common refuge of disappointed ambition, to ease them- 
 selves by detraction. It would be no great argument against 
 ambition, that there are such mortal things in the disappointment 
 of it; but it certainly is a forcible exception, that there can be no 
 solid happiness in the success of it. If we value popular praise, it 
 is in the power of the meanest of the people to disturb us by calumny. 
 If the fame of being happy, we cannot look into a village, but we 
 see crowds in actual possession of what we seek only the appearance. 
 To this may be added, that there is I know not what malignity in 
 the minds of ordinary men, to oppose you in what they see you 
 fond of; and it is a certain exception against a man's receiving 
 applause, that he visibly courts it. However, this is not only the 
 passion of great and undertaking spirits; but you see it in the lives of 
 such as, one would believe, were far enough removed from the ways 
 of ambition. The rural esquires of this nation even eat and drink 
 out of vanity. A vain-glorious fox-hunter shall entertain half a 
 county, for the ostentation of his beef and beer, without the least 
 affection for any of the crowd about him. He feeds them, because 
 he thinks it a superiority over them that he does so; and they devour 
 him, because they know he treats them out of insolence. This 
 indeed is ambition in grotesque ; but may figure to us the condition 
 of politer men, whose only pursuit is glory. When the superior 
 acts out of a principle of vanity, the dependent will be sure to allow 
 it him; because he knows it destructive of the very applause which 
 is courted by the man who favours him, and consequently makes 
 him nearer himself. 
 
 But as every man living has more or less of this incentive, which 
 
 112
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 makes men impatient of an inactive condition, and urges men to 
 attempt what may tend to their reputation; it is absolutely neces- 
 sary they should form to themselves an ambition, which is in every 
 man's power to gratify. This ambition would be independent, 
 and would consist only in acting what, to a man's own mind, 
 appears most great and laudable. It is a pursuit in the power of 
 every man, and is only a regular prosecution of what he himself 
 approves. It is what can be interrupted by no outward accidents; 
 for no man can be robbed of his good intention. One of our society 
 of the Trumpet therefore started last night a notion, which I 
 thought had reason in it. "It is, methinks," said he, "an un- 
 reasonable thing, that honest virtue should, as it seems to be at 
 present, be confined to a certain order of men, and be attainable 
 by none but those whom fortune has elevated to the most conspicu- 
 ous stations. I would have everything to be esteemed as heroic, 
 which is great and uncommon in the circumstances of the man who 
 performs it." Thus there would be no virtue in human life, which 
 every one of the species would not have a pretence to arrive at, and 
 an ardency to exert. Since fortune is not in our power, let us be as 
 little as possible in hers. Why should it be necessary that a man 
 should be rich, to be generous? If we measured by the quality 
 and not the quantity of things, the particulars which accompany 
 an action is what should denominate it mean or great. The high- 
 est station of human life is to be attained by each man that pretends 
 to it: for any man can be as valiant, as generous, as wise, and as 
 merciful, as the faculties and opportunities which he has from 
 heaven and fortune will permit. He that can say to himself, " I do 
 as much good, and am as virtuous as my most earnest endeavours 
 will allow me," whatever is his station in the world, is to himself 
 possessed of the highest honour. If ambition is not thus turned, it 
 is no other than a continual succession of anxiety and vexation. 
 But when it has this cast, it invigorates the mind ; and the conscious- 
 ness of its own worth is a reward, which is not in the power of envy, 
 reproach, or detraction, to take from it. Thus the seat of solid 
 honour is in a man's own bosom: and no one can want support who 
 is in possession of an honest conscience, but he who would suffer 
 the reproaches of it for other greatness.
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 FLATTERY AS AN ART 
 
 No. 208.] TUESDAY, AUGUST 8, 1710. [STEELE.] 
 
 Si dixeris aestuo, sudat. Juv. Sat. iii. 103. 
 
 If you complain of heat, 
 
 They rub th" unsweating brow, and swear they sweat. 
 
 AN old acquaintance, who met me this morning, seemed over- 
 joyed to see me, and told me I looked as well as he had known 
 me do these forty years; "but," continued he, "not quite the man 
 you were, when we visited together at lady Brightly's. Oh! Isaac, 
 those days are over. Do you think there are any such fine crea- 
 tures now living, as we then conversed with ? " He went on with a 
 thousand incoherent circumstances, which, in his imagination, 
 must needs please me; but they had the quite contrary effect. The 
 flattery with which he began, in telling me how well I wore, was 
 not disagreeable; but his indiscreet mention of a set of acquaintance 
 we had outlived, recalled ten thousand things to my memory, which 
 made me reflect upon my present condition with regret. Had he 
 indeed been so kind as, after a long absence, to felicitate me upon 
 an indolent and easy old age; and mentioned how much he and I 
 had to thank for, who at our time of day could walk firmly, eat 
 heartily, and converse cheerfully, he had kept up my pleasure in 
 myself. But of all mankind, there are none so shocking as these in- 
 judicious civil people. They ordinarily begin upon something, 
 that they know must be a satisfaction ; but then, for fear of the im- 
 putation of flattery, they follow it with the last thing in the world of 
 which you would be reminded. It is this that perplexes civil per- 
 sons. The reason that there is such a general outcry among us 
 against flatterers is, that there are so very few good ones. It is the 
 nicest art in this life, and is a part of eloquence which does not want 
 the preparation that is necessary to ah 1 other parts of it, that your 
 audience should be your well-wishers: for praise from an enemy is 
 the most pleasing of all commendations. 
 
 It is generally to be observed, that the person most agreeable to a 
 man for a constancy is he that has no shining qualities, but is a cer- 
 tain degree above great imperfections ; whom he can live with as his 
 inferior, and who will either overlook, or not observe his little de- 
 
 114
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 fects. Such an easy companion as this either now and then throws 
 out a little flattery, or lets a man silently flatter himself in his supe- 
 riority to him. If you take notice, there is hardly a rich man in the 
 world, who has not such a led friend of small consideration, who is a 
 darling for his insignificancy. It is a great ease to have one in our 
 own shape a species below us, and who, without being lifted in our 
 service, is by nature of our retinue. These dependents are of ex- 
 cellent use on a rainy day, or when a man has not a mind to dress; 
 or to exclude solitude, when one has neither a mind to that or to 
 company. There are of this good-natured order, who are so kind 
 as to divide themselves, and do these good offices to many. Five 
 or six of them visit a whole quarter of the town, and exclude the 
 spleen, without fees, from the families they frequent. If they do 
 not prescribe physic, they can be company when you take it. Very 
 great benefactors to the rich, or those whom they call people at 
 their ease, are your persons of no consequence. I have known 
 some of them, by the help of a little cunning, make delicious flatter- 
 ers. They know the course of the town, and the general characters 
 of persons: by this means they will sometimes tell the most agree- 
 able falsehoods imaginable. They will acquaint you, that such a 
 one of a quite contrary party said, " That though you were engaged 
 in different interests, yet he had the greatest respect for your good 
 sense and address." When one of these has a little cunning, he 
 passes his time in the utmost satisfaction to himself and his friends : 
 for his position, is never to report or speak a displeasing thing to his 
 friend. As for letting him go on in an error, he knows, advice 
 against them is the office of persons of greater talents and less dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 The Latin word for a flatterer, assentator, implies no more than a 
 person that barely consents; and indeed such a one, if a man were 
 able to purchase or maintain him, cannot be bought too dear. Such 
 a one never contradicts you; but gains upon you, not by a fulsome 
 way of commending you in broad terms, but liking whatever you 
 propose or utter; at the same time, is ready to beg your pardon, 
 and gainsay you, if you chance to speak ill of yourself. An old 
 lady is very seldom without such a companion as this, who can re- 
 cite the names of all her lovers, and the matches refused by her in 
 the days when she minded such vanities, as she is pleased to call 
 them, though she so much approves the mention of them. It is to 
 be noted, that a woman's flatterer is generally elder than herself;
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 her years serving at once to recommend her patroness's age, and to 
 add weight to her complaisance in all other particulars. 
 
 We gentlemen of small fortunes are extremely necessitous in this 
 particular. I have indeed one who smokes with me often ; but his 
 parts are so low, that all the incense he does me is to fill his pipe with 
 me, and to be out at just as many whiffs as I take. This is all the 
 praise or assent that he is capable of; yet there are more hours when 
 I would rather be in his company, than in that of the brightest man 
 I know. It would be an hard matter to give an account of this in- 
 clination to be flattered ; but if we go to the bottom of it, we shall 
 find, that the pleasure in it is something like that of receiving money 
 which lay out. Every man thinks he has an estate of reputation, 
 and is glad to see one that will bring any of it home to him. It is no 
 matter how dirty a bag it is conveyed to him in, or by how clownish a 
 messenger, so the money be good. All that we want, to be pleased 
 with flattery, is to believe that the man is sincere who gives it us. 
 It is by this one accident, that absurd creatures often out-run the 
 most skilful in this art. Their want of ability is here an advantage; 
 and their bluntness, as it is the seeming effect of sincerity, is the best 
 cover to artifice. 
 
 Terence introduces a flatterer talking to a coxcomb, whom he 
 cheats out of a livelihood ; and a third person on the stage makes on 
 him this pleasant remark, " This fellow has an art of making fools 
 madmen." The love of flattery is, indeed, sometimes the weakness 
 of a great mind ; but you see it also in persons, who otherwise dis- 
 cover no manner of relish of any thing above mere sensuality. 
 These latter it sometimes improves; but always debases the former. 
 A fool is in himself the object of pity, until he is flattered. By the 
 force of that, his stupidity is raised into affectation, and he becomes 
 of dignity enough to be ridiculous. I remember a droll, that upon 
 one's saying, " The times are so ticklish, that there must great care 
 be taken what one says in conversation"; answered with an ah- of 
 surliness and honesty, " If people will be free, let them be so in the 
 manner that I am, who never abuse a man but to his face." He 
 had no reputation for saying dangerous truths; therefore when it 
 was repeated, "You abuse a man but to his face?" "Yes," says 
 he, " I flatter him." 
 
 It is indeed the greatest of injuries to flatter any but the unhappy, 
 or such as are displeased with themselves for some infirmity. In 
 this latter case we have a member of our club, who, when Sir Jeffery 
 
 116
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 falls asleep, wakens him with snoring. This makes Sir Jeffery hold 
 up for some moments the longer to see there are men younger than 
 himself among us, who are more lethargic than he is. 
 
 When flattery is practised upon any other consideration, it is the 
 most abject thing in nature; nay, I cannot think of any character 
 below the flatterer, except he that envies him. You meet with fel- 
 lows, prepared to be as mean as possible in their condescensions and 
 expressions; but they want persons and talents to rise up to such a 
 baseness. As a coxcomb is a fool of parts, so is a flatterer a knave 
 of parts. 
 
 The best of this order, that I know, is one who disguises it under 
 a spirit of contradiction or reproof. He told an arrant driveller 
 the other day, that he did not care for being in company with him, 
 because he heard he turned his absent friends into ridicule. And 
 upon lady Autumn's disputing with him about something that 
 happened at the Revolution, he replied with a very angry tone, 
 " Pray, madam, give me leave to know more of a thing in which I 
 was actually concerned, than you who were then in your nurse's 
 arms." 
 
 ON ADVERTISEMENTS 
 
 No. 224. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Materiam superabat opus. OVID. Met. ii. 5. 
 
 The matter equall'd not the artist's skill. 
 
 IT is my custom, in a dearth of news, to entertain myself with 
 those collections of advertisements that appear at the end of 
 all our public prints. These I consider as accounts 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 this capital city, in the other we hear of a tradesman 
 who hath shut up his shop, and run away. If in one we find 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, 
 
 117
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 and have frequently been caught with tears in my eyes over a mel- 
 ancholy advertisement. 
 
 But to consider this subject in its most ridiculous lights, advertise- 
 ments are of great use to the vulgar. First of all, as they are instru- 
 ments 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 pleni- 
 potentiary, or a running-foot-man with an ambassador. An ad- 
 vertisement from Piccadilly goes down to posterity with an article 
 from Madrid, and John Bartlett of Goodman'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 
 bis back. 
 
 A second use which this sort of writings hath been turned to of 
 late years, has been the management of controversy ; 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 gown" 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 satirical 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 William can give him 
 his own in advertisements, that, in the judgment of the impartial, 
 are as well penned as the doctor's. 
 
 The third and last use of these writings is to inform the world, 
 where they may be furnished with almost every thing that is neces- 
 sary for life. If a man has pains in his head, colics in his bowels, 
 or spots in his cloaths, 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 
 anything 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 finding out a 
 proper method to catch the reader's eye, without which a good 
 thing may pass over unobserved, or be lost among commissions of 
 bankrupts. Asterisks and hands were formerly of great use for 
 this purpose. Of late years the N. B. has been much in fashion, 
 
 118
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 style 
 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 criticisms 
 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 a Ciceronian 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 compounded 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, as are not to be imagined but 
 by those that have tried it. The meanest sort of the thing is 
 admired by most gentlemen and ladies; but this far more, as by 
 far it exceeds it, to the gaming 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 Holbourn-bars, for three 
 shillings and six-pence, with directions." 
 
 At the same time that I recommend the several flowers in which 
 this spirit of lavender is wrapped up, if the expression may be used, 
 I cannot excuse my fellow-labourers 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 " Carmina- 
 tive Wind-expelling Pills." If the doctor had called them only 
 his Carminative Pills, he had been as cleanly as one could have 
 wished; but the second word entirely destroys the decency of the 
 first. There are other absurdities 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, 
 
 119
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 which, by the way, has grown seven feet in my memory; for, if I am 
 not much mistaken, it is the same that was but nine feet long about 
 six months ago. 
 
 By the remarks I have here made, it plainly appears that a collec- 
 tion 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 little 
 tracts. The last paper I took up in my hand places them in the 
 following order: 
 
 The true Spanish blacking for shoes, &c. 
 
 The beautifying cream for the face, &c. 
 
 .Pease and plaisters, &c. 
 
 Nectar and Ambrosia, &c. 
 
 Four freehold tenements of fifteen pounds per annum, &c. 
 
 Annotations upon the Tatler, &c. 
 
 The present state of England, &c. 
 
 A commission of bankruptcy being awarded against B. L., book- 
 seller, &c. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF A SHILLING 
 
 No. 249.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER n, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Per varies casus, per tot discrimina rerum, 
 
 Tendimus. VIRG. 
 
 I WAS last night visited by a friend of mine, who has an inex- 
 haustible fund of discourse, and never fails to entertain his 
 company with a variety of thoughts and hints that are altogether 
 new and uncommon. Whether it were hi 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 agreeably the busy men of the age, who only valued themselves 
 for being in motion, and passing through a series of trifling and 
 insignificant actions. In the heat of his discourse, seeing a piece of 
 money lying on my table, I defy (says he) any of these active persons 
 to produce half the adventures that this twelvepenny piece has 
 
 1 20
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 been engaged in, were it possible for him to give us an account of 
 his life." 
 
 My friend's talk made so odd an impression upon my mind, that 
 soon after I was a-bed I fell insensibly into a most unaccountable 
 reverie, that had neither moral nor design in it, and cannot be so 
 properly called a dream as a delirium. 
 
 Methoughts the shilling that lay upon the table reared 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 side 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, refined, naturalized, and put into the 
 British mode, with the face of Queen Elizabeth on one side, and the 
 arms of the country on the other. Being thus equipped, I found 
 in me a wonderful inclination to ramble, and visit all 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 miserable old fellow, 
 who clapped me into an iron chest, where I found five hundred 
 more of my own quality who lay under the same confinement. The 
 only relief we had, was to be taken out and counted over in the 
 fresh ah- every morning and evening. After an imprisonment of 
 several years, we heard somebody knocking at our chest, and 
 breaking it open with a 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 present of me to a 
 nonconformist preacher. After this manner I made my way merrily 
 through the world ; for, as I told you before, we shillings love nothing 
 so much as travelling. I sometimes fetched hi a shoulder of mutton, 
 sometimes a play-book, and often had the satisfaction to treat a 
 Templar at a twelvepenny ordinary, or carry him, with three friends, 
 to Westminster HaU. 
 
 121
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 "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 greasy purse, in pursuance of a foolish saying, 'That while 
 she kept a Queen Elizabeth's shilling about her, she should never 
 be without money.' 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 beginning 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 service 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 mis- 
 chief to the crown, till my officer, 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 sweetheart, applying more properly than she in- 
 tended the usual form of, 'To my love and from my love.' This 
 ungenerous gallant marrying her within a few days after, pawned 
 me for a dram of brandy, and drinking me out next day, I was 
 beaten flat with a 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 extrava- 
 gant, 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 
 him. This put him into such a passion, that after having 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, carried 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 retire- 
 ment than I thought, having probably, by that means, escaped 
 wearing a monstrous pair of breeches. 
 
 122
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 "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, being busy at those hours wherein current coin is at 
 rest, and partaking the fate of our master, being in a few moments 
 valued at a crown, a pound, or a sixpence, according to the situa- 
 tion in which the fortune of the cards placed us. I had at length 
 the good luck to see my master break, by which means I was again 
 sent abroad under 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 shears, cut off my titles, clipped my brims, retrenched my 
 shape, rubbed me to my inmost 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 
 disfigured. I should have been ashamed to have shown 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 general calamity, when everybody thought 
 our misfortune irretrievable, and our case desperate, we were 
 thrown into 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 happened to me above once in my life. The first was, my 
 being in a poet's pocket, who was so taken with the brightness and 
 novelty of my appearance, that it gave occasion to the finest bur- 
 lesque poem in the British language, entitled from me, ' The Splen- 
 did Shilling.' The second adventure, 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 heedlessly thrown me into the hat among a penny- 
 worth of farthings." 
 
 123
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 FROZEN WORDS 
 
 No. 254.] THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1710. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Splendidfe mendax . HOR. 2 Od. iii. 35. 
 
 Gloriously false . 
 
 THERE are no books which I more delight in than in travels, 
 especially those that describe remote countries, 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 renowned countryman, Sir John Mandevile has 
 distinguished himself, by the copiousness of his invention, and the 
 greatness of his genius. The second to Sir John I take to have 
 been, Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, a person of infinite adventure, 
 and unbounded imagination. One reads the voyages of these 
 two great wits, with as much astonishment 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 manuscripts 
 of these two eminent authors, which are filled with greater wonders 
 than any of those they have communicated to the public; and indeed, 
 were they not so well attested, they would appear altogether improb- 
 able. I am apt to think the ingenious authors did not publish 
 them with the rest of their works, lest they should pass for fictions 
 and fables: a caution not unnecessary, when the reputation of their 
 veracity was not yet established in the world. But as this reason 
 has now no farther weight, I shall make the publick a present of 
 these curious pieces, at such times as I shall find myself unpro- 
 vided with other subjects. 
 
 The present paper I intend to fill with an extract from 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 cloathed 
 in a visible shape, he adds that apt simile, 
 
 "Like words congeal'd in northern air." 
 124
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 Not to keep my reader any longer in suspense, the relation put 
 into modern language, is as follows: 
 
 "We were separated by a storm in the latitude of seventy-three, 
 insomuch, that only the ship which I was in, with a Dutch and 
 French vessel, got safe into a creek of Nova Zembla. We landed, 
 in order to refit 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 other, 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 two yards 
 distance, and that too when we sat very near the fire. After much 
 perplexity, I found that our words froze in the air before they could 
 reach the ears of the persons to whom they were spoken. I was 
 soon confirmed in this conjecture, when, upon the increase 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, every man talking, and no man heard. One might 
 observe a seaman that could hail a ship at a league's distance, 
 beckoning with his hand, straining his lungs, and tearing his throat; 
 but ah 1 in vain: 
 
 ' Nee vox nee verba sequuntun 
 
 'Nor voice, nor words ensued. 
 
 " 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 clattering sound, which I after- 
 wards found to be the crackling 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, immediately 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 later, as they were more or less congealed ; so that 
 we now heard everything 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 surprise, I 
 
 125
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 heard somebody 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 recollecting myself, I concluded that he had spoken the 
 words to me some days before, though I could not hear them until 
 the present thaw. My reader will easily imagine how the whole 
 crew was amazed to hear every man talking, and see no man open- 
 ing his mouth. In the midst of this great surprise we were all in, 
 we heard a volley of oaths and curses, lasting for a long while, and 
 uttered in a very hoarse voice, which I knew belonged to the boat- 
 swain, who was a very choleric fellow, and had taken his opportunity 
 of cursing and swearing at me, when he thought I could not hear 
 him; for I had several times given him the strappado on that account, 
 as I did not fail to repeat it for these pious soliloquies, when I got 
 him on ship-board. 
 
 "I must not omit the names of several beauties in Wapping, 
 which were heard every now and then, hi 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 until 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 farther 
 up in the country. My crew were extremely rejoiced to find they 
 had again recovered their hearing; though every man uttered his 
 voice with the same apprehensions that I had done, 
 
 ' Et timide verba intermissa retentat. 
 
 'And try'd his tongue, his silence softly broke. 
 
 "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 company, that he was dead, and 
 now lay in salt, having been killed upon that very spot about a fort- 
 night 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 unsavoury sounds, that were altogether inarticu- 
 late. My valet, who was an Irishman, fell into so great a rage at 
 
 126
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 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 until about half -an -hour after; 
 which I ascribed to the harsh and obdurate 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 
 cabin of the French, who, to make amends for their three weeks 
 silence, were talking and disputing with greater rapidity and con- 
 fusion than I ever heard in an assembly, even of that nation. Their 
 language, as I found, upon the first giving of the weather, fell 
 asunder and dissolved. 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, pre- 
 served in breath; but I found my mistake when I heard the sound of 
 a kit playing a minuet 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; 'for,' says he, 'finding ourselves bereft of 
 speech, we prevailed upon one of the company, who had his musical 
 instrument about him, to play to us from morning to night; all 
 which time was employed in dancing in order to dissipate our 
 chagrin, fir 8 tuer le temps.'' " 
 
 Here Sir John gives very good philosophical reason, why the kit 
 could not be heard during the frost; but, as they are something pro- 
 lix, I pass them over in silence, and shall only observe, that the 
 honourable author seems, by his quotations, to have been well 
 versed in the antient poets, which perhaps raised his fancy above 
 the ordinary pitch of historians, and very much contributed to the 
 embellishment of his writings. 
 
 LATE HOURS 
 
 No. 263.] THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1710. [STEELE.] 
 
 Minimi contentos nocte Britannos. Juv. Sat. ii. 161. 
 Britons contented with the shortest night. 
 
 AN old friend of mine being lately come to town, I went to see him 
 on Tuesday last about eight o'clock in the evening, with a 
 design to sit with him an hour or two, and talk over old stories ; but, 
 upon enquiry after him, I found he was gone to-bed. The next 
 
 127
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 morning, as soon as I was up and dressed, and had dispatched a 
 little business, I came again to my friend's house about eleven 
 o'clock, with a design to renew my visit ; but, upon asking for him, 
 his servant told me he was just sat down to dinner. In short, I 
 found that my old-fashioned friend religiously adhered to the 
 example of his forefathers, and observed the same hours that had 
 been kept in the family ever since the Conquest. 
 
 It is very plain, that the night was much longer formerly in this 
 island than it is at present. By the night, I mean that portion of 
 time which nature has thrown into darkness, and which the wisdom 
 of mankind had formerly dedicated to rest and silence. This used 
 to begin at eight o'clock in the evening, and conclude at six in the 
 morning. The curfeu, or eight o'clock bell, was the signal through- 
 out the nation for putting out their candles and going to-bed. 
 
 Our grandmothers, though they were wont to sit up the last in 
 the family, were all of them fast asleep at the same hours that their 
 daughters are busy at crimp and basset. Modern statesmen are 
 concerting schemes, and engaged in the depth of politics at the 
 time when their forefathers were laid down quietly to rest, and had 
 nothing in their heads but dreams. As we have thus thrown busi- 
 ness and pleasure into the hours of rest, and by that means made 
 the natural night but half as long as it should be, we are forced to 
 piece it out with a great part of the morning; so that near two-thirds 
 of the nation lie fast asleep for several hours in broad daylight. 
 This irregularity is grown so very fashionable at present, that there 
 is scarce a lady of quality in Great Britain that ever saw the sun 
 rise. And, if the humour increases hi proportion to what it has 
 done of late years, it is not impossible but our children may hear 
 the bell -man going about the streets at nine o'clock hi the morn- 
 ing, and the watch making their rounds until eleven. This unac- 
 countable disposition in mankind to continue awake hi the night, 
 and sleep in the sunshine, has made me enquire, whether the same 
 change of inclination has happened to any other animals? For 
 this reason, I desired a friend of mine in the country to let me know, 
 whether the lark rises as early as he did formerly; and whether 
 the cock begins to crow at his usual hour. My friend has answered 
 me, "that his poultry are as regular as ever, and that all the birds 
 and beasts of his neighbourhood keep the same hours that they 
 have observed in the memory of man; and the same which, hi all 
 probability^ they have kept for these five thousand years." 
 
 128
 
 n
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 If you would see the innovations that have been made among 
 us in this particular, you may only look into the hours of colleges, 
 where they still dine at eleven, and sup at six, which were doubtless 
 the hours of the whole nation at the time when those places were 
 founded. But at present, the courts of justice are scarce opened 
 in Westminster-hall at the time when William Rufus used to go to 
 dinner in it. All business is driven forward. The land-marks 
 of our fathers, if I may so call them, are removed, and planted 
 farther up into the day; insomuch, that I am afraid our clergy will 
 be obliged, if they expect full congregations, not to look any more 
 upon ten o'clock in the morning as a canonical hour. In my own 
 memory, the dinner has crept by degrees from twelve o'clock to 
 three, and where it will fix nobody knows. 
 
 I have sometimes thought to draw up a memorial in the behalf 
 of supper against dinner, setting forth, that the said dinner has 
 made several encroachments upon the said supper, and entered 
 very far upon his frontiers ; that he has banished him out of several 
 families, and in all has driven him from his head quarters, and 
 forced him to make his retreat into the hours of midnight: and, in 
 short, that he is now in danger of being entirely confounded and 
 lost in a breakfast. Those who have read Lucian, and seen the 
 complaints of the letter T against S, upon account of many injuries 
 and usurpations of the same nature, will not, I believe, think such 
 a memorial forced and unnatural. If dinner has been thus post- 
 poned, or, if you please, kept back from time to time, you may be 
 sure that it has been in compliance with the other business of the 
 day, and that supper has still observed a proportionable distance. 
 There is a venerable proverb, which we have all of us heard in our 
 infancy of " putting the children to-bed, and laying the goose to 
 the fire." This was one of the jocular sayings of our forefathers, 
 but may be properly used in the literal sense at present. Who 
 would not wonder at this perverted relish of those who are reckoned 
 the most polite part of mankind, that prefer sea-coals and candles 
 to the sun, and exchange so many cheerful morning hours, for the 
 pleasures of midnight revels and debauches? If a man was cnly 
 to consult his health, he would choose to live his whole time, if 
 possible, in day-light; and to retire out of the world into silence 
 and sleep, while the raw damps and unwholesome vapours fly 
 abroad, without a sun to disperse, moderate, or controul them. 
 For my own part, I value an hour in the morning as much as 
 
 129
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 common libertines do an hour at midnight. When I find myself 
 awakened into being, and perceive my life renewed within me, 
 and at the same time see the whole face of nature recovered out of 
 the dark uncomfortable state in which it lay for several hours, my 
 heart overflows with such secret sentiments of joy and gratitude, 
 as are a kind of implicit praise to the great author of nature. The 
 mind, in these early seasons of the day, is so refreshed in all its 
 faculties, and borne up with such new supplies of animal spirits, 
 that she finds herself in a state of youth, especially when she is 
 entertained with the breath of flowers, and melody of birds, the 
 dews that hang upon the plants, and all those other sweets of 
 nature that are peculiar to the morning. 
 
 It is impossible for a man to have this relish of being, this exqui- 
 site taste of life, who does not come into the world before it is in all 
 its noise and hurry; who loses the rising of the sun, the still hours of 
 the day, and, immediately upon his first getting up, plunges him- 
 self into the ordinary cares or follies of the world. 
 
 ON LONG-WINDED PEOPLE 
 
 No. 264.] DECEMBER 16, 1710. [STEELE.] 
 
 Favete linguis. Hor. Od. iii. 2. 2. 
 
 Favour your tongues. 
 
 BOCCALINI, in his "Parnassus," indicts a laconic writer for 
 speaking that in three words which he might have said in two, 
 and sentences him for his punishment to read over all the works of 
 Guicciardini. This Guicciardini is so very prolix and circumstan- 
 tial in his writings, that I remember our countryman, doctor Donne, 
 speaking of that majestic and concise manner in which Moses has 
 described the creation of the world, adds, "that if such an author 
 as Guicciardini were to have written on such a subject, the world 
 itself would not have been able to have contained the books that 
 gave the history of its creation." 
 
 I look upon a tedious talker, or what is generally known by the 
 name of a story-teller, to be much more insufferable than even a 
 prolix writer. An author may be tossed out of your hand, and 
 
 130
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 thrown aside when he grows dull and tiresome; but such liberties 
 are so far from being allowed towards your orators in common 
 conversation, that I have known a challenge sent a person for going 
 out of the room abruptly, and leaving a man of honour in the midst 
 of a dissertation. This evil is at present so very common and 
 epidemical, that there is scarce a coffee-house in town that has not 
 some speakers belonging to it, who utter their political essays, and 
 draw parallels out of Baker's " Chronicle," to almost every part of 
 her majesty's reign. It was said of two ancient authors, who had 
 very different beauties in their style, " that if you took a word from 
 one of them, you only spoiled his eloquence ; but if you took a word 
 from the other, you spoiled his sense." I have often applied the 
 first part of this criticism to several of these coffee-house speakers 
 whom I have at present in my thoughts, though the character that 
 is given to the last of those authors, is what I would recommend to 
 the imitation of my loving countrymen. But it is not only public 
 places of resort, but private clubs and conversations over a bottle, 
 that are infested with this loquacious kind of animal, especially 
 with that species which I comprehend under the name of a story- 
 teller. I would earnestly desire these gentlemen to consider, that 
 no point of wit or mirth at the end of a story can atone for the half 
 hour that has been lost before they come at it. I would likewise 
 lay it home to their serious consideration, whether they think that 
 every man in the company has not a right to speak as well as them- 
 selves ? and whether they do not think they are invading another 
 man's property, when they engross the time which should be divided 
 equally among the company to their own private use? 
 
 What makes this evil the much greater in conversation is, that 
 these humdrum companions seldom endeavour to wind up their 
 narrations into a point of mirth or instruction, which might make 
 some amends for the tediousness of them; but think they have a 
 right to tell any thing that has happened within their memory. 
 They look upon matter of fact to be a sufficient foundation for a 
 story, and give us a long account of things, not because they are 
 entertaining or surprising, but because they are true. 
 
 My ingenious kinsman, Mr. Humphrey Wagstaff, used to say, 
 " the life of man is too short for a story-teller." 
 
 Methusalem might be half an hour in telling what o'clock it was : 
 but as for us postdilu vians, we ought to do everything in haste; and 
 in our speeches, as well as actions, remember that our time is short.
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 A man that talks for a quarter of an hour together in company, if I 
 meet him frequently, takes up a great part of my span. A quarter 
 of an hour may be reckoned the eight-and -fortieth part of a day, a 
 day the three hundred and sixtieth part of a year, and a year the 
 threescore and tenth part of life. By this moral arithmetic, suppos- 
 ing a man to be hi the talking world one third part of the day, 
 whoever gives another a quarter of an hour's hearing, makes him a 
 sacrifice of more than the four hundred thousandth part of his 
 conversable life. 
 
 I would establish but one great general rule to be observed in all 
 conversation, which is this, "that men should not talk to please 
 themselves, but those that hear them." This would make them 
 consider, whether what they speak be worth hearing; whether there 
 be either wit or sense in what they are about to say; and, whether it 
 be adapted to the time when, the place where, and the person to 
 whom, it is spoken. 
 
 For the utter extirpation of these orators and story-tellers, which 
 I look upon as very great pests of society, I have invented a watch 
 which divides the minute into twelve parts, after the same manner 
 that the ordinary watches are divided into hours : and will endeavour 
 to get a patent, which shall oblige every club or company to provide 
 themselves with one of these watches, that shall lie upon the table, 
 as an hour-glass is often placed near the pulpit, to measure out the 
 length of a discourse. 
 
 I shall be willing to allow a man one round of my watch, that is, 
 a whole minute, to speak in ; but if he exceeds that time, it shall be 
 lawful for any of the company to look upon the watch, or to call 
 him down to order. 
 
 Provided, however, that if any one can make it appear he is 
 turned of threescore, he may take two, or, if he pleases, three rounds 
 of the watch without giving offence. Provided, also, that this rule 
 be not construed to extend to the fair sex, who shall still be at liberty 
 to talk by the ordinary watch that is now in use. I would likewise 
 earnestly recommend this little automaton, which may be easily 
 carried in the pocket without any incumbrance, to all such as are 
 troubled with this infirmity of speech, that upon pulling out their 
 watches, they may have frequent occasion to consider what they 
 are doing, and by that means cut the thread of the story short, and 
 hurry to a conclusion. I shall only add, that this watch, with a 
 paper of directions how to use it, is sold at Charles Lillie's. 
 
 132
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 I am afraid a Tatler will be thought a very improper paper to 
 censure this humour of being talkative; but I would have my readers 
 know that there is a great difference between tattle and loquacity, 
 as I shall show at large in a following lucubration; it being my 
 design to throw away a candle upon that subject, in order to explain 
 the whole art of tattling in all its branches and subdivisions. 
 
 ON THE ART OF GROWING OLD 
 
 No. 266.] THURSDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1710. [STEELE.] 
 
 Rideat et pulset lasciva decentiiis aetas. 
 
 HOR. 2 Ep. ii. ult. 
 
 Let youth, more decent in their follies, scoff 
 The nauseous scene, and hiss thee reeling off. 
 
 IT would be a good appendix to " The art of Living and Dying," 
 if any one would write "The Art of growing Old," and teach 
 men to resign their pretensions to the pleasures and gallantries of 
 youth, in proportion to the alteration they find in themselves by the 
 approach of age and infirmities. The infirmities of this stage of 
 life would be much fewer, if we did not affect those which attend the 
 more vigorous and active part of our days ; but instead of studying 
 to be wiser, or being contented with our present follies, the ambi- 
 tion of many of us is also to be the same sort of fools we formerly 
 have been. I have often argued, as I am a professed lover of 
 women, that our sex grows old with a much worse grace than the 
 other does ; and have ever been of opinion that there are more well- 
 pleased old women, than old men. I thought it a good reason for 
 this, that the ambition of the fair sex being confined to advantageous 
 marriages, or shining in the eyes of men, their parts were over sooner 
 and consequently the errors in the performance of them. The 
 conversation of this evening has not convinced me of the contrary; 
 for one or two fop-women shall not make a balance for the crowds 
 of coxcombs among ourselves, diversified according to the different 
 pursuits of pleasure and business. 
 
 Returning home this evening a little before my usual hour, I 
 scarce had seated myself in my easy chair, stirred the fire, and 
 
 133
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 stroked my cat, but I heard somebody come rumbling up stairs. I 
 saw my door opened, and a human figure advancing towards me, 
 so fantastically put together, that it was some minutes before I dis- 
 covered it to be my old and intimate friend Sam Trusty. Immedi- 
 ately I rose up, and placed him in my own seat; a compliment I 
 pay to few. The first thing he uttered was, " Isaac, fetch me a cup 
 of your cherry-brandy before you offer to ask any question." He 
 drank a lusty draught, sat silent for some time, and at last broke 
 out; "I am come," quoth he, "to insult thee for an old fantastic 
 dotard, as thou art, in ever defending the women. I have this eve- 
 ning visited two widows, who are now in that state I have often 
 heard you call an after-life; I suppose you mean by it, an existence 
 which grows out of past entertainments, and is an untimely delight 
 in the satisfactions which they once set their hearts upon too much 
 to be ever able to relinquish. Have but patience," continued he, 
 " until I give you a succinct account of my ladies, and of this night's 
 adventure. They are much of an age, but very different in their 
 characters. The one of them, with all the advances which years 
 have made upon her, goes on in a certain romantic road of love and 
 friendship which she fell into in her teens; the other has trans- 
 ferred the amorous passions of her first years to the love cronies, 
 petts, and favourites, with which she is always surrounded ; but the 
 genius of each of them will best appear by the account of what hap- 
 pened to me at their houses. About five this afternoon, being tired 
 with study, the weather inviting, and time lying a little upon my 
 hands, I resolved at the instigation of my evil genius, to visit them ; 
 their husbands having been our contemporaries. This I thought 
 I could do without much trouble; for both live in the very next 
 street. I went first to my lady Camomile ; and the butler, who had 
 lived long in the family, and seen me often in his master's time, 
 ushered me very civilly into the parlour, and told me, though my 
 lady had given strict orders to be denied, he was sure I might be 
 admitted, and bid the black boy acquaint his lady, that I was come 
 to wait upon her. In the window lay two letters, one broke open, 
 the other fresh sealed with a wafer: the first directed to the divine 
 Cosmelia, the second to the charming Lucinda; but both by the 
 indented characters, appeared to have been writ by very unsteady 
 hands. Such uncommon addresses increased my curiosity, and 
 put me upon asking my old friend the butler, if he knew. who those 
 persons were? "Very well," says he, "this is from Mrs. Furbish 
 
 134
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 to my lady, an old school-fellow and a great crony of her ladyship's; 
 and this the answer." I enquired in what country she lived. " Oh 
 dear!" says he, "but just by, in the neighbourhood. Why, she 
 was here all this morning, and that letter came and was answered 
 within these two hours. They have taken an odd fancy, you must 
 know, to call one another hard names; but, for all that, they love 
 one another hugely." By this time the boy returned with his lady's 
 humble service to me, desiring I would excuse her; for she could not 
 possibly see me, nor any body else, for it was opera night." 
 
 "Methinks," says I, "such innocent folly as two old women's 
 courtship to each other, should rather make you merry than put 
 you out of humour." " Peace, good Isaac," says he, " no interrup- 
 tion, I beseech you. I got soon to Mrs. Feeble's, she that was form- 
 erly Betty Frisk; you must needs remember her; Tom Feeble of 
 Brazen Nose fell in love with her for her fine dancing. Well, Mrs. 
 Ursula, without farther ceremony, carries me directly up to her 
 mistress's chamber, where I found her environed by four of the 
 most mischievous animals that can ever infest a family; an old 
 shock dog with one eye, a monkey chained to one side of the chim- 
 ney, a great grey squirrel to the other, and a parrot waddling in the 
 middle of the room. However, for a while, all was in a profound 
 tranquillity. Upon the mantel-tree, for I am a pretty curious ob- 
 server, stood a pot of lambetive electuary, with a stick of liquorice, 
 and near it a phial of rose-water, and powder of tutty. Upon the 
 table lay a pipe filled with betony and colt's foot, a roll of wax- 
 candle, a silver spitting-pot, and a Seville orange. The lady was 
 placed in a large wicker-chair, and her feet wrapped up in flannel, 
 supported by cushions; and in this attitude, would you believe it, 
 Isaac, was she reading a romance with spectacles on. The first 
 compliments over, as she was industriously endeavouring to enter 
 upon conversation, a violent fit of coughing seized her. This 
 awaked Shock, and in a trice the whole room was in an uproar; 
 for the dog barked, the squirrel squealed, the monkey chattered, 
 the parrot screamed, and Ursula, to appease them, was more clam- 
 orous than all the rest. You, Isaac, who know how any harsh noise 
 affects my head, may guess what I suffered from the hideous din of 
 these discordant sounds. At length all was appeased, and quiet 
 restored: a chair was drawn for me; where I was no sooner seated, 
 but the parrot fixed his horny beak, as sharp as a pair of sheers, in 
 one of my heels, just above the shoe. I sprung from the place with 
 
 135
 
 THE TATLER 
 
 an unusual agility, and so, being within the monkey's reach, he 
 snatches off my new bob-wig, and throws it upon two apples that 
 were roasting by a sullen sea-coal fire. I was nimble enough to 
 save it from any farther damage than singeing the foretop. I put it 
 on; and composing myself as well as I could, I drew my chair to- 
 wards the other side of the chimney. The good lady, as soon as 
 she had recovered breath, employed it in making a thousand apol- 
 ogies, and, with great eloquence, and numerous train of words, la- 
 mented my misfortune. In the middle of her harangue, I felt 
 something scratching near my knee, and feeling what it should be, 
 found the squirrel had got into my coat-pocket. As I endeavoured to 
 remove him from his burrow, he made his teeth meet through the 
 fleshy part of my forefinger. This gave me an unexpressible pain. 
 The Hungary water was immediately brought to bathe it, and 
 goldbeater's skin applied to stop the blood. The lady renewed her 
 excuses; but being now out of all patience, I abruptly took my leave, 
 and hobbling downstairs with heedless haste, I set my foot full in a 
 pail of water, and down we came to the bottom together." Here 
 my friend concluded his narrative, and, with a composed counte- 
 nance, I began to make him compliments of condolence; but he 
 started from his chair, and said, "Isaac, you may spare your 
 speeches, I expect no reply. When I told you this, I knew you 
 would laugh at me; but the next woman that makes me ridiculous 
 shall be a young one." 
 
 136
 
 ADDISON
 
 ADDISON 
 
 FROM THACKERAY'S "ENGLISH HUMORISTS" 
 
 ADDISON'S father was a clergyman of good repute in Wiltshire, 
 and rose in the church. His famous son never lost his clerical 
 training and scholastic gravity, and was called "a parson in a 
 tye-wig" in London afterwards at a time when tye-wigs were only 
 worn by the laity, and the fathers of theology did not think it decent 
 to appear except in a full bottom. Having been as school at Salis- 
 bury, and the Charterhouse, hi 1687, when he was fifteen years old, 
 he went to Queen's College, Oxford, where he speedily began to 
 distinguish himself by the making of Latin verses. The beautiful 
 and fanciful poem of "The Pigmies and the Cranes," is still read 
 by lovers of that sort of exercise ; and verses are extant in honor of 
 King William, by which it appears that it was the loyal youth's 
 custom to toast that sovereign in bumpers of purple Lyaeus: many 
 more works are hi the Collection, including one on the Peace of 
 Ryswick, in 1697, which was so good that Montague got him a 
 pension of 3oo/. a year, on which Addison set out on his travels. 
 
 During his ten years at Oxford, Addison had deeply imbued 
 himself with the Latin poetical literature, and had these poets at 
 his fingers' ends when he travelled in Italy. His patron went out 
 of office, and his pension was unpaid: and hearing that this great 
 scholar, now eminent and known to the literati of Europe (the great 
 Boileau, upon perusal of Mr. Addison's elegant hexameters, was 
 first made aware that England was not altogether a barbarous 
 nation) hearing that the celebrated Mr. Addison, of Oxford, 
 proposed to travel as governor to a young gentleman on the grand 
 tour, the great Duke of Somerset proposed to Mr. Addison to 
 accompany his son, Lord Hartford. 
 
 Mr. Addison was delighted to be of use to his Grace, and his 
 lordship his Grace's son, and expressed himself ready to set forth. 
 
 His Grace the Duke of Somerset now announced to one of the 
 
 139
 
 ADDISON 
 
 most famous scholars of Oxford and Europe that it was his gracious 
 intention to allow my Lord Hartford's tutor one hundred guineas 
 per annum. Mr. Addison wrote back that his services were his 
 Grace's, but he by no means found his account hi the recompense 
 for them. The negotiation was broken off. They parted with a 
 profusion of congees on one side and the other. 
 
 Addison remained abroad for some time, living in the best society 
 of Europe. How could he do otherwise ? He must have been one 
 of the finest gentlemen the world ever saw: at all moments of life 
 serene and courteous, cheerful and calm. He could scarcely ever 
 have had a degrading thought. He might have omitted a virtue 
 or two, or many, but could not have had many faults committed 
 for which he need blush or turn pale. When warmed into con- 
 fidence, his conversation appears to have been so delightful that 
 the greatest wits sat rapt and charmed to listen to him. No man 
 bore poverty and narrow fortune with a more lofty cheerfulness. 
 His letters to his friends at this period of his life, when he had lost 
 his Government pension and given up his college chances, are full 
 of courage and a gay confidence and philosophy: and they are none 
 the worse hi my eyes, and I hope not in those of his last and greatest 
 biographer (though Mr. Macauley is bound to own and lament a 
 certain weakness for wine, which the great and good Joseph Addison 
 notoriously possessed, in common with countless gentlemen of his 
 timeX because some of the letters are written when his honest hand 
 was shaking a little in the morning after libations to purple Lyaeus 
 over-night. He was fond of drinking the healths of his friends: 
 he writes to Wyche, of Hamburg, gratefully remembering Wyche's 
 " hoc." " I have been drinking your health to-day with Sir Richard 
 Shirley," he writes to Bathurst. "I have lately had the honor to 
 meet my Lord Efnngham at Amsterdam, where we have drunk Mr. 
 Wood's health a hundred times in excellent champagne," he writes 
 again. Swift describes him over his cups, when Joseph yielded to 
 a temptation which Jonathan resisted. Joseph was of a cold 
 nature, and needed perhaps the fire of wine to warm his blood. If 
 he was a parson, he wore a tye-wig, recollect. A better and more 
 Christian man scarcely ever breathed than Joseph Addison. If he 
 had not that little weakness for wine why, we could scarcely have 
 found a fault with him, and could not have liked him as we do. 
 
 At thirty-three years of age, this most distinguished wit, scholar, 
 and gentleman was without a profession and an income. His 
 
 140
 
 ADDISON 
 
 book of " Travels " had failed : his " Dialogues on Medals " had no 
 particular success; his Latin verses, even though reported the best 
 since Virgil, or Statius at any rate, had not brought him a Govern- 
 ment place, and Addison was living up three shabby pairs of stairs 
 in the Haymarket (in a poverty over which old Samuel Johnson 
 rather chuckles), when in these shabby rooms an emissary from 
 Government and Fortune came and found him. A pcem was 
 wanted about the Duke of Marlborough's victory of Blenheim. 
 Would Mr. Addison write one? Mr. Boyle, afterwards Lord 
 Carleton, took back the reply to the Lord Treasurer Godolphin, 
 that Mr. Addison would. When the poem had reached a certain 
 stage, it was carried to Godolphin; and the last lines which he read 
 were these: 
 
 "But, O my Muse! what numbers wilt thou find 
 To sing the furious troops in battle join'd? 
 Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound 
 The victor's shouts and dying groans confound; 
 The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, 
 And all the thunder of the battle rise. 
 'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved, 
 That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 
 Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, 
 Examined all the dreadful scenes of war: 
 In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 
 To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, 
 Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 
 And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
 So when an angel, by divine command, 
 With rising tempests shakes a guilty land 
 (Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed), 
 Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; 
 And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 
 Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." 
 
 Addison left off at a good moment. That simile was pronounced 
 to be of the greatest ever produced in poetry. That angel, that good 
 angel, flew off with Mr. Addison, and landed him in the place of 
 Commissioner of Appeals vice Mr. Locke providentially pro- 
 moted. In the following year Mr. Addison went to Hanover with 
 Lord Halifax, and the year after was made Under Secretary of 
 State. O angel visits ! you come " few and far between " to literary 
 gentlemen's lodgings! Your wings seldom quiver at second-floor 
 windows now! 
 
 141
 
 ADDISON 
 
 You laugh? You think it is in the power of few writers now-a- 
 days to call up such an angel ? Well, perhaps not ; but permit us to 
 comfort ourselves by pointing out that there are in the poem of the 
 "Campaign" some as bad lines as heart can desire: and to hint 
 that Mr. Addison did very wisely in not going further with my 
 Lord Godolphin than that angeli al simile. Do allow me, just for 
 a little harmless mischief , to read you some of the lines which follow. 
 Here is the interview between the Duke and the King of the Romans 
 after the battle: 
 
 "Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway 
 Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey, 
 Whose boasted ancestry so high extends 
 That in the Pagan Gods his lineage ends, 
 Comes from afar, in gratitude to own 
 The great supporter of his father's throne. 
 What tides of glory to his bosom ran 
 Clasped in th' embraces of the godlike man! 
 How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixt, 
 To see such fire with so much sweetness mixt! 
 Such easy greatness, such a graceful port, 
 So turned and finished for the camp or court!" 
 
 How many fourth-form boys at Mr. Addison's school of Charter- 
 house could write as well as that now? The "Campaign" has 
 blunders, triumphant as it was; and weak points like all campaigns. 
 
 In the year 1713 "Cato" came out. Swift has left a description 
 of the first night of the performance. All the laurels of Europe 
 were scarcely sufficient for the author of this prodigious poem. 
 Laudations of Whig and Tory chiefs, ' popular ovations, compli- 
 mentary garlands from literary men, translations in all languages, 
 delight and homage from all save from John Dennis in a minority 
 of one. Mr. Addison was called the "great Mr. Addison" after 
 this. The Coffee-house Senate saluted him Divus: it was heresy 
 to question that decree. 
 
 Meanwhile he was writing political papers and advancing in the 
 political profession. He went Secretary to Ireland. He was 
 appointed Secretary of State in 1717. And letters of his are extant, 
 bearing date some year or two before, and written to young Lord 
 Warwick, in which he addresses him as "my dearest lord," and 
 asks affectionately about his studies, and writes very prettily about 
 nightingales and birds'-nests, which he has found at Fulham for his 
 lordship. Those nightingales were intended to warble in the ear 
 
 142
 
 ADDISON 
 
 of Lord Warwick's mamma. Addison married her ladyship in 
 1716; and died at Holland House three years after that splendid 
 but dismal union. 
 
 But it is not for his reputation as the great author of "Cato" 
 and the "Campaign," or for his merits as Secretary of State, or for 
 his rank and high distinction as my Lady Warwick's husband, or 
 for his eminence as an Examiner of political questions on the Whig 
 side, or a Guardian of British liberties, that we admire Joseph 
 Addison. It is as a Tatler of small talk and a Spectator of mankind, 
 that we cherish and love him, and owe as much pleasure to him as 
 to any human being that ever wrote. He came in that artificial 
 age, and began to speak with his noble, natural voice. He came, 
 the gentle satirist, who hit no unfair blow; the kind judge who 
 castigated only in smiling. While Swift went about, hanging and 
 ruthless a literary Jeffreys in Addison 's kind court only minor 
 cases were tried: only peccadilloes and small sins against society: 
 only a dangerous libertinism in tuckers and hoops; or a nuisance in 
 the abuse of beaux' canes and snuff-boxes. It may be a lady is 
 tried for breaking the peace of our sovereign lady Queen Anne, and 
 ogling too dangerously from the side-box; or a Templar for beating 
 the watch, or breaking Priscian's head: or a citizen's wife for caring 
 too much for the puppet-show, and too little for her husband and 
 children : every one of the little sinners brought before him is amus- 
 ing, and he dismisses each with the pleasantest penalties and the 
 most charming words of admonition. 
 
 Addison wrote his papers as gayly as if he was going out for a 
 holiday. When Steele's "Tatler" first began his prattle, Addison, 
 then in Ireland, caught at his friend's notion, poured in paper after 
 paper, and contributed the stores of his mind, the sweet fruits of his 
 reading, the delightful gleanings of his daily observation, with a 
 wonderful profusion, and as it seemed an almost endless fecundity. 
 He was six-and-thirty years old : full and ripe. He had not worked 
 crop after crop from his brain, manuring hastily, subsoiling indiffer- 
 ently, cutting and sowing and cutting again, like other luckless 
 cultivators of letters. He had not done much as yet; a few Latin 
 poems graceful prolusions; a polite book of travels; a dissertation 
 on medals, not very deep; four acts of a tragedy, a great classical 
 exercise; and the "Campaign," a large prize poem that won an 
 enormous prize. But with his friend's discovery of the "Tatler," 
 Addison's calling was found, and the most delightful talker in the 
 
 143
 
 ADDISON 
 
 world began to speak. He does not go very deep : let gentlemen of a 
 profound genius, critics accustomed to the plunge of the bathos, 
 console themselves by thinking that he couldn't go very deep. There 
 are no traces of suffering in his writing. He was so good, so honest, 
 so healthy, so cheerfully selfish, if I must use the word. There is 
 no deep sentiment. I doubt, until after his marriage, perhaps, 
 whether he ever lost his night's rest or his day's tranquillity about 
 any woman in his life; whereas poor Dick Steele had capacity 
 enough to melt, and to languish, and to sigh, and to cry his honest 
 old eyes out, for a dozen. His writings do not show insight into or 
 reverence for the love of women, which I take to be, one the conse- 
 quence of the other. He walks about the world watching their 
 pretty humors, fashions, follies, flirtations, rivalries; and noting 
 them with the most charming archness. He sees them in public, in 
 the theatre, or the assembly, or the puppet-show ; or at the toyshop 
 higgling for gloves and lace; or at the auction, battling together over 
 a blue porcelain dragon, or a darling monster in Japan ; or at church, 
 eyeing the width of their rivals' hoops, or the breadth of their laces, 
 as they sweep down the aisles. Or he looks out of his window at 
 the "Garter" in St. James's Street, at Ardelia's coach, as she 
 blazes to the drawing-room with her coronet and six footmen ; and 
 remembering that her father was a Turkey merchant in the city, 
 calculates how many sponges went to purchase her ear- ring, and how 
 many drums of figs to build her coach-box; or he demurely watches 
 behind a tree in Spring Garden as Saccharissa (whom he knows 
 under her mask) trips out of her chair to the alley where Sir Fopling 
 is waiting. He sees only the public life of women. Addison was 
 one of the most resolute club-men of his day. He passed many 
 hours daily in those haunts. Besides drinking which, alas! is 
 past praying for you must know it, he owned, too, ladies, that he 
 indulged in that odious practice of smoking. Poor fellow ! He was 
 a man's man, remember. The only woman he did know, he didn't 
 write about. I take it there would not have been much humor in 
 that story. 
 
 He likes to go and sit in the smoking-room at the "Grecian," 
 or the " Devil " ; to pace 'Change and the Mall to mingle in that 
 great club of the world sitting alone in it somehow : having good- 
 will and kindness for every single man and woman in it having 
 need of some habit and custom binding him to some few; never 
 doing any man a wrong (unless it be a wrong to hint a little doubt 
 
 144
 
 ADDISON 
 
 about a man's parts, and to damn him with faint praise); and so 
 he looks on the world and plays with the ceaseless humors of all of 
 us laughs the kindest laugh points our neighbor's foible or 
 eccentricity out to us with the most good-natured, smiling confidence ; 
 and then, turning over his shoulder, whispers our fcibles to our 
 neighbor. What would Sir Roger de Coverley be without his follies 
 and his charming little brain-cracks ? If the good knight did not 
 call out to the people sleeping in church, and say "Amen" with 
 such a delighlful pomposity: if he did not make a speech in the 
 assize-court apropos de bottes, and merely to show his dignity to 
 Mr. Spectator: if he did not mistake Madam Doll Tearsheet for a 
 lady of quality in Temple Garden: if he were wiser than he is: if 
 he had not his humor to salt his life, and were but a mere English 
 gentleman and game -preserver of what worth were he to us? 
 We love him for his vanities as much as his virtues. What is 
 ridiculous is delightful in him; we are so fond of him because we 
 laugh at him so. And out of that laughter, and out of that sweet 
 weakness, and out of those harmless eccentricities and follies, and 
 out of that touched brain, and out of that honest manhood and 
 simplicity we get a result of happiness, goodness, tenderness, 
 pity, piety; such as, if my audience will think their reading and 
 hearing over, doctors and divines but seldom have the fortune to 
 inspire. And why not? Is the glory of Heaven to be sung only 
 by gentlemen in black coats ? Must the truth be only expounded 
 in gown and surplice, and out of those two vestments can nobody 
 preach it ? Commend me to this dear preacher without orders 
 this parson in the tye-wig. When this man looks from the world, 
 whose weaknesses he describes so benevolently, up to the Heaven 
 which shines over us all, I can hardly fancy a human face lighted up 
 with a more serene rapture: a human intellect thrilling with a 
 purer love and adoration than Joseph Addison's. Listen to him: 
 from your childhood you have known the verses : but who can hear 
 their sacred music without love and awe ? 
 
 " Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
 And nightly to the listening earth 
 Repeats the story of her birth; , 
 Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 145
 
 ADDISON 
 
 What though, in solemn silence, all 
 Move round the dark terrestrial ball; 
 What though no real voice nor sound 
 Amid their radiant orbs be found; 
 In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice, 
 For ever singing as they shine, 
 The hand that made us is divine." 
 
 It seems to me those verses shine like the stars. They shine 
 out of a great deep calm. When he turns to Heaven a Sabbath 
 comes over that man's mind : and his face lights up from it with a 
 glory of thanks and prayer. His sense of religion stirs through his 
 whole being. In the fields, in the town: looking at the birds in the 
 trees : at the children in the streets : in the morning or in the moon- 
 light: over his books in his own room: hi a happy party at a country 
 merry-making or a town assembly, good-will and peace to God's 
 creatures, and love and awe of Him who made them, fill his pure 
 heart and shine from his kind face. If Swift's life was the most 
 wretched, I think Addison's was one of the most enviable. A life 
 prosperous and beautiful a calm death an immense fame 
 and affection afterwards for his happy and spotless name. 
 
 146
 
 THE SPECTATOR
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS 
 
 No. 7.] THURSDAY, MARCH 8, 1710-11. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, 
 Nocturnes lemures, portentaque Thessala rides? 
 
 HOR. 2 Ep. ii. 208. 
 
 Visions, and magic spells, can you despise, 
 And laugh at witches, ghosts, and prodigies? 
 
 GOING yesterday to dine with an old acquaintance, I had the 
 misfortune to find his whole family very much dejected. 
 Upon asking him the occasion of it, he told me that his wife had 
 dreamt a very strange dream the night before, which they were 
 afraid portended some misfortune to themselves or to their children. 
 At her coming into the room, I observed a settled melancholy in her 
 countenance, which I should have been troubled for, had I not 
 heard from whence it proceeded. We were no sooner sat down, 
 but, after having looked upon me a little while, "My dear," said 
 she, turning to her husband, "you may now see the stranger that 
 was in the candle last night." Soon after this, as they began to talk 
 of family affairs, a little boy at the lower end of the table told her 
 that he was to go into join-hand on Thursday. "Thursday!" says 
 she; "no, child; if it please God you shall not begin upon Childer- 
 mas-day; tell your writing-master that Friday will be soon enough." 
 I was reflecting with myself on the oddness of her fancy, and won- 
 dering that anybody would establish it as a rule, to lose a day in every 
 week. In the midst of these my musings, she desired me to reach 
 her a little salt upon the point of my knife, which I did in such a 
 trepidation and hurry of obedience that I let it drop by the way; at 
 which she immediately startled, and said it fell towards her. Upon 
 this I looked very blank; and, observing the concern of the whole 
 table, began to consider myself, with some confusion, as a person 
 
 149
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 who had brought a disaster upon the family. The lady, however, 
 recovering herself after a little space, said to her husband with a 
 sigh, "My dear, misfortunes never come single." My friend, I 
 found, acted but an under part at his table; and, being a man of 
 more good-nature than understanding, thinks himself obliged to 
 fall in with all the passions and humours of his yoke-fellow. " Do 
 not you remember, child," says she, " that the pigeon-house fell the 
 very afternoon that our careless wench spilt the salt upon the table ? " 
 "Yes," says he, "my dear; and the next post brought us an ac- 
 count of the battle of Almanza." The reader may guess at the 
 figure I made after having done all this mischief. I dispatched my 
 dinner as soon as I could with my usual taciturnity; when, to my 
 utter confusion, the lady seeing me quitting [wiping] my knife and 
 fork, and laying them across one another upon my plate, desired 
 me that I would humour her so far as to take them out of that figure, 
 and place them side by side. What the absurdity was which I had 
 committed I did not know, but I suppose there was some tradition- 
 ary superstition in it; and therefore, in obedience to the lady of the 
 house, I disposed of my knife and fork in two parallel lines, which 
 is the figure I shall always lay them in for the future, though I do 
 not know any reason for it. 
 
 It is not difficult for a man to see that a person has conceived an 
 aversion to him. For my own part, I quickly found, by the lady's 
 looks, that she regarded me as a very odd kind of fellow, with an 
 unfortunate aspect: for which reason I took my leave immediately 
 after dinner, and withdrew to my own lodgings. Upon my return 
 home, I fell into a profound contemplation on the evils that attend 
 these superstitious follies of mankind ; how they subject us to imagi- 
 nary afflictions, and additional sorrows, that do not properly come 
 within our lot. As if the natural calamities of life were not suffi- 
 cient for it, we turn the most indifferent circumstances into misfor- 
 tunes, and suffer as much from trifling accidents as from real evils. 
 I have known the shooting of a star spoil a night's rest; and have 
 seen a man in love grow pale, and lose his appetite, upon the pluck- 
 ing of a merry-thought. A screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a 
 family more than a band of robbers; nay, the voice of a cricket hath 
 struck more terror than the roaring of a lion. There is nothing so 
 inconsiderable, which may not appear dreadful to an imagination 
 that is filled with omens and prognostics : a rusty nail or a crooked 
 pin shoot up into prodigies. 
 
 15
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 I remember I was once in a mixed assembly, that was full of noise 
 and mirth, when on a sudden an old woman unluckily observed 
 there were thirteen of us in company. This remark struck a panic 
 terror into several who were present, insomuch that one or two of 
 the ladies were going to leave the room; but a friend of mine, taking 
 notice that one of our female companions was big with child, 
 affirmed there were fourteen in the room, and that, instead of 
 portending one of the company should die, it' plainly foretold one 
 of them should be born. Had not my friend found this expedient 
 to break the omen, I question not but half the women in the company 
 would have fallen sick that very night. 
 
 An old maid that is troubled with the vapours produces infinite 
 disturbances of this kind among her friends and neighbours. I 
 know a maiden aunt of a great family, who is one of these anti- 
 quated Sybils, that forebodes and prophesies from one end of the 
 year to the other. She is always seeing apparitions and hearing 
 death-watches; and was the other day almost frightened out of 
 her wits by the great house-dog that howled in the stable at a time 
 when she lay ill of the toothache. Such an extravagant cast of 
 mind engages multitudes of people, not only in impertinent terrors, 
 but in supernumerary duties of life ; and arises from that fear and 
 ignorance which are natural to the soul of man. The horror with 
 which we entertain the thoughts of death (or indeed of any future 
 evil), and the uncertainty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind 
 with innumerable apprehensions and suspicions, and consequently 
 dispose it to the observation of such groundless prodigies and pre- 
 dictions. For as it is the chief concern of wise men to retrench the 
 evils of life by the reasonings of philosophy, it is the employment 
 of fools to multiply them by the sentiments of superstition. 
 
 For my own part, I should be very much troubled were I endowed 
 with this divining quality, though it should inform me truly of 
 everything that can befall me. I would not anticipate the relish 
 of any happiness, nor feel the weight of any misery, before it actually 
 arrives. 
 
 I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these gloomy 
 presages and terrors of mind; and that is, by securing to myself 
 the friendship and protection of that Being who disposes of events 
 and governs futurity. He sees, at one view, the whole thread of 
 my existence, not only that part of it which I have already passed 
 through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity.
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to his care; 
 when I awake, I give myself up to his direction. Amidst all the 
 evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help; and question 
 not but he will either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. 
 Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am 
 to die, I am not at all solicitous about it ; because I am sure that He 
 knows them both, and that He will not fail to comfort and support 
 me under them. 
 
 CLUBS 
 
 No. 9.] SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 1710-11. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Tigris agit rabida cum tigride pacem 
 
 Perpetuam, saevis inter se convenit ursis. 
 
 Juv. Sat. xv. 163. 
 
 Tiger with tiger, bear with bear, you'll find 
 In leagues offensive and defensive join'd. 
 
 MAN is said to be a sociable animal, and, as an instance of it, 
 we may observe that we take all occasions and pretensions 
 of forming ourselves into those little nocturnal assemblies, which are 
 commonly known by the name of clubs. When a set of men find 
 themselves agree in any particular, though never so trivial, they 
 establish themselves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or 
 twice a week upon the account of such a fantastic resemblance. 
 I know a considerable market-town in which there was a club of 
 fat men, that did not come together (as ycu may well suppose) to 
 entertain one another with sprightliness and wit, but to keep one 
 another in countenance. The room where the club met was some- 
 thing of the largest, and had two entrances; the one by a door of 
 moderate size, and the other by a pair of folding doors. If a 
 candidate for this corpulent club could make his entrance through 
 the first, he was looked upon as unqualified; but if he stuck in the 
 passage, and could not force his way through it, the folding doors 
 were immediately thrown open for his reception, and he was saluted 
 as a brother. I have heard that this club, though it consisted but 
 of fifteen persons, weighed above three ton. 
 
 152
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 In opposition to this society, there sprung up another composed 
 of scarecrows and skeletons, who, being very meagre and envious, 
 did all they could to thwart the designs of their bulky brethren, 
 whom they represented as men of dangerous principles, till at length 
 they worked them out of the favour of the people, and consequently 
 out of the magistracy. These factions tore the corporation in pieces 
 for several years, till at length they came to this accommodation: 
 that the two bailiffs of the town should be annually chosen out of 
 the two clubs ; by which means the principal magistrates are at this 
 day coupled like rabbits, one fat and one lean. 
 
 Every one has heard of the club, or rather the confederacy, of 
 the Kings. This grand alliance was formed a little after the return 
 of King Charles the Second, and admitted into it men of all qualities 
 and professions, provided they agreed in this surname of King, 
 which, as they imagined, sufficiently declared the owners of it to be 
 altogether untainted with republican and anti-monarchical prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 A Christian name has likewise been often used as a badge of 
 distinction, and made the occasion of a club. That of the George's, 
 which used to meet at the sign of the George on St. George's day, 
 and swear, " Before George," is still fresh in every one's memory. 
 
 There are at present in several parts of this city what they call 
 street clubs, in which the chief inhabitants of the street converse 
 together every night. I remember, upon my inquiring after lodg- 
 ings in Ormond Street, the landlord, to recommend that quarter 
 of the town, told me there was at that time a very good club in it; 
 he also told me, upon further discourse with him, that two or three 
 noisy country squires, who were settled there the year before, had 
 considerably sunk the price of house-rent; and that the club (to 
 prevent the like inconveniences for the future) had thoughts of 
 taking every house that became vacant into their own hands, till 
 they had found a tenant for it of a sociable nature and good con- 
 versation. 
 
 The Hum-Drum club, of which I was formerly an unworthy 
 member, was made up of very honest gentlemen of peaceable 
 dispositions, that used to sit together, smoke their pipes, and say 
 nothing till midnight. The Mum club (as I am informed) is an 
 institution of the same nature, and as great an enemy to noise. 
 
 After these two innocent societies, I cannot forbear mentioning a 
 very mischievous one, that was erected in the reign of King Charles 
 
 153
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 the Second : I mean the club of Duellists, in which none was to be 
 admitted that had not fought his man. The president of it was 
 said to have killed half-a-dozen in single combat; and, as for the 
 other members, they took their seats according to the number of 
 their slain. There was likewise a side-table, for such as had only 
 drawn blood, and shewn a laudable ambition of taking the first 
 opportunity to qualify themselves for the first table. This club, 
 consisting only of men of honour, did not continue long, most of 
 the members of it being put to the sword, or hanged, a little after 
 its institution. 
 
 Our modern celebrated clubs are founded upon eating and 
 drinking, which are points wherein most men agree, and in which 
 the learned and illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and 
 the buffoon, can all of them bear a part. The Kit-cat itself is said 
 to have taken its original from a mutton-pie. The Beef-steak and 
 October clubs are neither of them averse to eating and drinking, 
 if we may form a judgment of them from their respective titles. 
 
 When men are thus knit together by a love of society, not a spirit 
 of faction, and do not meet to censure or annoy those that are absent, 
 but to enjoy one another; when they are thus combined for their own 
 improvement, or for the good of others, or at least to relax themselves 
 from the business of the day, by an innocent and cheerful conversa- 
 tion, there may be something very useful in these little institutions 
 and establishments. 
 
 I cannot forbear concluding this paper with a scheme of laws 
 that I met with upon a wall in a little alehouse. How I came 
 thither I may inform my reader at a more convenient time. These 
 laws were enacted by a knot of artizans and mechanics, who used 
 to meet every night; and, as there is something in them which gives 
 us a pretty picture of low life, I shall transcribe them word for word. 
 
 RULES. 
 
 To be observed in the Two-penny club, erected in this place for the 
 preservation of friendship and good neighbourhood. 
 
 I. Every member at bis first coming in shall lay down his two- 
 pence. 
 
 II. Every member shall fill his pipe out of his own box. 
 
 III. If any member absents himself, he shall forfeit a penny for 
 the use of the club, unless in case of sickness or imprisonment. 
 
 154
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 IV. If any member swears or curses, his neighbour may give him 
 a kick upon the shins. 
 
 V. If any member tells stories in the club that are not true, he 
 shall forfeit for every third lie a halfpenny. 
 
 VI. If any member strikes another wrongfully, he shall pay his 
 club for him. 
 
 VII. If any member brings his wife into the club, he shall pay 
 for whatever she drinks or smokes. 
 
 VIII. If any member's wife comes to fetch him home from the 
 club, she shall speak to him without the door. 
 
 IX. If any member calls another a cuckold, he shall be turned 
 out of the club. 
 
 X. None shall be admitted into the club that is of the same trade 
 with any member of it. 
 
 XI. None of the club shall have his clothes or shoes made or 
 mended, but by a brother member. 
 
 XII. No non-juror shall be capable of being a member. 
 
 The morality of this little club is guarded by such wholesome 
 laws and penalties, that I question not but my reader will be as 
 well pleased with them, as he would have been with the Leges 
 Convivales of Ben Jonson, the regulations of an old Roman club 
 cited by Lipsius, or the rules of a Symposium in an ancient Greek 
 author. C. 
 
 THE USES OF THE SPECTATOR 
 
 No. 10.] MONDAY, MARCH 12, 1710-11. [ADDISON.!] 
 
 Non aliter quam qui adverse vix flumine lembum 
 
 Remigiis subigit: si brachia forte remisit, 
 
 Atque ilium in praeceps prono rapit alveus amni. VIRG. 
 
 IT is with much satisfaction that I hear this great city inquiring 
 day by day after these my papers, and receiving my morning 
 lectures with a becoming seriousness and attention. My publisher 
 tells me, that there are already three thousand of them distributed 
 every day: so that if I allow twenty readers to every paper, which I 
 look upon as a modest computation, I may reckon about threescore 
 thousand disciples in London and Westminster, who I hope will 
 
 155
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 take care to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless herd of 
 their ignorant and unattentive brethren. Since I have raised to 
 myself so great an audience, I shall spare no pains to make their in- 
 struction agreeable, and their diversion useful. For which reasons I 
 shall endeavour to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with 
 morality, that my readers may, if possible, both ways fijid their ac. 
 count in the speculation of the day. And to the end that their vir- 
 tue and discretion may not be short, transient, intermitting starts 
 of thought, I have resolved to refresh their memories from day to 
 day, till I have recovered them out of that desperate state of vice 
 and folly into which the age is fallen. The mind that lies fallow 
 but a single day, sprouts up in follies that are only to be killed by 
 a constant and assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates that he 
 brought Philosophy down from Heaven, to inhabit among men; 
 and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought 
 Philosophy out of clcsets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell 
 in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses. 
 
 I would therefore in a very particular manner recommend these 
 my speculations to all well-regulated families that set apart an hour 
 in every morning for tea and bread and butter ; and would earnestly 
 advise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually 
 served up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea equipage. 
 
 Sir Francis Bacon observes, that a well-written book, compared 
 with its rivals and antagonists, is like Moses's serpent, that immedi- 
 ately swallowed up and devoured those of the Egyptians. I shall 
 not be so vain as to think that, where the SPECTATOR appears, the 
 other public prints will vanish; but shall leave it to my readers' con- 
 sideration, whether, is it not much better to be let into the knowledge 
 of one's self, than to hear what passes in Muscovy or Poland ; and 
 to amuse ourselves with such writings as tend to the wearing out of 
 ignorance, passion, and prejudice, than such as naturally conduce 
 to inflame hatreds, and make enmities irreconcilable ? 
 
 In the next place, I would recommend this paper to the daily pe- 
 rusal of those gentlemen whom I cannot but consider as my good 
 brothers and allies, I mean the fraternity of Spectators, who live in 
 the world without having anything to do in it; and either by the 
 affluence of their fortunes, or laziness of their dispositions, have no 
 other business with the rest of mankind, but to look upon them. 
 Under this class of men are comprehended all contemplative trades- 
 men, titular physicians, fellows of the Royal Society, Templars that 
 
 156
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 are not given to be contentious, and statesmen that are out of busi- 
 ness; in short, every one that considers the world as a theatre, and 
 desires to form a right judgment of those who are the actors on it. 
 
 There is another set of men that I must likewise lay a claim to, 
 whom I have lately called the blanks of society, as being altogether 
 unfurnished with ideas, till the business and conversation of the 
 day has supplied them. I have often considered these poor souls 
 with an eye of great commiseration, when I have heard them ask- 
 ing the first man they have met with, whether there was any news 
 stirring? and by that means gathering together materials for 
 thinking. These needy persons do not know what to talk of, till 
 about twelve a clock in the morning; for by that time they are 
 pretty good judges of the weather, know which way the wind sits, 
 and whether the Dutch mail be come in. As they lie at the mercy 
 of the first man they meet, and are grave cr impertinent all the day 
 long, according to the notions which they have imbibed in the 
 morning, I would earnestly entreat them not to stir cut of their 
 chambers till they have read this paper, and do promise them that 
 I will daily instil into them such sound and wholesome sentiments, 
 as shall have a good effect on their conversation for the ensuing 
 twelve hours. 
 
 But there are none to whom this paper will be more useful, than 
 to the female world. I have often thought there has not been suffi- 
 cient pains taken in finding out proper employments and diversions 
 for the fair ones. 
 
 Their amusements seem contrived for them, rather as they are 
 women, than as they are reasonable creatures; and are more adapted 
 to the sex than to the species. The toilet is their great scene of 
 business, and the right adjusting of their hah* the principal employ- 
 ment of their lives. The sorting of a suit of ribbons is reckoned 
 a very good morning's work; and if they make an excursion to a 
 mercer's or a toy-shop, so great a fatigue makes them unfit for any- 
 thing else all the day after. Their more serious occupations are 
 sewing and embroidery, and then- greatest drudgery, the prepara- 
 tion of jellies and sweet-meats. This, I say, is the state of ordinary 
 women; though I know there are multitudes of those of a more 
 elevated life and conversation, that move in an exalted sphere of 
 knowledge and virtue, that join all the beauties of the mind to the 
 ornaments of dress, and inspire a kind of awe and respect, as well 
 as love, into their male beholders. I hope to increase the number 
 
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 of these by publishing this daily paper, which I shall always en- 
 deavour to make an innocent if not an improving entertainment, 
 and by that means at least divert the minds of my female readers 
 from greater trifles. At the same time, as I would fain give some 
 finishing touches to those which are already the most beautiful 
 pieces in human nature, I shall endeavour to point out all those 
 imperfections that are the blemishes, as well as those virtues which 
 are the embellishments, of the sex. In the mean while I hope these 
 my gentle readers, who have so much time on their hands, will not 
 grudge throwing away a quarter of an hour in a day on this paper, 
 since they may do it without any hindrance to business. 
 
 I know several of my friends and well-wishers are in great pain 
 for me, lest I should not be able to keep up the spirit of a paper 
 which I oblige myself to furnish every day : but to make them easy 
 in this particular, I will promise them faithfully to give it over as 
 soon as I grow dull. This I know will be matter of great raillery 
 to the small wits; who will frequently put me in mind of my promise, 
 desire me to keep my word, assure me that it is high time to give 
 over, with many other pleasantries of the like nature, which men 
 of a little smart genius cannot forbear throwing out against their 
 best friends, when they have such a handle given them of being 
 witty. But let them remember that I do hereby enter my caveat 
 against this piece of raillery. 
 
 EFFECT OF THE SUPERNATURAL ON 
 THE IMAGINATION 
 
 No. i2.] WEDNESDAY, MARCH 14, 1710-11. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Veteres avias tibi de pulmone revello. 
 
 PERS. Sat. v. 92. 
 
 I root th' old woman from thy trembling heart. 
 
 AT my coming to London, it was some time before I could 
 settle myself in a house to my liking. I was forced to quit 
 my first lodgings, by reason of an officious landlady, that would be 
 asking me every morning how I had slept. I then fell into an 
 
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 honest family, and lived very happily for above a week; when 
 my landlord, who was a jolly, good-natured man, took it into his 
 head that I wanted company, and therefore would frequently come 
 into my chamber to keep me from being alone. This I bore for 
 two or three days; but telling me one day that he was afraid I was 
 melancholy, I thought it was high time for me to be gone, and 
 accordingly took new lodgings that very night. About a week 
 after, I found my jolly landlord, who, as I said before, was an 
 honest, hearty man, had put me into an advertisement of the Daily 
 Courant, in the following words: "Whereas a melancholy man left 
 his lodgings on Thursday last in the afternoon, and was afterwards 
 seen going towards Islington; if any one can give notice of him to 
 R. B., fishmonger in the Strand, he shall be very well rewarded for 
 his pains." As I am the best man in the world to keep my own 
 counsel, and my landlord the fishmonger not knowing my name, 
 this accident of my life was never discovered to this very day. 
 
 I am now settled with a widow woman, who has a great many 
 children, and complies with my humour in everything. I do not 
 remember that we have exchanged a word together these five 
 years; my coffee comes into my chamber every morning without 
 asking for it; if I want fire, I point to my chimney; if water, to my 
 bason; upon which my landlady nods, as much as to say she takes 
 my meaning, and immediately obeys my signals. She has likewise 
 modelled her family so well, that when her little boy offers to pull 
 me by the coat, or prattle in my face, his eldest sister immediately 
 calls him off, and bids him not to disturb the gentleman. At my 
 first entering into the family, I was troubled with the civility of 
 their rising up to me every time I came into the room ; but my land- 
 lady observing that upon these occasions I always cried Pish, and 
 went out again, has forbidden any such ceremony to be used in the 
 house ; so that at present I walk into the kitchen or parlour without 
 being taken notice of or giving any interruption to the business or 
 discourse of the family. The maid will ask her mistress (though 
 I am by) whether the gentleman is ready to go to dinner, as the 
 mistress (who is indeed an excellent housewife) scolds at the ser- 
 vants as heartily before my face as behind my back. In short, I 
 move up and down the house, and enter into all companies, with 
 the same liberty as a cat or any other domestic animal, and am as 
 little suspected of telling anything that I hear or see. 
 
 I remember last winter there were several young girls of the 
 
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 neighbourhood sitting about the fire with my landlady's daughters, 
 and telling stories of spirits and apparitions. Upon my opening 
 the door the young women broke off their discourse, but my land- 
 lady's daughters telling them that it was nobody but the gentleman 
 (for that is the name which I go by in the neighbourhood as well as 
 in the family), they went on without minding me. I seated myself 
 by the candle that stood on a table at one end of the room; and pre- 
 tending to read a book that I took out of my pocket, heard several 
 dreadful stories of ghosts as pale as ashes that had stood at the 
 feet of a bed, or walked over a churchyard by moonlight, and of 
 others that had been conjured into the Red Sea, for disturbing 
 people's rest, and drawing their curtains at midnight; with many 
 other old women's fables of the like nature. As one spirit raised 
 another, I observed that at the end of every story the whole com- 
 pany closed their ranks, and crowded about the fire. I took 
 notice in particular cf a little boy, who was so very attentive to every 
 story, that I am mistaken if he ventures to go to bed by himself this 
 twelvemonth. Indeed they talked so long, that the imaginations 
 of the whole assembly were manifestly crazed, and I am sure will 
 be the worse for it as long as they live. I heard one of the girls, 
 that had looked upon me over her shoulder, asking the company 
 how long I had been in the room, and whether I did not look paler 
 than I used to do. This put me under some apprehensions that I 
 should be forced to explain myself if I did not retire; fcr which 
 reason I took the candle in my hand, and went up into my chamber, 
 not without wondering at this unaccountable weakness in reason- 
 able creatures, that they should love to astonish and terrify one 
 another. Were I a father, I should take a particular care to pre- 
 serve my children from these little horrors of imagination, which 
 they are apt to contract when they are young, and are not able to 
 shake off when they are in years. I have known a soldier that has 
 entered a breach, affrighted at his own shadow, and look pale upon 
 a little scratching at his door, who the day before had marched up 
 against a battery of cannon. There are instances of persons who 
 have been terrified, even to distraction, at the figure of a tree, or 
 the shaking cf a bulrush. The truth of it is, I look upon a sound 
 imagination as the greatest blessing of life, next to a clear judgment 
 and a good conscience. In the meantime, since there are very few 
 whose minds are not more or less subject to these dreadful thoughts 
 and apprehensions, we ought to arm ourselves against them by 
 
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 the dictates of reason and religion, "to pull the old woman out of 
 our hearts" (as Persius expresses it in the motto of my paper), 
 and extinguish those impertinent notions which we imbibed at a 
 time that we were not able to judge of their absurdity. Or, if we 
 believe, as many wise and good men have done, that there are such 
 phantoms and apparitions as those I have been speaking of, let us 
 endeavour to establish to ourselves an interest in Him who holds 
 the reins of the whole creation in His hand, and moderates them 
 after such a manner, that it is impossible for one being to break 
 loose upon another without His knowledge and permission. 
 
 For my own part, I am apt to join in opinion with those who 
 believe that all the regions of nature swarm with spirits; and that 
 we have multitudes of spectators on all our actions, when we think 
 ourselves most alone; but instead of terrifying myself with such a 
 notion, I am wonderfully pleased to think that I am always engaged 
 with such an innumerable society, in searching out the wonders of 
 the creation, and joining in the same consort of praise and adora- 
 tion. 
 
 Milton has finely described this mixed communion of men 
 and spirits in paradise; and had doubtless his eye upon a verse in 
 old Hesiod, which is almost word for word the same with his third 
 line in the following passage : 
 
 " Nor think, though men were none, 
 
 That heav'n would want spectators, God want praise: 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep; 
 All these with ceaseless praise his works behold 
 Both day and night. How often from the steep 
 Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard 
 Celestial voices to the midnight air, 
 Sole, or responsive each to other's note, 
 Singing their great Creator? Oft in bands, 
 While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, 
 With heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds, 
 In full harmonic number join'd, their songs 
 Divide the night and lift our thoughts to heav'n." 
 
 c. 
 
 161
 
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 DRESS AND SHOW 
 
 No. 15.] SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 1710-11. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Parva leves capiunt animos 
 
 OVID, Ars. Am. i. 159. 
 
 Light minds are pleas'd with trifles. 
 
 WHEN I was in France, I used to gaze with great astonishment 
 at the splendid equipages and party-coloured habits of that 
 fantastic nation. I was one day in particular contemplating a lady 
 that sat in a coach adorned with gilded cupids, and finely painted 
 with the Loves of Venus and Adonis. The coach was drawn by 
 six milk-white horses, and loaded behind with the same number of 
 powdered footmen. Just before the lady were a couple of beautiful 
 pages, that were stuck among the harness, and, by their gay dresses 
 and smiling features, looked like the elder brothers of the little boys 
 that were carved and painted in every corner of the coach. 
 
 The lady was the unfortunate Cleanthe, who afterwards gave an 
 occasion to a pretty melancholy novel. She had, for several years, 
 received the addresses of a gentleman, whom, after a long and inti- 
 mate acquaintance, she forsook, upon the account of this shining 
 equipage, which had been offered to her by one of great riches, but 
 a crazy constitution. The circumstances in which I saw her, were, 
 it seems, the disguises only of a broken heart, and a kind of pagean- 
 try to cover distress ; for in two months after she was carried to her 
 grave with the same pomp and magnificence, being sent thither 
 partly by the loss of one lover, and partly by the possession of 
 another. 
 
 I have often reflected with myself on this unaccountable humour 
 in womankind, of being smitten with every thing that is showy and 
 superficial; and on the numberless evils that befall the sex from 
 this light fantastical disposition. I myself remember a young lady 
 that was very warmly solicited- by a couple of importunate rivals, 
 who, for several months together, did all they could to recommend 
 themselves by complacency of behaviour and agreeableness of con- 
 versation. At length, when the competition was doubtful, and the 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 lady undetermined in her choice, one of the young lovers very 
 luckily bethought himself of adding a supernumerary lace to his 
 liveries, which had so good an effect that he married her the very 
 week after. 
 
 The useful conversation of ordinary women very much cherishes 
 this natural weakness of being taken with outside and appearance. 
 Talk of a new-married couple, and you immediately hear whether 
 they keep their coach and six, or eat in plate. Mention the name 
 of an absent lady, and it is ten to one but you learn something of her 
 gown and petticoat. A ball is a great help to discourse, and a birth- 
 day furnishes conversation for a twelvemonth after. A furbelow of 
 precious stones, a hat buttoned with a diamond, a brocade waist- 
 coat or petticoat, are standing topics. In short, they consider only 
 the drapery of the species, and never cast away a thought on those 
 ornaments of the mind that make persons illustrious in themselves 
 and useful to others. When women are thus perpetually dazzling 
 one another's imaginations, and filling their heads with nothing but 
 colours, it is no wonder that they are more attentive to the super- 
 ficial parts of life, than the solid and substantial blessings of it. A 
 girl who has been trained up in this kind of conversation, is in 
 danger of every embroidered coat that comes in her way. A pair of 
 fringed gloves may be her ruin. In a word, lace and ribands, 
 silver and gold galloons, with the like glittering gewgaws, are so 
 many lures to women of weak minds or low educations, and, when 
 artificially displayed, are able to fetch down the most airy coquette 
 from the wildest of her flights and rambles. 
 
 True happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and 
 noise; it arises, in the first place, from the enjoyment of one's self; 
 and, in the next, from the friendship and conversation of a few 
 select companions; it loves shade and solitude, and naturally 
 haunts groves and fountains, fields and meadows; in short, it feels 
 every thing it wants within itself, and receives no additions from 
 multitudes of witnesses and spectators. On the contrary, false 
 happiness loves to be in a crowd, and to draw the eyes of the world 
 upon her. She does not receive any satisfaction from the applauses 
 which she gives herself, but from the admiration which she raises in 
 others. She flourishes in court and palaces, theatres and assem- 
 blies, and has no existence but when she is looked upon. 
 
 Aurelia, though a woman of great quality, delights in the privacy 
 of a country life, and passes away a great part of her time in her 
 
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 own walks and gardens. Her husband, who is her bosom friend and 
 companion in her solitudes, has been in love with her ever since he 
 knew her. They both abound with good sense, consummate virtue, 
 and a mutual esteem; and are a perpetual entertainment to one 
 another. Their family is under so regular an economy, in its hours 
 of devotion and repast, employment and diversion, that it looks 
 like a little commonwealth within itself. They often go into com- 
 pany, that they may return with the greater delight to one another ; 
 and sometimes live in town, not to enjoy it so properly as to grow 
 weary of it, that they may renew in themselves the relish of a country 
 life. By this means they are happy in each other, beloved by their 
 children, adored by their servants, and are become the envy, or 
 rather the delight, of all that know them. 
 
 How different to this is the life of Fulvia! she considers her 
 husband as her steward, and looks upon discretion and good house- 
 wifery as little domestic virtues unbecoming a woman of quality. 
 She thinks life lost in her own family, and fancies herself out of 
 the world, when she is not in the ring, the playhouse, or the drawing- 
 room. She lives in a perpetual motion of body, and restlessness of 
 thought, and it is never easy in any one place, when she thinks 
 there is more company in another. The missing of an opera the 
 first night, would be more afflicting to her than the death of a child. 
 She pities all the valuable part of her own sex, and calls every 
 woman of a prudent, modest, and retired life, a poor-spirited 
 unpolished creature. What a mortification would it be to Fulvia, 
 if she knew that her setting herself to view is but exposing herself, 
 and that she grows contemptible by being conspicuous? 
 
 I cannot conclude my paper, without observing, that Virgil has 
 very finely touched upon this female passion for dress and show, in 
 the character of Camilla; who, though she seems to have shaken 
 off all the other weaknesses of her sex, is still described as a woman 
 in this particular. The poet tells us, that, after having made a 
 great slaughter of the enemy, she unfortunately cast her eye on a 
 Trojan who wore an embroidered tunic, a beautiful coat of mail, 
 with a mantle of the finest purple. "A golden bow," says he, 
 "hung upon his shoulder; his garment was buckled with a golden 
 clasp, and his head covered with a helmet of the same shining 
 metal." The Amazon immediately singled out this well-dressed 
 warrior, being seized with a woman's longing for the pretty trappings 
 that he was adorned with: 
 
 164
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Totumque incauta per agmen 
 
 Fcemineo praedae et spoliorum ardebat amore." 
 
 This heedless pursuit after these glittering trifles, the poet (by a 
 nice concealed moral) represents to have been the destruction of 
 his female hero. C. 
 
 ITALIAN OPERA 
 
 No. 18.] WEDNESDAY, MARCH 21, 1710-11. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Equitis quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas 
 Omnis ad incertos oculos et gaudia vana. HOR. 
 
 But now our nobles too are fops and vain, 
 Neglect the sense, but love the painted scene. 
 
 IT is my design in this paper to deliver down to posterity a 
 faithful account of the Italian Opera, and of the gradual pro- 
 gress which it has made upon the English stage: For there is no 
 question but our great grandchildren will be very curious to know 
 the reason why their forefathers used to sit together like an audi- 
 ence of foreigners in their own country, and to hear whole plays 
 acted before them in a tongue which they did not understand. 
 
 Arsinoe was the first opera that gave us a taste of Italian music. 
 The great success this opera met with, produced some attempts of 
 forming pieces upon Italian plans, which should give a more natural 
 and reasonable entertainment than what can be met with in the 
 elaborate trifles of that nation. This alarmed the poetasters and 
 fiddlers of the town, who were used to deal in a more ordinary kind 
 of ware; and therefore laid down an established rule, which is re- 
 ceived as such to this day, That nothing is capable oj being well set 
 to music, that is not nonsense. 
 
 This maxim was no sooner received, but we immediately fell to 
 translating the Italian operas; and as there was no great danger of 
 hurting the sense of those extraordinary pieces, our authors would 
 often make words of their own which were entirely foreign to the 
 meaning of the passages they pretended to translate; their chief 
 care being to make the numbers of the English verse answer to 
 
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 those of the Italian, that both of them might go to the same tune. 
 Thus the famous song in Camilla, 
 
 "Barbara si t' intendo," &c. 
 "Barbarous woman, yes, I know your meaning," 
 
 which expresses the resentments of an angry lover, was translated 
 into that English lamentation 
 
 "Frail are a lover's hopes," &c. 
 
 And it was pleasant enough to see the most refined persons of the 
 British nation dying away and languishing to notes that were filled 
 with a spirit of rage and indignation. It happened also very fre- 
 quently, where the sense was rightly translated, the necessary trans- 
 position of words which were drawn out of the phrase of one tongue 
 into that of another, made the music appear very absurd in one 
 tongue that was very natural in the other. I remember an Italian 
 verse that ran thus word for word, 
 
 "And turn'd my rage into pity;" 
 which the English for rhyme sake translated, 
 "And into pity tum'd my rage." 
 
 By this means the soft notes that were adapted to pity in the Italian, 
 fell upon the word rage in the English; and the angry sounds that 
 were turned to rage in the original, were made to express pity in 
 the translation. It oftentimes happened likewise, that the finest 
 notes in the air fell upon the most insignificant words in the sen- 
 tence. I have known the word and pursued through the whole 
 gamut, have been entertained with many a melodious the, and have 
 heard the most beautiful graces, quavers and divisions bestowed 
 upon then, for, and from; to the eternal honour of our English 
 particles. 
 
 The next step to our refinement, was the introducing of Italian 
 actors into our opera; who sung their parts in their own language, 
 at the same time that our countrymen performed theirs in our native 
 tongue. The king or hero of the play generally spoke in Italian, 
 and his slaves answered him in English: the lover frequently made 
 his court, and gained the heart of his princess in a language which 
 she did not understand. One would have thought it very difficult 
 to have carried on dialogues after this manner, without an inter- 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 preter between the persons that conversed together; but this was 
 the state of the English stage for about three years. 
 
 At length the audience grew tired of understanding half the opera, 
 and therefore to ease themselves entirely of the fatigue of thinking, 
 have so ordered it at present that the whole opera is performed in 
 an unknown tongue. We no longer understand the language of our 
 own stage; insomuch that I have often been afraid, when I have 
 seen our Italian performers chattering in the vehemence of action, 
 that they have been calling us names, and abusing us among them- 
 selves; but I hope, since we do put such an entire confidence in them, 
 they will not talk against us before our faces, though they may do it 
 with the same safety as if it were behind our backs. In the mean- 
 time I cannot forbear thinking how naturally an historian, who 
 writes two or three hundred years hence, and does not know the 
 taste of his wise fore-fathers, will make the following reflection, 
 In the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Italian tongue was 
 so well understood in England, that operas were acted on the public 
 stage in that language. 
 
 One scarce knows how to be serious in the confutation of an 
 absurdity that shews itself at the first sight. It does not want any 
 great measure of sense to see the ridicule of this monstrous practice ; 
 but what makes it the more astonishing, it is not the taste of the 
 rabble, but of persons of the greatest politeness, which has estab- 
 lished it. 
 
 If the Italians have a genius for music above the English, the 
 English have a genius for other performances of a much higher 
 nature, and capable of giving the mind a much nobler entertain- 
 ment. Would one think it was possible (at a time when an author 
 lived that was able to write the Phcedra and Hippolitus) for a people 
 to be so stupidly fond of the Italian opera, as scarce to give a third 
 day's hearing to that admirable tragedy ? Music is certainly a very 
 agreeable entertainment, but if it would take the entire possession 
 of our ears, if it would make us incapable of hearing sense, if it 
 would exclude arts that have a much greater tendency to the refine- 
 ment of human nature: I must confess I would allow it no better 
 quarter than Plato has done, who banishes it out of his common- 
 wealth. 
 
 At present, our notions of music are so very uncertain, that we do 
 not know what it is we like, only, in general, we are transported 
 with any thing that is not English: so if it be of a foreign growth, 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 let it be Italian, French, or High-Dutch, it is the same thing. In 
 short, our English music is quite rooted out, and nothing yet planted 
 in its stead. 
 
 When a royal palace is burnt to the ground, every man is at liberty 
 to present his plan for a new one ; and though it be but indifferently 
 put together, it may furnish several hints that may be of use to a 
 good architect. I shall take the same liberty in a following paper, 
 of giving my opinion upon the subject of music, which I shall lay 
 down only in a problematical manner to be considered by those 
 who are masters in the art. C. 
 
 CHOICE OF A PROFESSION 
 
 No. 21.] SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1710-11. [ADDISON.J] 
 
 Locus est et pluribus umbris. 
 
 HOR. i Ep. v. 28. 
 
 There's room enough, a.nd each may bring his -friend. 
 
 I AM sometimes very much troubled when I reflect upon the 
 three great professions of divinity, law, and physic; how they 
 are each of them overburdened with practitioners, and filled with 
 multitudes of ingenious gentlemen that starve one another. 
 
 We may divide the clergy into generals, field-officers, and sub- 
 alterns. Among the first we may reckon bishops, deans, and 
 archdeacons. Among the second are doctors of divinity, prebenda- 
 ries, and all that wear scarfs. The rest are comprehended under 
 the subalterns. As for the first class, our constitution preserves it 
 from any redundancy of incumbents, notwithstanding competitors 
 are numberless. Upon a strict calculation it is found that there 
 has been a great exceeding of late years in the second division, 
 several brevets having been granted for the converting of sub- 
 alterns into scarf -officers ; insomuch that within my memory the 
 price of lustring is raised above two-pence in a yard. As for the 
 subalterns, they are not to be numbered. Should our clergy once 
 enter into the corrupt practice of the laity, by the splitting of their 
 freeholds, they would be able to carry most of the elections in 
 England. 
 
 168
 
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 The body of the law is no less encumbered with superfluous 
 members, that are like Virgil's army, which he tells us was so 
 crowded many of them had not rocm to use their weapons. This 
 prodigious society of men may be divided into the litigious and 
 peaceable. Under the first are comprehended all those who are 
 carried down in coach-fulls to Westminster-hall every morning in 
 term time. Martial's description of this species of lawyers is full 
 of humour: 
 
 "Iras et verba locant." 
 
 "Men that hire out their words and anger;" that are more or less 
 passionate according as they are paid for it, and allow their client a 
 quantity of wrath proportionable to the fee which they receive from 
 him. I must, however, observe to the reader, that above three 
 parts of those whom I reckon among the litigious are such as are 
 only quarrelsome in their hearts, and have no opportunity of shew- 
 ing their passion at the bar. Nevertheless as they do not know 
 what strifes may arise, they appear at the Hall every day, that they 
 may shew themselves in a readiness to enter the lists, whenever 
 there shall be occasion for them. 
 
 The peaceable lawyers are, hi the first place, many of the 
 benchers of the several inns of court, who seem to be the dignitaries 
 of the law, and are endowed with those qualifications of mind that 
 accomplish a man rather for a ruler than a pleader. These men 
 live peaceably in their habitations, eating once a day, and dancing 
 once a year, for the honour of their respective societies. 
 
 Another numberless branch of peaceable lawyers are those young 
 men who, being placed at the inns of court in order to study the 
 laws of their country, frequent the play-house more than West- 
 minster-hall, and are seen in all public assemblies, except in a court 
 of justice. I shall say nothing of those silent and busy multitudes 
 that are employed within doors in the drawing up of writings and 
 conveyances ; nor of those greater numbers that palliate their want 
 of business with a pretence to such chamber practice. 
 
 If, in the third place, we look into the profession of physic, we 
 shall find a most formidable body of men. The sight of them is 
 enough to make a man serious ; for we may lay it down as a maxim 
 that when a nation abounds hi physicians it grows thin of people. 
 Sir William Temple is very much puzzled to find out a reason why 
 the Northern Hive, as he calls it, does not send out such prodigious 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 swarms, and overrun the world with Goths and Vandals, as it did 
 formerly; but had that excellent author observed that there were 
 no students in physic among the subjects of Thor and Woden, 
 and that this science very much flourishes in the north at present, 
 he might have found a better solution for this difficulty than any of 
 those he has made use of. This body of men in our own country 
 may be described like the British army in Caesar's time: some of 
 them slay in chariots, and some on foot. If the infantry do less 
 execution than the charioteers, it is because they cannot be carried 
 so soon into all quarters of the town, and despatch so much business 
 in so short a time. Besides this body of regular troops, there are 
 stragglers who, without being duly listed and enrolled, do infinite 
 mischief to those who are so unlucky as to fall into their hands. 
 
 There are, besides the above-mentioned, innumerable retainers 
 to physic who, for want of other patients, amuse themselves with 
 the stifling of cats in an air-pump, cutting up dogs alive, or impal- 
 ing of insects upon the point of a needle for microscopical observa- 
 tions; besides those that are employed in the gathering of weeds, 
 and the chase of butterflies: not to mention the cockleshell-mer- 
 chants and spider-catchers. 
 
 When I consider how each of these professions is crowded with 
 multitudes that seek their livelihood in them, and how many men 
 of merit there are in each of them who may be rather said to be of 
 the science than the profession, I very much wonder at the humour 
 of parents who will not rather choose to place their sons in a way 
 of life where an honest industry cannot but thrive, than in stations 
 where the greatest probity, learning, and good sense may miscarry. 
 How many men are country curates that might have made them- 
 selves aldermen of London, by a right improvement of a smaller 
 sum cf money than what is usually laid out upon a learned educa- 
 tion ? A sober frugal person, of slender parts and a slow apprehen- 
 sion, might have thrived in trade though he starves upon physic; 
 as a man would be well enough pleased to buy silks of one, whom 
 he would not venture to feel his pulse. Vagellius is careful, studi- 
 ous, and obliging, but withal a little thick-skulled; he has not a 
 single client, but might have had abundance of customers. The 
 misfortune is, that parents take a liking to a particular profession, 
 and therefore desire their sons may be of it ; whereas, in so great an 
 affair of life, they should consider the genius and abilities of their 
 children more than their own inclinations. 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 It is the great advantage of a trading nation, that there are very 
 few in it so dull and heavy who may not be placed in stations of 
 life which may give them an opportunity of making their fortunes. 
 A well-regulated commerce is not, like law, physic, or divinity, 
 to be overstocked with hands; but, on the contrary, flourishes by 
 multitudes, and gives employment to all its professors. Fleets 
 of merchantmen are so many squadrons of floating shops, that 
 vend our wares and manufactures in all the markets of the world, 
 and find out chapmen under both the tropics. C. 
 
 LETTER FROM A VALETUDINARIAN 
 
 No. 25.] THURSDAY, MARCH 29, 1711. [ADDISON.JJ 
 
 jEgrescitque medendo. 
 
 VIRG. /EN. xii. 46. 
 
 And sickens by the very means of health. 
 
 T 
 
 I HE following letter will explain itself, and needs no 
 apology: 
 
 " SIR, I am one of that sickly tribe who are commonly known 
 by the name of Valetudinarians ; and do confess to you, that I first 
 contracted this ill habit of body, or rather of mind, by the study 
 of physic. I no sooner began to peruse books of this nature, but 
 I found my pulse was irregular; and scarce ever read the account 
 of any disease that I did not fancy myself afflicted with. Dr. 
 Sydenham's learned treatise of fevers threw me into a lingering 
 hectic, which hung upon me all the while I was reading that excel- 
 lent piece. I then applied myself to the study of several authors, 
 who have written upon phthisical distempers, and by that means 
 fell into a consumption ; till at length, growing very fat, I was in a 
 manner shamed out of that imagination. Not long after this I 
 found in myself all the symptoms of the gout, except pain; but was 
 cured of it by a treatise upon the gravel, written by a very ingenious 
 author, who (as it is usual for physicians to convert one distemper 
 into another) eased me of the gout by giving me the stone. I at 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 length studied myself into a complication of distempers; but acci- 
 dentally taking into my hand that ingenious discourse written by 
 Sanctorius, I was resolved to direct myself by a scheme of rules, 
 which I had collected from his observations. The learned world 
 are very well acquainted with that gentleman's invention; who, for 
 the better carrying on of his experiments, contrived a certain mathe- 
 matical chair, which was so artificially hung upon springs, that it 
 would weigh anything as well as a pair of scales. By this means 
 he discovered how many ounces of his food passed by perspiration, 
 what quantity of it was turned into nourishment, and how much 
 went away by the other channels and distributions of nature. 
 
 "Having provided myself with this chair, I used to study, eat, 
 drink, and sleep in it; insomuch that I may be said, for these three 
 last years, to have lived in a pair of scales. I compute myself, when 
 I am in full health, to be precisely two hundredweight, falling short 
 of it about a pound after a day's fast, and exceeding it as much after 
 a very full meal ; so that it is my continual employment to trim the 
 balance between these two volatile pounds in my constitution. In 
 my ordinary meals I fetch myself up to two hundredweight and 
 half a pound; and if, after having dined, I find myself fall short of 
 it, I drink just so much small beer, or eat such a quantity of bread, 
 as is sufficient to make me weight. In my greatest excesses I do 
 not transgress more than the other half-pound; which, for my 
 health's sake, I do the first Monday in every month. As soon as I 
 find myself duly poised after dinner, I walk till I have perspired 
 five ounces and four scruples; and when I discover by my chair, 
 that I am so far reduced, I fall to my books, and study away three 
 ounces more. As for the remaining parts of the pound, I keep no 
 account of them. I do not dine and sup by the clock, but by my 
 chair; for when that informs me my pound of food is exhausted, 
 I conclude myself to be hungry, and lay in another with all dili- 
 gence. In my days of abstinence I lose a pound and a half, and on 
 solemn fasts am two pound lighter than on other days in the year. 
 
 " I allow myself, one night with another, a quarter of a pound of 
 sleep, within a few grains more or less; and if, upon my rising, I 
 find that I have not consumed my whole quantity, I take out the 
 rest in my chair. Upon an exact calculation of what I expended 
 and received the last year, which I always register in a book, I find 
 the medium to be two hundredweight, so that I cannot discover 
 that I am impaired one ounce in my health during a whole twelve- 
 
 172
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 month. And yet, Sir, notwithstanding this my great care to ballast 
 myself equally every day, and to keep my body in its proper poise, 
 so it is that I find myself in a sick and languishing condition. My 
 complexion is grown very sallow, my pulse low, and my body hy- 
 dropical. Let me, therefore, beg you, Sir, to consider me as your 
 patient, and to give me more certain rules to walk by than those I 
 have already observed, and you will very much oblige, 
 
 Your humble Servant." 
 
 This letter puts me in mind of an Italian epitaph, written on the 
 monument of a valetudinarian : " Stavo ben, ma per star meglio, sto 
 qui:" which it is impossible to translate. The fear of death often 
 proves mortal, and sets people on methods to save their lives, which 
 infallibly destroy them. This is a reflection made by some histo- 
 rians, upon observing that there are many more thousands killed in 
 a flight than in a battle; and may be applied to those multitudes 
 of imaginary sick persons that break their constitutions by physic, 
 and throw themselves into the arms of death, by endeavouring to 
 escape it. This method is not only dangerous, but below the prac- 
 tice of a reasonable creature. To consult the preservation of life, 
 as the only end of it; to make our health our business; to engage in 
 no action that is not part of a regimen, or course of physic, are pur- 
 poses so abject, so mean, so unworthy human nature, that a gener- 
 ous soul would rather die than submit to them. Besides, that a 
 continual anxiety for life vitiates all the relishes of it, and casts a 
 gloom over the whole face of nature; as it is impossible we should 
 take delight in anything that we are every moment afraid of losing. 
 
 I do not mean, by what I have here said, that I think any one to 
 blame for taking due care of their health. On the contrary, as 
 cheerfulness of mind and capacity for business are in a great meas- 
 ure the effects of a well-tempered constitution, a man cannot be at 
 too much pains to cultivate and preserve it. But this care, which 
 we are prompted to, not only by common sense, but by duty and 
 instinct, should never engage us in groundless fears, melancholy 
 apprehensions, and imaginary distempers, which are natural to 
 every man who is more anxious to live than how to live. In short, 
 the preservation of life should be only a secondary concern, and the 
 direction of it our principal. If we have this frame of mind, we 
 shall take the best means to preserve life, without being over solicit- 
 ous about the event; and shall arrive at that point of felicity which 
 
 173
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Martial has mentioned as the perfection of happiness, of neither 
 fearing nor wishing for death. 
 
 In answer to the gentleman, who tempers his health by ounces 
 and by scruples, and instead of complying with those natural solici- 
 tations of hunger and thirst, drowsiness, or love of exercise, governs 
 himself by the prescriptions of his chair, I shall tell him a short 
 fable. Jupiter, says the mythologist, to reward the piety of a cer- 
 tain countryman, promised to give him whatever he would ask. 
 The countryman desired that he might have the management of 
 the weather in his own estate. He obtained his request; and im- 
 mediately distributed rain, snow, and sunshine among his several 
 fields, as he thought the nature of the soil required. At the end of 
 the year, when he expected to see a more than ordinary crop, his 
 harvest fell infinitely short of that of his neighbours. Upon which 
 (says the fable) he desired Jupiter to take the weather again into 
 his own hands, or that otherwise he should utterly ruin himself. 
 
 C. 
 
 REFLECTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 
 No. 26.] FRIDAY, MARCH 30, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas 
 
 Regumque turres, O beate Sexti. 
 Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam, 
 
 Jam te premet nox, fabulaeque manes, 
 Et domus exilis Plutonia. HOR. i Od. iv. 13. 
 
 With equal foot, rich friend, impartial fate 
 Knocks at the cottage, and the palace gate: 
 Life's Span forbids thee to extend thy cares, 
 And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years: 
 Night soon will seize, and you must quickly go 
 To story'd ghosts, and Pluto's house below. 
 
 WHEN I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by myself 
 in Westminster Abbey; where the gloominess of the place, 
 and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, 
 and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind 
 with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not dis- 
 agreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tomb-stones 
 and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. 
 Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that 
 he was born upon one day, and died upon another: the whole history 
 of his life being comprehended in those two ci:cumstances that are 
 common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers 
 of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon 
 the departed persons; who left no other memorial of them, but 
 that they were born, and that they died. They put me hi mind of 
 several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have 
 sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may 
 be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the 
 head. 
 
 " Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque." 
 
 "Glaucus, and Medon, and Thersilochus." VlRG. 
 
 The life of these men is finely described in holy writ by "the path 
 of an arrow," which is immediately closed up and lost. 
 
 Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the 
 digging of a grave ; and saw in every shovel-full of it that was thrown 
 up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixt with a kind of fresh 
 mouldering earth, that some time or other had a place in the compo- 
 sition of an human body. Upon this I began to consider with 
 myself, what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together 
 under the pavement of that ancient cathedral; how men and women, 
 friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, 
 were crumbled amongst one another, and blended together in the 
 same common mass ; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, 
 weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promis- 
 cuous heap of matter. 
 
 After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, as 
 it were in the lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts 
 which I found on several of the monuments which are raised in 
 every quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them were covered 
 with such extravagant epitaphs, that if it were possible for the dead 
 person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises 
 which his friends have bestowed on him. There are others so 
 excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the person 
 departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood 
 once in a twelvemonth. In the poetical quarter, I found there were 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no 
 poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had filled the 
 church with many of these uninhabited monuments, which had been 
 erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were, perhaps, 
 buried in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. 
 
 I could not but be very much delighted with several modem 
 epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and 
 justness of thought, and therefore do honour to the living as well as 
 to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the 
 ignorance or politeness of a nation from the turn of their public 
 monuments and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal 
 of men of learning and genius before they are put in execution. 
 Sir Cloudesley Shovel's monument has very often given me great 
 offence. Instead of the brave, rough, English admiral, which was 
 the distinguishing character of that plain, gallant man, he is repre- 
 sented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, 
 and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. 
 The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of 
 celebrating the many remarkable actions he had performed in the 
 service of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his 
 death, in which it was impossible for him to reap any honour. The 
 Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an 
 infinitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings 
 and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our 
 own country. The monuments of their admirals, which have been 
 erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves, and 
 are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful 
 festoons of sea-weed, shells, and coral. 
 
 But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our 
 English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall 
 find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that 
 entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal 
 thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but for my 
 own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to 
 be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep 
 and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and 
 delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those 
 objects, which others consider with terror. When I look upon the 
 tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read 
 the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; 
 
 176
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tomb-stone, my heart 
 melts with compassion : when I see the tomb of the parents them- 
 selves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must 
 quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed 
 them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy 
 men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I 
 reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, 
 factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates 
 of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred 
 years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be con- 
 temporaries, and make our appearance together. C. 
 
 OFFICE FOR THE REGULATION OF SIGNS 
 
 No. 28.] MONDAY, APRIL 2, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Neque semper arcum 
 Tendit Apollo. HOR. 
 
 I SHALL here present my reader with a letter from a projector, 
 concerning a new office which he thinks may very much con- 
 tribute to the embellishment of the city, and to the driving barbarity 
 out of our streets. I consider it- as a satire upon projectors in gen- 
 eral, and a lively picture of the whole art of modern criticism. 
 
 " SIR, Observing that you have thoughts of creating certain 
 officers under you, for the inspection of several petty enormities 
 which you yourself cannot attend to; and finding daily absurdities 
 hung upon the sign-posts of this city, to the great scandal of foreign- 
 ers, as well as those of our own country, who are curious spectators 
 of the same: I do humbly propose, that you would be pleased to 
 make me your Superintendent of all such figures and devices as are 
 or shall be made use of on this occasion ; with full powers to rectify 
 or expunge whatever I shall find irregular or defective. For want 
 of such an officer, there is nothing like sound literature and good 
 sense to be met with in those objects, that are everywhere thrusting 
 themselves out to the eye, and endeavouring to become visible. Our 
 streets are filled with blue boars, back swans, and red lions; not to 
 
 177
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 mention flying pigs, and hogs in armour, with many other creatures 
 more extraordinary than any in the deserts of Afric. Strange! 
 that one who has all the birds and beasts in nature to choose out of, 
 should live at the sign of an Ens Rationisl 
 
 " My first task therefore should be, like that of Hercules, to clear 
 the city from monsters. In the second place I would forbid, that 
 creatures of jarring and incongruous natures should be joined to- 
 gether in the same sign ; such as the bell and the neat's-tongue, the 
 dog and grid-iron. The fox and goose may be supposed to have 
 met; but what has the fox and the seven stars to do together? 
 And when did the lamb and dolphin ever meet, except upon a sign- 
 post? As for the cat and fiddle, there is a conceit in it; and there- 
 fore I do not intend that anything I have here said should affect it. 
 I must however observe to you upon this subject, that it is usual for 
 a young tradesman, at his first setting up, to add to his sign that of 
 the master whom he served; as the husband, after marriage, gives 
 a place to his mistress's arms in his own coat. This I take to have 
 given rise to many of those absurdities which are committed over 
 our heads; and, as I am informed, first occasioned the three nuns 
 and a hare, which we see so frequently joined together. I would 
 therefore establish certain rules, for the determining how far one 
 tradesman may give the sign of another, and in what cases he may be 
 allowed to quarter it with his own. 
 
 " In the third place, I would enjoin every shop to make use of a 
 sign which bears some affinity to th'e wares in which it deals. What 
 can be more inconsistent than to see a bawd at the sign of the angel, 
 or a tailor at the lion ? A cook should not Live at the boot, nor a 
 shoemaker at the roasted pig; and yet, for want of this regulation, 
 I have seen a goat set up before the door of a perfumer, and the 
 French king's head at a sword-cutler's. 
 
 "An ingenious foreigner observes, that several of those gentle- 
 men who value themselves upon their families, and overlook such 
 as are bred to trade, bear the tools of their forefathers in their coats 
 of arms. I will not examine how true this is in fact: but though it 
 may not be necessary for posterity thus to set up the sign of their 
 forefathers, I think it highly proper for those who actually profess 
 the trade, to show some such marks of it before their doors. 
 
 " When the name gives an occasion for an ingenious sign-post, I 
 would likewise advise the owner to take that opportunity of letting 
 the world know who he is. It would have been ridiculous for the 
 
 178
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ingenious Mrs. Salmon to have lived at the sign of the trout; for 
 which reason she has erected before her house the figure of the fish 
 that is her namesake. Mr. Bell has likewise distinguished himself 
 by a device of the same nature: and here, sir, I must beg leave to 
 observe to you, that this particular figure of a bell has given occasion 
 to several pieces of wit in this kind. A man of your reading must 
 know that Able Drugger gained great applause by it in the time of 
 Ben Johnson. Our apocryphal heathen god is also represented 
 by this figure; which, in conjunction with the dragon, makes a very 
 handsome picture in several of our streets. As for the Bell Savage, 
 which is the sign of a savage man standing by a bell, I was formerly 
 very much puzzled upon the conceit of it, till I accidentally fell into 
 the reading of an old romance translated out of the French; which 
 gives an account of a very beautiful woman who was found in a 
 wilderness, and is called in the French La Belle Sauvage; and is 
 everywhere translated by our countrymen the Bell Savage. This 
 piece of philology will, I hope, convince you that I have made sign- 
 posts my study, and consequently qualified myself for the employ- 
 ment which I solicit at your hands. But before I conclude my 
 letter, I must communicate to you another remark which I have 
 made upon the subject with which I am now entertaining you, 
 namely, that I can give a shrewd guess at the humour of the inhabi- 
 tant by the sign that hangs before his door. A surly, choleric fellow 
 generally makes choice of a bear; as men of milder dispositions 
 frequently live at the lamb. Seeing a punch-bowl painted upon a 
 sign near Charing-Cross, and very curiously garnished, with a couple 
 of angels hovering over it, and squeezing a lemon into it, I had the 
 curiosity to ask after the master of the house, and found upon in- 
 quiry, as I had guessed by the little agremens upon his sign, that 
 he was a Frenchman. I know, sir, it is not requisite for me to en- 
 large upon these hints to a gentleman of your great abih'ties; so, 
 humbly recommending myself to your favour and patronage, 
 
 "I remain," &c 
 
 I shall add to the foregoing letter another, which came to me by 
 the same penny-post. 
 
 "HONOURED SIR, Having heard that this nation is a great 
 encourager of ingenuity, I have brought with me a rope-dancer 
 that was caught in ore of the woods belonging to the Great Mogul. 
 
 179
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 He is by birth a monkey; but swings upon a rope, takes a pipe of 
 tobacco, and drinks a glass of ale, like any reasonable creature. 
 He gives great satisfaction to the quality; and if they will make a 
 subscription for him, I will send for a brother of his out of Holland 
 that is a very good tumbler; and also for another of the same family, 
 whom I design for my merry-andrew, as being an excellent mimic, 
 and the greatest droll in the country where he now is. I hope to 
 have this entertainment in a readiness for the next winter; and 
 doubt not but it will please more than the opera or puppet-show. 
 I will not say that a monkey is a better man than some of the opera 
 heroes ; but certainly he is a better representative of a man than the 
 most artificial composition of wood and wire. If you will be pleased 
 to give me a good word in your paper, you shall be every night a 
 spectator at my show for nothing. 
 
 "lam," &c. 
 
 THE CLUB OF SPECTATORS 
 
 No. 34.] MONDAY, APRIL 9, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 parcit 
 
 Cognatis maculis similis fera Juv. 
 
 THE club of which I am a member is very luckily composed 
 of such persons as are engaged in different ways of life, and 
 deputed as it were out of the most conspicuous classes of mankind : 
 by this means I am furnished with the greatest variety of hints and 
 materials, and know everything that passes in the different quarters 
 and divisions, not only of this great city, but of the whole kingdom. 
 My readers, too, have the satisfaction to find, that there is no rank 
 or degree among them who have not their representative in this 
 club, and that there is always somebody present who will take care 
 of their respective interests, that nothing may be written or pub- 
 lished to the prejudice or infringement of their just rights and 
 privileges. 
 
 I last night sate very late in company with this select body of 
 friends, who entertained me with several remarks which they and 
 others had made upon these my speculations, as also with the vari- 
 
 180
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ous success which they had met with among their several ranks 
 and degrees of readers. Will. Honeycomb told me, in the softest 
 manner he could, that there were some ladies (but for your comfort, 
 says Will., they are not those of the most wit) that were offended 
 at the liberties I had taken with the opera and the puppet-show; 
 that some of them were likewise very much surprised, that I should 
 think such serious points as the dress and equipage of persons of 
 quality proper subjects for raillery. 
 
 He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him up short, 
 and told him, that the papers he hinted at had done great good in 
 the city, and that all their wives and daughters were the better for 
 them: and further added, that the whole city thought themselves 
 very much obliged to me for declaring my generous intentions to 
 scourge vice and folly as they appear in a multitude, without con- 
 descending to be a publisher of particular intrigues and cuckoldoms. 
 In short, says Sir Andrew, if you avoid that foolish beaten road of 
 falling upon aldermen and citizens, and employ your pen upon the 
 vanity and luxury of courts, your paper must needs be of general 
 use. 
 
 Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew, That he won- 
 dered to hear a man of his sense talk after that manner; that the 
 city had always been the province for satire; and that the wits of 
 King Charles's time jested upon nothing else during his whole 
 reign. He then showed, by the examples of Horace, Juvenal, 
 Boileau, and the best writers of every age, that the follies of the 
 stage and court had never been accounted too sacred for ridicule, 
 how great soever the persons might be that patronized them. But 
 after all, says he, I think your raillery has made too great an excur- 
 sion in attacking several persons of the inns of court; and I do not 
 believe you can show me any precedent for your behaviour in that 
 particular. 
 
 My good friend Sir Roger de Coverley, who had said nothing 
 all this while, began his speech with a pish! and told us, that he 
 wondered to see so many men of sense so very serious upon fooleries. 
 Let our good friend, said he, attack every one that deserves it: I 
 would only advise you, Mr. Spectator, applying himself to me, to 
 take care how you meddle with country squires: they are the orna- 
 ments of the English nation; men of good heads and sound 
 bodies! and, let me tell you, some of them take it ill of you, that 
 you mention fox-hunters with so little respect. 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. What 
 he said was only to command my prudence in not touching upon 
 the army, and advised me to continue to act discreetly in that point. 
 
 By this time I found every subject of my speculations was taken 
 away from me, by one or other of the club; and began to think 
 myself in the condition of the good man that had one wife who 
 took a dislike to his grey hairs, and another to his black, till by their 
 picking out what each of them had an aversion to, they left his head 
 altogether bald and naked. 
 
 While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend the 
 clergyman, who, very luckily for me, was at the club that night, 
 undertook my cause. He told us, that he wondered any order 
 of persons should think themselves too considerable to be advised : 
 that it was not quality, but innocence, which exempted men from 
 reproof: that vice and folly ought to be attacked wherever they 
 could be met with, and especially when they were placed in high 
 and conspicuous stations of life. He further added, that my paper 
 would only serve to aggravate the pains of poverty, if it chiefly 
 exposed those who are already depressed, and in some measure 
 turned into ridicule, by the meanness of their conditions and cir- 
 cumstances. He afterwards proceeded to take notice of the great 
 use this paper might be of to the public, by reprehending those 
 vices which are too trivial for the chastisement of the law, and too 
 fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit. He then advised me 
 to prosecute my undertaking with cheerfulness, and assured me, 
 that whoever might be displeased with me, I should be approved 
 by all those whose praises do honour to the persons on whom they 
 are bestowed. 
 
 The whole club pays a particular deference to the discourse of 
 this gentleman, and are drawn into what he says, as much by the 
 candid, ingenious manner with which he delivers himself, as by the 
 strength of argument and force of reason which he makes use of. 
 Will. Honeycomb immediately agreed, that what he had said was 
 right; and that for his part, he would not insist upon the quarter 
 which he had demanded for the ladies. Sir Andrew gave up the 
 city with the same frankness. The Templar would not stand 
 out: and was followed by Sir Roger and the Captain: who all 
 agreed that I should be at liberty to carry the war into what quarter 
 I pleased ; provided I continued to combat with criminals in a body, 
 and to assault the vice without hurting the person. 
 
 182
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 This debate, which was held for the good of mankind, put me in 
 mind of that which the Roman triumvirate were formerly engaged 
 in, for their destruction. Every man at first stood hard for his 
 friend, till they found that by this means they should spoil their 
 proscription: and at length, making a sacrifice of all their acquain- 
 tance and relations, furnished out a very decent execution. 
 
 Having thus taken my resolutions to march on boldly in the cause 
 of virtue and good sense, and to annoy their adversaries in whatever 
 degree or rank of men they may be found, I shall be deaf for the 
 future to all the remonstrances that shall be made to me on this 
 account. If Punch grows extravagant, I shall reprimand him very 
 freely: if the stage becomes a nursery of felly and impertinence, I 
 shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it. In short, if I meet with 
 anything in city, court, or country, that shocks modesty or good 
 manners, I shall use my utmost endeavours to make an example of 
 it. I must, however, entreat every particular person, who does me 
 the honour to be a reader of this paper, never to think himself, or 
 any one of his friends or enemies, aimed at in what is said: for I 
 promise him, never to draw a faulty character which does not fit 
 at least a thousand people ; or to publish a single paper that is not 
 written in the spirit of benevolence, and with a love to mankind. 
 
 FALSE WIT AND HUMOUR 
 
 No. 35.] TUESDAY, APRIL 10, 1711. [ADDISON.| 
 Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est. MART. 
 
 AMONG all kinds of writing, there is none in which authors are 
 more apt to miscarry than in works of humour, as there is 
 none in which they are more ambitious to excel. It is not an imag- 
 ination that teems with monsters, an head that is filled with extrava- 
 gant conceptions, which is capable of furnishing the world with 
 diversions of this nature; and yet, if we look into the productions of 
 several writers, who set up for men of humour, what wild irregular 
 fancies, what unnatural distortions of thought, do we meet with? 
 If they speak nonsense, they believe they are talking humour; and 
 when they have drawn together a scheme of absurd, inconsistent 
 
 183
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ideas, they are not able to read it over to themselves without 
 laughing. These poor gentlemen endeavour to gain themselves 
 the reputation of wits and humourists, by such monstrous conceits 
 as almost qualify them for Bedlam; not considering that humour 
 should always lie under the check of reason, and that it requires 
 the direction of the nicest judgment, by so much the more as it 
 indulges itself in the most boundless freedoms. There is a kind of 
 nature that is to be observed in this sort of compositions, as well as 
 in all other; and a certain regularity of thought which must dis- 
 cover the writer to be a man of sense, at the same time that he 
 appears altogether given up to caprice. For my part, when I read 
 the delirious mirth of an unskilful author, I cannot be so barbarous 
 as to divert myself with it, but am rather apt to pity the man, than 
 to laugh at anything he writes. 
 
 The deceased Mr. Shadwell, who had himself a great deal of the 
 talent which I am treating of, represents an empty rake, in one of 
 his plays, as very much surprised to hear one say that breaking of 
 windows was not humour; and I question not but several English 
 readers will be as much startled to hear me affirm, that many of 
 those raving incoherent pieces, which are often spread among us, 
 under odd chimerical titles, are rather the offsprings of a distempered 
 brain, than works of humour. 
 
 It is indeed much easier to describe what is not humour, than what 
 is ; and very difficult to define it otherwise than as Cowley has done 
 wit, by negatives. Were I to give my own notions of it, I would 
 deliver them after Plato's manner, in a kind of allegory, and by 
 supposing Humour to be a person, deduce to him all his qualifica- 
 tions, according to the following genealogy. Truth was the founder 
 of the family, and the father of Good Sense. Good Sense was the 
 father of Wit, who married a lady of a collateral line, called Mirth, 
 by whom he had issue Humour. Humour therefore being the 
 youngest of this illustrious family, and descended from parents of 
 such different dispositions, is very various and unequal in his temper; 
 sometimes you see him putting on grave looks and a solemn habit, 
 sometimes airy hi his behaviour, and fantastic in his dress : insomuch 
 that at different times he appears as serious as a judge, and as 
 jocular as a merry-andrew. But as he has a great deal of the mother 
 in his constitution, whatever mood he is in, he never fails to make 
 his company laugh. 
 
 But since there is an imposter abroad, who takes upon him the 
 
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 name of this young gentleman, and would willingly pass for him in 
 the world ; to the end that well-meaning persons may not be imposed 
 upon by cheats, I would desire my readers, when they meet with this 
 pretender, to look into his parentage, and to examine him strictly, 
 whether or no he be remotely allied to Truth, and lineally descended 
 from Good Sense; if not, they may conclude him a counterfeit. 
 They may likewise distinguish him by a loud and excessive laughter, 
 in which he seldom gets his company to join with him. For as 
 True Humour generally looks serious, while everybody laughs 
 about him, False Humour is always laughing, whilst everybody 
 about him looks serious. I shall only add, if he has not in him a 
 mixture of both parents, that is, if he would pass for the offspring 
 of Wit without Mirth, or Mirth without Wit, you may conclude 
 him to be altogether spurious and a cheat. 
 
 The imposter of whom I am speaking, descends originally from 
 Falsehood, who was the mother of Nonsense, who was brought to 
 bed of a son called Frenzy, who married one of the daughters of 
 Folly, commonly known by the name of Laughter, on whom he 
 begot that monstrous infant of which I have been here speaking. 
 I shall set down at length the genealogical table of False Humour, 
 and, at the same time, place under it the genealogy of True Humour, 
 that the reader may at one view behold their different pedigrees and 
 relations. 
 
 FALSEHOOD. 
 NONSENSE. 
 
 FRENZY. LAUGHTER. 
 FALSE HUMOUR. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 GOOD SENSE. 
 
 WIT. MIRTH. 
 
 HUMOUR. 
 
 I might extend the allegory, by mentioning several of the children 
 of False Humour, who are more in number than the sands of the 
 sea, and might in particular enumerate the many sons and daughters 
 which he has begot in this island. But as this would be a very 
 invidious task, I shall only observe in general, that False Humour 
 differs from the True as a monkey does from a man. 
 
 First of all, He is exceedingly given to little apish tricks and 
 buffooneries. 
 
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 Secondly, He so much delights in mimicry, that it is all one to 
 him whether he exposes by it vice and folly, luxury and avarice; 
 or, on the contrary, virtue and wisdom, pain and poverty. 
 
 Thirdly, He is wonderfully unlucky, insomuch that he will bite 
 the hand that feeds him, and endeavour to ridicule both friends and 
 foes indifferently. For having but small talents, he must be merry 
 where he can, not where he should. 
 
 Fourthly, Being entirely void of reason, he pursues no point 
 either of morality or instruction, but is ludicrous only for the sake 
 of being so. 
 
 Fifthly, Being incapable of anything but mock-representations, 
 his ridicule is always personal, and aimed at the vicious man, or 
 the writer; not at the vice, or at the writing. 
 
 I have here only pointed at the whole species of false humourists ; 
 but as one of my principle designs in this paper is to beat down that 
 malignant spirit which discovers itself in the writings of the present 
 age, I shall not scruple, for the future, to single out any of the small 
 wits that infest the world with such compositions as are ill-natured, 
 immoral, and absurd. This is the only exception which I shall 
 make to the general rule I have prescribed myself, of attacking 
 multitudes; since every honest man ought to look upon himself as 
 in a natural state of war with the libeller and lampooner, and to 
 annoy them wherever they fall in his way. This is but retaliating 
 upon them, and treating them as they treat others. 
 
 A LADY'S LIBRARY 
 
 No. 37.] THURSDAY, APRIL 12, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Non ilia colo calathisve Minervae 
 Fcemineas assueta manus. VntG. 
 
 SOME months ago, my friend Sir Roger, being in the country, 
 enclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain lady whom I shall 
 here call by the name of Leonora, and as it contained matters of 
 consequence, desired me to deliver it to her with my own hand. 
 Accordingly I waited upon her ladyship pretty early in the morning, 
 and was desired by her women to walk into her lady's library, till 
 
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 such time as she was in readiness to receive me. The very sound 
 of a lady's library gave me a great curiosity to see in it; and as it 
 was some time before the lady came to me, I had an opportunity 
 of turning over a great many of her books, which were ranged 
 together in a very beautiful order. At the end of the folios (which 
 were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of China placed one 
 above another in a very noble piece of architecture. The quartos 
 were separated from the octavos by a pile of smaller vessels, which 
 rose in a delightful pyramid. The octavos were bounded by tea- 
 dishes of all shapes, colours, and sizes, which were so disposed on 
 a wooden frame, that they looked like one continued pillar indented 
 with the finest strokes of sculpture, and stained with the greatest 
 variety of dyes. That part of the library which was designed for 
 the reception of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers, was 
 enclosed in a kind of square, consisting of one of the prettiest 
 grotesque works that ever I saw, and made up of scaramouches, 
 lions, monkeys, mandarines, trees, shells, and a thousand other odd 
 figures in China ware. In the midst of the room was a little Japan 
 table, with a quire of gilt paper upon it, and on the paper a silver 
 snuff-box made in the shape of a little book. I found there were 
 several counterfeit books upon the upper shelves, which were 
 carved in wood, and served only to fill up the numbers, like fagots 
 in the muster of a regiment. I was wonderfully pleased with such 
 a mixt kind of furniture, as seemed very suitable to both the lady 
 and the scholar, and did not know at first whether I should fancy 
 myself in a grotto, or in a library. 
 
 Upon my looking into the books, I found there were some few 
 which the lady had bought for her own use, but most of them had 
 been got together, either because she had heard them praised, or 
 because she had seen the authors of them. Among several that I 
 examined I very well remember these that follow: 
 
 Ogilby's Virgil. 
 Dryden's Juvenal. 
 Cassandra. 
 Cleopatra. 
 Astraea. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton's Works. 
 
 The Grand Cyrus; with a pin stuck in one of the middle 
 leaves. 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Pembroke's Arcadia. 
 
 Locke of Human Understanding; with a paper of patches 
 
 in it. 
 
 A spelling-book. 
 
 A Dictionary for the explanation of hard words. 
 Sherlock upon Death. 
 The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony. 
 Sir William Temple's Essays. 
 Father Malbranche's Search after Truth, translated into 
 
 English. 
 
 A Book of Novels. 
 The Academy of Compliments. 
 Culpepper's Midwifery. 
 The Ladies' Calling. 
 Tales in Verse by Mr. Durfey: bound in red leather, gilt on the 
 
 back, and doubled down in several places. 
 All the Classic Authors, in wood. 
 A set of Elzivir's, by the same hand. 
 Clelia: which opened of itself in the place that describes two 
 
 lovers in a bower. 
 Baker's Chronicle. 
 Advice to a Daughter. 
 The new Atalantis, with a Key to it. 
 Mr. Steele's Christian Hero. 
 A Prayer-book; with a bottle of Hungary water by the side 
 
 of it. 
 
 Dr. Sacheverell's Speech. 
 Fielding's Trial. 
 Seneca's Morals. 
 Taylor's holy Living and Dying. 
 La Ferte's Instructions for Country Dances. 
 
 I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these, and several 
 other authors, when Leonora entered, and, upon my presenting her 
 with a letter from the Knight, told me, with an unspeakable grace, 
 that she hoped Sir Roger was in good health. I answered yes; for 
 I hate long speeches, and after a bow or two retired. 
 
 Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is still a very 
 lovely woman. She has been a widow for two or three years, and 
 being unfortunate in her first marriage, has taken a resolution 
 
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 never to venture upon a second. She has no children to take care 
 of, and leaves the management of her estate to my good friend Sir 
 Roger. But as the mind naturally sinks into a kind of lethargy 
 and falls asleep, that is not agitated by some favourite pleasures 
 and pursuits, Leonora has turned all the passions of her sex into a 
 love of books and retirement. She converses chiefly with men, 
 as she has often said herself,) but it is only in their writings ; and 
 admits of very few male- visitants, except my friend Sir Roger, 
 whom she hears with great pleasure, and without scandal. As 
 her reading has lain very much among romances, it has given her a 
 very particular turn of thinking, and discovers itself even in her 
 house, her gardens, and her furniture. Sir Roger has entertained me 
 an hour together with a description of her country seat, which is 
 situated in a kind of wilderness, about an hundred miles distant 
 from London, and looks like a little enchanted palace. The rocks 
 about her are shaped into artificial grottoes, covered with woodbines 
 and jessamines. The woods are cut into shady walks, twisted 
 into bowers, and filled with cages of turtles. The springs are made 
 to run among pebbles, and by that means taught to murmur very 
 agreeably. They are likewise collected into a beautiful lake, that 
 is inhabited by a couple of swans, and empties itself by a little 
 rivulet which runs through a green meadow, and is known in the 
 family by the name of The Purling Stream. The Knight likewise 
 tells me, that this lady preserves her game better than any of the 
 gentlemen in the country. " Not (says Sir Roger) that she sets so 
 great a value upon her partridges and pheasants, as upon her larks 
 and nightingales. For she says that every bird which is killed in 
 her ground, will spoil a concert, and that she shall certainly miss 
 him the next year." 
 
 When I think how oddly this lady is improved by learning, I 
 look upon her with a mixture of admiration and pity. Amidst 
 these innocent entertainments which she has formed to herself, 
 how much more valuable does she appear than those of her sex 
 who employ themselves in diversions that are less reasonable, 
 though more in fashion! What improvements would a woman 
 have made, who is so susceptible of impressions from what she 
 reads, had she been guided to such books as have a tendency to 
 enlighten the understanding and rectify the passions, as well as 
 to those which are of little more use than to divert the imagination ! 
 
 But the manner of a lady's employing herself usefully in reading 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 shall be the subject of another paper, in which I design to recom- 
 mend such part icular books as may be proper for the improvement 
 of the sex. And as this is a subject of a very nice nature, I shall 
 desire my correspondents to give me their thoughts upon it. 
 
 FRENCH FASHIONS 
 No. 45.] SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Natio Comceda est Juv. 
 
 THERE is nothing which I more desire than a safe and honour- 
 able peace, though at the same time I am very apprehensive 
 of many ill consequences that may attend it. I do not mean in 
 regard to our politics, but to our manners. What an inundation of 
 ribbons and brocades will break in upon us ! what peals of laughter 
 and impertinence shall we be exposed to! For the prevention of 
 these great evils, I could heartily wish that there was an act of parlia- 
 ment for prohibiting the importation of French fopperies. 
 
 The female inhabitants of our island have already received very 
 strong impressions from this ludicrous nation, though by the length 
 of the war (as there is no evil which has not some good attending it) 
 they are pretty well worn out and forgotten. I remember the time 
 when some of our well-bred country-women kept their valet de 
 chambre, because, forsooth, a man was much more handy about 
 them than one of their own sex. I myself have seen one of these 
 male Abigails tripping about the room with a looking-glass in his 
 hand, and combing his lady's hair a whole morning together. 
 Whether or no there was any truth in the story of a lady's being got 
 with child by one of these her handmaids, I cannot tell ; but I think 
 at present the whole race of them is extinct in our own country. 
 
 About the time that several of our sex were taken into this kind of 
 service, the ladies likewise brought up the fashion of receiving visits 
 in their beds. It was then looked upon as a piece of ill-breeding 
 for a woman to refuse to see a man because she was not stirring; 
 and a porter would have been thought unfit for his place, that could 
 have made so awkward an excuse. As I love to see everything that 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 is new, I once prevailed upon my friend Will. Honeycomb to carry 
 me along with him to one of these travelled ladies, desiring him, at 
 the same time, to present me as a foreigner who could not speak 
 English, that so I might not be obliged to bear a part in the discourse. 
 The lady, though willing to appear undrest, had put on her best 
 looks, and painted herself for our reception. Her hair appeared in 
 a very nice disorder, as the night-gown which was thrown upon her 
 shoulders was ruffled with great care. For my part, I am so 
 shocked with everything which looks immodest in the fair sex, that 
 I could not forbear taking off my eye from her when she moved in 
 her bed, and was in the greatest confusion imaginable every time 
 she stirred a leg or an arm. As the coquets, who introduced this 
 custom, grew old, they left it off by degrees; well knowing that a 
 woman of threescore may kick and tumble her heart out, without 
 making any impressions. 
 
 Sempronia is at present the most profest admirer of the French 
 nation, but is so modest as to admit her visitants no further than 
 her toilet. It is a very odd sight that beautiful creature makes, 
 when she is talking politics with her tresses flowing about her shoul- 
 ders, and examining that face in the glass, which does such execu- 
 tion upon all the male standers-by. How prettily does she divide 
 her discourse between her woman and her visitants! What 
 sprightly transitions dees she make from an opera or a sermon, to an 
 ivory comb or a pincushion ! How have I been pleased to see her 
 interrupted in an account of her travels by a message to her foot- 
 man! and holding her tongue in the midst of a moral reflection by 
 applying the tip of it to a patch! 
 
 There is nothing which exposes a woman to greater dangers, 
 than that gaiety and airiness of temper, which are natural to most of 
 the sex. It should be therefore the concern of every wise and vir- 
 tuous woman, to keep this sprightliness from degenerating into 
 levity. On the contrary, the whole discourse and behaviour of the 
 French is to make the sex more fantastical, or (as they are pleased 
 to term it) more awakened, than is consistent either with virtue or 
 discretion. To speak loud in public assemblies, to let every one hear 
 you talk of things that should only be mentioned in private, or in 
 whisper, are looked upon as parts of a refined education. At the 
 same time, a blush is unfashionable, and silence more ill-bred than 
 anything that can be spoken. In short, discretion and modesty, 
 which in all other ages and countries have been regarded as the 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 greatest ornaments of the fair sex, are considered as the ingredients 
 of narrow conversation and family behaviour. 
 
 Some years ago I was at the tragedy of Macbeth, and unfortu- 
 nately placed myself under a woman of quality that is since dead; 
 who, as I found by the noise she made, was newly returned from 
 France. A little before the rising of the curtain, she broke out into 
 a loud soliloquy, " When will the dear witches enter ? " and immedi- 
 ately upon their first appearance, asked a lady that sat three boxes 
 from her, on her right hand, if those witches were not charming 
 creatures. A little after, as Betterton was in one of the finest 
 speeches of the play, she shook her fan at another lady, who sat as 
 far on the left hand, and told her with a whisper, that might be heard 
 all over the pit, we must not expect to see Balloon to-night. Not 
 long after, calling out to a young baronet by his name, who sat 
 three seats before me, she asked him whether Macbeth's wife was 
 still alive ; and before he could give an answer, fell a talking of the 
 ghost of Banquo. She had by this time formed a little audience to 
 herself, and fixed the attention of all about her. But as I had a 
 mind to hear the play, I got out of the sphere of her impertinence, 
 and planted myself in one of the remotest corners of the pit. 
 
 This pretty childishness of behaviour is one of the most refined 
 parts of coquetry, and is not to be attained in perfection by ladies 
 that do not travel for their improvement. A natural and uncon- 
 strained behaviour has something in it so agreeable, that it is no 
 wonder to see people endeavouring after it. But at the same time, 
 it is so very hard to hit, when it is not born with us, that people 
 often make themselves ridiculous in attempting it. 
 
 A very ingenious French author tells us, that the ladies of the 
 court of France, in his time, thought it ill-breeding, and a kind of 
 female pedantry, to pronounce an hard word right; for which 
 reason they took frequent occasion to use hard words, that they 
 might show a politeness in murdering them. He further adds, 
 that a lady of some quality at court, having accidentally made use 
 of an hard word in a proper place, and pronounced it right, the 
 whole assembly was out of countenance for her. 
 
 I must, however, be so just to own, that there are many ladies 
 who have travelled several thousands of miles without being the 
 worse for it, and have brought home with them all the modesty, 
 discretion, and good sense, that they went abroad with. As, on 
 the contrary, there are great numbers of travelled ladies, who have 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 lived all their days, within the smoke of London. I have known 
 a woman that never was out of the parish of St. James's betray 
 as many foreign fopperies in her carriage, as she could have gleaned 
 up in half the countries of Europe. 
 
 THE COFFEE-HOUSE 
 
 No. 49.] THURSDAY, APRIL 26, 1711. [STEELE.] 
 
 Hominem pagina nostra sapit. MART. 
 
 Men and their manners I describe. 
 
 IT is very natural for a man who is not turned for mirthful 
 meetings of men, or assemblies of the fair sex, to delight hi 
 that sort of conversation which we find in coffee-houses. Here 
 a man of my temper is in his element; for, if he cannot talk, he can 
 still be more agreeable to his company, as well as pleased in him- 
 self, hi being only a hearer. It is a secret known but to few, yet 
 of no small use in the conduct of life, that when you fall into a man's 
 conversation, the first thing you should consider is, whether he 
 has a greater inclination to hear you, or that you should hear him. 
 The latter is the more general desire, and I know very able flatterers 
 that never speak a word in praise of the persons from whom they 
 obtain daily favours, but still practise a skilful attention to what- 
 ever is uttered by those with whom they converse. We are very 
 curious to observe the behaviour of great men and their clients; 
 but the same passions and interests move men in lower spheres; 
 and I (that have nothing else to do but make observations) see in 
 every parish, street, lane, and alley of this populous city, a little 
 potentate that has his court and his flatterers, who lay snares for 
 his affection and favour, by the same arts that are practised upon 
 men in higher stations. 
 
 In the place I most usually frequent, men differ rather in the 
 time of day in which they make a figure, than in any real greatness 
 above one another. I, who am at the coffee-house at six in the 
 morning, know that my friend Beaver, the haberdasher, has a 
 levee of more undissembled friends and admirers than most of the 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 courtiers or generals of Great Britain. Every man about him has, 
 perhaps, a newspaper in his hand ; but none can pretend to guess 
 what step will be taken in any one court of Europe till Mr. Beaver 
 has thrown down his pipe, and declares what measures the allies 
 must enter into upon this new posture of affairs. Our coffee-house 
 is near one of the inns of court, and Beaver has the audience and 
 admiration of his neighbours from six till within a quarter of eight, 
 at which time he is interrupted by the students of the house; some 
 of whom are ready dressed for Westminster at eight in a morning, 
 with faces as busy as if they were retained in every cause there ; and 
 others come in their night-gowns to saunter away their time as if 
 they never designed to go thither. I do not know that I meet 
 in any of my walks, objects which move both my spleen and laughter 
 so effectually as those young fellows at the Grecian, Squire's, 
 Searle's, and all other coffee-houses adjacent to the law, who rise 
 early for no other purpose but to publish their laziness. One would 
 think that these young virtuosos take a gay cap and slippers, with 
 a scarf and party-coloured gown, to be ensigns of dignity; for the 
 vain things approach each other with an air which shows they 
 regard one another for their vestments. I have observed that the 
 superiority among these proceeds from an opinion of gallantry 
 and fashion. The gentleman in the strawberry sash, who presides 
 so much over the rest, has, it seems, subscribed to every opera this 
 last winter, and is supposed to receive favours from one of the 
 actresses. 
 
 When the day grows too busy for these gentlemen to enjoy any 
 longer the pleasures of their deshabille, with any manner of confi- 
 dence, they give place to men who have business or good sense in 
 their faces, and come to the coffee-house either to transact affairs, 
 or enjoy conversation. The persons to whose behaviour and dis- 
 course I have most regard, are such as are between these two sorts 
 of men; such as have not spirits too active to be happy, and well 
 pleased in a private condition ; nor complexions too warm to make 
 them neglect the duties and relations of life. Of these sort of men 
 consist the worthier part of mankind ; of these are all good fathers, 
 generous brothers, sincere friends, and faithful subjects. Their 
 entertainments are derived rather from reason than imagination; 
 which is the cause that there is no impatience or instability in their 
 speech or action. You see in their countenances they are at home, 
 and in quiet possession of the present instant as it passes, without 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 desiring to quicken it by gratifying any passion, or prosecuting any 
 new design. These are the men formed for society, and those 
 little communities which we express by the word neighbourhoods. 
 
 The coffee-house is the place of rendezvous to all that live near it, 
 who are thus turned to relish calm and ordinary life. Eubulus pre- 
 sides over the middle hours of the day, when this assembly of men 
 meet together. He enjoys a great fortune handsomely, without 
 launching into expense; and exerts many noble and useful qualities, 
 without appearing in any public employment. His wisdom and 
 knowledge are serviceable to all that think fit to make use of them ; 
 and he does the office of a counsel, a judge, an executor, and a 
 friend to all his acquaintance, not only without the profits which 
 attend such offices, but also without the deference and homage 
 which are usually paid to them. The giving of thanks is displeas- 
 ing to him. The greatest gratitude you can show him, is to let him 
 see you are the better man for his services; and that you are as 
 ready to oblige others, as he is to oblige you. 
 
 In the private exigencies of his friends he lends, at legal value, 
 considerable sums, which he might highly increase by rolling in the 
 public stocks. He does not consider in whose hands his money 
 will improve most, but where it will do most good. 
 
 Eubulus has so great an authority in his little diurnal audience, 
 that when he shakes his head at any piece of public news, they all of 
 them appear dejected; and, on the contrary, go home to their din- 
 ners with a good stomach and cheerful aspect when Eubulus seems 
 to intimate that things go well. Nay, their veneration towards him 
 is so great, that when they are in other company they speak and act 
 after him ; are wise in his sentences, and are no sooner sat down at 
 their own tables, but they hope or fear, rejoice or despond, as they 
 saw him do at the coffee-house. In a word, every man is Eubulus 
 as soon as his back is turned. 
 
 Having here given an account of the several reigns that succeed 
 each other from daybreak till dinner-time, I shall mention the mon- 
 archs of the afternoon on another occasion, and shut up the whole 
 series of them with the history of Tom the Tyrant; who, as first 
 minister of the coffee-house, takes the government upon him be- 
 tween the hours of eleven and twelve at night, and gives his orders 
 in the most arbitrary manner to the servants below him, as to the 
 disposition of liquors, coal, and cinders. R. 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 THE ROYAL EXCHANGE 
 
 No. 69.] SATURDAY, MAY 19, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Hie segetes, illic veniunt felicius uvae: 
 Arborei foetus alibi, atque injussa virescunt 
 Gramina. Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolus odores, 
 India mittit ebur, molles sua thura Sabsei ? 
 At Chalybes nudi ferrum, virosaque Pontus 
 Castorea, Eliadum palmas Epirus equarum? 
 Continue has leges aeternaque foedera certis 
 Imposuit natura locis 
 
 VIRG. Georg. i. 54. 
 
 This ground with Bacchus, that with Ceres suits; 
 That other loads the trees with happy fruits; 
 A fourth with grass, unbidden, decks the ground: 
 Thus Tmolus is with yellow saffron crown 'd; 
 India black ebon and white iv'ry bears; 
 And soft Idume weeps her od'rous tears: 
 Thus Pontus sends her beaver stones from far; 
 And naked Spaniards temper steel for war: 
 Epirus for th' Elean chariot breeds 
 (In hopes of palms) a race of running steeds. 
 This is th' original contract; these the laws 
 Impos'd by nature, and by nature's cause. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 THERE is no place in the town which I so much love to frequent 
 as the Royal Exchange. It gives me a secret satisfaction, and 
 in some measure gratifies my vanity, as I am an Englishman, to see so 
 rich an assembly of countrymen and foreigners consulting together 
 upon the private business of mankind, and making this metropolis 
 a kind of emporium for the whole earth. I must confess I look upon 
 high-change to be a great council, in which all considerable nations 
 have their representatives. Factors in the trading world are what 
 ambassadors are in the politic world: they negotiate affairs, con- 
 clude treaties, and maintain a good correspondence between those 
 wealthy societies of men that are divided from one another by seas 
 and oceans, or live on the different extremities of a continent. I 
 have often been pleased to hear disputes adjusted between an in- 
 habitant of Japan and an alderman of London, or to see a subject 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 of the Great Mogul entering into a league with one of the Czar of 
 Muscovy. I am infinitely delighted in mixing with these several 
 ministers of commerce, as they are distinguished by their different 
 walks and different languages. Sometimes I am jostled among a 
 body of Armenians; sometimes I am lost in a crowd of Jews; and 
 sometimes make one in a groupe of Dutchmen. I am a Dane, 
 Swede, or Frenchman at different times; or rather fancy myself like 
 the old philosopher, who, upon being asked what countryman he 
 was, replied, that he was a citizen of the world. 
 
 Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude of people, I 
 am known to nobody there but my friend Sir Andrew, who often 
 smiles upon me as he sees me bustling in the crowd, but at the same 
 time connives at my presence without taking any farther notice of 
 me. There is, indeed, a merchant of Egypt, who just knows me 
 by sight, having formerly remitted me some money to Grand Cairo; 
 but as I am not versed hi the modern Coptic, our conferences go 
 no farther than a bow and a grimace. 
 
 This grand scene of business gives me an infinite variety of solid 
 and substantial entertainments. As I am a great lover of mankind, 
 my heart naturally overflows with pleasure at the sight of a pros- 
 perous and happy multitude, insomuch that at many public calami- 
 ties I cannot forbear expressing my joy with tears that have stolen 
 down my cheeks. For this reason I am wonderfully delighted to 
 see such a body of men thriving in their own private fortunes, and 
 at the same time promoting the public stock; or, hi other words, 
 raising estates for their own families, by bringing into their country 
 whatever is wanting, and carrying out of it whatever is superfluous. 
 
 Nature seems to have taken a particular care to disseminate 
 her blessings among the different regions of the world, with an 
 eye to this mutual intercourse and traffic among mankind, that 
 the natives of the several parts of the globe might have a kind of 
 dependence upon one another, and be united together by their 
 common interest. Almost every degree produces something pecu- 
 liar to it. The food often grows in one country, and the sauce in 
 another. The fruits of Portugal are corrected by the products of 
 Barbadoes, and the infusion of a China plant is sweetened by the 
 pith of an Indian cane. The Philippic islands give a flavour to 
 our European bowls. The single dress of a woman of quality is 
 often the product of a hundred climates. The muff and the fan 
 come together from the different ends of the earth. The scarf 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 is sent from the torrid zone, and the tippet from beneath the pole. 
 The brocade petticoat rises out of the mines of Peru, and the 
 diamond necklace but of the bowels of Indostan. 
 
 If we consider our own country in its natural prospect, without 
 any of the benefits and advantages of commerce, what a barren, 
 uncomfortable spot of earth falls to our share ! Natural historians 
 tell us,that no fruit grows originally among us besides hips and haws, 
 acorns, and pig-nuts, with other delicacies of the like nature; that 
 our climate, of itself, and without the assistance of art, can make 
 no farther advances towards a plum than to a sloe, and carries an 
 apple to no greater perfection than a crab; that our melons, our 
 peaches, our figs, our apricots, and cherries, are strangers among 
 us, imported in different ages, and naturalized in our English 
 gardens; and that they would all degenerate and fall away into 
 the trash of our own country, if they were wholly neglected by the 
 planter, and left to the mercy of our sun and soil. Nor has traffic 
 more enriched our vegetable world, than it has improved the whole 
 face of nature among us. Our ships are laden with the harvest 
 of every climate. Our tables are stored with spices, and oils, and 
 wines. Our rooms are filled with pyramids of China, and adorned 
 with the workmanship of Japan. Our morning's draught comes 
 to us from the remotest corners of the earth. We repair our bodies 
 by the drugs of America, and repose ourselves under Indian canopies. 
 My friend Sir Andrew calls the vineyards of France our gardens; 
 the spice-islands, our hot-beds; the Persians, our silk-weavers; 
 and the Chinese, our potters. Nature, indeed, furnishes us with 
 the bare necessaries of life, but traffic gives us a great variety of 
 what is useful, and at the same time supplies us with everything 
 that is convenient and ornamental. Nor is it the least part of this 
 our happiness, that whilst we enjoy the remotest products of the 
 North and South, we are free from those extremities of weather 
 which give them birth; that our eyes are refreshed with the green 
 fields of Britain, at the same time that our palates are feasted with 
 fruits that rise between the tropics. 
 
 For these reasons, there are not more useful members in a com- 
 monwealth than merchants. They knit mankind together in a 
 mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute the gifts of nature, 
 find work for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnificence 
 to the great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his own 
 country into gold, and exchanges his wool for rubies. The Ma- 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 hometans are clothed in our British manufacture, and the inhabi- 
 tants of the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep. 
 
 When I have been upon the 'Change, I have often fancied one 
 of our old kings standing in person where he is represented in 
 effigy, and looking down upon the wealthy concourse of people 
 with which that place is every day filled. In this case, how would 
 he be surprised to hear all the languages of Europe spoken in this 
 little spot of his former dominions, and to see so many private men, 
 who in his time would have been the vassals of some powerful 
 baron, negotiating like princes for greater sums of money than 
 were formerly to be met with in the royal treasury! Trade, without 
 enlarging the British territories, has given us a kind of additional 
 empire. It has multiplied the number of the rich, made our landed 
 estates infinitely more valuable than they were formerly, and added 
 to them an accession of other estates as valuable as the lands them- 
 selves. C. 
 
 THE EVERLASTING CLUB 
 
 No. 72.] WEDNESDAY, MAY 23, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Genus immortale manet, multosque per annos 
 Stat fortuna domus, et avi numerantur avorum. 
 
 VIRG. Georg. iv. 208. 
 
 Th' immortal line in sure succession reigns, 
 
 The fortune of the family remains, 
 
 And grandsire's grandsons the long list contains. 
 
 HAVING already given my reader an account of several extraor- 
 dinary clubs both ancient and modern, I did not design to 
 have troubled him with any more narratives of this nature; but I 
 have lately received information of a club, which I can call neither 
 ancient nor modern, that I dare say will be no less surprising to my 
 reader than it was to myself; for which reason I shall communicate 
 it to the public as one of the greatest curiosities in its kind. 
 
 A friend of mine complaining of a tradesman who is related to 
 him, after having represented him as a very idle worthless fellow, 
 who neglected his family and spent most of his time over a bottle, 
 told me, to conclude his character, that he was a member of the 
 
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 Everlasting Club. So very odd a title raised my curiosity to inquire 
 into the nature of a club that had such a sounding name; upon 
 which my friend gave me the following account: 
 
 The Everlasting Club consists of a hundred members, who divide 
 the whole twenty-four hours among them in such a manner, that 
 the club sits day and night from one end of the year to another; 
 no party presuming to rise till they are relieved by those who are in 
 course to succeed them. By this means a member of the Ever- 
 lasting Club never wants company; for though he is not upon duty 
 himself, he is sure to find some who are; so that if he be disposed 
 to take a whet, a nooning, an evening's draught, or a bottle after 
 midnight, he goes to the club, and finds a knot of friends to his 
 mind. 
 
 It is a maxim in this club that the steward never dies ; for as they 
 succeed one another by way of rotation, no man is to quit the great 
 elbow-chair which stands at the upper end of the table, till his suc- 
 cessor is in readiness to fill it; insomuch that there has not been 
 a sede vacante in the memory of man. 
 
 This club was instituted towards the end (or, as some of them 
 say, about the middle) of the civil wars, and continued without 
 interruption till the time of the great fire, which burnt them out, 
 and dispersed them for several weeks. The steward at that time 
 maintained his post till he had like to have been blown up with a 
 neighbouring house (which was demolished in order to stop the 
 fire) ; and would not leave the chair at last, till he had emptied all 
 the bottles upon the table, and received repeated directions from 
 the club to withdraw himself. This steward is frequently talked 
 of in the club, and looked upon by every member of it as a greater 
 man than the famous captain mentioned in my Lord Clarendon, 
 who was burnt in his ship because he would not quit it without orders. 
 It is said that towards the close of 1700, being the great year of 
 Jubilee, the club had it under consideration whether they should 
 break up or continue their session; but after many speeches and 
 debates, it was at length agreed to sit out the other century. This 
 resolution passed in a general club nemine contradicente. 
 
 Having given this short account of the institution and continuation 
 of the Everlasting Club, I should here endeavour to say something 
 of the manners and characters of its several members, which I shall 
 do according to the best light I have received in this matter. 
 
 It appears by their books in general, that, since their first institu- 
 
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 tion, they have smoked fifty tons of tobacco, drank thirty thousand 
 butts of ale, one thousand hogsheads of red port, two hundred 
 barrels of brandy, and a kilderkin of small beer. There has been 
 likewise a great consumption of cards. It is also said that they 
 observe the law in Ben Jonson's club, which orders the fire to be 
 always kept in (jocus perennis estd), as well for the convenience of 
 lighting their pipes, as to cure the dampness of the club-room. 
 They have an old woman hi the nature of a vestal, whose business 
 it is to cherish and perpetuate the fire which burns from generation 
 to generation, and has seen the glass-house fires in and out above a 
 hundred times. 
 
 The Everlasting Club treats all other clubs with an eye of con- 
 tempt, and talks even of the Kit-Cat and October as a couple of 
 upstarts. Their ordinary discourse (as much as I have been able 
 to learn of it) turns altogether upon such adventures as have passed 
 in their own assembly; of members who have taken the glass hi their 
 turns for a week together, without stirring out of the club; of others 
 who have smoked a hundred pipes at a sitting; of others who have 
 not missed their morning's draught for twenty years together. 
 Sometimes they speak in raptures of a run of ale in king Charles's 
 reign; and sometimes reflect with astonishment upon games at 
 whist, which have been miraculously recovered by members of 
 the society, when in all human probability the case was desperate. 
 
 They delight hi several old catches, which they sing at all hours 
 to encourage one another to moisten their clay, and grow immortal 
 by drinking; with many other edifying exhortations of the like 
 nature. 
 
 There are four general clubs held in a year, at which times they 
 fill up vacancies, appoint waiters, confirm the old firemaker or elect 
 a new one, settle contributions for coals, pipes, tobacco, and other 
 necessaries. 
 
 The senior member has outlived the whole club twice over, and 
 has been drunk with the grandfathers of some of the present sitting 
 members. C. 
 
 201
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 PARTY PATCHES 
 
 No. 81.] SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 1711. 
 
 Qualis ubi audito venantum murmure Tigris 
 Horruit in maculas. STATIUS. 
 
 As when the tigress hears the hunter's din, 
 Dark angry spots distain her glossy skin. 
 
 ABOUT the middle of last winter I went to see an opera at the 
 theatre in the Haymarket, where I could not but take notice 
 of two parties of very fine women, that had placed themselves in 
 the opposite side-boxes, and seemed drawn up in a kind of battle 
 array one against another. After a short survey of them, I found 
 they were patched differently; the faces on one hand, being spotted 
 on the right side of the forehead, and those upon the other on the 
 left. I quickly perceived that they cast hostile glances upon one an- 
 other; and that their patches were placed in those different situations, 
 as party-signals to distinguish friends from foes. In the middle boxes, 
 between these two opposite bodies, were several ladies who patched 
 indifferently on both sides of their faces, and seemed to sit there 
 with no other intention but to see the opera. Upon inquiry I 
 found, that the body of Amazons on my right hand, were Whigs, 
 and those on my left, Tories; and that those who had placed them- 
 selves in the middle boxes were a neutral party, whose faces had not 
 yet declared themselves. These last, however, as I afterwards 
 found, diminished daily, and took their party with one side or the 
 other; insomuch that I observed in several of them, the patches, 
 which were before dispersed equally, are now all gone over to the 
 Whig or Tory side of the face. The censorious say, that the men, 
 whose hearts are aimed at, are very often the occasions that one part 
 cf the face is thus dishonoured, and lies under a kind of. disgrace, 
 while the other is so much set off and adorned by the owner; and 
 that the patches turn to the right or to the left, according to the 
 principles of the man who is most in favour. But whatever may 
 be the motives of a few fantastical coquettes, who do not patch for 
 the public good so much as for their own private advantage, it is 
 certain, that there are several women of honour who patch out of 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 principle, and with an eye to the interest of their country. Nay, 
 I am informed that some of them adhere so stedfastly to their party, 
 and are so far from sacrificing their zeal for the public to their 
 passion for any particular person, that in a late draft of marriage 
 articles a lady has stipulated with her husband, that, whatever his 
 opinions are, she shall be at liberty to patch on which side she 
 pleases. 
 
 I must here take notice, that Rosalinda, a famous Whig partisan, 
 has most unfortunately a very beautiful mole on the Tory part of 
 her forehead ; which being very conspicuous, has occasioned many 
 mistakes, and given a handle to her enemies to misrepresent her 
 face, as though it had revolted from the Whig interest. But, 
 whatever this natural patch may seem to intimate, it is well known 
 that her notions of government are still the same. This unlucky 
 mole, however, has misled several coxcombs; and like the hanging 
 out of false colours, made some of them converse with Rosalinda 
 in what they thought the spirit of her party, when on a sudden she 
 has given them an unexpected fire, that has sunk them all at once. 
 If Rosalinda is unfortunate in her mole, Nigranilla is as unhappy in 
 a pimple, which forces her, against her inclinations, to patch on 
 the Whig side. 
 
 I am told that many virtuous matrons, who formerly have been 
 taught to believe that this artificial spotting of the face was unlaw- 
 ful, are now reconciled by a zeal for their cause, to what they could 
 not be prompted by a concern for their beauty. This way of declar- 
 ing war upon one another, puts me in mind of what is reported of 
 the tigress, that several spots rise in her skin when she is angry, or 
 as Mr. Cowley has imitated the verses that stand as the motto on 
 this paper, 
 
 She swells with angry pride, 
 
 And calls forth all her spots on ev'ry side. 
 
 When I was in the theatre the time above-mentioned, I had the 
 curiosity to count the patches on both sides, and found the Tory 
 patches to be about twenty stronger than the Whig; but to make 
 amends for this small inequality, I the next morning found the 
 whole puppet-show filled with faces spotted after the Whiggish 
 manner. Whether or no the ladies had retreated hither in order to 
 rally their forces I cannot tell; but the next night they came in so 
 great a body to the opera, that they outnumbered the enemy. 
 
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 This account of party patches will, I am afraid, appear improb- 
 able to those who live at a distance from the fashionable world ; but 
 as it is a distinction of a very singular nature, and what perhaps 
 may never meet with a parallel, I think I should not have discharged 
 the office of a faithful Spectator, had I not recorded it. 
 
 I have, in former papers, endeavoured to expose this party-rage 
 in women, as it only serves to aggravate the hatreds and animosities 
 that reign among men, and in a great measure deprive the fair 
 sex of those peculiar charms with which nature has endowed them. 
 
 When the Romans and Sabines were at war, and just upon the 
 point of giving battle, the women, who were allied to both of them, 
 interposed with so many tears and entreaties, that they prevented 
 the mutual slaughter which threatened both parties, and united 
 them together in a firm and lasting peace. 
 
 I would recommend this noble example to our British ladies, 
 at a time when their country is torn with so many unnatural divi- 
 sions, that if they continue, it will be a misfortune to be born in it. 
 The Greeks thought it so improper for women to interest themselves 
 in competitions and contentions, that for this reason, among others, 
 they forbad them, under pain of death, to be present at the Olympic 
 games, notwithstanding these were the public diversions of all 
 Greece. 
 
 As our English women excel those of all nations in beauty, they 
 should endeavour to outshine them in all other accomplishments 
 proper to the sex, and to distinguish themselves as tender mothers, 
 and faithful wives, rather than as furious partisans. Female 
 virtues are of a domestic turn. The family is the proper province 
 for private women to shine in. If they must be showing their 
 zeal for the public, let it not be against those who are perhaps of 
 the same family, or at least of the same religion or nation, but against 
 those who are the open, professed, undoubted enemies of their 
 faith, liberty, and country. When the Romans were pressed with 
 a foreign enemy, the ladies voluntarily contributed all their rings 
 and jewels to assist the government under a public exigence, which 
 appeared so laudable an action in the eyes of their countrymen, 
 that from thenceforth it was permitted by a law to pronounce public 
 orations at the funeral of a woman in praise of the deceased person, 
 which till that time was peculiar to men. Would our English 
 ladies, instead of sticking on a patch against those of their own 
 country, show themselves so truly public-spirited as to sacrifice 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 every one her necklace against the common enemy, what decrees 
 ought not to be made in favour of them ? 
 
 Since I am recollecting upon this subject such passages as occur 
 to my memory out of ancient authors, I cannot omit a sentence in 
 the celebrated funeral oration of Pericles, which he made in honour 
 of those brave Athenians that were slain in a fight with the Lacedae- 
 monians. After having addressed himself to the several ranks and 
 orders of his countrymen, and shown them how they should behave 
 themselves in the public cause, he turns to the female part of his 
 audience: "And as for you (says he) I shah 1 advise you in very few 
 words: Aspire only to those virtues that are peculiar to your sex; 
 follow your natural modesty, and think it your greatest commenda- 
 tion not to be talked of one way or other." 
 
 C. 
 
 ON PHYSIOGNOMY 
 
 No. 86.] FRIDAY, JUNE 8, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere vultu! OVID. 
 
 THERE are several arts which all men are in some measure 
 masters of, without having been at the pains of learning them. 
 Every one that speaks or reasons is a grammarian and a logician, 
 though he may be wholly unacquainted with the rules of grammar 
 or logic, as they are delivered hi books and systems. In the same 
 manner, every one is in some degree a master of that art which is 
 generally distinguished by the name of physiognomy; and naturally 
 forms to himself the character or fortune of a stranger, from the 
 features and lineaments of his face. We are no sooner presented to 
 any one we never saw before, but we are immediately struck with 
 the idea of a proud, a reserved, an affable, or a good-natured man; 
 and upon our first going into a company of strangers, our benevo- 
 lence or aversion, awe or contempt, rises naturally towards several 
 particular persons, before we have heard them speak a single word, 
 or so much as know who they are. 
 
 Every passion gives a particular cast to the countenance, and is 
 apt to discover itself in some feature or other. I have seen an eye 
 curse for half an hour together, and an eye-brow call a man scoundrel. 
 
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 Nothing is more common than for lovers to complain, resent, 
 languish, despair, and die, in dumb show. For my own part, I am 
 so apt to frame a notion of every man's humour or circumstances by 
 his looks, that I have sometimes employed myself from Charing- 
 Cross to the Royal Exchange in drawing the characters of those who 
 have passed by me. When I see a man with a sour, rivelled face, I 
 cannot forbear pitying his wife; and when I meet with an open, in- 
 genuous countenance, think on the happiness of his friends, his 
 family, and relations. 
 
 I cannot recollect the author of a famous saying to a stranger who 
 stood silent in his company, " Speak, that I may see thee." But, 
 with submission, I think we may be better known by our looks than 
 by our words, and that a man's speech is much more easily dis- 
 guised than his countenance. In this case, however, I think the 
 air of the whole face is much more expressive than the lines of it: 
 the truth of it is, the air is generally nothing else but the inward dis- 
 position of the mind made visible. 
 
 Those who have established physiognomy into an art, and laid 
 down rules of judging men's tempers by their faces, have regarded 
 the features much more than the air. Martial has a pretty epi- 
 gram on this subject. 
 
 Crine ruber, niger ore, brevis pede, lumine laesus; 
 Rem magnam praestas, Zoile, si bonus es. 
 
 Thy beard and head are of a different dye; 
 Short of one foot, distorted in an eye; 
 With all these tokens of a knave complete, 
 Should'st thou be honest, thou'rt a dev'lish cheat. 
 
 I have seen a very ingenious author on this subject, who founds 
 his speculations on the supposition, that as a man hath in the mould 
 of his face a remote likeness to that of an ox, a sheep, a lion, an hog, 
 or any other creature, he hath the same resemblance in the frame 
 of his mind, and is subject to those passions which are predominate 
 in the creature that appears in his countenance. Accordingly he 
 gives the prints of several faces that are of a different mould, and by 
 a little overcharging the likeness, discovers the figures of these sev- 
 eral kinds of brutal faces in human features. I remember in the 
 Life of the famous Prince of Conde", the writer observes, the face 
 of that prince was like the face of an eagle, and that the prince was 
 very well pleased to be told so. In this case, therefore, we may be 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 sure, that he had in his mind some general, implicit notion of this 
 art of physiognomy which I have just now mentioned; and that 
 when his courtiers told him his face was made like an eagle's, he 
 understood them in the same manner as if they had told him, there 
 was something in his looks which showed him to be strong, active, 
 piercing, and of a royal descent. Whether or no the different 
 motions of the animal spirits in different passions, may have any 
 effect on the mould of the face when the lineaments are pliable and 
 tender, or whether the same kind of souls require the same kind of 
 habitations, I shall leave to the consideration of the curious. In the 
 mean time I think nothing can be more glorious than for a man to 
 give the lie to his face, and to be an honest, just, and good-natured 
 man, in spite of all those marks and signatures which nature seems 
 to have set upon him for the contrary. This very often happens 
 among those, who, instead of being exasperated by their own looks, 
 or envying the looks of others, apply themselves entirely to the culti- 
 vating of their minds, and getting those beauties which are more 
 lasting, and more ornamental. I have seen many an amiable piece 
 of deformity: and have observed a certain cheerfulness in as bad a 
 system of features as ever was clapped together, which hath ap- 
 peared more lovely than all the blooming charms of an insolent 
 beauty. There is a double praise due to virtue, when it is lodged 
 in a body that seems to have been prepared for the reception of vice ; 
 in many such cases the soul and the body do not seem to be fellows. 
 Socrates was an extraordinary instance of this nature. There 
 chanced to be a great physiognomist in his time at Athens, who had 
 made strange discoveries of men's tempers and inclinations by their 
 outward appearances. Socrates's disciples, that they might put 
 this artist to the trial, carried him to their master, whom he had 
 never seen before, and did not know he was then in company with 
 him. After a short examination of his face, the physiognomist pro- 
 nounced him the most rude, libidinous, drunken old fellow that he 
 had ever met with in his whole life. Upon which the disciples all 
 burst out a laughing, as thinking they had detected the falsehood 
 and vanity of his art. But Socrates told them, that the principles of 
 his art might be very true, notwithstanding his present mistake ; for 
 that he himself was naturally inclined to those particular vices 
 which the physiognomist had discovered in his countenance, but 
 <hat he had conquered the strong dispositions he was born with, 
 by the dictates of philosophy. 
 
 207
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 We are indeed told by an ancient author, that Socrates very much 
 resembled Silenus in his face; which we find to have been very 
 rightly observed from the statues and busts of both that are still ex- 
 tant; as well as on several antique seals and precious stones, which 
 are frequently enough to be met with in the cabinets of the curious. 
 But, however observations of this nature may sometimes hold, a 
 wise man should be particularly cautious how he gives credit to a 
 man's outward appearance. It is an irreparable injustice we are 
 guilty of towards one another, when we are prejudiced by the looks 
 and features of those whom we do not know. How often do we con- 
 ceive hatred against a person of worth; or fancy a man to be proud 
 and ill-natured by his aspect, whom we think we cannot esteem too 
 much when we are acquainted with his real character ! Dr. Moore 
 in his admirable System of Ethics, reckons this particular inclination 
 to take a prejudice against a man for his looks, among the smaller 
 vices in morality, and, if I remember, gives it the name of a Proso- 
 polepsia. 
 
 ADVENTURE OF M. PONTIGNAN 
 No. 90.] WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Magnus sine viribus ignis 
 
 Incassum furit. VIRG. 
 
 THERE is not, in my opinion, a consideration more effectual 
 to extinguish inordinate desires in the soul of man, than the 
 notions of Plato and his followers upon that subject. They tell 
 us, that every passion which has been contracted by the soul during 
 her residence in the body, remains with her in a separate state ; and 
 that the soul hi the body, or out of the body, differs no more than 
 the man does from himself when he is in his house, or in open air. 
 When, therefore, the obscene passions in particular have once 
 taken root, and spread themselves in the soul, they cleave to her 
 inseparably, and remain in her for ever, after the body is cast off 
 and thrown aside. As an argument to confirm this their doctrine, 
 they observe, that a lewd youth, who goes on in a continued course 
 of voluptuousness, advances by degrees into a libidinous old man; 
 and that the passion survives in the mind when it is altogether dead 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 in the body; nay, that the desire grows more violent, and (like all 
 other habits) gathers strength by age, at the same time that it has 
 no power of executing its own purposes. If, say they, the soul is 
 the most subject to these passions at a time when she has the least 
 instigation from the body, we may well suppose she will still retain 
 them when she is entirely divested of it. The very substance of 
 the soul is festered with them; the gangrene is gone too far to be 
 ever cured : the inflammation will rage to all eternity. 
 
 In this, therefore, (say the Platonists,) consists the punishment 
 of a voluptuous man after death : he is tormented with desires which 
 it is impossible for him to gratify, solicited by a passion that has 
 neither objects nor organs adapted to it: he lives in a state of invin- 
 cible desire and impotence, and always burns in the pursuit of what 
 he always despairs to possess. It is for this reason (says Plato) 
 that the souls of the dead appear frequently in cemeteries, and 
 hover about the places where their bodies are buried, as still hanker- 
 ing after their old brutal pleasures, and desiring again to enter the 
 body that gave them an opportunity of fulfilling them. 
 
 Some of our most eminent divines have made use of this Platonic 
 notion, so far as it regards the subsistence of our passions after 
 death, with great beauty and strength of reason. Plato, indeed, 
 carries his thought very far, when he grafts upon it his opinion of 
 ghosts appearing in places of burial. Though, I must confess, 
 if one did believe that the departed souls of men and women wan- 
 dered up and down these lower regions, and entertained themselves 
 with the sight of their species, one could not devise a more proper 
 hell for an impure spirit than that which Plato has touched upon. 
 
 The ancients seem to have drawn such a state of torments in the 
 description of Tantalus, who was punished with the rage of an 
 eternal thirst, and set up to the chin in water, that fled from his 
 lips whenever he attempted to drink it. 
 
 Virgil, who has cast the whole system of Platonic philosophy, 
 so far as it relates to the soul of man, into beautiful allegories, in 
 the sixth book of his ALneid, gives us the punishment of a volup- 
 tuary after death, not unlike that which we are here speaking of. 
 
 Lucent genialibus altis 
 Aurea fulcra tons, epulaeque ante ora paratae 
 Regifico luxu; furiarum maxima juxta 
 Accubac, et manibus prohibet contingere mensas; 
 Exurgitque facem attollens, atque intonat ore. 
 
 2Og
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 They lie below on golden beds displayed, 
 And genial feasts with regal pomp are made. 
 The queen of furies by their side is set, 
 And snatches from their mouths the untasted meat; 
 Which if they touch, her hissing snakes she rears, 
 Tossing her torch, and thundering in their ears. DRYDEN. 
 
 That I may a little alleviate the severity of this my speculation, 
 (which otherwise may lose me several of my polite readers,) I shall 
 translate a story that has been quoted upon another occasion by 
 one of the most learned men of the present age, as I find it in the 
 original. The reader will see it is not foreign to my present subject, 
 and I dare say will think it a lively representation of a person lying 
 under the torments of such a kind of tantalism, or Platonic hell, 
 as that which we have now under consideration. Monsieur Pon- 
 tignan, speaking of a love-adventure that happened to him in the 
 country, gives the following account of it. 
 
 " When I was in the country last summer, I was often in company 
 with a couple of charming women, who had all the wit and beauty 
 one could desire in female companions, with a dash of coquetry, 
 that from time to time gave me a great many agreeable torments. 
 I was, after my way, in love with both of them, and had such 
 frequent opportunities of pleading my passion to them when they 
 were asunder, that I had reason to hope for particular favours from 
 each of them. As I was walking one evening in my chamber with 
 nothing about me but my night-gown, they both came into my room, 
 and told me they had a very pleasant trick to put upon a gentleman 
 that was in the same house, provided I would bear a part in it. 
 Upon this they told me such a plausible story, that I laughed at 
 their contrivance, and agreed to do whatever they should require 
 of me. They immediately began to swaddle me up in my night- 
 gown with long pieces of linen, which they folded about me till 
 they had wrapt me in above an hundred yards of swathe : my arms 
 were pressed to my sides, and my legs closed together by so many 
 wrappers one over another, that I looked like an Egyptian mummy. 
 As I stood bolt upright upon one end in this antique figure, one of 
 the ladies burst out a laughing. 'And now, Pontignan, (says she) 
 we intend to perform the promise that we find you have extorted 
 from each of us. You have often asked the favour of us, and I 
 dare say you are a better bred cavalier than to refuse to go to bed 
 to ladies that desire it of you.' After having stood a fit of laughter, 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 I begged them to uncase me, and do with me what they pleased. 
 'No, no, (say they,) we like you very well as you are;' and upon 
 that ordered me to be carried to one of their houses, and put to 
 bed in all my swaddles. The room was lighted up on all sides; 
 and I was laid very decently between a pah* of sheets, with my head 
 (which was, indeed, the only part I could move), upon a very high 
 pillow: this was no sooner done, but my two female friends came 
 into bed to me in their finest night-clothes. You may easily guess 
 at the condition of a man that saw a couple of the most beautiful 
 women in the world undrest and abed with him, without being able 
 to stir hand or foot. I begged them to release me, and struggled 
 all I could to get loose, which I did with so much violence, that 
 about midnight they both leaped out of bed, crying out they were 
 undone. But seeing me safe, they took their posts again, and 
 renewed their raillery. Finding all my prayers and endeavours 
 were lost, I composed myself as well as I could ; and told them, that 
 if they would not unbind me, I would fall asleep between them, 
 and by that means disgrace them for ever. But, alas! this was 
 impossible; could I have been disposed to it, they would have pre- 
 vented me by several little ill-natured caresses and endearments 
 which they bestowed upon me. As much devoted as I am to woman- 
 kind, I would not pass such another night to be master of the whole 
 sex. My reader will doubtless be curious to know what became of 
 me the next morning: why, truly, my bed -fellows left me about an 
 hour before day, and told me if I would be good, and lie still, they 
 would send somebody to take me up as soon as it was time for me 
 to rise. Accordingly about nine o'clock in the morning an old 
 woman came to unswathe me. I bore all this very patiently, being 
 resolved to take my revenge of my tormentors, and to keep no 
 measures with them as soon as I was at liberty; but upon asking my 
 old woman what was become of the two ladies, she told me she 
 believed they were by that time within sight of Paris, for that they 
 went away in a coach and six before five-a-clock in the morning." 
 
 211
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 EXERCISE OF THE FAN 
 No. 102.] WEDNESDAY, JUNE 27, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Lusus animo debent aliquando dari, 
 Ad cogitandum melior ut redeat sibi. PHJEDR. 
 
 I DO not know whether to call the following letter a satire upon 
 coquettes, or a representation of their several fantastical 
 accomplishments, or what other title to give it; but as it is I shall 
 communicate it to the public. It will sufficiently explain its own 
 intentions, so that I shall give it my reader at length, without either 
 preface or postscript. 
 
 "MR. SPECTATOR, Women are armed with fans as men with 
 swords, and sometimes do more execution with them. To the end , 
 therefore, that ladies may be entire mistresses of the weapon which 
 they bear, I have erected an Academy for the training up of young 
 women in the Exercise of the Fan, according to the most fashion- 
 able airs and motions that are now practised at court. The ladies 
 who carry fans under me are drawn up twice a day in my great 
 hall, where they are instructed in the use of their arms, and exer- 
 cised by the following words of command: 
 
 Handle your Fans, 
 Unfurl your Fans, 
 Discharge your Fans, 
 Ground your Fans, 
 Recover your Fans, 
 Flutter your Fans, 
 
 By the right observation of these few plain words of command, a 
 woman of tolerable genius who will apply herself diligently to her 
 exercise for the space of one half year, shall be able to give her fan 
 all the graces that can possibly enter into that little modish machine. 
 
 "But to the end that my readers may form to themselves a 
 right notion of this exercise, I beg leave to explain it to them hi all 
 its parts. When my female regiment is drawn up in array, with 
 every one her weapon in her hand, upon my giving the word to 
 
 312
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Handle their Fans, each of them shakes her fan at me with a smile, 
 then gives her right-hand woman a tap upon the shoulder, then 
 presses her lips with the extremity of her fan, then lets her arms 
 fall in an easy motion, and stands in readiness to receive the next 
 word of command. All this is done with a close fan, and is gener- 
 ally learned in the first week. 
 
 "The next motion is that of Unfurling the Fan, in which are 
 comprehended several little flirts and vibrations, as also gradual 
 and deliberate openings, with many voluntary fallings asunder in the 
 fan itself, that are seldom learned under a month's practice. This 
 part of the exercise pleases the spectators more than any other, as 
 it discovers on a sudden an infinite number of Cupids, garlands, 
 altars, birds, beasts, rainbows, and the like agreeable figures, that 
 display themselves to view, whilst every one in the regiment holds a 
 picture in her hand. 
 
 "Upon my giving the word to Discharge their Fans, they give 
 one general crack, that may be heard at a considerable distance 
 when the wind sits fair. This is one of the most difficult parts of 
 the exercise; but I have several ladies with me, who at their first 
 entrance could not give a pop loud enough to be heard at the further 
 end of a room, who can now Discharge a Fan in such a manner, 
 that it shall make a report like a pocket-pistol. I have likewise 
 taken care (in order to hinder young women from letting off their 
 fans in wrong places or unsuitable occasions) to show upon what 
 subject the crack of a fan may come in properly. I have likewise 
 invented a fan, with which a girl of sixteen, by the help of a little 
 wind which is enclosed about one of the largest sticks, can make as 
 loud a crack as a woman of fifty with an ordinary fan. 
 
 "When the fans are thus discharged, the word of command in 
 course is to Ground their Fans. This teaches a lady to quit her 
 fan gracefully when she throws it aside, in order to take up a pack of 
 cards, adjust a curl of hair, replace a fallen pin, or apply herself 
 to any other matter of importance. This part of the exercise, as it 
 only consists in tossing a fan with an air upon a long table (which 
 stands by for that purpose) may be learnt in two days' time as well 
 as in a twelvemonth. 
 
 "When my female regiment is thus disarmed, I generally let 
 them walk about the room for some time; when on a sudden (like 
 ladies that look upon their watches after a long visit) they all of 
 them hasten to their arms, catch them up in a hurry, and place 
 
 213
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 themselves in their proper stations, upon my calling out Recover 
 your Fans. This part of the exercise is not difficult, provided a 
 woman applies her thoughts to it. 
 
 "The Fluttering of the Fan is the last, and, indeed, the master- 
 piece of the whole exercise; but if a lady does not misspend her 
 time, she may make herself mistress of it in three months. I 
 generally lay aside the dog-days and the hot time of the summer 
 for the teaching of this part of the exercise; for as soon as ever I 
 pronounce Flutter your Fans, the place is filled with so many 
 zephyrs and gentle breezes as are very refreshing in that season 
 of the year, though they might be dangerous to ladies of a tender 
 constitution in any other. 
 
 " There is an infinite variety of motions to be made use of in the 
 Flutter of a Fan: there is the angry flutter, the modest flutter, the 
 timorous flutter, the confused flutter, the merry flutter, and the 
 amorous flutter. Not to be tedious, there is scarce any emotion 
 in the mind which does not produce a suitable agitation in the fan ; 
 insomuch, that if I only see the fan of a disciplined lady, I know 
 very well whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes. I have seen a 
 fan so very angry, that it would have been dangerous for the absent 
 lover who provoked it to have come within the wind of it; and at 
 other times so very languishing, that I have been glad for the lady's 
 sake the lover was at a sufficient distance from it. I need not add, 
 that a fan is either a prude or coquette, according to the nature of 
 the person who bears it. To conclude my letter, I must acquaint 
 you, that I have from my own observations compiled a little treatise 
 for the use of my scholars, entitled, The Passions of the Fan; which 
 I will communicate to you, if you think it may be of use to the 
 public. I shall have a general review on Thursday next; to which 
 you shall be very welcome if you will honour it with your presence. 
 
 "I am," &c. 
 
 "P. S. I teach young gentlemen the whole art of gallanting a fan. 
 
 " N. B. I have several little plain fans made for this use, to avoid 
 expense." 
 
 214
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ON PEDANTRY 
 
 No. 105.] SATURDAY, JUNE 30, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Id arbitror 
 
 Adprime in vita esse utile, NE QUID NIMIS. 
 
 TER. Andr. Act i, Sc. i. 
 
 I take it to be a principal rule of life not to be too much 
 
 addicted to one thing. 
 Too much of any thing, is good for nothing. 
 
 MY friend Will Honeycomb values himself very much upon 
 what he calls the knowledge of mankind, which has cost him 
 many disasters in his youth ; for Will reckons every misfortune that 
 he has met with among the women, and every rencounter among 
 the men, as parts of his education; and fancies he should never 
 have been the man he is had he not broke windows, knocked down 
 constables, disturbed honest people with his midnight serenades, 
 and beat up a lewd woman's quarters when he was a young fellow. 
 The engaging in adventures of this nature Will calls the studying 
 of mankind; and terms this knowledge of the town the knowledge 
 of the world. Will ingeniously confesses that fcr half his life his 
 head ached every morning with reading of men over-night; and 
 at present comforts himself under certain pains which he endures 
 from time to time, that without them he could not have been ac- 
 quainted with the gallantries of the age. This Will looks upon 
 as the learning of a gentleman, and regards all other kind of science 
 as the accomplishments of one whom he calls a scholar, a bookish 
 man, or a philosopher. 
 
 For these reasons Will shines in mixed company, where he has 
 the discretion not to go out of his depth, and has often a certain 
 way of making his real ignorance appear a seeming one. Our 
 club, however, has frequently caught him tripping, at which times 
 they never spare him. For as Will often insults us with the knowl- 
 edge of the town, we sometimes take our revenge upon him by cur 
 knowledge of books. 
 
 He was last week producing two or three letters which he writ 
 in his youth to a coquette lady. The raillery of them was natural, 
 and well enough for a mere man of the town; but very unluckily 
 several of the words were wrong spelt. Will laughed this off at 
 
 215
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 first as well as he could; but finding himself pushed on all sides, 
 and especially by the Templar, he told us with a little passion that 
 he never liked pedantry in spelling, and that he spelt like a gentle- 
 man and not like a scholar. Upon this Will had recourse to his 
 old topic of showing the narrow-spiritedness, the pride, and igno- 
 rance of pedants; which he carried so far that, upon my retiring 
 to my lodgings, I could not forbear throwing together such reflec- 
 tions as occurred to me upon the subject. 
 
 A man who has been brought up among books, and is able to 
 talk of nothing else, is a very indifferent companion, and what we 
 call a pedant. But methinks we should enlarge the title, and give 
 it every one that does not know how to think out of his profession 
 and particular way of life. 
 
 What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town? Bar 
 him the play-houses, a catalogue of the reigning beauties, and an 
 account of a few fashionable distempers that have befallen him, 
 and you strike him dumb. How many a pretty gentleman's knowl- 
 edge lies all within the verge of the court? He will tell you the 
 names of the principal favourites, repeat the shrewd sayings of a 
 man of quality, whisper an intrigue that is not yet blown upon 
 by common fame; or, if the sphere of his observations is a little 
 larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns, 
 and revolutions in a game of ombre. When he has gone thus far, 
 he has shown you the whole circle of his accomplishments, his 
 parts are drained, and he is disabled from any farther conversa- 
 tion. What are these but rank pedants? and yet these are the 
 men who value themselves most on their exemption from the 
 pedantry of colleges. 
 
 I might here mention the military pedant who always talks in a 
 camp, and in storming towns, making lodgments and fighting 
 battles from one end of the year to the other. Everything he speaks 
 smells of gunpowder; if you take away his artillery from him, he 
 has not a word to say for himself. I might likewise mention the 
 law pedant, that is perpetually putting cases, repeating the trans- 
 actions cf Westminster-hall, wrangling with you upon the most 
 indifferent circumstances of life, and not to be convinced of the 
 distance of a place, or of the most trivial point in conversation, 
 but by dint of argument. The state pedant is wrapt up in news, 
 and lost in politics. If you mention either of the kings of Spain 
 or Poland, he talks very notably; but if you go out of the Gazette 
 
 216
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, a mere soldier, a mere 
 scholar, a mere anything, is an insipid pedantic character, and 
 equally ridiculous. 
 
 Of all the species of pedants which I have mentioned, the book 
 pedant is much the most supportable; he has at least an exercised 
 understanding, and a head which is full though confused, so that 
 a man who converses with him may often receive from him hints 
 of things that are worth knowing, and what he may possibly turn 
 to his own advantage, though they are of little use to the owner. 
 The worst kind of pedants among learned men are such as are 
 naturally endued with a very small share of common sense, and 
 have read a great number of books without taste or distinction. 
 
 The truth of it is, learning, like travelling, and all other methods 
 of improvement, as it finishes good sense, so it makes a silly man 
 ten thousand times more insufferable, by supplying variety of 
 matter to his impertinence, and giving him an opportunity of 
 abounding in absurdities. 
 
 Shallow pedants cry up one another much more than men of solid 
 and useful learning. To read the titles they give an editor or 
 collator of a manuscript, you would take him for the glory of the 
 commonwealth of letters, and the wonder of his age, when perhaps 
 upon examination you find that he has only rectified a Greek par- 
 ticle, or laid out a whole sentence in proper commas. 
 
 They are obliged indeed to be thus lavish of their praises, that 
 they may keep one another in countenance ; and it is no wonder if a 
 great deal of knowledge, which is not capable of making a man 
 wise, has a natural tendency to make him vain and arrogant. L. 
 
 THE MAN OF PLEASURE 
 
 No. 151.] THURSDAY, AUGUST 23, 1711. [STEELE.] 
 
 Maximas virtutes jacere omnes necesse est voluptate dominante. 
 
 TULL. de Fin. 
 Where pleasure prevails, all the greatest virtues will lose their power. 
 
 I KNOW no one character that gives reason a greater shock 
 at the same time that it presents a good ridiculous image to 
 the imagination, than that of a man of wit and pleasure about the 
 town. This description of a man of fashion, spoken by some with 
 
 217
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 a mixture of scorn and ridicule, by others with great gravity as a 
 laudable distinction, is in everybody's mouth that spends any time 
 in conversation. My friend Will Honeycomb has this expression 
 very frequently; and I never could understand by the story which 
 follows, upon his mention of such a one, but that this man of wit 
 and pleasure was either a drunkard too old for wenching, or a young 
 lewd fellow with some liveliness, who would converse with you, 
 receive kind offices of you, and at the same time debauch your 
 sister, or lie with your wife. According to his description a man 
 of wit, when he could have wenches for crowns a-piece, which he 
 liked quite as well, would be so extravagant as to bribe servants, 
 make false friendships, fight relations: I say, according to him, 
 plain and simple vice was too little for a man of wit and pleasure; 
 but he would leave an easy and accessible wickedness to come at 
 the same thing with only the addition of certain falsehood and 
 possible murder. Will thinks the town grown very dull, hi that 
 we do not hear so much as we used to do of these coxcombs, whom 
 (without observing it) he describes as the most infamous rogues in 
 nature, with relation to friendship, love, or conversation. 
 
 When pleasure is made the chief pursuit of life, it will necessarily 
 follow that such monsters as these wilLarise, from a constant appli- 
 cation to such blandishments as naturally root out the force of 
 reason and reflection, and substitute in their place a general im- 
 patience of thought, and a constant pruriency of inordinate desire. 
 
 Pleasure, when it is a man's chief purpose, disappoints itself; 
 and the constant application to it palls the faculty of enjoying it, 
 though it leaves the sense of our inability for that we wish with a 
 disrelish of everything else. Thus the intermediate seasons of the 
 man of pleasure are more heavy than one would impose upon the 
 vilest criminal. Take him when he is awaked too soon after a 
 debauch, or disappointed in following a worthless woman without 
 truth, and there is no man living whose being is such a weight or 
 vexation as his is. He is an utter stranger to the pleasing reflec- 
 tions in the evening of a well-spent day, or the gladness of heart or 
 quickness of spirit in the morning after profound sleep or indolent 
 slumbers. He is not to be at ease any longer than he can keep 
 reason and good sense without his curtains; otherwise he will be 
 haunted with the reflection, that he could not believe such a one the 
 woman that upon trial he found her. What has he got by his con- 
 quest, but to think meanly of her for whom a day or two before he 
 
 218
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 had the highest honour ? and of himself, for perhaps wronging the 
 man whom of all men living he himself would least willingly have 
 injured ? 
 
 Pleasure seizes the whole man who addicts himself to it, and will 
 not give him leisure for any good office in life which contradicts the 
 gaiety of the present hour. You may indeed observe in people of 
 pleasure a certain complacency and absence of all severity, which the 
 habit of a loose unconcerned life gives them: but tell the man of 
 pleasure your secret wants, cares, or sorrows, and you will find he 
 has given up the delicacy of his passions to the cravings of his appe- 
 tites. He little knows the perfect joy he loses for the disappointing 
 gratifications which he pursues. He looks at Pleasure as she ap- 
 proaches and comesto him with the recommendation of warm wishes, 
 gay looks, and graceful motion; but he does not observe how she 
 leaves his presence with disorder, impotence, down-cast shame, and 
 conscious imperfection. She makes our youth inglorious, our age 
 shameful. 
 
 Will Honeycomb gives us twenty intimations in an evening of 
 several hags whose bloom was given up to his arms; and would 
 raise a value to himself for having had, as the phrase is, "very 
 good women." Will's good women are the comfort of his heart, 
 and support him, I warrant, by the memory of past interviews with 
 persons of their condition. No, there is not in the world an occa- 
 sion wherein vice makes so fantastical a figure, as at the meeting of 
 two old people who have been partners in unwarrantable pleasure. 
 To tell a toothless old lady that she once had a good set, or a defunct 
 wencher that he once was the admired thing cf the town, are satires 
 instead of applauses; but, on the other side, consider the old age of 
 those who have passed their days in labour, industry, and virtue, 
 their decays make them but appear the more venerable, and the 
 imperfections of their bodies are beheld as a misfortune to human 
 society that their make is so little durable. 
 
 But to return more directly to any man of wit and pleasure. In 
 all orders of men, wherever this is the chief character, the person 
 who wears it is a negligent friend, father, and husband, and entails 
 poverty en his unhappy descendants. Mortgages, diseases, and 
 settlements, are the legacies a man of wit and pleasure leaves to his 
 family. All the poor rogues that make such lamentable speeches after 
 every sessions at Tyburn, were, in their way, men of wit and pleasure 
 before they fell into the adventures which brought them thither. 
 
 219
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Irresolution and procrastination in all a man's affairs, are the nat- 
 ural effects of being addicted to pleasure. Dishonour to the gentle- 
 man and bankruptcy to the trader are the portion of either whose 
 chief purpose of life is delight. The chief cause that this pursuit 
 has been in all ages received with so much quarter from the soberer 
 part of mankind has been, that some men of great talents have 
 sacrificed themselves to it. The shining qualities of such people 
 have given a beauty to whatever they were engaged in, and a mix- 
 ture of wit has recommended madness. For let any man who 
 knows what it is to have passed much time in a series of jollity, mirth, 
 wit, or humorous entertainments, look back at what he was all that 
 while a doing, and he will find that he has been at one instant sharp 
 to some man he is sorry to have offended, impertinent to some one 
 it was cruelty to treat with such freedom, ungracefully noisy at such 
 a time, unmercifully calumnious at such a time; and, from the 
 whole course of his applauded satisfactions, unable in the end to 
 recollect any circumstance which can add to the enjoyment of his 
 own mind alone, or which he would put his character upon with 
 other men. Thus it is with those who are best made for becoming 
 pleasures; but how monstrous is it in the generality of mankind 
 who pretend this way, without genius or inclination towards it! 
 The scene then is wild to an extravagance: this is, as if fools should 
 mimic madmen. Pleasure of this kind is the intemperate meals 
 and loud jollities of the common rate of country gentlemen, whose 
 practice and way of enjoyment is to put an end as fast as they can to 
 that little particle of reason they have when they are sober. These 
 men of wit and pleasure despatch their senses as fast as possible by 
 drinking till they cannot taste, smoking till they cannot see, and 
 roaring till they cannot hear'. T. 
 
 220
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 A WOMAN'S MAN 
 No. 156.] WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 29, 1711. [STEELE.I] 
 
 Sed tu simul obligasti 
 Perfidum votis caput, enitescis 
 Pulchrior multo. 
 
 HOR. 2 Od. viii. 3. 
 But thou, 
 
 When once thou hast broke some tender vow, 
 All perjur'd, dost more charming grow! 
 
 I DO not think any thing could make a pleasanter entertain- 
 ment, than the history of the reigning favourites among the 
 women from time to time about this town. In such an account we 
 ought to have a faithful confession of each lady for what she liked 
 such and such a man, and he ought to tell us by what particular 
 action or dress he believed he would be most successful. As for 
 my part, I have always made as easy a judgment when a man 
 dresses for the ladies, as when he is equipped for hunting or 
 coursing. The woman's man is a person in his air and behaviour 
 quite different from the rest of our species. His garb is more loose 
 and negligent, his manner more soft and indolent; that is to say, 
 in both cases there is an apparent endeavour to appear unconcerned 
 and careless. In catching birds the fowlers have a method of 
 imitating their voices to bring them to the snare ; q,nd your women's 
 men have always a similitude of the creature they hope to betray, 
 in their own conversation. A woman's man is very knowing hi all 
 that passes from one family to another, has pretty little officious- 
 nesses, in not at a loss what is good for a cold, and it is not amiss if 
 he has a bottle of spirits hi his pocket hi case of any sudden 
 indisposition. 
 
 Curiosity having been my prevailing passion, and indeed the sole 
 entertainment of my life, I have sometimes made it my business to 
 examine the course of intrigues as well as the manners and accom- 
 plishments of such as have been most successful in that way. In all 
 my observation, I never knew a man of good understanding a general 
 favourite ; some singularity in his behaviour, some whim in his way 
 of life, and what would have made him ridiculous among the men, 
 has recommended him to the other sex. I should be very sorry to 
 offend a people so fortunate as those of whom I am speaking; but 
 
 221
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 let any one look over the old beaux, and he will find the man of 
 success was remarkable for quarrelling impertinently for their 
 sakes, for dressing unlike the rest of the world, or passing his days 
 in an insipid assiduity about the fair sex to gain the figure he made 
 amongst them. Add to this that he must have the reputation of 
 being well with other women, to please any one woman of gallantry; 
 for you are to know, that there is a mighty ambition among the light 
 part of the sex to gain slaves from the dominion of others. My 
 friend Will Honeycomb says it was a common bite with him, to 
 lay suspicions that he was favoured by a lady's enemy, that is, some 
 rival beauty, to be well with herself. A little spite is natural to a 
 great beauty: and it is ordinary to snap up a disagreeable fellow 
 lest another should have him. That impudent toad Bareface fares 
 well among all the ladies he converses with, for no other reason in 
 the world but that he has the skill to keep them from explanation 
 with one another. Did they know there is not one who likes him 
 in her heart, each would declare her scorn of him the next moment ; 
 but he is well received by them because it is the fashion, and oppo- 
 sition to each other brings them insensibly into an imitation of each 
 other. What adds to him the greatest grace is, that the pleasant 
 thief, as they call him, is the most inconstant creature living, has a 
 wonderful deal of wit and humour, and never wants something to 
 say; besides all which, he has a most spiteful dangerous tongue if 
 you should provoke him. 
 
 To make a woman's man, he must not be a man of sense or a 
 fool; the business is to entertain, and it is much better to have a 
 faculty of arguing, than a capacity of judging right. But the pleas- 
 antest of all the woman's equipage are your regular visitants; 
 these are volunteers in their service, without hopes of pay or prefer- 
 ment. It is enough that they can lead out from a public place, 
 that they are admitted on a public day, and can be allowed to pass 
 away part of that heavy load, their time, in the company of the fair. 
 But commend me above all others to those who are known for your 
 ruiners of ladies; these are the choicest spirits which our age pro- 
 duces. We have several of these irresistible gentlemen among us 
 when the company is in town. These fellows are accomplished 
 with the knowledge of the ordinary occurrences about court and 
 town, have that sort of good breeding which is exclusive of all 
 morality, and consists only in being publicly decent, privately 
 dissolute. 
 
 222
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 It is wonderful how far a fond opinion of herself can carry a 
 woman, to make her have the least regard to a professed known 
 woman's man; but as scarce one of all the women who are in the 
 tour of gallantries ever hears anything of what is the common 
 sense of sober minds, but are entertained with a continual round 
 of flatteries, they cannot be mistresses of themselves enough to 
 make arguments for their own conduct from the behaviour of 
 these men to others. It is so far otherwise, that a general fame for 
 falsehood in this kind is a recommendation; and the coxcomb, 
 loaded with the favours of many others, is received like a victor that 
 disdains his trophies, to be a victim to the present charmer. 
 
 If you see a man more full of gesture than ordinary in a public 
 assembly, if loud upon no occasion, if negligent of the company 
 around him, and yet laying wait for destroying by that negligence, 
 you may take it for granted that he has ruined many a fair one. The 
 woman's man expresses himself wholly in that motion which we 
 call strutting. An elevated chest, a pinched hat, a measurable 
 step, and a sly surveying eye, are the marks of him. Now and then 
 you see a gentleman with all these accomplishments ; but alas ! any 
 one of them is enough to undo thousands. When a gentleman with 
 such perfections adds to it suitable learning, there should be public 
 warning of his residence in town, that we may remove our wives 
 and daughters. It happens sometimes that such a fine man has 
 read all the miscellany poems, a few of our comedies, and has the 
 translation of Ovid's Epistles by heart. "Oh if it were possible 
 that such a one could be as true as he is charming! but that is too 
 much, the women will share such a dear false man : a little gallantry 
 to hear him talk one would indulge one's self in, let him reckon the 
 sticks of one's fan, say something of the cupids in it; and then call 
 one so many soft names which a man of his learning has at his 
 fingers-ends. There sure is some excuse for frailty, when attacked 
 by force against a weak woman." Such is the soliloquy of many 
 a lady one might name, at the sight of one of these who makes 
 it no iniquity to go on from day to day in the sin of women- 
 slaughter. 
 
 It is certain that people are got into a way of affectation, with a 
 manner of overlooking the most solid virtues, and admiring the most 
 trivial excellencies. The woman is so far from expecting to be 
 contemned for being a very injudicious silly animal, that while she 
 can preserve her features and her mien, she knows that she is still 
 
 223
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 the object of desire; and there is a sort of secret ambition, from 
 reading frivolous books, and keeping as frivolous company, each 
 side to be amiable in imperfection, and arrive at the characters 
 of the Dear Deceiver and the Perjured Fair. 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A GRINNING-MATCH 
 No. 173.] TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Remove fera monstra, tuaeque 
 Saxificos vultus, quaecunque ea, tolle Medusae. OVID. MET. 
 
 IN a late paper I mentioned the project of an ingenious author 
 for the erecting of several handicraft prizes to be contended 
 for by our British artisans, and the influence they might have 
 towards the improvement of our several manufactures. I have 
 since been very much surprised by the following advertisement 
 which I find in the Post-Boy of the nth instant, and again re- 
 peated in the Post-Boy of the isth. 
 
 "ON the gth of October next will be run for upon Coleshill 
 Heath, in Warwickshire, a plate of six guineas value, 3 heats, by 
 any horse, mare, or gelding, that hath not won above the value of 
 5/., the winning horse to be sold for io/., to carry 10 stone weight, if 
 14 hands high; if above or under, to carry or be allowed weight for 
 inches, and to be entered Friday the i$th at the Swan in Coleshill, 
 before 6 in the evening. Also a plate of less value to be run for by 
 asses. The same day a gold ring to be grinned for by men." 
 
 The first of these diversions, that is to be exhibited by the io/. 
 race-horses, may probably have its use; but the two last, in which 
 the asses and men are concerned, seem to me altogether extraordi- 
 nary and unaccountable. Why thev should keep running asses 
 at Coleshill, or how making mouths turns to account in Warwick- 
 shire, mere than in any other parts of England, I cannot compre- 
 hend. I have looked over all the Olympic games, and do not find 
 anything in them like an ass-race, or a match at grinning. How- 
 ever it be, I am informed, that several asses are now kept in body- 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 clothes, and sweated every morning upon the heath; and that all 
 the country-fellows within ten miles of the Swan grin an hour or 
 two in their glasses every morning, in order to qualify themselves 
 for the gth of October. The prize which is proposed to be grinned 
 for, has raised such an ambition among the common people of out- 
 grinning one another, that many very discerning persons are afraid 
 it should spoil most of the faces in the county; and that a Warwick- 
 shire man will be known by his grin, as Roman Catholics imagine 
 a Kentish man is by his tail. The gold ring which is made the 
 prize of deformity, is just the reverse of the golden apple that was 
 formerly made the prize of beauty, and should carry for its posie 
 the old motto inverted, 
 
 Detur tetriori. 
 
 Or, to accommodate it to the capacity of the combatants, 
 
 The frightfulPst grinner 
 Be the winner. 
 
 In the mean while I would advise a Dutch painter to be present 
 at this great controversy of faces, in order to make a collection of 
 the most remarkable grins that shall be there exhibited. 
 
 I must not here omit an account which I lately received of one of 
 these grinning matches from a gentleman, who, upon reading the 
 above-mentioned advertisement, entertained a coffee-house with 
 the following narrative. Upon the taking of Namur, among other 
 public rejoicings made on that occasion, there was a gold ring 
 given by a Whig justice of the peace to be grinned for. The first 
 competitor that entered the lists, was a black, swarthy Frenchman, 
 who accidentally passed that way, and being a man naturally of a 
 withered look and hard features, promised himself good success. 
 He was placed upon a table in the great point of view, and looking 
 upon the company like Milton 's death, 
 
 Grinn'd horribly a ghastly smile. 
 
 His muscles were so drawn together on each side of his face that 
 he showed twenty teeth at a grin, and put the country in some pain, 
 lest a foreigner should carry away the honour of the day; but upon 
 a further trial they found he was master only of the merry grin. 
 
 The next that mounted the table was a Malecontent hi those 
 days, and a great master of the whole art of grinning, but particu- 
 
 225
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 larly excelled in the angry grin. He did his part so well, that he is 
 said to have made half a dozen women miscarry; but the justice 
 being apprized by one who stood near him, that the fellow who 
 grinned hi his face was a Jacobite, and being unwilling that a dis- 
 affected person should win the gold ring, and be looked upon as the 
 best grinner in the country, he ordered the oaths to be tendered 
 unto him upon his quitting the table, which the grinner refusing, 
 he was set aside as an unqualified person. There were several 
 other grotesque figures that presented themselves, which it would 
 be too tedious to describe. I must not, however, omit a plough- 
 man, who lived in the further part of the country, and being very 
 lucky in a pair of long lanthorn-jaws, wrung his face into such a 
 hideous grimace, that every feature of it appeared under a different 
 distortion. The whole company stood astonished at such a com- 
 plicated grin, and were ready to assign the prize to him, had it not 
 been proved by one of his antagonists that he had practised with 
 verjuice for some days before, and had a crab found upon him at 
 the very time of grinning; upon which the best judges of grinning 
 declared it as their opinion, that he was not to be looked upon as a 
 fair grinner, and therefore ordered him to be set aside as a cheat. 
 
 The prize, it seems, fell at length upon a cobbler, Giles Gorgon 
 by name, who produced several new grins of his own invention, 
 having been used to cut faces for many years together over his last. 
 At the very first grin he cast every human feature out of his counte- 
 nance, at the second he became the face of a spout, at the third a 
 baboon, at the fourth the head of a bass-viol, and at the fifth a pair 
 of nut-crackers. The whole assembly wondered at his accomplish- 
 ments, and bestowed the ring on him unanimously; but, what he 
 esteemed more than all the rest, a country wench whom he had 
 wooed in vain for above five years before, was so charmed with his 
 grins, and the applauses which he received on all sides, that she 
 married him the week following, and to this day wears the prize 
 upon her finger, the cobbler having made use of it as his wedding- 
 ring. 
 
 This paper might perhaps seem very impertinent, if it grew 
 serious in the conclusion. I would nevertheless leave it to the con- 
 sideration of those who are the patrons of this monstrous trial of 
 skill, whether or no they are not guilty, in some measure, of an 
 affront to their species, in treating after this manner the Human 
 Face Divine, and turning that part of us, which has so great an 
 
 226
 
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 c 
 c
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 image impressed upon it, into the image of a monkey; whether the 
 raising such silly competitions among the ignorant, proposing 
 prizes for such useless accomplishments, filling the common people's 
 heads with such senseless ambitions, and inspiring them with such 
 absurd ideas of superiority and pre-eminence, has not in it some- 
 thing immoral as well as ridiculous. 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A WHISTLING MATCH 
 
 No. 179.] TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Centuriae seniorum agitant expertia frugis: 
 Celsi praetereunt austera poemata Rhamnes. 
 Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, 
 Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo. HOR. 
 
 I MAY cast my readers under two general divisions, the Meis 
 curial and the Saturnine. The first are the gay part of my 
 disciples, who require speculations of wit and humour; the others 
 are those of a more solemn and sober turn, who find no pleasure but 
 in papers of morality and sound sense. The former call everything 
 that is serious stupid ; the latter look upon everything as impertinent 
 that is ludicrous. Were I always grave, one half cf my readers 
 would fall off from me : were I always merry, I should lose the other. 
 I make it therefore my endeavour to find out entertainments for 
 both kinds, and by that means perhaps consult the good of both, 
 more than I should do did I always write to the particular taste of 
 either. As they neither of them know what I proceed upon, the 
 sprightly reader, who takes up my paper in order to be diverted, 
 very often finds himself engaged unawares in a serious and profit- 
 able course of thinking; as, on the contrary, the thoughtful man, 
 who perhaps may hope to find something solid, and full of deep re- 
 flection, is very often insensibly betrayed into a fit of mirth. In a 
 word, the reader sits down to my entertainment without knowing 
 his bill of fare, and has therefore at least the pleasure of hoping 
 there may be a lish to his palate. 
 
 I must confess, were I left to myself, I would rather aim at in- 
 structing than diverting; but if we will be useful to the world, we 
 must take it as we find it. Authors of professed severity discourage 
 
 227
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 the looser part of mankind from having anything to do with their 
 writings. A man must have virtue in him, before he will enter 
 upon the reading of a eneca or an Epictetus. The very title of a 
 moral treatise has something in it austere and shocking to the care- 
 less and inconsiderate. 
 
 For this reason several unthinking persons fall in my way, who 
 would give no attention to lectures delivered with a religious serious- 
 ness or a philosophic gravity. They are insnared into sentiments 
 of wisdom and virtue when they do not think cf it ; and if by that 
 means they arrive only at such a degree cf consideration as may dis- 
 pose them to listen to more studied and elaborate discourses, I shall 
 not think my speculations useless. I might likewise observe, that 
 the gloominess in which sometimes the minds of the best men are in- 
 volved, very often stands in need of such little incitements to mirth 
 and laughter as are apt to disperse melancholy, and put our facul- 
 ties in good humour. To which some will add, that the British 
 climate more than any other makes entertainments of this nature 
 in a manner necessary. 
 
 If what I have here said does not recommend, it will at least ex- 
 cuse, the variety of my speculations. I would not willingly laugh 
 but in order to instruct, or if I sometimes fail in this point, when my 
 mirth ceases to be instructive, it shall never cease to be innocent. 
 A scrupulous conduct in this particular has, perhaps, more merit 
 in it than the generality of readers imagine: did they know how 
 many thoughts occur in a point of humour, which a discreet author 
 in modesty suppresses ; how many strokes of raillery present them- 
 selves, which could not fail to please the ordinary taste of mankind, 
 but are stifled in their birth by reason of some remote tendency 
 which they carry in them to corrupt the minds of those who read 
 them; did they know how many glances of ill-nature are indus- 
 triously avoided for fear of doing injury to the reputation of another; 
 they would be apt to think kindly of those writers who endeavour 
 to make themselves diverting without being immoral. One may 
 apply to these authors that passage io Walter, 
 
 Poets lose half the praise they would have got, 
 Were it but known what they discreetly blot. 
 
 As nothing is more easy than to be a wit with all the above-men- 
 tioned liberties, it requires some genius and invention to appear 
 such without them. 
 
 228
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 What I have here said is not only in regard to the public, but with 
 an eye to my particular correspondent, who has sent me the follow- 
 ing letter which I have castrated in some places upon these consider- 
 ations. 
 
 " SIR, Having lately seen your discourse upon a match of grin- 
 ning, I cannot forbear giving you an account of a whistling match, 
 which, with many others, I was entertained with about three years 
 since at the Bath. The prize was a guinea, to be conferred upon 
 the ablest whistler, that is, on him who could whistle clearest, and 
 go through his tune without laughing, to which at the same time he 
 was provoked by the antic postures of a Merry- Andrew, who was 
 to stand upon the stage and play his tricks in the eye of the per- 
 former. There were three competitors for the guinea. The first 
 was a ploughman of a very promising aspect; his features were 
 steady, and his muscles composed in so inflexible a stupidity, that 
 upon his first appearance every one gave the guinea for lost. The 
 pickled-herring, however, found the way to shake him, for upon his 
 whistling a country jig, this unlucky wag danced to it with such va- 
 riety of distortions and grimaces, that the countryman could not 
 forbear smiling upon him, and by that means spoiled his whistle 
 and lost the prize. 
 
 "The next that mounted the stage was .an under-citizen of the 
 Bath, a person remarkable among the inferior people of that place 
 for his great wisdom and his broad band. He contracted his 
 mouth with much gravity, and, that he might dispose his mind to 
 be more serious than ordinary, begun the tune ' of the Children in 
 the Wood,' and went through part of it with good success; when on 
 a sudden the wit at his elbow, who had appeared wonderfully grave 
 and attentive for some time, gave him a touch upon the left shoulder, 
 and stared him in the face with so bewitching a grin, that the 
 whistler relaxed his fibres into a kind of simper, and at length burst 
 out into an open laugh. The third who entered the lists was a 
 foot-man, who, in defiance of the Merry-Andrew and all his arts, 
 whistled a Scotch tune and an Italian sonata, with so settled a 
 countenance, that he bore away the prize, to the great admiration 
 of some hundreds of persons, who, as well as myself, were present 
 at this trial of skill. Now, sir, I humbly conceive, whatever you 
 have determined of the grinners, the whistlers ought to be encour- 
 aged, not only as their art is practised without distortion, but as it 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 improves country music, promotes gravity, and teaches ordinary 
 people to keep their countenances, if they see anything ridiculous 
 in their betters; besides that, it seems an entertainment very par- 
 ticularly adapted to the Bath, as it is usual for a rider to whistle to 
 his horse when he would make his waters pass. 
 
 "I am, sir," &c. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 "After you have despatched these two important points of 
 grinning and whistling, I hope you will oblige the world with some 
 reflections upon yawning, as I have seen it practised on a twelfth- 
 night, among other Christmas gambols, at the house of a very 
 worthy gentleman, who always entertains his tenants at that time 
 of the year. They yawn for a Cheshire cheese, and begin about 
 midnight, when the whole company is disposed to be drowsy. He 
 that yawns widest, and at the same time so naturally as to produce 
 the most yawns among the spectators, carries home the cheese. 
 If you handle this subject as you ought, I question not but your 
 paper will set half the kingdom a yawning, though I dare promise 
 you it will never make anybody fall asleep." 
 
 ON TEMPERANCE 
 
 No. 195.] SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Nijviot o&8' taraffiv Sffu ir\tov JJ/AUTV wavrbs' 
 068' foov tv fM\dxv re 8 d<r</>od{\ip joey Sveiap. 
 
 HES. Oper. & Dier. 1. i. 40. 
 
 Fools not to know that half exceeds the whole, 
 How blest the sparing meal and temperate bowl. 
 
 THERE is a story in the Arabian Nights Tales of a king who 
 had long languished under an ill habit of body, and had taken 
 abundance of remedies to no purpose. At length, says the fable, 
 a physician cured him by the following method. He took a hollow 
 ball of wood, and filled it with several drugs; after which he closed it 
 up so artificially that nothing appeared. He likewise took a mall, 
 and after having hollowed the handle, and that part which strikes 
 
 230
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 the ball, he inclosed in them several drugs after the same manner 
 as in the ball itself. He then ordered the sultan, who was his 
 patient, to exercise himself early in the morning with these rightly- 
 prepared instruments, till such time as he should sweat: when, as 
 the story goes, the virtue of the medicaments perspiring through 
 the wood had so good an influence on the sultan's constitution, 
 that they cured him of an indisposition which all the compositions 
 he had taken inwardly had not been able to remove. This eastern 
 allegory is finely contrived to show us how beneficial bodily labour 
 is to health, and that exercise is the most effectual physic. I have 
 described in my hundred and fifteenth paper, from the general 
 structure and mechanism of an human body, how absolutely nec- 
 essary exercise is for its preservation. I shall in this place recom- 
 mend another great preservative of health, which in many cases 
 produces the same effects as exercise, and may, in some measure, 
 supply its place, where opportunities of exercise are wanting. 
 The preservative I am speaking of is temperance, which has those 
 particular advantages above all other means of health, that it may 
 be practised by all ranks and conditions, at any season, or in any 
 place. It is a kind of regimen into which every man may put him- 
 self, without interruption to business, expense of money, or loss of 
 time. If exercise throws off all superfluities, temperance prevents 
 them; if exercise clears the vessels, temperance neither satiates 
 nor overstrains them; if exercise raises proper ferments in the 
 humours, and promotes the circulation of the blood, temperance 
 gives nature her full play, and enables her to exert herself in all 
 her force and vigour; if exercise dissipates a growing distemper, 
 temperance starves it. 
 
 Physic, for the most part, is nothing else but the substitute of 
 exercise or temperance. Medicines are indeed absolutely neces- 
 sary in acute distempers, that cannot wait the slow operations of 
 these two great instruments of health; but did men live in an 
 habitual course of exercise and temperance, there would be but 
 little occasion for them. Accordingly we find that those parts of 
 the world are the most healthy, where they subsist by the chace; 
 and that men live longest, when their lives were employed in hunt- 
 ing, and when they had little food besides what they caught. Blis- 
 tering, cupping, bleeding, are seldom of use but to the idle and 
 intemperate; as all those inward applications which are so much 
 in practice among us, are for the most part nothing else but expe- 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 dients to make luxury consistent with health. The apothecary is 
 perpetually employed in countermining the cook and the vintner. 
 It is said of Diogenes, that meeting a young man who was going to 
 a feast, he took him up in the street and carried him home to his 
 friends, as one who was running into imminent danger, had not he 
 prevented him. What would that philosopher have said had he 
 been present at the gluttony of a modern meal? Would not he 
 have thought the master of a family mad, and have begged his 
 servants to tie down his hands, had he seen him devour fowl, fish, 
 and flesh, swallow oil and vinegar, wines and spices; throw down 
 salads of twenty different herbs, sauces of an hundred ingredients, 
 confections, and fruits of numberless sweets and flavours? What 
 unnatural motions and counter ferments must such a medley of 
 intemperance produce in the body? For my part, when I behold a 
 fashionable table set out in all its magnificence, I fancy that I 
 see gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other innumer- 
 able distempers lying in ambuscade among the dishes. 
 
 Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. Every animal 
 but man keeps to one dish. Herbs are the food of this species, 
 fish of that, and flesh of a third. Man falls upon everything that 
 comes in his way; not the smallest fruit or excrescence of the earth, 
 scarce a berry or a mushroom, can escape him. 
 
 It is impossible to lay down any determined rule for temperance, 
 because what is luxury in one may be temperance in another, but 
 there are few that have lived any time in the world, who are not 
 judges of their own constitutions, so far as to know what kinds and 
 what proportions of food do best agree with them. Were I to con- 
 sider my readers as my patients, and to prescribe such a kind of 
 temperance as is accommodated to all persons, and such as is par- 
 ticularly suitable to our climate and way of living, I would copy 
 the following rules of a very eminent physician. "Make your 
 whole repast out of one dish. If you indulge in a second, avoid 
 drinking anything strong, until you have finished your meal ; at the 
 same time abstain from all sauces, or at least such as are not the 
 most plain and simple." A man could not be well guilty of gluttony 
 if he stuck to these few obvious and easy rules. In the first case, 
 there would be no variety of tastes to solicit his palate, and occa- 
 sion excess; nor, in the second, any artificial provocatives to relieve 
 satiety, and create a false appetite. Were I to prescribe a rule 
 for drinking, it should be formed upon a saying quoted by sir 
 
 232
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 William Temple; "The first glass for myself, the second for my 
 friends, the third for good-humour, and the fourth for mine ene- 
 mies." But because it is impossible fcr one who lives in the world 
 to diet himself always in so philosophical a manner, I think every 
 man should have his days of abstinence, according as his constitu- 
 tion will permit. These are great reliefs to nature, as they qualify 
 her for struggling with hunger and thirst, whenever any distemper 
 or duty of life may put her upon such difficulties ; and at the same 
 time give her an opportunity of extricating herself from her oppres- 
 sions, and recovering the several tones and springs of her distended 
 vessels. Besides that, abstinence well-timed often kills a sick- 
 ness in embryo, and destroys the first seeds of an indisposition. 
 It is observed by two or three ancient authors, that Sccrates, not- 
 withstanding he lived in Athens during that great plague which 
 has made so much noise through all ages, and has been celebrated 
 at different times by such eminent hands; I say, notwithstanding 
 that he lived in the time of this devouring pestilence, he never 
 caught the least infection, which those writers unanimously ascribe 
 to that uninterrupted temperance which he always observed. 
 
 And here I cannot but mention an observation which I have 
 often made, upon reading the lives of the philosophers, and com- 
 paring it with any series of kings or great men of the same number. 
 If we consider these ancient sages, a great part of whose philosophy 
 consisted in a temperate and abstemious course of life, one would 
 think the life of a philosopher and the life of a man were of two 
 different dates. For we find that the generality of these wise men 
 were nearer a hundred than sixty years of age at the time of their 
 respective deaths. But the most remarkable instance of the efficacy 
 of temperance towards the procuring of long life, is what we meet 
 with in a little book published by Lewis Cornaro the Venetian; 
 which I the rather mention, because it is of undoubted credit, as 
 the late Venetian ambassador, who was of the same family, attested 
 mere than once hi conversation when he resided in England. 
 Cornaro, who was the author cf the little treatise I am mentioning, 
 was of an infirm constitution until about forty, when, by obstinately 
 persisting in an exact course of temperance, he recovered a perfect 
 state cf health; insomuch that at fourscore he published his book, 
 which has been translated into English under the title of " Sure and 
 Certain Methods of Attaining a Long and Healthy Life." He 
 lived to give a third or fourth edition of it ; and, after having passed 
 
 2 33
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 his hundredth year, died without pain or agony, and like one who 
 falls asleep. The treatise I mention has been taken notice of by 
 several eminent authors, and is written with such a spirit of cheer- 
 fulness, religion, and good sense, as are the natural concomitants 
 of temperance and sobriety. The mixture of the old man in it is 
 rather a recommendation than a discredit to it. 
 
 Having designed this paper as the sequel to that upon exercise, 
 I have not here considered temperance as it is a moral virtue, which 
 I shall make the subject of a future speculation, but only as it is 
 the means of health. L. 
 
 CHARACTER OF THE SALAMANDERS 
 
 No. 198.] WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Cervae luporum praeda rapacium 
 
 Sectamur ultro, quos opimus 
 
 Fallere et effurgere est triumphus. HOR. 
 
 THERE is a species of women, whom I shall distinguish by 
 the name of Salamanders. Now a salamander is a kind 
 of heroine in chastity, that treads upon fire, and lives in the midst 
 of flames, without being hurt. A salamander knows no distinc- 
 tion of sex in those she converses with, grows familiar with a stranger 
 at first sight, and is not so narrow-spirited as to observe whether 
 the person she talks to be in breeches or in petticoats. She admits 
 a male visitant to her bed-side, plays with him a whole afternoon at 
 picquette, walks with him two or three hours by moon -light; and 
 is extremely scandalized at the unreasonableness of an husband, 
 or the severity of a parent, that would debar the sex from such 
 innocent liberties. Your salamander is therefore a perpetual de- 
 claimer against jealousy, an admirer of the French good-breeding, 
 and a great stickler for freedom in conversation. In short, the 
 salamander lives in an invincible state of simplicity and innocence : 
 her constitution is preserved in a kind of natural frost ; she wonders 
 what people mean by temptations, and defies mankind to do their 
 worst. Her chastity is engaged in a constant ordeal, or fiery trial; 
 (like good queen Emma,) the pretty innocent walks blindfold 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 among burning plough-shares, without being scorched or singed 
 by them. 
 
 It is not therefore for the use of the salamander, whether in a 
 married or single state of life, that I design the following paper; 
 but for such females only as are made of flesh and blood, and find 
 themselves subject to human frailties. 
 
 As for this part of the fair sex, who are not of the salamander 
 kind, I would most earnestly advise them to observe a quite dif- 
 ferent conduct in their behaviour ; and to avoid as much as possible 
 what religion calls temptations, and the world opportunities. Did 
 they but know how many thousands of their sex have been gradu- 
 ally betrayed from innocent freedoms to ruin and infamy; and how 
 many millions of ours have begun with flatteries, protestations, and 
 endearments, but ended with reproaches, perjury, and perfidious- 
 ness; they would shun like death the very first approaches of one 
 that might lead them into inextricable labyrinths of guilt and misery. 
 I must so far give up the cause of the male world, as to exhort the 
 female sex in the language of Chamont in the Orphan, 
 
 Trust not a man; we are by nature false, 
 Dissembling, subtle, cruel, and unconstant: 
 When a man talks of love, with caution trust him; 
 But if he swears, he'll certainly deceive thee. 
 
 I might very much enlarge upon this subject, but shall conclude it 
 with a story which I lately heard from one of our Spanish officers, 
 and which may show the danger a woman incurs by too great 
 familiarities with a male companion. 
 
 An inhabitant of the kingdom of Castile, being a man of more 
 than ordinary prudence, and of a grave, composed behaviour, 
 determined about the fiftieth year of his age to enter upon wedlock. 
 In order to make himself easy in it, he cast his eye upon a young 
 woman who had nothing to recommend her but her beauty and her 
 education, her parents having been reduced to great poverty by the 
 wars which for some years have laid that whole country waste. 
 The Castilian having made his addresses to her and married her, 
 they lived together in perfect happiness for some time; when at 
 length the husband's affairs made it necessary for him to take a 
 voyage to the kingdom of Naples, where a great part of his estate 
 lay. The wife loved him too tenderly to be left behind him. They 
 had not been on shipboard above a day, when they unluckily fell 
 
 2 35
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 into the hands of an Algerine pirate, who carried the whole com- 
 pany on shore, and made them slaves. The Castilian and his wife 
 had the comfort to be under the same master; who seeing how 
 dearly they loved one another, and gasped after their liberty, de- 
 manded a most exorbitant price for their ransom. The Castilian, 
 though he would rather have died in slavery himself than have paid 
 such a sum as he found would go near to ruin him, was so moved 
 with compassion towards his wife, that he sent repeated orders to 
 his friend in Spain (who happened to be his next relation) to sell his 
 estate, and transmit the money to him. His friend, hoping that 
 the terms of his ransom might be made more reasonable, and un- 
 willing to sell an estate which he himself had some prospect of 
 inheriting, formed so many delays, that three whole years passed 
 away without anything being done for the setting of them at liberty. 
 
 There happened to live a French renegado in the same place 
 where the Castilian and his wife were kept prisoners. As this fellow 
 had in him all the vivacity of his nation, he often entertained the 
 captives with accounts of his own adventures ; to which he sometimes 
 added a song or a dance, or some other piece of mirth, to divert 
 them during their confinement. His acquaintance with the manners 
 of the Algerines enabled him likewise to do them several good 
 offices. The Castilian, as he was one day in conversation with this 
 renegado, discovered to him the negligence and treachery of his 
 correspondent in Castile, and at the same time asked his advice 
 how he should behave himself in that exigency: he further told the 
 renegado, that he found it would be impossible for him to raise the 
 money, unless he himself might go over to dispose of his estate. 
 The renegado, after having represented to him that his Algerine 
 master would never consent to his release upon such a pretence, at 
 length contrived a method for the Castilian to make his escape in 
 the habit of a seaman. The Castilian succeeded in his attempt ; and 
 having sold his estate, being afraid lest the money should miscarry 
 by the way, and determining to perish with it rather than lose what 
 was much dearer to him than his life, he returned himself in a little 
 vessel that was going to Algiers. It is impossible to describe the 
 joy he felt upon this occasion, when he considered that he should 
 soon see the wife whom he so much loved, and endear himself 
 more to her by this uncommon piece of generosity. 
 
 The renegado, during the husband's absence, so insinuated 
 himself into the graces of his young wife, and so turned her head 
 
 236
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 with stories of gallantry, that she quickly thought him the finest 
 gentleman she had ever conversed with. To be brief, her mind 
 was quite alienated from the honest Castilian, whom she was 
 taught to look upon as a formal old fellow, unworthy the possession 
 of so charming a creature. She had been instructed by the renegado 
 how to manage herself upon his arrival; so that she received him 
 with an appearance of the utmost love and gratitude, and at length 
 persuaded him to trust their common friend the renegado with the 
 money he had brought over for their ransom; as not questioning 
 but he would beat down the terms of it, and negotiate the affair 
 more to their advantage than they themselves could do. The good 
 man admired her prudence and followed her advice. I wish I 
 could conceal the sequel of this story, but since I cannot, I shall 
 despatch it in as few words as possible. The Castilian having 
 slept longer than ordinary the next morning, upon his awaking 
 found his wife had left him: he immediately rose and inquired 
 after her, but was told that she was seen with the renegado about 
 break of day. In a word, her lover having got all things ready for 
 their departure, they soon made their escape out of the territories 
 of Algiers, carried away the money, and left the Castilian in cap- 
 tivity: who partly through the cruel treatment of the incensed 
 Algerine his master, and partly through the unkind usage of his 
 unfaithful wife, died some few months after. 
 
 SATIRE ON WOMEN 
 
 No. 209.] TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Tvvtuicfc o&dt XPVf* i^p Xrj/ferat 
 *E(T0X77S &/J&LVOV, o&St ftlyiov KCIKT?;. 
 
 SlMONIDES. 
 
 Of earthly goods, the best is a good wife; 
 A bad, the bitterest curse of human life. 
 
 THERE are no authors I am more pleased with, than those who 
 show human nature in a variety of views, and describe the 
 several ages of the world in their different manners. A reader 
 cannot be more rationally entertained, than by comparing the 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 virtues and vices of his own times with those which prevailed in the 
 times of his forefathers; and drawing a parallel in his mind between 
 his own private character, and that of other persons, whether of his 
 own age, or of the ages that went before him. The contemplation 
 of mankind, under these changeable colours, is apt to shame us 
 out of any particular vice, or animate us to any particular virtue; 
 to make us pleased or displeased with ourselves in the most proper 
 points; to clear our minds of prejudice and prepossession; and 
 rectify that narrowness of temper which inclines us to think amiss 
 of those who differ from ourselves. 
 
 If we look into the manners of the most remote ages of the world, 
 we discover human nature in her simplicity; and, the more we come 
 downwards towards our own times, may observe her hiding herself 
 in artifices and refinements, polished insensibly out of her original 
 plainness, and at length, entirely lost under form and ceremony, and 
 (what we call) good-breeding. Read the accounts of men and 
 women as they are given us by the most ancient writers, both sacred 
 and profane, and you would think you were reading the history of 
 another species. 
 
 Among the writers of antiquity, there are none who instruct us 
 more openly in the manners of their respective times in which they 
 lived, than those who have employed themselves in satire, under 
 what dress soever it may appear; as there are no other authors whose 
 province it is to enter so directly into the ways of men, and set their 
 miscarriages in so strong a light. 
 
 Simonides, a poet famous in his generation, is, I think, author 
 of the oldest satire that is now extant; and, as some say, of the first 
 that was ever written. This poet flourished about four hundred 
 years after the siege of Troy; and shows, by his way of writing, 
 the simplicity, or rather coarseness, of the age in which he lived. 
 I have taken notice, in my hundred and sixty-first speculation, that 
 the rule of observing what the French call the Bienseance in an 
 allusion, has been found out of later years; and that the ancients, 
 provided there was a likeness in their similitudes, did not much 
 trouble themselves about the decency of the comparison. The 
 satires or iambics of Simonides, with which I shall entertain my 
 readers in the present paper, are a remarkable instance of what I 
 formerly advanced. The subject of this satire is woman. He 
 describes the sex in their several characters, which he derives to 
 them from a fanciful supposition raised upon the doctrine of pre- 
 238
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 existence. He tells us, that the gods formed the souls of women out 
 of those seeds and principles which compose several kinds of animals 
 and elements; and that their good or bad dispositions arise in them 
 according as such and such seeds and principles predominate in 
 their constitutions. I have translated the author very faithfully, 
 and if not word for word (which our language would not bear), at 
 least so as to comprehend every one of his sentiments, without 
 adding anything of my own. I have already apologized for this 
 author's want of delicacy, and must farther premise, that the 
 following satire affects only some of the lower part of the sex, and 
 not those who have been refined by a polite education, which was 
 not so common in the age of this poet. 
 
 "In the beginning God made the souls of womankind out of 
 different materials, and in a separate state from their bodies. 
 
 "The souls of one kind of women were formed out of those 
 ingredients which compose a swine. A woman of this make is 
 a slut in her house, and a glutton at her table. She is uncleanly 
 in her person, a slattern in her dress, and her family is no better 
 than a dunghill. 
 
 " A second sort of female soul was formed out of the same mate- 
 rials that enter into the composition of a fox. Such an one is what 
 we call a notable discerning woman, who has an insight into every 
 thing whether it be good or bad. In this species of females there 
 are some virtuous and some vicious. 
 
 "A third kind of women were made up of canine particles. 
 These are what we commonly call scolds, who imitate the animals 
 out of which they were taken, that are always busy and barking, 
 that snarl at every one who comes in their way, and live in perpetual 
 clamour. 
 
 " The fourth kind of women were made out of the earth. These 
 are your sluggards, who pass away their time in indolence and igno- 
 rance, hover over the fire a whole winter, and apply themselves 
 with alacrity to no kind of business but eating. 
 
 " The fifth species of females were made out of the sea. These 
 are women of variable uneven tempers, sometimes all storm and 
 tempests, sometimes all calm and sunshine. The stranger who 
 sees one of these in her smiles and smoothness, would cry her up 
 for a miracle of good -humour ; but on a sudden her looks and words 
 are changed, she is nothing but fury and outrage, noise and hurri- 
 cane. 
 
 239
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 "The sixth species were made up of the ingredients which com- 
 pose an ass, or a beast of burden. These are naturally exceeding 
 slothful, but, upon the husband's exerting his authority, will live 
 upon hard fare, and do every thing to please him. They are, how- 
 ever, far from being averse to venereal pleasure, and seldom refuse 
 a male companion. 
 
 "The cat furnished materials for a seventh species of women, 
 who are of a melancholy, f reward, unamiable nature, and so repug- 
 nant to the offers of love, that they fly in the face of their husband 
 when he approaches them with conjugal endearments. This 
 species of women are likewise subject to little thefts, cheats, and 
 pilferings. 
 
 " The mare with a flowing mane, which was never broke to any 
 servile toil and labour, composed an eighth species of women. 
 These are they who have little regard for their husbands ; who pass 
 away their time in dressing, bathing, and perfuming; who throw 
 their hair into the nicest curls, and trick it up with the fairest flowers 
 and garlands. A woman of this species is a very pretty thing for 
 a stranger to look upon, but very detrimental to the owner, unless 
 it be a king or a prince who takes a fancy to such a toy. 
 
 " The ninth species of females were taken out of the ape. These 
 are such as are both ugly and ill-natured, who have nothing beauti- 
 ful in themselves, and endeavour to detract from or ridicule every 
 thing which appears so in others. 
 
 " The tenth and last species of women were made out of the bee ; 
 and happy is the man who gets such an one for his wife. She is 
 altogether faultless and unblameable. Her family flourishes and 
 improves by her good management. She loves her husband, and 
 is beloved by him. She brings him a race of beautiful and virtuous 
 children. She distinguishes herself among her sex. She is sur- 
 rounded with graces. She never sits among the loose tribe of 
 women, nor passes away her time with them in wanton discourses. 
 She is full of virtue and prudence, and is the best wife that Jupiter 
 can bestow on man." 
 
 I shall conclude these iambics with the motto of this paper, 
 which is a fragment of the same author: "A man cannot possess 
 any thing that is better than a good woman, nor any thing that is 
 worse than a bad one." 
 
 As the poet has shown great penetration in this diversity of female 
 characters, he has avoided the fault which Juvenal and Monsieur 
 
 240
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Boileau are guilty of, the former in his sixth, and the other in his 
 last satire, where they have endeavoured to expose the sex in gen- 
 eral, without doing justice to the valuable part of it. Such level- 
 ling satires are of no use to the world; and for this reason I have 
 often wondered how the French author, above-mentioned, who 
 was a man of exquisite judgment, and a lover of virtue, could think 
 human nature a proper subject for satire in another of his cele- 
 brated pieces, which is called The Satire upon Man. What vice 
 or frailty can a discourse correct which censures the whole species 
 alike, and endeavours to show, by some superficial strokes of wit, 
 that brutes are the more excellent creatures of the two ? A satire 
 should expose nothing but what is corrigible, and make a due dis- 
 crimination between those who are, and those who are not the 
 proper object of it. L. 
 
 ON EDUCATION 
 
 No. 215.] TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1711. [ADDISON.| 
 
 Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes 
 Emollit mores, nee sinit esse feros. OVID. 
 
 I CONSIDER an human soul without education, like marble 
 in the quarry, which shows none of its inherent beauties, till 
 the skill of the polisher fetches out the colours, makes the surface 
 shine, and discovers every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein, that 
 runs through the body of it. Education, after the same manner, 
 when it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent vir- 
 tue and perfection, which without such helps are never able to make 
 their appearance. 
 
 If my reader will give me leave to change the allusion so soon 
 upon him, I shall make use of the same instance to illustrate the 
 force of education, which Aristotle has brought to explain his doc- 
 trine of substantial forms, when he tells us that a statue lies hid in a 
 block of marble ; and that the art of the statuary only clears away 
 the superfluous matter, and removes the rubbish. The figure is in 
 the stone, the sculptor only finds it. What sculpture is to a block of 
 marble, education is to an human soul. The philosopher, the saint, 
 or the hero, the wise, the good, or the great man, very often lie hid 
 
 241
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 and concealed in a plebeian, which a proper education might have 
 disinterred, and have brought to light. I am, therefore, much de- 
 lighted with reading the accounts of savage nations, and with con- 
 templating those virtues which are wild and uncultivated; to see 
 courage exerting itself hi fierceness, resolution in obstinacy, wisdom 
 in cunning, patience in sullenness and despair. 
 
 Men's passions operate variously, and appear in different kinds 
 of actions, according as they are more or less rectified and swayed by 
 reason. When one hears of negroes, who, upon the death of their 
 masters, or upon changing their service, hang themselves upon the 
 next tree, as it frequently happens in our American plantations, who 
 can forbear admiring their fidelity, though it expresses itself in so 
 dreadful a manner ? What might not that savage greatness of soul, 
 which appears hi these poor wretches, on many occasions, be raised 
 to, were it rightly cultivated ? And what colour of excuse can there 
 be for the contempt with which we treat this part of our species, 
 that we should not put them upon the common foot of humanity, 
 that we should only set an insignificant fine upon the man who 
 murders them; nay, that we should, as much as in us lies, cut them 
 off from the prospect of happiness in another world, as well as hi 
 this, and deny them that which we look upon as the proper means 
 for attaining it? 
 
 Since I am engaged on this subject, I cannot forbear mentioning 
 a story which I have lately heard, and which is so well attested, that 
 I have no manner of reason to suspect the truth of it : I may call it 
 a kind of wild tragedy that passed about twelve years ago at St. 
 Christopher's, one of our British Leeward Islands. The negroes 
 who were concerned in it were all of them the slaves of a gentleman 
 who is now in England. 
 
 This gentleman, among his negroes, had a young woman, who 
 was looked upon as a most extraordinary beauty by those of her own 
 complexion. He had at the same time two young fellows, who 
 were likewise negroes and slaves, remarkable for the comeliness of 
 their persons, and for the friendship which they bore to one another. 
 It unfortunately happened that both of them fell in love with the 
 female negro above-mentioned, who would have been very glad to 
 have taken either of them for her husband, provided they could 
 agree between themselves which should be the man. But they 
 were both so passionately hi love with her, that neither of them 
 could think of giving her up to his rival; and at ihe same time were 
 
 242
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 so true to one another, that neither of them would think of gaining 
 her without his friend's consent. The torments of these two lovers 
 were the discourse of the family to which they belonged, who could 
 not forbear observing the strange complication of passions which 
 perplexed the hearts of the poor negroes, that often dropped expres- 
 sions of the uneasiness they underwent, and how impossible it was 
 for either of them ever to be happy. 
 
 After a long struggle between love and friendship, truth and 
 jealousy, they one day took a walk together into a wood, carrying 
 their mistress along with them; where, after abundance of lamenta- 
 tions, they stabbed her to the heart, of which she immediately died. 
 A slave, who was at his work not far from the place where this aston- 
 ishing piece of cruelty was committed, hearing the shrieks of the 
 dying person, ran to see what was the occasion of them. He there 
 discovered the woman lying dead upon the ground, with the two 
 negroes on each side of her kissing the dead corpse, weeping over it, 
 and beating their breasts in the utmost agonies of grief and despair. 
 He immediately ran to the English family with the news of what he 
 had seen; who, upon coming to the place, saw the woman dead, and 
 the two negroes expiring by her with wounds they had given them- 
 selves. 
 
 We see in this amazing instance of barbarity, what strange dis- 
 orders are bred in the minds of those men whose passions are not 
 regulated by virtue, and disciplined by reason. Though the action 
 which I have recited is in itself full of guilt and horror, it proceeded 
 from a temper of mind which might have produced very noble fruits, 
 had it been formed and guided by a suitable education. 
 
 It is, therefore, an unspeakable blessing to be born in those parts 
 of the world where wisdom and knowledge flourish; though it must 
 be confessed, there are, even in these parts, several poor uninstructed 
 persons, who are but little above the inhabitants of those nations of 
 which I have been here speaking; as those who have had the ad- 
 vantages of a more liberal education, rise above one another by sev- 
 eral different degrees of perfection. For, to return to our statue in 
 the block of marble, we see it sometimes only begun to be chipped, 
 sometimes rough-hewn, and but just sketched into an human figure; 
 sometimes we see the man appearing distinctly in all his limbs and 
 features, sometimes we find the figure wrought up to a great ele- 
 gancy, but seldom meet with any to which the hand of a Phidias or 
 a Praxiteles could not give several nice touches and finishings. 
 
 243
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Discourses of morality, and reflections upon human nature, are 
 the best means we can make use of to improve our minds, and 
 gain a true knowledge of ourselves, and consequently to recover 
 our souls out of the vice, ignorance, and prejudice, which naturally 
 cleave to them. I have all along professed myself in this paper a 
 promoter of these great ends; and I flatter myself that I do from 
 day to day contribute something to the polishing of men's minds; 
 at least my design is laudable, whatever the execution may be. I 
 must confess I am not a little encouraged in it by many letters which 
 I receive from unknown hands, in approbation of my endeavours; 
 and must take this opportunity of returning my thanks to those 
 who write them, and excusing myself for not inserting several of 
 them in my papers, which I am sensible would be a very great 
 ornament to them. Should I publish the praises which are so 
 well penned, they would do honour to the persons who write them ; 
 but my publishing of them would, I fear, be a sufficient instance to 
 the world, that I did not deserve them. 
 
 THE CRIES OF LONDON 
 
 No. 251.] TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Linguae centum sunt, oraque centum, 
 
 Ferrea vox. VIRG. ^EN. vi. 625. 
 
 A hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, 
 And throats of brass inspir'd with iron lungs. 
 
 THERE is nothing which more astonishes a foreigner, and 
 frights a country squire, than the Cries of London. My 
 good friend Sir Roger often declares that he cannot get them out 
 of his head, or go to sleep for them, the first week that he is in 
 town. On the contrary, Will Honeycomb calls them the Ramage 
 de la Ville, and prefers them to the sounds of larks and nightin- 
 gales, with all the music of the fields and woods. I have lately 
 received a letter from some very odd fellow upon this subject, 
 which I shall leave with my reader, without saying any thing 
 farther of it. 
 
 244
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 " SIR, I am a man out of all business, and would willingly turn 
 my hand to any thing for an honest livelihood. I have invented 
 several projects for raising many millions of money without burden- 
 ing the subject, but I cannot get the parliament to listen to me, who 
 look upon me, forsooth, as a crack and a projector; so that, despair- 
 ing to enrich either myself or my country by this public-spiritedness, 
 I would make some proposals to you relating to a design which I 
 have very much at heart, and which may procure me a handsome 
 subsistence, if you will be pleased to recommend it to the cities of 
 London and Westminster. 
 
 "The post I would aim at, is to be Comptroller-General of the 
 London Cries, which are at present under no manner of rules and 
 discipline. I think I am pretty well qualified for this place, as being 
 a man of very strong lungs, of great insight into all the branches of 
 our British trades and manufactures, and of a competent skill in 
 music. 
 
 "The Cries of London may be divided into vocal and instru- 
 mental. As for the latter, they are at present under a very great 
 disorder. A freeman of London has the privilege of disturbing a 
 whole street for an hour together, with the twanking of a brass 
 kettle or frying-pan. The watchman's thump at midnight startles 
 us in our beds, as much as the breaking in of a thief. The sow- 
 gelder's horn has indeed something musical in it, but this is seldom 
 heard within the liberties. I would therefore propose, that no 
 instrument of this nature should be made use of, which I have not 
 tuned and licensed, after having carefully examined in what manner 
 it may affect the ears of her Majesty's liege subjects. 
 
 "Vocal cries are of a much larger extent, and indeed so full of 
 incongruities and barbarisms, that we appear a distracted city to 
 foreigners, who do not comprehend the meaning of such enormous 
 outcries. Milk is generally sold in a note above E-la, and in sounds 
 so exceeding shrill, that it often sets our teeth on edge. The 
 chimney-sweeper is confined to no certain pitch; he sometimes 
 utters himself in the deepest base, and sometimes in the sharpest 
 treble; sometimes in the highest, and sometimes in the lowest note 
 of the gamut. The same observation might be made on the retailers 
 of small-coal, not to mention broken glasses or brick-dust. In 
 these, therefore, and the like cases, it should be my care to sweeten 
 and mellow the voices of these itinerant tradesmen, before they 
 make their appearance in our streets, as also to accommodate their 
 
 245
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 cries to their respective wares: and to take care in particular, that 
 those may not make the most noise who have the least to sell, 
 which is very observable in the vendors of card-matches, to whom 
 I cannot but apply the old proverb of ' Much cry but little wool.' 
 
 " Some of these last-mentioned musicians are so very loud in the 
 sale of these trifling manufactures, that an honest splenetic gentle- 
 man of my acquaintance bargained with one of them never to come 
 into the street where he lived. But what was the effect of this 
 contract? Why, the whole tribe of card match-makers, which 
 frequent that quarter, passed by his door the very next day, in hopes 
 of being bought off after the same manner. 
 
 "It is another great imperfection in our London Cries, that 
 there is no just time nor measure observed in them. Our news 
 should indeed be published in a very quick time, because it is a 
 commodity that will not keep cold. It should not, however, be 
 cried with the same precipitation as fire. Yet this is generally the 
 case. A bloody battle alarms the town from one end to another in 
 an instant. Every motion of the French is published in so great a 
 hurry, that one would think the enemy were at our gates. This 
 likewise I would take upon me to regulate in such a manner, that 
 there should be some distinction made between the spreading of a 
 victory, a march, or an encampment, a Dutch, a Portugal, or a 
 Spanish mail. Nor must I omit under this head those excessive 
 alarms with which several boisterous rustics infest our streets in 
 turnip-season; and which are more inexcusable, because these are 
 wares which are in no danger of cooling upon their hands. 
 
 "There are others who affect a very slow time, and are in my 
 opinion much more tuneable than the former. The cooper in 
 particular swells his last note in an hollow voice, that is not without 
 its harmony; nor can I forbear being inspired with a most agreeable 
 melancholy, when I hear that sad and solemn air with which the 
 public are very often asked, if they have any chairs to mend ? Your 
 own memory may suggest to you many other lamentable ditties of 
 the same nature, in which the music is wonderfully languishing 
 and melodious. 
 
 " I am always pleased with that particular time of the year which 
 is proper for the pickling of dill and cucumbers; but, alas! this 
 cry, like the song of the nightingale, is not heard above two months. 
 It would therefore be worth while to consider, whether the same air 
 might not in some cases be adapted to other words. 
 
 246
 
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 a 
 
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 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 "It might likewise deserve our most serious consideration, how 
 far, in a well-regulated city, those humourists are to be tolerated, 
 who, not contented with the traditional cries of their forefathers, 
 have invented particular songs and tunes of their own ; such as was, 
 not many years since, the pastryman, commonly known by the 
 name of the Colly-Molly-Puff; and such as is at this day the vendor 
 of powder and wash-balls, who, if I am rightly informed, goes under 
 the name of Powder- Wat. 
 
 " I must not here omit one particular absurdity which runs through 
 this whole vociferous generation, and which renders their cries very 
 often not only incommodious, but altogether useless to the public. 
 I mean that idle accomplishment, which they all of them aim at, 
 of crying so as not to be understood. Whether or not they have 
 learned this from several of our affected singers, I will not take upon 
 me to say; but most certain it is, that people know the wares they 
 deal in rather by their tunes than by their words; insomuch that I 
 have sometimes seen a country boy run out to buy apples of a bellows 
 mender, and ginger-bread from a grinder of knives and scissors. 
 Nay, so strangely infatuated are some very eminent artists of this 
 particular grace in a cry, that none but their acquaintance are able 
 to guess at their profession ; for who else can know, that ' work if I 
 had it,' should be the signification of a corn-cutter. 
 
 " Forasmuch, therefore, as persons of this rank are seldom men 
 of genius or capacity, I think it would be proper that some man of 
 good sense and profound judgment should preside over these public 
 cries, who should permit none to lift up their voices in our streets, 
 that have not tuneable throats, and are not only able to overcome 
 the noise of the crowd, and the rattling of coaches, but also to vend 
 their respective merchandizes in apt phrases, and in the most dis- 
 tinct and agreeable sounds. I do therefore humbly recommend 
 myself as a person rightly qualified for this post; and, if I meet 
 with fitting encouragement, shall communicate some other projects 
 which I have by me, that may no less conduce to the emolument of 
 the public. 
 
 "I am, Sir, &c. 
 
 C "RALPH CROTCHET." 
 
 247
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 THE SPECTATOR'S SUCCESS 
 
 No. 262.] MONDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1711. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Nulla venenato littera mista joco est. OVID. 
 
 I THINK myself highly obliged to the public for their kind 
 acceptance of a paper which visits them every morning, and 
 has in it none of those seasonings that recommend so many of the 
 writings which are in vogue among us. 
 
 As, on the one side, my paper has not in it a single word of news, 
 a reflection in politics, nor a stroke of party; so, on the other, there 
 are no fashionable touches of infidelity, no obscene ideas, no satires 
 upon priesthood, marriage, and the like popular topics of ridicule; 
 no private scandal, nor anything that may tend to the defamation 
 of particular persons, families, or societies. 
 
 There is not one of these above-mentioned subjects that would 
 not sell a very indifferent paper, could I think of gratifying the 
 public by such mean and base methods; but, notwithstanding I 
 have rejected everything that savours of party, everything that 
 is loose and immoral, and everything that might create uneasiness 
 in the minds of particular persons, I find that the demand of my 
 papers has increased every month since their first appearance in 
 the world. This does not, perhaps, reflect so much honour upon 
 myself, as on my readers, who give a much greater attention to 
 discourses of virtue and morality, than ever I expected, or indeed 
 could hope. 
 
 When I broke loose from that great body of writers who have 
 employed their wit and parts in propagating of vice and irreligion, 
 I did not question but I should be treated as an odd kind of fellow 
 that had a mind to appear singular in my way of writing: but the 
 general reception I have found, convinces me that the world is not 
 so corrupt as we are apt to imagine ; and that if those men of parts 
 who have been employed in vitiating the age had endeavoured to 
 rectify and amend it, they needed not have sacrificed their good 
 sense and virtue to their fame and reputation. No man is so sunk 
 in vice and ignorance, but there are still some hidden seeds of good- 
 ness and knowledge in him; which give him a relish of such reflec- 
 tions and speculations as have an aptness to improve the mind, 
 and to make the heart better. 
 
 248
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 I have shown in a former paper, with how much care I have 
 avoided all such thoughts as are loose, obscene, or immoral; and 
 I believe my reader would still think the better of me, if he knew 
 the pains I am at in qualifying what I write after such a manner, 
 that nothing may be interpreted as aimed at private persons. For 
 this reason, when I draw any faulty character, I consider all those 
 persons to whom the malice of the world may possibly apply it, 
 and take care to dash it with such particular circumstances as may 
 prevent all such ill-natured applications. If I write anything on 
 a black man. I run over in my mind all the eminent persons in the 
 nation who are of that complexion: when I place an imaginary 
 name at the head of a character, I examine every syllable and letter 
 of it, that it may not bear any resemblance to one that is real. I 
 know very well the value which every man sets upon his reputation, 
 and how painful it is to be exposed to the mirth and derision of the 
 public, and should therefore scorn to divert my reader at the expense 
 of any private man. 
 
 As I have been thus tender of every particular person's reputa- 
 tion, so I have taken more than ordinary care not to give offence 
 to those who appear in the higher figures of life. I would not 
 make myself merry even with a piece of pasteboard that is invested 
 with a public character; for which reason I have never glanced 
 upon the late designed procession of his Holiness and his atten- 
 dants, notwithstanding it might have afforded matter to many ludi- 
 crous speculations. Among those advantages which the public 
 may reap from this paper, it is not the least, that it draws men's 
 minds off from the bitterness of party, and furnishes them with 
 subjects of discourse that may be treated without warmth or pas- 
 sion. This is said to have been the first design of those gentlemen 
 who set on foot the Royal Society; and had then a very good effect, 
 as it turned many of the greatest geniuses of that age to the dis- 
 quisitions of natural knowledge, who, if they had engaged in poli- 
 tics with the same parts and application, might have set their 
 country in a flame. The air-pump, the barometer, the quadrant, 
 and the like inventions, were thrown out to those busy spirits, as 
 tubs and barrels are to a whale, that he may let the ship sail on 
 without disturbance, while he diverts himself with those innocent 
 amusements. 
 
 I have been so very scrupulous in this particular of not hurting 
 any man's reputation, that I have forborne mentioning even such 
 
 249
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 authors as I could not name with honour. This I must confess to 
 have been a piece of very great self-denial: for as the public relishes 
 nothing better than the ridicule which turns upon a writer of any 
 eminence, so there is nothing which a man that has but a very ordi- 
 nary talent in ridicule may execute with greater ease. One might 
 raise laughter for a quarter of a year together upon the works of a 
 person who has published but a very few volumes. For which 
 reason I am astonished, that those who have appeared against this 
 paper have made so very little of it. The criticisms which I have 
 hitherto published, have been made with an intention rather to dis- 
 cover beauties and excellencies in the writers of my own time, than to 
 publish any of their faults and imperfections. In the mean while, 
 I should take if for a very great favour from some of my underhand 
 detractors, it they would break all measures with me so far, as to 
 give me a pretence for examining their performances with an im- 
 partial eye; nor shall I look upon it as a breach of charity to criti- 
 cise the author, so long as I keep clear of the person. 
 
 In the meanwhile, till lam provoked to such hostilities, I shall from 
 time to time endeavour to do justice to those who have distinguished 
 themselves in the politer parts of learning, and to point out such 
 beauties in their works as may have escaped the observation of others. 
 
 As the first place among our English poets is due to Milton, and 
 as I have drawn more quotations out of him than from any other, I 
 shall enter into a regular criticism upon his Paradise Lost, which I 
 shall publish every Saturday, till I have given my thoughts upon 
 that poem. I shall not, however, presume to impose upon others my 
 own particular judgment on this author, but only deliver it as my 
 private opinion. Criticism is of a large extent, and every particu- 
 lar master in this art has his favourite passages in an author, which 
 do not equally strike the best judges. It will be sufficient for me 
 if I discover many beauties or imperfections which others have not 
 attended to, and I should be very glad to see any of our eminent 
 writers publish their discoveries on the same subject. In short, I 
 would always be understood to write my papers of criticism in the 
 spirit which Horace has expressed in those famous lines; 
 
 Si quid novisti rectius istis, 
 Candidas imperti; si non, his utere mecum. 
 
 If you have made any better remarks of your own, communicate 
 them with candour ; if not, make use of these I present you with, 
 
 250
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 PIN-MONEY 
 
 No. 295.] THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 1711-12. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Prodiga non sentit pereuntem foemina censum: 
 
 At velut exhausta redivivus pullulet area 
 
 Nummus, et fe pleno semper tollatur acervo, 
 
 Non unquam reputat quanti sibi gaudia constent. Jov. 
 
 MR. SPECTATOR, I am turned of my great climacteric, 
 and am naturally a man of a meek temper. About a dozen 
 years ago I was married, for my sins, to a young woman of a good 
 family, and of an high spirit; but could not bring her to close with 
 me, before I had entered into a treaty with her longer than that of 
 the grand alliance. Among other articles, it was therein stipulated 
 that she should have 400 a year for pin money, which I obliged 
 myself to pay quarterly into the hands of one who acted as her pleni- 
 potentiary in that affair. I have ever since religiously observed my 
 part in this solemn agreement. Now, sir, so it is, that the lady has 
 had several children since I married her; to which, if I should credit 
 our malicious neighbours, her pin-money has not a little contributed. 
 The education of these my children, who, contrary to my expecta- 
 tion, are born to me every year, straitens me so much, that I have 
 begged their mother to free me from the obligation of the above- 
 mentioned pin-money, that it may go towards making a provision 
 for her family. This proposal makes her noble blood swell in her 
 veins, insomuch that finding me a little tardy in her last quarter's 
 payment, she threatens me every day to arrest me; and proceeds so 
 far as to tell me, that if I do not do her justice, I shall die in a jail. To 
 this she adds, when her passion will let her argue calmly, that she 
 has several play-debts on her hand, which must be discharged very 
 suddenly, and that she cannot lose her money as becomes a woman 
 of her fashion, if she makes me any abatements in this article. I 
 hope, sir, you will take an occasion from hence to give your opinion 
 upon a subject which you have not yet touched, and inform us if 
 there are any precedents for this usage among our ancestors; or 
 whether you find any mention of pin-money in Grotius, Puffendorf, 
 or any other of the civilians. 
 
 " I am ever the humblest of your admirers, 
 
 JOSIAH FRIBBLE, Esq." 
 
 251
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 As there is no man living who is a more professed advocate for 
 the fair sex than myself, so there is none that would be more unwil- 
 ling to invade any of their ancient rights and privileges; but as the 
 doctrine of phi-money is of a very late date, unknown to our great- 
 grandmothers, and not yet received by many of our modern ladies, I 
 think it is for the interest of both sexes to keep it from spreading. 
 
 Mr. Fribble may not, perhaps, be much mistaken where he inti- 
 mates, that the supplying a man's wife with pin money, is furnishing 
 her with arms against himself, and in a manner becoming accessory 
 to his own dishonour. We may, indeed, generally observe, that in 
 proportion as a woman is more or less beautiful, and her husband 
 advanced hi years, she stands in need of a greater or less number 
 of pins, and upon a treaty of marriage rises or falls in her demands 
 accordingly. It must likewise be owned, that high quality in a 
 mistress does very much inflame this article hi the marriage reckon- 
 ing. 
 
 But where the age and circumstances of both parties are pretty 
 much upon a level, I cannot but think the insisting upon pin-money 
 is very extraordinary; and yet we find several matches broken off 
 upon this very head. What would a foreigner, or one who is a 
 stranger to this practice, think of a lover that forsakes his mistress, 
 because he is not willing to keep her in phis; but what would he 
 think of the mistress, should he be informed that she asks five or 
 six hundred pounds a year for this use ? Should a man unacquainted 
 with our customs be told the sums which are allowed in Great 
 Britain, under the title of pin-money, what a prodigious consumption 
 of pins would he think there was in this island ! " A pin a day (says 
 our frugal proverb) is a great a year;" so that according to this 
 calculation, my friend Fribble's wife must every year make use 
 of eight millions six hundred and forty thousand new pins. 
 
 I am not ignorant that our British ladies allege they comprehend 
 under this general term several other conveniences of life; I could 
 therefore wish, for the honour of my country-women, that they had 
 rather called it needle-money, which might have implied something 
 of good-housewifery, and not have given the malicious world occa- 
 sion to think, that dress and trifle have always the uppermost place 
 in a woman's thoughts. 
 
 I know several of my fair readers urge, hi defence of this practice, 
 that it is but a necessary provision to make for themselves, in case 
 their husband proves a churl or a miser; so that they consider this 
 
 252
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 allowance as a kind of alimony, which they may lay their claim to 
 without actually separating from their husbands. But with sub- 
 mission, I think a woman who will give up herself to a man in mar- 
 riage, where there is the least room for such an apprehension, and 
 trust her person to one whom she will not rely on for the common 
 necessaries of life, may very properly be accused (in the phrase of 
 an homely proverb) of being "penny wise and pound foolish." 
 
 It is observed of over-cautious generals, that they never engage 
 in a battle without securing a retreat, in case the event should not 
 answer their expectations ; on the other hand, the greatest conquerors 
 have burnt their ships, and broke down the bridges behind them, 
 as being determined either to succeed or die in the engagement. 
 In the same manner I should very much suspect a woman who 
 takes such precautions for her retreat, and contrives methods how 
 she may live happily, without the affection of one to whom she 
 joins herself for life. Separate purses between man and wife, are, 
 in my opinion, as unnatural as separate beds. A marriage cannot 
 be happy, where the pleasures, inclinations, and interests of both 
 parties are not the same. There is no greater incitement to love 
 in the mind of man, than the sense of a person's depending upon 
 him for her ease and happiness ; as a woman uses all her endeavours 
 to please the person whom she looks upon as her honour, her 
 comfort, and her support. 
 
 For this reason I am not very much surprised at the behaviour of 
 a rough country squire, who, being not a little shocked at the 
 proceeding of a young widow that would not recede from her 
 demands of pin-money, was so enraged at her mercenary temper, 
 that he told her in great wrath, " As much as she thought him her 
 slave, he would show all the world he did not care a pin for her." 
 Upon which he flew out of the room, and never saw her more. 
 
 Socrates, in Plato's Alcibiades, says, he was informed by one, 
 who had travelled through Persia, that as he passed over a tract of 
 lands and inquired what the name of the place was, they told him 
 it was the queen's girdle; to which he adds, that another wide 
 field which lay by it was called the queen's veil, and that in the 
 same manner there was a large portion of ground set aside for 
 every part of her Majesty's dress. These lands might not be 
 improperly called the Queen of Persia's pin-money. 
 
 I remember my friend Sir Roger, who I dare say never read this 
 passage in Plato, told me some time since, that upon his courting 
 
 253
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 the perverse widow, (of whom I have given an account in former 
 papers), he had disposed of an hundred acres in a diamond-ring, 
 which he would have presented her with, had she thought fit to 
 accept it ; and that upon her wedding-day she should have carried 
 on her head fifty of the tallest oaks upon his estate. He further 
 informed me that he would have given her a coal-pit to keep her in 
 clean linen, that he would have allowed her the profits of a wind- 
 mill for her fans, and have presented her, once in three years, with 
 the shearing of his sheep for her under-petticoats. To which the 
 knight always adds, that though he did not care for fine clothes 
 himself, there should not have been a woman in the country better 
 dressed than my lady Coverley. Sir Roger, perhaps, may in this, 
 as well as hi many other of his devices, appear something odd and 
 singular, but if the humour of pin-money prevails, I think it would 
 be very proper for every gentleman of an estate to mark out so many 
 acres of it under the title of The Pins. 
 
 LETTER FROM SIR JOHN ENVIL 
 
 No. 299.] TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1711-12. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Malo Venusinam, quam te, Cornelia, mater 
 Gracchorum, si cum magnis virtutibus affers 
 Grande supercilium, et numeras in dote triumphos. 
 Tolle tuum precor Annibalem victumque Syphacem 
 In castris, et cum tota Carthagine migra. Juv. 
 
 IT is observed, that a man improves more by reading the story 
 of a person eminent for prudence and virtue, than by the 
 finest rules and precepts of morality. In the same manner a 
 representation of those calamities and misfortunes which a weak 
 man suffers from wrong measures and ill-concerted schemes of 
 life, is apt to make a deeper impression upon our minds, than the 
 wisest maxims and instructions that can be given us for avoiding 
 the like follies and indiscretions in our own private conduct. It is 
 for this reason that I lay before my reader the following letter, and 
 leave it with him to make his own use of it, without adding any 
 reflections of my own upon the subject-matter 
 
 254
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 "MR. SPECTATOR, Having carefully perused a letter sent 
 you by Josiah Fribble, Esq., with your subsequent discourse 
 upon pin money, I do presume to trouble you with an account 
 of my own case, which I look upon to be no less deplorable 
 than that of Squire Fribble. I am a person of no extraction, 
 having begun the world with a small parcel of rusty iron, 
 and was for some years commonly known by the name of 
 Jack Anvil. I have naturally a very happy genius for getting 
 money, insomuch that by the age of five and twenty, I had 
 scraped together four thousand two hundred pounds, five shillings, 
 and a few odd pence. I then launched out into considerable busi- 
 ness, and became a bold trader both by sea and land, which in a 
 few years raised me a very considerable fortune. For these my 
 good services I was knighted in the thirty-fifth year of my age, and 
 lived with great dignity among my city neighbours by the name of 
 Sir John Anvil. Being in my temper very ambitious, I was now bent 
 upon making a family, and accordingly resolved that my descendants 
 should have a dash of good blood in their veins. In order to this I 
 made love to the Lady Mary Oddly, an indigent young woman of 
 quality. To cut short the marriage treaty, I threw her a charte 
 blanche, as our newspapers call it, desiring her to write upon it her 
 own terms. She was very concise in her demands, insisting only 
 that the disposal of my fortune, and the regulation of my family, 
 should be entirely in her hands. Her father and brothers appeared 
 exceedingly averse to this match, and would not see me for some 
 time ; but at present are so well reconciled, that they dine with me 
 almost every day, and have borrowed considerable sums of me; 
 which my Lady Mary very often twits me with, when she would 
 show me how kind her relations are to me. She had no portion, as 
 I told you before, but what she wanted in fortune she makes up in 
 spirit. She at first changed my name to Sir John Envil, and at 
 present writes herself Mary Enville. I have had some children by 
 her, whom she has christened with the surnames of her family, 
 in order, as she tells me, to wear out the homeliness of their par- 
 entage by the father's side. Our eldest son is the Honourable 
 Oddly Enville, Esq., and our eldest daughter, Harriot Enville. 
 Upon her first coming into my family, she turned off a parcel of 
 very careful servants, who had been long with me, and introduced 
 in their stead a couple of Blackamoors, and three or four very genteel 
 fellows in laced liveries, besides her French woman, who is perpetu- 
 
 255
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ally making a noise in the house in a language which nobody under- 
 stands, except my Lady Mary. She next set herself to reform every 
 room of my house, having glazed all my chimney-pieces with looking- 
 glass, and planted every corner with such heaps of china, that I am 
 obliged to move about my own house with the greatest caution and 
 circumspection, for fear of hurting some of our brittle furniture. 
 She makes an illumination once a week with wax-candles in one of 
 the largest rooms, in order, as she phrases it, to see company. At 
 which time she always desires me to be abroad, or to confine myself 
 to the cock-loft, that I may not disgrace her among her visitants of 
 quality. Her footmen, as I told you before, are such beaus, that 
 I do not much care for asking them questions; when I do, they 
 answer me with a saucy frown, and say that everything, which I 
 find fault with, was done by my Lady Mary's order. She tells me 
 that she intends they shall wear swords with their next liveries, 
 having lately observed the footmen of two or three persons of 
 quality hanging behind the coach with swords by their sides. As 
 soon as the first honey-moon was over, I represented to her the 
 unreasonableness of those daily innovations which she made in my 
 family; but she told me I was no longer to consider myself as Sir 
 John Anvil, but as her husband; and added with a frown, that I 
 did not seem to know who she was. I was surprised to be treated 
 thus, after such familiarities as had passed between us. But she 
 has since given me to know, that whatever freedoms she may 
 sometimes indulge me in, she expects in general to be treated with 
 the respect that is due to her birth and quality. Our children have 
 been trained up from their infancy with so many accounts of their 
 mother's family, that they know the stories of all the great men and 
 women it had produced. Their mother tells them, that such an 
 one commanded hi such a sea engagement, that their great-grand- 
 father had a horse shot under him at Edgehill, that their uncle was 
 at the siege of Buda, and that her mother danced in a ball at court 
 with the Duke of Monmouth ; with abundance of fiddle-faddle of the 
 same nature. I was, the other day, a little out of countenance at a 
 question of my little daughter Harriot, who asked me, with a great 
 deal of innocence, why I never told them of the generals and 
 admirals that had been in my family. As for my eldest son Oddly, 
 he has been so spirited up by his mother, that if he does not mend 
 his manners I shall go near to disinherit him. He drew his sword 
 upon me before he was nine years old, and told me, that he expected 
 
 256
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 to be used like a gentleman; upon my offering to correct him for 
 his insolence, my Lady Mary stept in between us, and told me, 
 that I ought to consider there was some difference between his 
 mother and mine. She is perpetually finding out the features of her 
 own relations in every one of my children, though, by the way, I 
 have a little chub-faced boy as like me as he can stare, if I durst 
 say so; but what most angers, me, when she sees me playing with 
 any of them upon my knee, she has begged me more than once to 
 converse with the children as little as possible, that they may not 
 learn any of my awkward tricks. 
 
 "You must further know, since I am opening my heart to you, 
 that she thinks herself my superior in sense, as much as she is in 
 quality, and therefore treats me like a plain well-meaning man, 
 who does not know the world. She dictates to me in my own 
 business, sets me right in a point of trade, and if I disagree with her 
 about any of my ships at sea, wonders that I will dispute with her, 
 when I know very well that her great-grandfather was a flag officer. 
 
 "To complete my sufferings, she has teased me for this quarter of 
 a year last past, to remove into one of the Squares at the other end 
 of the town, promising, for my encouragement, that I shall have as 
 good a cock-loft as any gentleman in the Square: to which the 
 Honourable Oddly Enville, Esq. always adds, like a jack-a-napes 
 as he is, that he hopes it will be as near the court as possible. 
 
 "In short, MR. SPECTATOR, I am so much out of my natural 
 element, that to recover my old way of life I would be content to 
 begin the world again, and be plain Jack Anvil; but alas! I am in for 
 life, and am bound to subscribe myself, with great sorrow of heart, 
 
 " Your humble servant, 
 
 JOHN ENVILLE, Knt. w 
 
 257
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ON WASTE OF TIME 
 
 No. 317.] TUESDAY, MARCH 4, 1711-12. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Fruges consumers nati. 
 
 HOE. i Ep. ii. 27. 
 
 Born to drink and eat. 
 
 AUGUSTUS, a few moments before his death, asked his friends 
 who stood about him, if they thought he had acted his part 
 well; and upon receiving such an answer as was due to his extra- 
 ordinary merit, "Let me then," says he, "go off the stage with your 
 applause"; using the expression with which the Roman actors 
 made their exit at the conclusion of a dramatic piece. I could 
 wish that men, while they are in health, would consider well the 
 nature of the part they are engaged in, and what figure it will make 
 in the minds of those they leave behind them : whether it was worth 
 coming into the world for: whether it be suitable to a reasonable 
 being; in short, whether it appears graceful in this life, or will 
 turn to an advantage in the next. Let the sycophant or buffoon, 
 the satirist or the good companion, consider with himself, when 
 his body shall be laid in the grave and his soul pass into another 
 state of existence, how much it would redound to his praise to have 
 it said of him, that no man in England ate better, that he had an 
 admirable talent at turning his friend into ridicule, that nobody 
 outdid him at an ill-natured jest, or that he never went to bed before 
 he had dispatched his third bottle. These are, however, very 
 common funeral orations, and eulogiums on deceased persons who 
 have acted among mankind with some figure and reputation. 
 
 But if we look into the bulk of our species, they are such as are 
 not likely to be remembered a moment after their disappearance. 
 They leave behind them no traces of their existence, but are for- 
 gotten as though they had never been. They are neither wanted 
 by the poor, regretted by the rich, nor celebrated by the learned. 
 They are neither missed in the commonwealth, nor lamented by 
 private persons. Their actions are of no significancy to mankind, 
 and might have been performed by creatures of much less dignity 
 than those who are distinguished by the faculty of reason. An 
 
 258 "
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 eminent French author speaks somewhere to the following pur- 
 pose: I have often seen from my chamber window two noble crea- 
 tures, both of them of an erect countenance and endowed with 
 reason. These two intellectual beings are employed from morn- 
 ing to night, in rubbing two smooth stones one upon another; 
 that is, as the vulgar phrase it, in polishing marble. 
 
 My friend, Sir Andrew Freeport, as we were sitting in the club 
 last night, gave us an account of a sober citizen who died a few 
 days since. This honest man, being of greater consequence in 
 his own thoughts than in the eye of the world, had for some years 
 past kept a journal of his life. Sir Andrew showed us one week 
 of it. Since the occurrences set down in it mark out such a road 
 of action as that I have been speaking of, I shall present my reader 
 with a faithful copy of it; after having first informed him, that the 
 deceased person had in his youth been bred to trade, but finding 
 himself not so well turned for business, he had for several years 
 last past lived altogether upon a moderate annuity. 
 
 MONDAY, eight o'clock. I put on my clothes, and walked into 
 the parlour. 
 
 Nine o'clock ditto. Tied my knee-strings, and washed my 
 hands. 
 
 Hours, ten, eleven, and twelve. Smoked three pipes of Vir- 
 ginia. Read the Supplement and Daily Courant. Things go 
 ill in the north. Mr. Nisby's opinion thereupon. 
 
 One o'clock hi the afternoon. Chid Ralph for mislaying mv 
 tobacco-box. 
 
 Two o'clock. Sat down to dinner. Mem. Too many plums 
 and no suet. 
 
 From three to four took my afternoon's nap. 
 
 From four to six. Walked into the fields. Wind S.S.E. 
 
 From six to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's opinion about 
 the peace. 
 
 Ten o'clock. Went to bed, slept sound. 
 
 TUESDAY, being holiday, eight o'clock. Rose as usual. 
 Nine o'clock. Washed hands and face, shaved, put on my 
 double-soaled shoes. 
 
 Ten, eleven, twelve. Took a walk to Islington. 
 One. Took a pot of Mother Cob's mild. 
 
 259
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Between two and three. Returned, dined on a knuckle of veal 
 and bacon. Mem. Sprouts wanting. 
 
 Three. Nap as usual. 
 
 From four to six. Coffee-house. Read the news. A dish of 
 twist. Grand visier strangled. 
 
 From six to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's account of the 
 Great Turk. 
 
 Ten. Dream of the grand visier. Broken sleep. 
 
 WEDNESDAY, eight o'clock. Tongue of my shoe-buckle broke. 
 Hands but not face. 
 
 Nine. Paid off the butcher's bill. Mem. To be allowed for 
 the last leg of mutton. 
 
 Ten, eleven. At the coffee-house. More work in the north. 
 Stranger in a black wig asked me how stocks went. 
 
 From twelve to one. Walked in the fields. Wind to the south. 
 
 From one to two. Smoked a pipe and a half. 
 
 Two. Dined as usual. Stomach good. 
 
 Three. Nap broke by the falling of a pewter dish. Mem. 
 Cook-maid in love, and grown careless. 
 
 From four to six. At the coffee-house. Advice from Smyrna 
 that the grand visier was first of all strangled, and afterwards 
 beheaded. 
 
 Six o'clock in the evening. Was half an hour in the club before 
 anybody else came. Mr. Nisby of opinion that the grand visier 
 was not strangled the sixth instant. 
 
 Ten at night. Went to bed. Slept without waking till nine the 
 next morning. 
 
 THURSDAY, nine o'clock. Staid within till two o'clock for Sir Tim- 
 othy; who did not bring me my annuity according to his promise. 
 
 Two in the afternoon. Sat down to dinner. Loss of appetite. 
 Small-beer sour. Beef overcorned. 
 
 Three. Could not take my nap. 
 
 Four and five. Gave Ralph a box on the ear. Turned off my 
 cook-maid. Sent a messenger to Sir Timothy. Mem. I did not 
 go to the club to-night. Went to bed at nine o'clock. 
 
 FRIDAY. Passed the morning in meditation upon Sir Timothy, 
 who was with me a quarter before twelve. 
 
 260
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Twelve o'clock. Bought a new head to my cane, and a tongue 
 to my buckle. Drank a glass of purl to recover appetite. 
 
 Two and three. Dined and slept well. 
 
 From four to six. Went to the coffee-house. Met Mr. Nisby 
 there. Smoked several pipes. Mr. Nisby of opinion that laced 
 coffee is bad for the head. 
 
 Six o'clock. At the club as steward. Sat late. 
 
 Twelve o'clock. Went to bed, dreamt that I drank small-beer 
 with the grand visier. 
 
 SATURDAY. Waked at eleven, walked in the fields, wind N.E. 
 
 Twelve. Caught in a shower. 
 
 One in the afternoon. Returned home and dried myself. 
 
 Two. Mr. Nisby dined with me. First course, marrow-bones; 
 second, ox-cheek, with a bottle of Brooks and Hellier. 
 
 Three. Overslept myself. 
 
 Six. Went to the club. Like to have fallen into a gutter. 
 Grand visier certainly dead, &c. 
 
 I question not but the reader will be surprised to find the above- 
 mentioned journalist taking so much care of a life that was filled 
 with such inconsiderable actions, and received so very small improve- 
 ments, and yet if we look into the behaviour of many whom we 
 daily converse with, we shall find that most of their hours are taken 
 up in those three important articles of eating, drinking, and sleeping. 
 I do not suppose that a man loses his time, who is not engaged hi 
 public affairs or in an illustrious course of action. On the contrary, 
 I believe our hours may very often be more profitably laid out in 
 such transactions as make no figure in the world, than hi such as 
 are apt to draw upon them the attention of mankind. One may be- 
 come wiser and better by several methods of employing one's self in 
 secrecy and silence, and do what is laudable without noise or ostenta- 
 tion. I would, however, recommend to every one of my readers, 
 the keeping a journal of their lives for one week, and setting down 
 punctually their whole series of employments during that space of 
 time. This kind of self-examination, would give them a true state 
 of themselves, and incline them to consider seriously what they are 
 about. One would rectify the omissions of another, and make a 
 man weigh all those indifferent actions, which, though they are 
 easily forgotten, must certainly be accounted for. L. 
 
 261
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 A YOUNG LADY'S JOURNAL OF A WEEK 
 
 No. 323.] TUESDAY, MARCH n, 1711-12. [ADDISON.J 
 Modo vir, modo fccmina. VIRG. 
 
 THE journal with which I presented my reader on Tuesday 
 last, has brought me in several letters, with accounts of 
 many private lives cast into that form. I have the Rake's Jour- 
 nal, the Sot's Journal, the Whoremaster's Journal, and among 
 several others a very curious piece, entitled, "The Journal of a 
 Mohock." By these instances I find that the intention of my 
 last Tuesday's paper has been mistaken by many of my readers. 
 I did not design so much to expose vice as idleness, and aimed at 
 those persons who pass away their time rather in trifles and imper- 
 tinence, than in crimes and immoralities. Offences of this latter 
 kind are not to be dallied with, or treated in so ludicrous a manner. 
 In short, my journal only holds up folly to the light, and shows the 
 disagreeableness of such actions as are indifferent in themselves, 
 and blameable only as they proceed from creatures endowed with 
 reason. 
 
 My following correspondent, who calls herself Clarinda, is such 
 a journalist as I require : she seems by her letter to be placed in a 
 modish state of indifference between vice and virtue, and to be sus- 
 ceptible of either, were there proper pains taken with her. Had 
 her journal been filled with gallantries, or such occurrences as had 
 shown her wholly divested of her natural innocence, notwithstand- 
 ing it might have been more pleasing to the generality of readers, 
 I should not have published it ; but as it is only the picture of a life 
 filled with a fashionable kind of gaiety and laziness, I shall set 
 down five days of it, as I have received it from the hand of my 
 correspondent. 
 
 "DEAR MR. SPECTATOR, You having set your readers an 
 exercise hi one of your last week's papers, I have performed mine 
 according to your orders, and herewith send it you enclosed. You 
 must know, Mr. Spectator, that I am a maiden lady of a good 
 fortune, who have had several matches offered me for these ten 
 years last past, and have at present warm applications made to 
 me by a very pretty fellow. As I am at my own disposal, I come 
 up to town every winter, and pass my time in it after the manner 
 
 262
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 you will find in the following journal, which I began to write upon 
 the very day after your Spectator upon that subject. 
 
 TUESDAY night. Could not go to sleep till one hi the morning 
 for thinking of my journal. 
 
 WEDNESDAY. From eight to ten. Drank two dishes of choco- 
 late hi bed, and fell asleep after them. 
 
 From ten to eleven. Eat a slice of bread and butter, drank a dish 
 of bohea, read the Spectator. 
 
 From eleven to one. At my toilette, tried a new head. Gave 
 orders for Veny to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best hi 
 blue. 
 
 From one till half an hour after two. Drove to the 'Change. 
 Cheapened a couple of fans. 
 
 Till four. At dinner. Mem. Mr. Froth passed by hi his new 
 liveries. 
 
 From four to six. Dressed, paid a visit to old Lady Blithe and 
 her sister, having before heard they were gone out of town that 
 day. 
 
 From six to eleven. At Basset. Mem. Never set again upon 
 the ace of diamonds. 
 
 THURSDAY. From eleven at night to eight in the morning. 
 Dreamed that I punted to Mr. Froth. 
 
 From eight to ten. Chocolate. Read two acts hi Aurenzebe 
 a-bed. 
 
 From ten to eleven. Tea-table. Sent to borrow Lady Faddle's 
 Cupid for Veny. Read the play-bills. Received a letter from 
 Mr. Froth. Mem. Locked it up in my strong box. 
 
 Rest of the morning. Fontange, the tire-woman, her account of 
 Lady Blithe's wash. Broke a tooth hi my little tortoise-shell 
 comb. Sent Frank to know how my Lady Hectick rested after 
 her monkey's leaping out at the window. Looked pale. Fontagne 
 tells me my glass is not true. Dressed by three. 
 
 From three to four. Dinner cold before I sat down. 
 
 From four to eleven. Saw company. Mr. Froth's opinion of 
 Milton. His accounts of the Mohocks. His fancy for a phi-cushion. 
 Picture hi the lid of his snuff-box. Old Lady Faddle promises me 
 her woman to cut my hair. Lost five guineas at crimp. 
 
 Twelve o'clock at night. Went to bed. 
 
 263
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 . FRIDAY. Eight in the morning. A-bed. Read over all Mr. 
 Froth's letters. Cupid and Veny. 
 
 Ten o'clock. Stayed within all day, not at home. 
 
 From ten to twelve. In conference with my mantua-maker. 
 Sorted a suit of ribands. Broke my blue china cup. 
 
 From twelve to one. Shut myself up in my chamber, practised 
 Lady Betty Modely's skuttle. 
 
 One in the afternoon. Called for my flowered handkerchief. 
 Worked half a violet leaf in it. Eyes ached and head out of order. 
 Threw by my work, and read over the remaining part of Aurenzebe. 
 
 From three to four. Dined. 
 
 From four to twelve. Changed my mind, dressed, went abroad, 
 and played at crimp till midnight. Found Mrs. Spitely at^ home. 
 Conversation: Mrs. Brillant's necklace false stones. Old Lady 
 Loveday going to be married to a young fellow that is not worth a 
 groat. Miss Prue gone into the country. Tom Townley has red 
 hair. Mem. Mrs. Spitely whispered in my ear that she had some- 
 thing to tell me about Mr. Froth, I am sure it is not true. 
 
 Between twelve and one. Dreamed that Mr. Froth lay at my 
 feet, and called me Indamora. 
 
 SATURDAY. Rose at eight o'clock in the morning. Sat down to 
 my toilette. 
 
 From eight to nine. Shifted a patch for half an hour before I 
 could determine it. Fixed it above my left eyebrow. 
 
 From nine to twelve. Drank my tea, and dressed. 
 
 From twelve to two. At chapel. A great deal of good company. 
 Mem. The third air in the new opera. Lady Blithe dressed fright- 
 fully. 
 
 From three to four. Dined. Mrs. Kitty called upon me to go to 
 the opera before I was risen from table. 
 
 From dinner to six. Drank tea. Turned off a footman for being 
 rude to Veny. 
 
 Six o'clock. Went to the opera. I did not see Mr. Froth till the 
 beginning of the second act. Mr. Froth talked to a gentleman in a 
 black wig. Bowed to a lady hi the front box. Mr. Froth and his 
 friend clapped Nicolini in the third act. Mr. Froth cried out An- 
 cora. Mr. Froth led me to my chair. I think he squeezed my hand. 
 
 Eleven at night. Went to bed. Melancholy dreams. Me- 
 thought Nicolini said he was Mr. Froth. 
 
 264
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 SUNDAY. Indisposed. 
 
 MONDAY. Eight o'clock. Waked by Miss Kitty. Aurenzebe 
 lay upon the chair by me. Kitty repeated without book the eight 
 best lines in the play. Went in our mobs to the dumb man, accord- 
 ing to appointment. Told me that my lover's name began with a 
 G. Mem. The conjurer was within a letter of Mr. Froth's name, 
 &c. 
 
 " Upon looking back into this my journal, I find that I am at a 
 loss to know whether I pass my time well or ill; and indeed never 
 thought of considering how I did it, before I perused your specula- 
 tion upon that subject. I scarce find a single action hi these five 
 days that I can thoroughly approve of, except the working upon the 
 violet leaf, which I am resolved to finish the first day I am at leisure. 
 As for Mr. Froth and Veny, I did not think they took up so much 
 of my time and thoughts, as I find they do upon my journal. The 
 latter of whom I will turn off if you insist upon it ; and if Mr. Froth 
 does not bring matters to a conclusion very suddenly, I will not let 
 my life run away in a dream. 
 
 "Your humble servant, 
 
 CLARINDA." 
 
 To resume one of the morals of my first paper, and to confirm 
 Clarinda in her good inclinations, I would have her consider what 
 a pretty figure she would make among posterity, were the history of 
 her whole life published like these five days of it. I shall conclude 
 my paper with an epitaph written by an uncertain author on Sir 
 Philip Sidney's sister, a lady who seems to have been of a temper 
 very much different from that of Clarinda. The last thought of it 
 is so very noble, that I dare say my reader will pardon the quotation. 
 
 On the Countess Dowager of PEMBROKE. 
 
 Underneath this marble hearse 
 Lies the subject of all verse, 
 Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; 
 Death, ere thou hast killed another, 
 Fair, and learned, and good as she, 
 Time shall throw a dart at thee. 
 
 265
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 VARIOUS ADVANTAGES OF THE 
 SPECTATORS 
 
 No. 367.3 THURSDAY MAY i, 1712. [ADDISON,] 
 
 Periturae parcite chartae. Juv. 
 
 I HAVE often pleased myself with considering the two kinds of 
 benefits which accrue to the public from these my Speculations, 
 and which, were I to speak after the manner of logicians, I would 
 distinguish into the material and the formal. By the latter I under- 
 stand those advantages which my readers receive, as their minds 
 are either improved or delighted by these my daily labours: but 
 having already several times descanted on my endeavours in this 
 light, I shall at present wholly confine myself to the consideration of 
 the former. By the word material I mean those benefits which 
 arise to the public from these my Speculations, as they consume a 
 considerable quantity of our paper manufacture, employ our arti- 
 sans in printing, and find business for great numbers of indigent 
 persons. 
 
 Our paper-manufacture takes into it several mean materials 
 which could be put to no other use, and affords work for several 
 hands in the collecting of them, which are incapable of any other 
 employment. Those poor retailers, whom we see so busy in every 
 street, deliver in their respective gleanings to the merchant. The 
 merchant carries them in loads to the paper-mill, where they pass 
 through a fresh set of hands, and give life to another trade. Those 
 who have mills on their estates by this means considerably raise 
 their rents, and the whole nation is in a great measure supplied 
 with a manufacture, for which formerly she was obliged to her 
 neighbours. 
 
 The materials are no sooner wrought into paper, but they are 
 distributed among the presses, where they again set innumerable 
 artists at work, and furnish business to another mystery. From 
 hence, accordingly as they are stained with news or politics, they 
 fly through the town in Post-men, Post-boys, Daily Courants, 
 Reviews, Medleys, and Examiners. Men, women, and children 
 contend who shall be the first bearers of them, and get their daily 
 sustenance by spreading them. In short, when I trace in my 
 mind a bundle of rags to a quire of Spectators, I find so many 
 
 266
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 hands employed in every step they take through their whole progress, 
 that while I am writing a Spectator, I fancy myself providing bread 
 for a multitude. 
 
 If I do not take care to obviate some of my witty readers, they 
 will be apt to tell me, that my paper, after it is thus printed and 
 published, is still beneficial to the public on several occasions. I 
 must confess I have lighted my pipe with my own works for this 
 twelvemonth past: my landlady often sends up her little daughter 
 to desire some of my old Spectators, and has frequently told me, 
 that the paper they are printed on is the best in the world to wrap 
 spice in. They likewise make a good foundation for a mutton- 
 pie, as I have more than once experienced, and were very much 
 sought for last Christmas by the whole neighbourhood. 
 
 It is pleasant enough to consider the changes that a linen fragment 
 undergoes, by passing through the several hands above-mentioned. 
 The finest pieces of Holland, when torn to tatters, assume a new 
 whiteness more beautiful than their first, and often return in the 
 shape of letters to their native country. A lady's shift may be 
 metamorphosed into billet-doux, and come into her possession a 
 second time. A beau may peruse his cravat after it is worn out, 
 with greater pleasure and advantage than ever he did in a glass. 
 In a word, a piece of cloth, after having officiated for some years as 
 a towel or a napkin, may by this means be raised from a dunghill, 
 and become the most valuable piece of furniture in a prince's cabinet. 
 
 The politest nations of Europe have endeavoured to vie with 
 one another for the reputation of the finest printing: absolute govern- 
 ments, as well as republics, have encouraged an art which seems 
 to be the noblest and most beneficial that was ever invented among 
 the sons of men. The present king of France, in his pursuits after 
 glory, has particularly distinguished himself by the promoting of 
 this useful art, insomuch that several books have been printed in 
 the Louvre at his own expense, upon which he sets so great a value, 
 that he considers them as the noblest presents he can make to 
 foreign princes and ambassadors. If we look into the common- 
 wealths of Holland and Venice, we shall find that in this particular 
 they have made themselves the envy of the greatest monarchies. 
 Elzevir and Aldus are more frequently mentioned than any pensioner 
 of the one or doge of the other. 
 
 The several presses which are now in England, and the encour- 
 agement which has been given to learning, for some years last past, 
 
 267
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 has made our own nation as glorious upon this account, as for its 
 late triumphs and conquests. The new edition which is given us 
 of Caesar's Commentaries, has already been taken notice of in foreign 
 gazettes, and is a work that does honour to the English press. It is 
 no wonder that an edition should be very correct, which has passed 
 through the hands of one of the most accurate, learned, and judicious 
 writers this age has produced. The beauty of the paper, of the 
 character, and of the several cuts with which this noble work is 
 illustrated, makes it the finest book that I have ever seen; and is a 
 true instance of the English genius, which, though it does not come 
 the first into any art, generally carries it to greater heights than any 
 other country in the world. I am particularly glad that this author 
 comes from a British printing-house in so great a magnificence, as 
 he is the first who has given us any tolerable account of our country. 
 My illiterate readers, if any such there are, will be surprised to 
 hear me talk of learning as the glory of a nation, and of printing as 
 an art that gains a reputation to a people among whom it flourishes. 
 When men's thoughts are taken up with avarice and ambition, they 
 cannot look upon anything as great or valuable which does not 
 bring with it an extraordinary power or interest to the person who 
 is concerned in it. But as I shall never sink this paper so far as 
 to engage with Goths and Vandals, I shall only regard such kind of 
 reasoners with that pity which is due to so deplorable a degree of 
 stupidity and ignorance. 
 
 I 
 
 HUMOROUS WAY OF SORTING 
 COMPANIES 
 
 No. 371.] TUESDAY, MAY 6, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Jamne igitur laudas quod de sapientibus unus 
 Ridebat ? J0v. 
 
 SHALL communicate to my reader the following letter for 
 the entertainment of this day. 
 
 " SIR, You know very well that our nation is more famous for 
 that sort of men who are called Whims and Humourists, than any 
 
 268
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 other country in the world ; for which reason it is observed that our 
 English comedy excels that of all other nations in the novelty and 
 variety of its characters. 
 
 "Among those innumerable sets of Whims which our country 
 produces, there are none whom I have regarded with more curiosity 
 than those who have invented any particular kind of diversion for 
 the entertainment of themselves or their friends. My letter shall 
 single out those who take delight in sorting a company that has 
 something of burlesque and ridicule in its appearance. I shall 
 make myself understood by the following example. One of the 
 wits of the last age, who was a man of a good estate, thought he 
 never laid out his money better than in a jest. As he was one year 
 at the Bath, observing that in the great confluence of fine people, 
 there were several among them with long chins, a part of the visage 
 by which he himself was very much distinguished, he invited to 
 dinner half a score of these remarkable persons who had their 
 mouths in the middle of their faces. They had no sooner placed 
 themselves about the table, but they began to stare upon one another, 
 not being able to imagine what had brought them together. Our 
 English proverb says, 
 
 'Tis merry in the hall, 
 When beards wag all. 
 
 It proved so in an assembly I am now speaking of, who seeing so 
 many peaks of faces agitated with eating, drinking, and discourse, 
 and observing all the chins that were present meeting together very 
 often over the centre of the table, every one grew sensible of the 
 jest, and came into it with so much good-humour, that they lived 
 in strict friendship and alliance from that day forward. 
 
 " The same gentleman some time after packed together a set of 
 oglers, as he called them, consisting of such as had an unlucky cast 
 in their eyes. His diversion on this occasion was to see the cross 
 bows, mistaken signs, and wrong connivances that passed amidst 
 so many broken and refracted rays of sight. 
 
 "The third feast which this merry gentleman exhibited was to 
 the stammerers, whom he got together in a sufficient body to fill 
 his table. He had ordered one of his servants, who was placed 
 behind a screen, to write down their table-talk, which was very 
 easy to be done without the help of short-hand. It appears by the 
 notes which were taken, that though their conversation never fell, 
 
 269
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 there were not above twenty words spoken during the first course; 
 that upon serving up the second, one of the company was a quarter 
 of an hour in telling them, that the ducklins and sparrow-grass 
 was very good ; and that another took up the same time in declaring 
 himself of the same opinion. This jest did not, however, go off 
 so well as the former; for one of the guests being a brave man, and 
 fuller of resentment than he knew how to express, went out of the 
 room, and sent the facetious inviter a challenge in writing, which 
 though it was afterwards dropped by the interposition of friends, 
 put a stop to these ludicrous entertainments. 
 
 "Now, sir, I dare say you will agree with me, that as there is no 
 moral in these jests, they ought to be discouraged, and looked upon 
 rather as pieces of unluckiness than wit. However, as it is natural 
 for one man to refine upon the thought of another, and impossible 
 for any single person, how great soever his parts may be, to invent 
 an art, and bring it to its utmost perfection ; I shall here give you an 
 account of an honest gentleman of my acquaintance, who upon 
 hearing the character of the wit above-mentioned, has himself 
 assumed it, and endeavoured to convert it to the benefit of mankind. 
 He invited half a dozen of his friends one day to dinner, who were 
 each of them famous for inserting several redundant phrases in their 
 discourse, as ' D'ye hear me, D'ye see, That is, And so, sir.' Each 
 of the guests making frequent use of his particular elegance, ap- 
 peared so ridiculous to his neighbour, that he could not but reflect 
 upon himself as appearing equally ridiculous to the rest of the 
 company: by this means, before they had sat long togther, every 
 < ne talking with the greatest circumspection, and carefully avoiding 
 his favourite expletive, the conversation was cleared of its redun- 
 dancies, and had a greater quantity of sense, though less of sound 
 in it. 
 
 "The same well-meaning gentleman took occasion at another 
 time, to bring together such of his friends as were addicted to a 
 foolish habitual custom of swearing. In order to show them the 
 absurdity of the practice, he had recourse to the invention above- 
 mentioned, having placed an amanuensis in a private part of the 
 room. After the second bottle, when men open their minds without 
 reserve, my honest friend began to take notice of the many sonorous 
 but unnecessary words that had passed in his house since then* 
 sitting down at table, and how much good conversation they had 
 lost by giving way to such superfluous phrases. What a tax, says 
 
 270
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 he, would they have raised for the poor, had we put the laws in 
 execution upon one another? Every one of them took this gentle 
 reproof in good part: upon which he told them, that knowing 
 their conversation would have no secrets in it, he had ordered it to 
 be taken down in writing, and for the humour-sake would read it 
 to them if they pleased. There were ten sheets of it, which might 
 have been reduced to two, had there not been those abominable 
 interpolations I have before mentioned. Upon the reading of it 
 in cold blood, it looked rather like a conference of fiends than of 
 men. In short, every one trembled at himself upon hearing calmly 
 what he had pronounced amidst the heat and inadvertency of 
 discourse. 
 
 "I shall only mention another occasion wherein he made use of 
 the same invention to cure a different kind of men, who are the 
 pests of all polite conversation, and murder time as much as either 
 of the two former, though they do it more innocently; I mean that 
 dull generation of story-tellers. My friend got together about half 
 a dozen of his acquaintance, who were infected with this strange 
 malady. The first day one of them sitting down, entered upon the 
 siege of Namur, which lasted till four o'clock, their time of parting. 
 The second day a North Briton took possession of the discourse, 
 which it was impossible to get out of his hands so long as the com- 
 pany staid together. The third day was engrossed after the same 
 manner by a story of the same length. They at last began to reflect 
 upon this barbarous way of treating one another, and by this means 
 awakened out of that lethargy with which each of them had been 
 seized for several years. 
 
 "As you have somewhere declared, that extraordinary and 
 uncommon characters of mankind are the game which you delight 
 in, and as I look upon you to be the greatest sportsman, or, if you 
 please, the Nimrod, among this species of writers, I thought this 
 discovery would not be unacceptable to you. 
 
 "I am, sir," &c. 
 
 271
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ON COMPASSION 
 
 No. 397.] THURSDAY, JUNE 5, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Dolor ipse disertum 
 Fecerat. OVID. 
 
 AS the Stoic philosophers discard all passions in general, they 
 will not allow a wise man so much as to pity the afflictions 
 of another. " If thou seest thy friend in trouble, (says Epictetus,) 
 thou mayest put on a look of sorrow, and condole with him, but 
 take care that thy sorrow be not real." The more rigid of this 
 sect would not comply so far as to show even such an outward 
 appearance of grief; but when one told them of any calamity that 
 had befallen even the nearest of their acquaintance, would imme- 
 diately reply, "What is that to me?" If you aggravated the cir- 
 cumstances of the affliction, and showed how one misfortune was 
 followed by another, the answer was still, "All this may be true, 
 but what is it to me?" 
 
 For my own part, I am of opinion, compassion does not only 
 refine and civilize human nature, but has something in it more 
 pleasing and agreeable than what can be met with in such an indo- 
 lent happiness, such an indifference to mankind, as that in which 
 the Stoics placed their wisdom. As love is the most delightful 
 passion, pity is nothing else but love softened by a degree of sorrow : 
 in short, it is a kind of pleasing anguish, as weh 1 as generous sym- 
 pathy, that knits mankind together, and blends them in the same 
 common lot. 
 
 Those who have laid down rules for rhetoric or poetry, advise 
 the writer to work himself up, if possible, to the pitch of sorrow 
 which he endeavours to produce in others. There are none, there- 
 fore, who stir up pity so much as those who indite their own suffer- 
 ings. Grief has a natural eloquence belonging to it, and breaks 
 out in more moving sentiments than can be supplied by the finest 
 imagination. Nature on this occasion dictates a thousand passion- 
 ate things which cannot be supplied by art. 
 
 It is for this reason that the short speeches or sentences which 
 we often meet with in histories, make a deeper impression on the 
 mind of the reader than the most laboured strokes in a well-written 
 
 272
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 tragedy. Truth and matter of fact sets the person actually before 
 us in the one, whom fiction places at a greater distance from us in 
 the other. I do not remember to have seen any ancient or modern 
 story more affecting than a letter of Ann of Bologne, wife to King 
 Henry the Eighth, and mother to Queen Elizabeth, which is still 
 extant in the Cotton library, as written by her own hand. 
 
 Shakspeare himself could not have made her talk in a strain so 
 suitable to her condition and character. One sees in it the expostu- 
 lations of a slighted lover, the resentments of an injured woman, 
 and the sorrows of an imprisoned queen. I need not acquaint my 
 reader that this princess was then under prosecution for disloyalty 
 to the king's bed, and that she was afterwards publicly beheaded 
 upon the same account, though this prosecution was believed by 
 many to proceed, as she herself intimates, rather from the king's 
 love to Jane Seymour, than from any actual crime in Ann of 
 Bologne. 
 
 Queen Ann Boleyn's last Letter to King Henry. 
 
 "SiR, Your Grace's displeasure, and my imprisonment, are 
 things so strange unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I 
 am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me 
 to confess a truth, and so obtain your favour) by such an one, whom 
 you know to be mine ancient professed enemy. I no sooner re- 
 ceived this message by him than I rightly conceived your meaning; 
 and if, as you say, confessing a truth, indeed may procure my safety, 
 I shall with all willingness and duty perform your command. 
 
 " But let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife will ever 
 be brought to acknowledge a fault, where not so much as a thought 
 thereof preceded. And to speak a truth, never prince had wife 
 more loyal in all duty, and in all true affection, than you have ever 
 found in Ann Boleyn : with which name and place I could willingly 
 have contented myself, if God and your Grace's pleasure had been 
 so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forget myself in my 
 exaltation, or received queenship, but that I always looked for such 
 an alteration as now I find ; for the ground of my preferment being 
 on no surer foundation than your Grace's fancy, the least altera- 
 tion I knew was fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other 
 subject. You have chosen me, from a low estate, to be your queen 
 and companion, far beyond my desert and desire. If then you 
 
 273
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 found me worthy of such honour, good your Grace let not any light 
 fancy, or bad counsel of mine enemies withdraw your princely 
 favour from me; neither let that stain, that unworthy stain, of a 
 disloyal heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on 
 your most dutiful wife, and the infant princess your daughter. 
 Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my 
 sworn enemies sit as my accusers and judges; yea, let me receive 
 an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open shame; then shall you 
 see either mine innocency cleared, your suspicion and conscience 
 satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my 
 guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may deter- 
 mine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open censure, and 
 mine offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty, both 
 before God and man, not only to execute worthy punishment on me 
 as an unlawful wife, but to follow your affection, already settled on 
 that party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose name I could 
 some good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ig- 
 norant of my suspicion therein. 
 
 " But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my 
 death, but an infamous slander must bring you the enjoying of your 
 desired happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your 
 great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, the instruments there- 
 of; and that he will not call you to a strict account for -your un- 
 princely and cruel usage of me, at his general judgment-seat, where 
 both you and myself must shortly appear, and in whose judgment I 
 doubt not (whatsoever the world may think of me) mine innocence 
 shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared. 
 
 "My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear 
 the burden of your Grace's displeasure, and that it may not touch 
 the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen who (as I understand) 
 are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have 
 found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Ann Boleyn hath 
 been pleasing in your ears, then let me obtain this request, and I 
 will so leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest 
 prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in his good keeping, and 
 to direct you in all your actions. From my doleful prison in the 
 Tower, this sixth of May. 
 
 "Your most loyal and ever faithful wife, 
 
 ANN BOLEYN." 
 
 274
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE KING OF 
 FRANCE 
 
 No. 403.] THURSDAY, JUNE 12, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Qui mores hominum multorum vidit. HOR. 
 
 WHEN I consider this great city in its several quarters and di- 
 visions, I look upon it as an aggregate of various nations, dis- 
 tinguished from each other by their respective customs, manners, and 
 interests. The courts of two countries do not so much differ from 
 one another, as the court and city in their peculiar ways of life and 
 conversation. In short, the inhabitants of St. James's, notwith- 
 standing they live under the same laws, and speak the same lan- 
 guage, are a distinct people from those of Cheapside, who are like- 
 wise removed from those of the Temple on the one side, and those 
 of Smithfield on the other, by several climates and degrees in their 
 way of thinking and conversing together. 
 
 For this reason, when any public affair is upon the anvil, I love to 
 hear the reflections that arise upon it in the several districts and 
 parishes of London and Westminster, and to ramble up and down 
 a whole day together, in order to make myself acquainted with the 
 opinions of my ingenious countrymen. By this means I know the 
 faces of all the principal politicians within the bills of mortality; 
 and as every coffee-house has some particular statesman belonging 
 to it, who is the mouth of the street where he lives, I always take care 
 to place myself near him, in order to know his judgment on the pres- 
 ent posture of affairs. The last progress that I made with this in- 
 tention, was about three months ago, when we had a current report 
 of the king of France's death. As I foresaw this would produce a 
 new face of things in Europe, and many curious speculations in our 
 British coffee-houses, I was very desirous to learn the thoughts of 
 our most eminent politicians on that occasion. 
 
 That I might begin as near the fountain-head as possible, I first 
 of all called in at St. James's, where I found the whole outward 
 room in a buzz of politics. The speculations were but very indiffer- 
 ent towards the door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper 
 end of the room, and were so very much improved by a knot of 
 theorists who sat in the inner room, within the steams of the coffee- 
 
 275
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 pot, that I there heard the whole Spanish monarchy disposed of, 
 and all the line of Bourbon provided for, in less than a quarter 
 of an hour. 
 
 I afterwards called in at Giles's, where I saw a board of French 
 gentlemen sitting upon the life and death of their Grand Monarque. 
 Those among them who had espoused the Whig interest, very 
 positively affirmed, that he departed this life about a week since, 
 and therefore proceeded without any further delay to the release 
 of their friends on the galleys, and to their own re-establishment; 
 but finding they could not agree among themselves, I proceeded 
 on my intended progress. 
 
 Upon my arrival at Jenny Man's, I saw an alert young fellow 
 that cocked his hat upon a friend of his who entered just at the 
 same time with myself, and accosted him after the following manner : 
 " Well Jack, the old prig is dead at last. Sharp's the word. Now 
 or never boy. Up to the walls of Paris directly." With several 
 other deep reflections of the same nature. 
 
 I met with very little variation in the politics between Charing 
 Cross and Covent Garden. And upon my going into Will.'s, I 
 found their discourse was gone off from the death of the French 
 king to that of Monsieur Boileau, Racine, Corneille, and several 
 other poets, whom they regretted on this occasion, as persons who 
 would have obliged the world with very noble elegies on the death 
 of so great a prince, and so eminent a patron of learning. 
 
 At a coffee-house near the Temple, I found a couple of young 
 gentlemen engaged very smartly in a dispute on the succession to 
 the Spanish monarchy. One of them seemed to have been retained 
 as advocate for the Duke of Anjou, the other for his Imperial Maj- 
 esty. They were both for regulating the title to that kingdom 
 by the statute laws of England ; but finding them going out of my 
 depth, I passed forward to Paul's Churchyard, where I listened 
 with great attention to a learned man, who gave the company an 
 account of the deplorable state of France during the minority of the 
 deceased king. 
 
 I then turned my right hand into Fish Street, where the chief 
 politician of that quarter, upon hearing the news, (after having 
 taken a pipe of tobacco, and ruminating for some time,) " If, (says 
 he,) the king of France is certainly dead, we shall have plenty of 
 mackerel this season; our fishery will not be disturbed by priva- 
 teers, as it has been for these ten years past." He afterwards con- 
 
 276
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 sidered how the death of this great man would affect our pilchards, 
 and by several other remarks infused a general joy into his whole 
 audience. 
 
 I afterwards entered by a coffee-house that stood at the upper 
 end of a narrow lane, where I met with a Nonjuror, engaged very 
 warmly with a Laceman who was the great support of a neighbour- 
 ing conventicle. The matter in debate was, whether the late French 
 king was most like Augustus Caesar or Nero. The controversy 
 was carried on with great heat on both sides, and as each of them 
 looked upon me very frequently during the course of their debate, 
 I was under some apprehension that they would appeal to me, and 
 therefore laid down my penny at the bar, and made the best of my 
 way to Cheapside. 
 
 I here gazed upon the signs for some time before I found one to 
 my purpose. The first object I met in the coffee-room was a person 
 who expressed a great grief for the death of the French king; but 
 upon his explaining himself, I found his sorrow did not arise from 
 the loss of the monarch, but for his having sold out of the bank 
 about three days before he heard the news of it; upon which a haber- 
 dasher, who was the oracle of the coffee-house, and had his circle 
 of admirers about him, called several to witness that he had de- 
 clared his opinion above a week before, that the French king was 
 certainly dead; to which he added, that considering the late advices 
 we had received from France, it was impossible that it could be 
 otherwise. As he was laying these together, and dictating to his 
 hearers with great authority, there came in a gentleman from Garra- 
 way's, who told us that there were several letters from France just 
 come in, with advice that the king was in good health, and was 
 gone out a hunting the very morning the post came away: upon 
 which the haberdasher stole off his hat that hung upon a wooden 
 peg by him, and retired to his shop with great confusion. This 
 intelligence put a stop to my travels, which I had prosecuted with 
 much satisfaction ; not being a little pleased to hear so many differ- 
 ent opinions upon so great an event, and to observe how naturally 
 upon such a piece of news every one is apt to consider it with a 
 regard to his own particular interest and advantage. 
 
 277
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ON FEMALE EXTRAVAGANCES 
 
 No. 435.] SATURDAY, JULY 19, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Nee duo sunt at forma duplex, nee fcemina dici 
 
 Nee puer ut possint, neutrumque et utrumque videntur. 
 
 OVIB. Met. iv. 378. 
 
 Both bodies in a single body mix, 
 A single body with a double sex. 
 
 MOST of the papers I give the public are written on subjects that 
 never vary, but are for ever fixed and immutable. Of this 
 kind are all my more serious essays and discourses; but there is 
 another sort of speculations, which I consider as occasional papers, 
 that take their rise from the folly, extravagance, and caprice of the 
 present agei For I look upon myself as one set to watch the 
 manners and behaviour of my countrymen and contemporaries, 
 and to mark down every absurd fashion, ridiculous custom, or 
 affected form of speech, that makes its appearance in the world 
 during the course of my speculations. The petticoat no sooner 
 began to swell, but I observed its motions. The party-patches had 
 not time to muster themselves before I detected them. I had 
 intelligence of the coloured hood the very first time it appeared in a 
 public assembly. I might here mention several other the like con- 
 tingent subjects, upon which I have bestowed distinct papers. By 
 this means I have so effectually quashed those irregularities which 
 gave occasion to them, that I am afraid posterity will scarce have a 
 sufficient idea of them to relish those discourses which were in no 
 little vogue at the time they were written. They will be apt to 
 think that the fashions and customs I attacked were some fantastic 
 conceits of my own, and that their great grandmothers could not be 
 so whimsical as I have represented them. For this reason, when I 
 think on the figure my several volumes of speculations will make 
 about a hundred years hence, I consider them as so many pieces of 
 old plate, where the weight will be regarded, but the fashion lost. 
 
 Among the several female extravagances I have already taken 
 notice of, there is one which still keeps its ground. I mean, that of 
 the ladies who dress themselves in a hat and feather, a riding coat 
 and periwig, or at least tie up their hair in a bag or riband, in imita- 
 
 278
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 tion of the smart part of the opposite sex. As in my yesterday's 
 paper I gave an account of the mixture of two sexes in one common- 
 wealth, I shall here take notice of this mixture of two sexes in one 
 person. I have already shown my dislike of this immodest custom 
 more than once; but, in contempt of everything I have hitherto 
 said, I am informed that the highways about this great city are still 
 very much infested with these female cavaliers. 
 
 I remember when I was at my friend Sir Roger de Coverley's 
 about this time twelvemonth, an equestrian lady of this order 
 appeared upon the plains which lay at a distance from his house. I 
 was at the time walking in the fields with my old friend; and as 
 his tenants ran out on every side to see so strange a sight, sir Roger 
 asked one of them who came by us, what it was? To which the 
 country fellow replied, ' 'Tis a gentlewoman, saving your worship's 
 presence, in a coat and hat.' This produced a great deal of mirth 
 at the knight's house, where we had a story at the same time of 
 another of his tenants, who, meeting this gentleman -like lady on 
 the highway, was asked by her whether that was Coverley-hall ? 
 The honest man seeing only the male part of the querist, replied, 
 'Yes, Sir;' but upon the second question, whether Sir Roger de 
 Coverley was a married man? having dropped his eye upon the 
 petticoat, he changed his note into 'No, Madam.' 
 
 Had one of these hermaphrodites appeared in Juvenal's days, 
 with what an indignation should we have seen her described by 
 that excellent satirist! He would have represented her in a riding 
 habit, as a greater monster than the centaur. He would have called 
 for sacrifices of purifying waters, to expiate the appearance of such 
 a prodigy. He would have invoked the shades of Portia or Lucre- 
 tia, to see into what the Roman ladies had transformed themselves. 
 
 For my own part, I am for treating the sex with greater tenderness, 
 and have all along made use of the most gentle methods to bring 
 them off from any little extravagance into which they have some- 
 times unwarily fallen. I think it however absolutely necessary to 
 keep up the partition between the two sexes, and to take notice of 
 the smallest encroachment which the one makes upon the other. 
 I hope therefore I shall not hear any more complaints on this subject. 
 I am sure my she-disciples, who peruse these my daily lectures, have 
 profited but little by them, if they are capable of giving in to such 
 an amphibious dress. This I should not have mentioned, had I 
 not lately met one of these my female readers in Hyde-park, who 
 
 279
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 looked upon me with a masculine assurance, and cocked her hat 
 full in my face. 
 
 For my part, I have one general key to the behaviour of the fair 
 sex. When I see them singular in any part of their dress, I con- 
 clude it is not without some evil intention: and therefore question 
 not but the design of this strange fashion is to smite more effectually 
 their male beholders. Now to set them right in this particular, I 
 would fain have them consider for themselves, whether we are 
 not more likely to be struck by a figure entirely female, than with 
 such an one as we may see every day in our glasses. Or, if they 
 please, let them reflect upon their own hearts, and think how they 
 would be affected should they meet a man on horseback, in his 
 breeches and jack-boots, and at the same time dressed up in a 
 commode and a nightrail. 
 
 I must observe that this fashion was first of all brought to us from 
 France, a country which has infected all the nations of Europe with 
 its levity. I speak not this in derogation of a whole people, having 
 more than once found fault with those general reflections which 
 strike at kingdoms or commonwealths in the gross: a piece of cruelty, 
 which an ingenious writer of our own compares to that of Caligula, 
 who wished that the Roman people had all but one neck, that he 
 might behead them at a blow. I shall therefore only remark, that, 
 as liveliness and assurance are in a peculiar manner the qualifications 
 of the French nation, the same habits and customs will not give the 
 same offence to that people which they produce among those of 
 our own country. Modesty is our distinguishing character, as 
 vivacity is theirs: and when this our national virtue appears in that 
 female beauty for which our British ladies are celebrated above all 
 others in the universe, it makes up the most amiable object that the 
 eye of man can possibly behold. C. 
 
 280
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 CUSTOM 
 
 No. 447.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 <f>l\f ical 6fy 
 v elvai. 
 
 Long exercise, my friend, inures the mind; 
 And what we once disliked, we pleasing find. 
 
 THERE is not a common saying which has a better turn of sense 
 in it, than what we often hear in the mouths of the vulgar, 
 that " custom is a second nature." It is indeed able to form the 
 man anew, and to give him inclinations and capacities altogether 
 different from those he was born with. Dr. Plot, in his history of 
 Staffordshire, tells us of an idiot, that, chancing to live within the 
 sound of a clock, and always amusing himself with counting the 
 hour of the day whenever the clock struck, the clock being spoiled 
 by accident, the idiot continued to strike and count the hour with- 
 out the help of it, in the same manner as he had done when it was 
 entire. Though I dare not vouch for the truth of this story, it is 
 very certain that custom has a mechanical effect upon the body, at 
 the same time that it has a very extraordinary influence upon the 
 mind. 
 
 I shall in this paper consider one very remarkable effect which 
 custom has upon human nature, and which, if rightly observed, may 
 lead us into very useful rules of life. What I shall here take notice 
 of in custom, is its wonderful efficacy in making everything pleas- 
 ant to us. A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though he 
 took but little delight in it at first, by degrees contracts so strong an 
 inclination towards it, and gives himself up so entirely to it, that it 
 seems the only end of his being. The love of a retired or busy life 
 will grow upon a man insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or 
 the other, until he is utterly unqualified for relishing that to which 
 he has been for some time disused. Nay, a man may smoke, or 
 drink, or take snuff, until he is unable to pass away his time without 
 it; not to mention how our delights in any particular study, art, or 
 science, rises and improves in proportion to the application which 
 we bestow upon it. Thus, what was at first an exercise, becomes 
 at length an entertainment. Our employments are changed into 
 
 281
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 our diversions. The mind grows fond of those actions which she is 
 accustomed to, and is drawn with reluctancy from those paths in 
 which she has been used to walk. 
 
 Not only such actions as were at first indifferent to us, but even 
 such as are painful, will by custom and practice become pleasant. 
 Sir Francis Bacon observes in his natural philosophy, that our taste 
 is never pleased better than with those things which at first created 
 a disgust in it. He gives particular instances, of claret, coffee, and 
 other liquors, which the palate seldom approves upon the first taste; 
 but, when it has once got a relish for them, generally retains it for 
 life. The mind is constituted after the same manner; and, after 
 having habituated herself to any particular exercise or employment, 
 not only loses her first aversion towards it, but conceives a certain 
 fondness and affection for it. I have heard one of the greatest 
 geniuses this age has produced, who had been trained up in all the 
 polite studies of antiquity, assure me, upon his being obliged to 
 search into several rolls and records, that, notwithstanding such an 
 employment was at first very dry and irksome to him, he at last took 
 an incredible pleasure in it, and preferred it even to the reading of 
 Virgil or Cicero. The reader will observe that I have not here con- 
 sidered custom as it makes things easy, but as it renders them de- 
 lightful; and though others have often made the same reflections, 
 it is possible they may not have drawn those uses from it, with which 
 I intend to fill the remaining part of this paper. 
 
 If we consider attentively this property of human nature, it may 
 instruct us in very fine moralities. In the first place, I would have 
 no man discouraged with that kind of life, or series of action, in 
 which the choice of others, or his own necessities, may have engaged 
 him. It may perhaps be very disagreeable to him at first; but use 
 and application will certainly render it not only less painful, 
 but pleasing and satisfactory. 
 
 In the second place, I would recommend to every one that ad- 
 mirable precept which Pythagoras is said to have given to his disci- 
 ples, and which that philosopher must have drawn from the observa- 
 tion I have enlarged upon. Optimum wia genus eligito, nam con- 
 suetudo faciet jucundissimum; "Pitch upon that course of life which 
 is the most excellent, and custom will render it the most delightful." 
 Men, whose circumstances will permit them to choose their own 
 way of life, are inexcusable if they do not pursue that which their 
 judgment tells them is the most laudable. The voice of reason is 
 
 282
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 more to be regarded than the bent of any present inclination, since, 
 by the rule above-mentioned, inclination will at length come over to 
 reason, though we can never force reason to comply with inclination. 
 
 In the third place, this observation may teach the most sensual 
 and irreligious man to overlook those hardships and difficulties 
 which are apt to discourage him from the prosecution of a virtuous 
 life. "The gods," said Hesiod, "have placed labour before virtue; 
 the way to her is at first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth 
 and easy the farther you advance in it." The man who proceeds 
 in it with steadiness and resolution, will in a little time find that "her 
 ways are ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace." 
 
 To enforce this consideration, we may further observe, that the 
 practice of religion will not only be attended with that pleasure 
 which naturally accompanies those actions to which we are habit- 
 uated, but with those supernumerary joys of heart that rise from the 
 consciousness of such a pleasure, from the satisfaction of acting up 
 to the dictates of reason, and from the prospect of an happy immor- 
 tality. 
 
 In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation, which 
 we have made on the mind of man, to take particular care, when 
 we are once settled in a regular course of life, how we too frequently 
 indulge ourselves in any of the most innocent diversions and enter- 
 tainments ; since the mind may insensibly fall off from the relish of 
 virtuous actions, and, by degrees, exchange that pleasure which it 
 takes in the performance of its duty for delights of a much more 
 inferior and unprofitable nature. 
 
 The last use which I shall make of this remarkable property in 
 human nature, of being delighted with those actions to which it is 
 accustomed, is to show how absolutely necessary it is for us to gain 
 habits of virtue in this life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the 
 next. The state of bliss we call heaven will not be capable of affect- 
 ing those minds which are not thus qualified for it ; we must, in this 
 world, gain a relish of truth and virtue, if we would be able to taste 
 that knowledge and perfection which are to make us happy in the 
 next. The seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, which are to 
 rise up and flourish in the soul to all eternity, must be planted in her 
 during this her present state of probation. In short, heaven is not 
 to be looked upon only as the reward, but as the natural effect of a 
 religious life. 
 
 On the other hand, those evil spirits, who, by long custom, have 
 
 283
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 contracted in the body habits of lust and sensuality, malice and re- 
 venge, an aversion to everything that is good, just, or laudable, are 
 naturally seasoned and prepared for pain and misery. Their tor- 
 ments have already taken root in them; they cannot be happy when 
 divested of the body, unless we may suppose that Providence will 
 hi a manner create them anew, and work a miracle in the rectifica- 
 tion of their faculties. They may, indeed, taste a kind of malig- 
 nant pleasure hi those actions to which they are accustomed, whilst 
 in this life ; but when they are removed from all those objects which 
 are here apt to gratify them, they will naturally become their own 
 tormentors, and cherish in themselves those painful habits of mind 
 which are called in scripture phrase, "the worm which never dies." 
 This notion of heaven and hell is so conformable to the light cf na- 
 ture, that it was discovered by several of the most exalted heathens. 
 It has been finely improved by many eminent divines of the last age, 
 as hi particular by Archbishop Tillotson and Dr. Sherlock: but 
 there is none who has raised such noble speculations upon it as Dr. 
 Scott, in the first book of his Christian Life, which is one of the finest 
 and most rational schemes of divinity that is written in our tongue, 
 or in any other. That excellent author has shown how every par- 
 ticular custom and habit of virtue will, hi its own nature, produce 
 the heaven, or a state of happiness, in him who shall hereafter prac- 
 tise it : as, on the contrary, how every custom or habit of vice will 
 be the natural hell of him in whom it subsists. C. 
 
 ON NEWS-WRITERS AND READERS 
 
 No. 452.] FRIDAY, AUGUST 8, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Est natura hominum novitatis avida. PLIN. APUD LILLIUM. 
 
 THERE is no humour hi my countrymen, which I am more 
 inclined to wonder at, than their general thirst after news. 
 There are about half a dozen ingenious men, who live very plenti- 
 fully upon this curiosity of their fellow-subjects. They all of them 
 receive the same advices from abroad, and very often hi the same 
 words; but their way of cooking it is so different, that there is no 
 citizen, who has an eye to the public good, that can leave the coffee- 
 
 284
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 house with peace of mind, before he has given every one of them 
 a reading. These several dishes of news are so very agreeable 
 to the palate of my countrymen, that they are not only pleased 
 with them when they are served up hot, but when they are again 
 set cold before them by those penetrating politicians, who oblige 
 the public with their reflections and observations upon every piece 
 of intelligence that is sent us from abroad. The text is given us 
 by one set of writers, and the comment by another. 
 
 But notwithstanding we have the same tale told us in so many 
 different papers, and if occasion requires, in so many articles of 
 the same paper; notwithstanding in a scarcity of foreign posts we 
 hear the same story repeated, by different advices from Paris, 
 Brussels, the Hague, and from every great town in Europe; not- 
 withstanding the multitude of annotations, explanations, reflec- 
 tions, and various readings which it passes through, our time lies 
 heavy on our hands till the arrival cf a fresh mail: we long to receive 
 further particulars, to hear what will be the next step, or what will 
 be the consequence of that which has been lately taken. A westerly 
 wind keeps the whole town in suspense, and puts a stop to conver- 
 sation. 
 
 This general curiosity has been raised and inflamed by our late 
 wars, and, if rightly directed, might be of good use to a person 
 who has such a thirst awakened in him. Why should not a man 
 who takes delight in reading everything that is new, apply himself 
 to history, travels, and other writings of the same kind, where he 
 will find perpetual fuel for his curiosity, and meet with much more 
 pleasure and improvement, than in these papers of the week? An 
 honest tradesman, who languishes a whole summer in expectation 
 of a battle, and perhaps is balked at last, may here meet with half 
 a dozen in a day. He may read the news of a whole campaign in 
 less time than he now bestows upon the products of any single post. 
 Fights, conquests, and revolutions lie thick together. The reader's 
 curiosity is raised and satisfied every moment, and his passions dis- 
 appointed or gratified, without being detained in a state of uncer- 
 tainty from day to day, or lying at the mercy of sea and wind. In 
 short, the mind is not here kept in a perpetual gape after knowledge, 
 nor punished with that eternal thirst which is the portion of all 
 OUT modern newsmongers and coffee-house politicians. 
 
 All matters cf fact, which a man did not know before, are news 
 to him; and I do not see how any haberdasher in Cheapside is more 
 
 '85
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 concerned in the present quarrel of the Cantons, than he was in 
 that of the League. At least, I believe every one will allow me, 
 it is of more importance to an Englishman to know the history of 
 his ancestors, than that of his contemporaries who live upon the 
 banks of the Danube or the Borysthenes. As for those who are 
 of another mind, I shall recommend to them the following letter, 
 from a projector, who is willing to turn a penny by this remarkable 
 curiosity of his countrymen. 
 
 "MR. SPECTATOR, You must have observed, that men who 
 frequent coffee-houses, and delight in news, are pleased with every- 
 thing that is matter of fact, so it be what they have not heard before. 
 A victory, or a defeat, are equally agreeable to them. The shut- 
 ting of a cardinal's mouth pleases them one post, and the opening 
 of it another. They are glad to hear the French court is removed 
 to Marli, and are afterwards as much delighted with its return to 
 Versailles. They read the advertisements with the same curiosity 
 as the articles of public news ; and are as pleased to hear of a piebald 
 horse that is strayed out of a field near Islington, as of a whole 
 troop that has been engaged in any foreign adventure. In short, 
 they have a relish for everything that is news, let the matter of it be 
 what it will ; or to speak more properly, they are men of a voracious 
 appetite, but no taste. Now, sir, since the great fountain of news, 
 I mean the war, is very near being dried up; and since these gentle- 
 men have contracted such an inextinguishable thirst after it ; I have 
 taken their case and my own into consideration, and have thought 
 of a project which may turn to the advantage of us both. I have 
 thoughts of publishing a daily paper, which shall comprehend in 
 it all the most remarkable occurrences in every little town, village, 
 and hamlet, that lie within ten miles of London, or in other words, 
 within the verge of the penny-post. I have pitched upon this scene 
 of intelligence for two reasons; first, because the carriage of letters 
 will be very cheap; and secondly, because I may receive them every 
 day. By this means my readers will have their news fresh and 
 fresh, and many worthy citizens, who cannot sleep with any satis- 
 faction at present, for want of being informed how the world goes, 
 may go to bed contentedly, it being my design to put out my paper 
 every night at nine-a-clock precisely. I have already established 
 correspondences in these several places, and received very good 
 intelligence. 
 
 286
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 "By my last advices from Knightsbridge I hear that a horse was 
 clapped into the pound on the third instant, and that he was not 
 released when the letters came away. 
 
 "We are informed from Pankridge, that a dozen weddings were 
 lately celebrated in the mother-church of that place, but are referred 
 to then" next letters for the names of the parties concerned. 
 
 "Letters from Brompton advise, that the widow Blight had 
 received several visits from John Mildew, which affords great 
 matter of speculation in those parts. 
 
 " By a fisherman which lately touched at Hammersmith, there is 
 advice from Putney, that a certain person well known in that place, 
 is like to lose his election for church-warden; but this being boat- 
 news, we cannot give entire credit to it. 
 
 "Letters from Paddington bring little more than that William 
 Squeak, the sow-gelder, passed through that place the fifth instant. 
 
 "They advise from Fulham, that things remained there in the 
 same state they were. They had intelligence, just as the letters 
 came away, of a tub of excellent ale just set a-broach at Parsons 
 Green; but this wanted confirmation. 
 
 " I have here, sir, given you a specimen of the news with which I 
 intend to entertain the town, and which when drawn up regularly 
 in the form of a newspaper, will, I doubt not, be very acceptable to 
 many of those public-spirited readers, who take more delight in 
 acquainting themselves with other people's business than their 
 own. I hope a paper of this kind, which lets us know what is done 
 near home, may be more useful to us than those which are filled 
 with advices from Zug and Bender, and make some amends for that 
 dearth of intelligence, which we may justly apprehend from times 
 of peace. If I find that you receive this project favourably, I will 
 shortly trouble you with one or two more ; and in the mean time am, 
 most worthy sir, with all due respect, 
 
 "Your most obedient and most humble servant." 
 
 287
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 ON TRUE AND FALSE MODESTY 
 
 No. 458.] FRIDAY, AUGUST 15, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 AWwf oik dyaOi). HES. 
 Pudor malus. HOR. 
 
 I COULD not but smile at the account that was yesterday given 
 me of a modest young gentleman, who being invited to an 
 entertainment, though he was not used to drink, had not the confi- 
 dence to refuse his glass in his turn, when on a sudden he grew so 
 flustered that he took all the talk of the table into his own hands, 
 abused every one of the company, and flung a bottle at the gentle- 
 man's head who treated him. This has given me occasion to 
 reflect upon the ill effects of a vicious modesty, and to remember 
 the saying of Brutus, as it is quoted by Plutarch, that " the person 
 has had but an ill education, who has not been taught to deny 
 anything." This false kind of modesty has, perhaps, betrayed 
 both sexes into as many vices as the most abandoned impudence, and 
 is the more inexcusable to reason, because it acts to gratify others 
 rather than itself, and is punished with a kind of remorse, not only 
 like other vicious habits when the crime is over, but even at the 
 very time that it is committed. 
 
 Nothing is more amiable than true modesty, and nothing is more 
 contemptible than the false. The one guards virtue, the other 
 betrays it. True modesty is ashamed to do anything that is repug- 
 nant to the rules of right reason: false modesty is ashamed to do 
 anything that is opposite to the humour of the company. True 
 modesty avoids everything that is criminal, false modesty everything 
 that is unfashionable. The latter is only a general undetermined 
 instinct; the former is that instinct limited and circumscribed by 
 the rules of prudence and religion. 
 
 We may conclude that modesty to be false and vicious, which 
 engages a man to do anything that is ill or indiscreet, or which 
 restrains him from doing any that is of a contrary nature. How 
 many men, in the common concerns of life, lend sums of money 
 which they are not able to spare, are bound for persons whom they 
 have but little friendship for, give recommendatory characters of 
 
 288
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 men whom they are not acquainted with, bestow places on those 
 whom they do not esteem, live in such a manner as they themselves 
 do not approve, and all this merely because they have not the 
 confidence to resist solicitation, importunity, or example. 
 
 Nor does this false modesty expose us only to such actions as are 
 indiscreet, but very often to such as are highly criminal. When 
 Xenophanes was called timorous, because he would not venture his 
 money in a game at dice: " I confess, (said he,) that I am exceeding 
 timorous, for I dare not do an ill thing." On the contrary, a man 
 of vicious modesty complies with everything, and is only fearful of 
 doing what may look singular in the company where he is engaged. 
 He falls in with the torrent, and lets himself go to every action or 
 discourse, however unjustifiable in itself, so it be in vogue among 
 the present party. This, though one of the most common, is one 
 of the most ridiculous dispositions in human nature, that men should 
 not be ashamed of speaking or acting in a dissolute or irrational 
 manner, but that one who is in their company should be ashamed 
 of governing himself by the principles of reason and virtue. 
 
 In the second place, we are to consider false modesty as it restrains 
 a man from doing what is good and laudable. My reader's own 
 thoughts will suggest to him many instances and examples under 
 this head. I shall only dwell upon one reflection, which I cannot 
 make without a secret concern. We have in England a particular 
 bashfulness in everything that regards religion. A well-bred man 
 is obliged to conceal any serious sentiment of this nature, and very 
 often to appear a greater libertine than he is, that he may keep him- 
 self in countenance among the men of mode. Our excess of modesty 
 makes us shame-faced in all the exercises of piety and devotion. This 
 humour prevails upon us daily; insomuch, that at many well-bred 
 tables, the master of the house is so very modest a man, that he has 
 not the confidence to say grace at his own table : a custom which is 
 not only practised by all the nations about us, but was never omitted 
 by the heathens themselves. English gentlemen who travel into 
 Roman Catholic countries, are not a little surprised to meet with 
 people of the best quality kneeling in their churches, and engaged 
 in their private devotions, though it be not at the hours of public 
 worship. An officer of the army, or a man of wit and pleasure, in 
 those countries, would be afraid of passing not only for an irrelig- 
 ious, but an ill-bred man, should he be seen to go to bed, or sit 
 down at table, without offering up his devotions on such occasions.
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 The same show of religion appears in all the foreign reformed 
 churches, and enters so much into their ordinary conversation, 
 that an Englishman is apt to term them hypocritical and precise. 
 
 This little appearance of a religious deportment in our nation, 
 may proceed in some measure from that modesty which is natural 
 to us, but the great occasion of it is certainly this. Those swarms 
 of sectaries that over-ran the nation in the time of the great rebel- 
 lion, carried their hypocrisy so high, that they had converted our 
 whole language into a jargon of enthusiasm; insomuch, that upon 
 the restoration men thought they could not recede too far from the 
 behaviour and practice of those persons, who had made religion a 
 cloak to so many villanies. This led them into the other extreme, 
 every appearance of devotion was looked upon as puritanical; and 
 falling into the hands of the ridiculers who flourished in that reign, 
 and attacked everything that was serious, it has ever since been out 
 of countenance among us. By this means we are gradually fallen 
 into that vicious modesty which has in some measure worn out 
 from among us the appearance of Christianity in ordinary life and 
 conversation, and which distinguishes us from all our neighbours. 
 
 Hypocrisy cannot indeed be too much detested, but at the same 
 time is to be preferred to open impiety. They are both equally 
 destructive to the person who is possessed with them but in regard 
 to others, hypocrisy is not so pernicious as bare-faced irreligion. 
 The due mean to be observed is to be sincerely virtuous, and at the 
 same time to let the world see we are so. I do not know a more 
 dreadful menace in the holy writings, than that which is pronounced 
 against those who have this perverted modesty, to be ashamed 
 before men in a particular of such unspeakable importance. 
 
 290
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 MARRIAGE OF WILL HONEYCOMB 
 
 No. 530.] FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1712. [ADDISON.] 
 
 Sic visum Veneri; cui placet impares 
 Formas atque animos sub juga ahenea 
 Saevo mittere cum joco. 
 
 HOR. i Od. xxxiii. 10. 
 
 Thus Venus sports: the rich, the base, 
 Unlike in fortune and in face, 
 To disagreeing love provokes; 
 
 When cruelly jocose, 
 
 She ties the fatal noose, 
 And binds the unequals to the brazen yokes. 
 
 IT is very usual for those who have been severe upon marriage, 
 in some part or other of their lives, to enter into the fraternity 
 which they have ridiculed, and to see their raillery return upon 
 their own heads. I scarce ever knew a woman-hater that did not, 
 sooner or later, pay for it. Marriage, which is a blessing to another 
 man, falls upon such a one as a judgment. Mr. Congreve's Old 
 Bachelor is set forth to us with much wit and humour as an example 
 of this kind. In short, those who have most distinguished them- 
 selves by railing at the sex in general, very often make an honourable 
 amends, by choosing one of the most worthless persons of it for a 
 companion and yoke-fellow. Hymen takes his revenge in kind 
 on those who turn his mysteries into ridicule. 
 
 My friend Will Honeycomb, who was so unmercifully witty 
 upon the women in a couple of letters which I lately communi- 
 cated to the public, has given the ladies ample satisfaction by 
 marrying a farmer's daughter; a piece of news which came to our 
 club by the last post. The Templar is very positive that he has 
 married a dairy-maid : but Will, in his letter to me on this occasion, 
 sets the best face upon the matter that he can, and gives a more 
 tolerable account of his spouse. I must confess I suspected some- 
 thing more than ordinary, when upon opening the letter I found 
 that Will was fallen off from his former gaiety, having changed 
 " Dear Spec," which was his usual salute at the beginning of the 
 letter, into "My worthy Friend," and described himself in the latter 
 end at full length William Honeycomb. In short, the gay, the 
 
 291
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 loud, the vain Will Honeycomb, who had made love to every great 
 fortune that has appeared in town for above thirty years together, 
 and boasted of favours from ladies whom he had never seen, is at 
 length wedded to a plain country girl. 
 
 His letter gives us the picture of a converted rake. The sober 
 character of the husband is dashed with the man of the town, and 
 enlivened with those little cant-phrases which have made my friend 
 Will often thought very pretty company. But let us hear what 
 he says for himself. 
 
 " MY WORTHY FRIEND, I question not but you, and the rest 
 of my acquaintance, wonder that I, who have lived in the smoke 
 and gallantries of the town for thirty years together, should all on 
 a sudden grow fond of a country life. Had not my dog of a steward 
 run away as he did without making up his accounts, I had still 
 been immersed in sin and sea -coal. But since my late forced visit 
 to my estate, I am so pleased with it, that I am resolved to live and 
 die upon it. I am every day abroad among my acres, and can 
 scarce forbear filling my letter with breezes, shades, flowers, 
 meadows, and purling streams. The simplicity of manners, which 
 I have heard you so often speak of, and which appears here hi per- 
 fection, charms me wonderfully. As an instance of it I must 
 acquaint you, and by your means the whole club, that I have lately 
 married one of my tenant's daughters. She is born of honest 
 parents, and though she has no portion, she has a great deal of 
 virtue. The natural sweetness and innocence of her behaviour, 
 the freshness of her complexion, the unaffected turn of her shape 
 and person, shot me through and through every time I saw her, 
 and did more execution upon me in grogram than the greatest 
 beauty in town or court had ever done in brocade. In short, she 
 is such a one as promises me a good heir to my estate ; and if by her 
 means I cannot leave to my children what are falsely called the 
 gifts of birth, high titles, and alliances, I hope to convey to them 
 the more real and valuable gifts of birth, strong bodies, and healthy 
 constitutions. As for your fine women, I need not tell thee that 
 I know them. I have had my share in their graces; but no more 
 of that. It shall be my business hereafter to live the life of an honest 
 man, and to act as becomes the master of a family. I question not 
 but I shall draw upon me the raillery of the town, and be treated 
 to the tune of 'The Marriage-hater Matched'; but I am prepared 
 
 292
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 for it. I have been as witty upon others in my time. To tell thee 
 truly, I saw such a tribe of fashionable young fluttering coxcombs 
 shot up that I did not think my post of an homme de ruelle any 
 longer tenable. I felt a certain stiffness in my limbs which entirely 
 destroyed the jauntiness of air I was once master of. Besides, 
 for I may now confess my age to thee, I have been eight-and-forty 
 above these twelve years. Since my retirement into the country 
 will make a vacancy in the club, I could wish that you would fill 
 up my place with my friend Tom Dapperwit. He has an infinite 
 deal of fire, and knows the town. For my own part, as I have said 
 before, I shall endeavour to live hereafter suitable to a man hi my 
 station, as a prudent head of a family, a good husband, a careful 
 father (when it shall so happen), and as 
 
 "Your most sincere friend, and humble servant, 
 "WILLIAM HONEYCOMB." 
 
 O. 
 
 ON RETIREMENT 
 
 No. 549.] TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1712. [ADDISON.J 
 
 Quamvis digressu veteris confusus amici. 
 
 Laudo tamen. Juv. Sat. iii. I. 
 
 Tho' griev'd at the departure of my friend, 
 His purpose of retiring I commend. 
 
 1 BELIEVE most people begin the world with a resolution to 
 withdraw from it into a serious kind of solitude or retirement 
 when they have made themselves easy in it. Our happiness is, 
 that we find out some excuse or other for deferring such our good 
 resolutions until our intended retreat is cut off by death. But 
 among all kinds of people there are none who are so hard to part 
 with the world as those who are grown old in the heaping up of 
 riches. Their minds are so warped with their constant attention 
 to gain, that it is very difficult for them to give their souls another 
 bent, and convert them towards those objects, which, though they 
 are proper for every stage of life, are so more especially for the last. 
 
 293
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 Horace describes an old usurer as so charmed with the pleasures of 
 a country life , that in order to make a purchase he called in all his 
 money; but what was the event of it? Why hi a very few days 
 after he put it out again. I am engaged in this series of thought 
 by a discourse which I had last week with my worthy friend Sir 
 Andrew Freeport, a man of so much natural eloquence, good sense, 
 and probity of mind, that I always hear him with a particular 
 pleasure. As we were sitting together, being the sole remaining 
 members of our club, Sir Andrew gave me an account of the many 
 busy scenes of life in which he had been engaged, and at the same 
 time reckoned up to me abundance of those lucky hits, which at 
 another time he would have called pieces of good fortune; but in 
 the temper of mind he was then he termed them mercies, favours 
 of Providence, and blessings upon an honest industry. "Now," 
 says he, "you must know, my good friend, I am so used to consider 
 myself as creditor and debtor, that I often state my accounts after 
 the same manner with regard to heaven and my own soul. In this 
 case, when I look upon the debtor side, I find such innumerable 
 articles, that I want arithmetic to cast them up; but when I look 
 upon the creditor side, I find little more than blank paper. Now, 
 though I am very well satisfied that it is not in my power to balance 
 accounts with my Maker, I am resolved however to turn all my 
 future endeavours that way. You must not therefore be surprised, 
 my friend, if you hear that I am betaking myself to a more thought- 
 ful kind of life, and if I meet you no more in this place." 
 
 I could not but approve so good a resolution, notwithstanding 
 the loss I shall suffer by it. Sir Andrew has since explained him- 
 self to me more at large in the following letter, which is just come 
 to my hands : 
 
 " GOOD MR. SPECTATOR, Notwithstanding my friends at 
 the club have always rallied me when I have talked of retiring 
 from business, and repeated to me one of my own sayings, 
 that 'a merchant has never enough until he has got a little 
 more'; I can now inform you, that there is one hi the world 
 who thinks he has enough, and is determined to pass the 
 remainder of his life in the enjoyment of what he has. You 
 know, me so well, that I need not tell you, I mean, by the enjoy- 
 ment of my possessions, the making of them useful to the public. 
 As the greatest part of my estate has been hitherto of an un- 
 
 294
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 steady and volatile nature, either tost upon seas or fluctuating in 
 funds, it is now fixed and settled in substantial acres and tenements. 
 I have removed it from the uncertainty of stocks, winds, and waves, 
 and disposed of it in a considerable purchase. This will give me 
 great opportunity of being charitable in my way, that is, in setting 
 my poor neighbours to work, and giving them a comfortable sub- 
 sistence out of their own industry. My gardens, my fish-ponds, 
 my arable and pasture grounds, shall be my several hospitals, or 
 rather work-houses, in which I propose to maintain a great many 
 indigent persons, who are now starving in my neighbourhood. I 
 have got a fine spread of improveable lands, and in my own 
 thoughts am already ploughing up some of them, fencing others, 
 planting woods, and draining marshes. In fine, as I have my share 
 in the surface of this island, I am resolved to make it as beautiful 
 a spot as any in her Majesty's dominions; at least there is not an 
 inch of it which shall not be cultivated to the best advantage, and 
 do its utmost for its owner. As in my mercantile employment I 
 so disposed of my affairs, that, from whatever corner of the com- 
 pass the wind blew, it was bringing home one or other of my ships, 
 I hope as a husbandman to contrive it so, that not a shower of rain, 
 or a glimpse of sunshine, shall fall upon my estate without bettering 
 some part of it, and contributing to the products of the season. 
 You know it has been hitherto my opinion of life, that it is thrown 
 away when it is not some way useful to others. But when I am 
 riding out by myself, in the fresh air on the open heath that lies by 
 my house, I find several other thoughts growing up in me. I am 
 now of opinion, that a man of my age may find business enough on 
 himself, by setting his mind in order, preparing it for another 
 world, and reconciling it to the thoughts of death. I must there- 
 fore acquaint you, that besides those usual methods of charity, of 
 which I have before spoken, I am at this very instant finding out a 
 convenient place where I may build an alms-house, which I intend 
 to endow very handsomely for a dozen superannuated husband- 
 men. It will be a great pleasure to me to say my prayers twice a 
 day with men of my own years, who all of them, as well as myself, 
 may have their thoughts taken up how they shall die, rather than 
 how they shall live. I remember an excellent saying that I learned 
 at school, finis coronal opus. You know best whether it be in 
 Virgil or in Horace ; it is my business to apply it. If your affairs 
 will permit you to take the country air with me sometimes, you 
 
 295
 
 THE SPECTATOR 
 
 shall find an apartment fitted up for you, and shall be every day 
 entertained with beef or mutton of my own feeding, fish out of my 
 own ponds, and fruit out of my own gardens. You shall have free 
 egress and regress about my house, without having any questions 
 asked you; and, in a word, such a hearty welcome as you may 
 expect from 
 
 "Your most sincere friend and humble servant, 
 
 "ANDREW FREEPORT." 
 
 396
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 FROM THACKERAY'S "ENGLISH HUMORISTS" 
 
 ROGER STERNE, Sterne's father, was the second son of a 
 numerous race, descendants of Richard Sterne, Archbishop 
 of York, in the reign of James II. ; and children of Simon Sterne 
 and Mary Jaques, his wife, heiress of Elvington, near York. Roger 
 was a lieutenant in Handyside's regiment, and engaged in Flanders 
 in Queen Anne's wars. He married the daughter of a noted sutler 
 "N. B., he was in debt to him," his son writes, pursuing the pa- 
 ternal biography and marched through the world with this com- 
 panion; she following the regiment and bringing many children to 
 poor Roger Sterne. The captain was an irascible but land and 
 simple little man, Sterne says, and informs us that his sire was run 
 through the body at Gibraltar, by a brother officer, in a duel which 
 arose out of a dispute about a goose. Roger never entirely recovered 
 from the effects of this rencontre, but died presently at Jamaica, 
 whither he had followed the drum. 
 
 Laurence, his second child, was born at Clonmel, in Ireland, in 
 1713, and travelled, for the first ten years of his life, on his father's 
 march, from barrack to transport, from Ireland to England. 
 
 One relative of his mother's took her and her family under shelter 
 for ten months at Mullingar: another collateral descendant of the 
 Archbishop's housed them for a year at his castle near Carrickfer- 
 gus. Larry Sterne was put to school at Halifax in England, finally 
 was adopted by his kinsman at Elvington, and parted company with 
 his father, the Captain, who marched on his path of life till he met 
 the fatal goose, which closed his career. The most picturesque and 
 delightful parts of Laurence Sterne's writings, we owe to his recol- 
 lections of the military life. Trim's montero cap, and Le Fevre's 
 sword, and dear Uncle Toby's roquelaure, are doubtless reminis- 
 cences of the boy, who had lived with the followers of William and 
 Marlborough, and had beat time with his little feet to the fifes of 
 
 299
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 Ramillies in Dublin barrack-yard, or played with the torn flags and 
 halberds of Malplaquet on the parade-ground at Clonmel. 
 
 Laurence remained at Halifax school till he was eighteen years 
 old. His wit and cleverness appear to have acquired the respect of 
 his master here; for when the usher whipped Laurence for writing 
 his name on the newly whitewashed schoolroom ceiling, the peda- 
 gogue in chief rebuked the understrapper, and said that the name 
 should never be effaced, for Sterne was a boy of genius, and would 
 come to preferment. 
 
 His cousin, the Squire of Elvington, sent Sterne to Jesus College, 
 Cambridge, where he remained five years, and taking orders, got, 
 through his uncle's interest, the living of Sutton and the prebendary 
 of York. Through his wife's connections, he got the living of Still- 
 ington. He married her in 1741; having ardently courted the 
 young lady for some years previously. It was not until the young 
 lady fancied herself dying, that she made Sterne acquainted with 
 the extent of her liking for him. One evening when he was sitting 
 with her, with an almost broken heart to see her so ill (the Rev. Mr. 
 Sterne's heart was a good deal broken in the course of his life), she 
 said " My dear Laurey, I never can be yours, for I verily believe 
 I have not long to live; but I have left you every shilling of my for- 
 tune:" a generosity which overpowered Sterne. She recovered: 
 and so they were married, and grew heartily tired of each other be- 
 fore many years were over. "Nescio quid est materia cum me," 
 Sterne writes to one of his friends (in dog-Latin, and very sad dog- 
 Latin too) ; " sed sum fatigatus et aegrotus de mea uxore plus quam 
 unquam:" which means, I am sorry to say, "I don't know what is 
 the matter with me: but I am more tired and sick of my wife than 
 ever." 
 
 This to be sure was five-and-twenty years after Laurey had 
 been overcome by her generosity and she by Laurey 's love. Then 
 he wrote to her of the delights of marriage, saying, "We will be 
 merry and as innocent as our first parents in Paradise, before the 
 arch-fiend entered that indescribable scene. The kindest affections 
 will have room to expand in our retirement : let the human tempest 
 and hurricane rage at a distance, the desolation is beyond the horizon 
 of peace. My L. has seen a polyanthus blow in December? 
 Some friendly wall has sheltered it from the biting wind. No 
 planetary influence shall reach us, but that which presides and 
 cherishes the sweetest flowers. The gloomy family of care and 
 
 300
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 distrust shall be banished from our dwelling, guarded by thy kind 
 and tutelar deity. We will sing our choral songs of gratitude and 
 rejoice to the end of our pilgrimage. Adieu, my L. Return to 
 one who languishes for thy society! As I take up my pen, my poor 
 pulse quickens, my pale face glows, and tears are trickling down on 
 my paper as I trace the word L." 
 
 And it is about this woman, with whom he finds no fault but that 
 she bores him, that our philanthropist writes, "Sum fatigatus et 
 aegrotus" Sum mortaliter in amore with somebody else! That 
 fine flower of love, that polyanthus over which Sterne snivelled so 
 many tears, could not last for a quarter of a century! 
 
 Or rather it could not be expected that a gentleman with such a 
 fountain at command should keep it to arroser one homely old lady, 
 when a score of younger and prettier people might be refreshed from 
 the same gushing source. It was in December, 1767, that the Rev. 
 Laurence Sterne, the famous Shandean, the charming Yorick, the 
 delight of the fashionable world, the delicious divine, for whose 
 sermons the whole polite world was subscribing, the occupier of 
 Rabelais's easy chair, only fresh stuffed and more elegant than when 
 in possession of the cynical old curate of Meudon, the more than 
 rival of the Dean of St. Patrick's, wrote the above-quoted respect- 
 able letter to his friend in London : and it was in April of the same 
 year that he was pouring out his fond heart to Mrs. Elizabeth Draper, 
 wife of "Daniel Draper, Esq., Councillor of Bombay, and, in 1775, 
 chief of the factory of Surat a gentleman very much respected in 
 that quarter of the globe." 
 
 "I got thy letter last night, Eliza, Sterne writes, "on my return 
 from Lord Bathurst's, where I dined " (the letter has this merit 
 hi it, that it contains a pleasant reminiscence of better men than 
 Sterne, and introduces us to a portrait of a kind old gentleman) 
 "I got thy letter last night, Eliza, on my return from Lord Bath- 
 urst's ; and where I was heard as I talked of thee an hour within 
 intermission with so much pleasure and attention, that the good 
 old Lord toasted your health three different times ; and now he is hi 
 his 85th year, says he hopes to live long enough to be introduced as 
 a friend to my fair Indian disciple, and to see her eclipse all other 
 Nabobesses as much in wealth as she does already in exterior and, 
 what is far better" (for Sterne is nothing without his morality), 
 " in ulterior merit. This nobleman is an old friend of mine. You 
 know he was always the protector of men of wit and genius, and has 
 
 301
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 had those of the last century, Addison, Steele, Pope, Swift, Prior, 
 &c., always at his table. The manner in which his notice began of 
 me was as singular as it was polite. He came up to me one day as 
 I was at the Princess of Wales's court, and said, 'I want to know 
 you, Mr. Sterne, but it is fit you also should know who it is that 
 wishes this pleasure. You have heard of an old Lord Bathurst, 
 of whom your Popes and Swifts have sung and spoken so much? 
 I have lived my life with geniuses of that cast; but have survived 
 them; and, despairing ever to find their equals, it is some years 
 since I have shut up my books and closed my accounts; but you 
 have kindled a desire hi me of opening them once more before I die : 
 which I now do: so go home and dine with me.' This nobleman, 
 I say, is a prodigy, for he has all the wit and promptness of a man 
 of thirty; a disposition to be pleased, and a power to please others, 
 beyond whatever I knew: added to which a man of learning, 
 courtesy, and feeling. 
 
 " He heard me talk of thee, Eliza, with uncommon satisfaction 
 for there was only a third person, and of sensibility, with us: and a 
 most sentimental afternoon till nine o'clock have we passed! But 
 thou, Eliza, wert the star that conducted and enlivened the dis- 
 course! And when I talked not of thee, still didst thou fill my 
 mind, and warm every thought I uttered, for I am not ashamed to 
 acknowledge I greatly miss thee. Best of all good girls! the 
 sufferings I have sustained all night in consequence of thine, Eliza, 
 
 are beyond the power of words And so thou hast fixed 
 
 thy Bramin's portrait over thy writing-desk, and will consult it in 
 all doubts and difficulties ? grateful and good girl ! Yorick 
 smiles contentedly over all thou dost : his picture does not do justice 
 to his own complacency. I am glad your shipmates are friendly 
 beings " (Eliza was at Deal, going back to the Councillor at Bombay, 
 and indeed it was high time she should be off). "You could least 
 dispense with what is contrary to your own nature, which is soft and 
 gentle, Eliza; it would civilize savages though pity were it thou 
 should'st be tainted with the office. Write to me, my child, thy 
 delicious letters. Let them speak the easy carelessness of a heart 
 that opens itself anyhow, everyhow. Such, Eliza, I write to thee !" 
 (The artless rogue, of course he did !) " And so I should ever love 
 thee, most artlessly, most affectionately, if Providence permitted 
 thy residence in the same section of the globe : for I am all that honor 
 and affection can make me 'THY BRAMIN.'" 
 
 302
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 The Bramin continues addressing Mrs. Draper, until the depar- 
 ture of the "Earl of Chatham" Indiaman from Deal, on the 2nd of 
 April, 1767. He is amiably anxious about the fresh paint for 
 Eliza's cabin; he is uncommonly solicitous about her companions 
 on board: "I fear the best of your shipmates are only genteel by 
 comparison with the contrasted crew with which thou beholdest 
 them. So was you know who from the same fallacy which 
 was put upon your judgment when but I will not mortify you!" 
 
 "You know who" was, of course, Daniel Draper, Esq., of 
 Bombay a gentleman very much respected in that quarter of 
 the globe, and about whose probable health our worthy Bramin 
 writes with delightful candor: 
 
 "I honor you, Eliza, for keeping secret some things which, if 
 explained, had been a panegyric on yourself. There is a dignity 
 in venerable affliction which will not allow it to appeal to the world 
 for pity or redress. Well have you supported that character, my 
 amiable, my philosophic friend! And, indeed, I begin to think 
 you have as many virtues as my Uncle Toby's widow. Talking of 
 widows pray, Eh'za, if ever you are such, do not think of giving 
 yourself to some wealthy Nabob, because I design to marry you 
 myself. My wife cannot live long, and I know not the woman I 
 should like so well for her substitute as yourself. 'Tis true I am 
 ninety-five in constitution, and you but twenty-five; but what I 
 want in youth, I will make up in wit and good-humour. Not 
 Swift so loved his Stella, Scarron his Maintenon, or Waller his 
 Saccharissa. Tell me, in answer to this, that you approve and 
 honor the proposal." 
 
 Approve and honor the proposal ! The coward was writing gay 
 letters to his friends this while, with sneering allusions to this poor 
 foolish Bramine. Her ship was not out of the Downs, and the 
 charming Sterne was at the " Mount Coffee-house," with a sheet of 
 gilt-edged paper before him, offering that precious treasure his 
 
 heart to Lady P , asking whether it gave her pleasure to see 
 
 him unhappy? whether it added to her triumph that her eyes and 
 lips had turned a man into a fool? quoting the Lord's Prayer, 
 with a horrible baseness of blasphemy, as a proof that he had 
 desired not to be led into temptation, and swearing himself the most 
 tender and sincere fool in the world. It was from his home at 
 Coxwould that he wrote the Latin letter, which, I suppose, he was 
 ashamed to put into English. I find in my copy of the Letters, 
 
 303
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 that there is a note of I can't call it admiration, at Letter 112, 
 which seems to announce that there was a No. 3 to whom the 
 wretched worn out old scamp was paying his addresses; and the 
 year after, having come back to his lodgings in Bond Street, with 
 his "Sentimental Journey" to launch upon the town, eager as ever 
 for praise and pleasure as vain, as wicked, as witty, as false as 
 he had ever been death at length seized the feeble wretch, and, 
 on the i8th of March, 1768, that "bale of cadaverous goods," as 
 he calls his body, was consigned to Pluto. In his last letter there 
 is one sign of grace the real affection with which he entreats a 
 friend to be a guardian to his daughter Lydia. All his letters to 
 her are artless, kind, affectionate, and not sentimental; as a hundred 
 pages in his writings are beautiful, and full, not of surprising 
 humor merely, but of genuine love and kindness. A perilous trade, 
 indeed, is that of a man who has to bring his tears and laughter, 
 his recollections, his personal griefs and joys, his private thoughts 
 and feelings to market, to write them on paper, and sell them for 
 money. Does he exaggerate his grief, so as to get his reader's 
 pity for a false sensibility ? feign indignation, so as to establish a 
 character for virtue? elaborate repartees, so that he may pass for 
 a wit ? steal from other authors, and put down the theft to the credit 
 side of his own reputation for ingenuity and learning ? feign origi- 
 nality? affect benevolence or misanthropy? appeal to the gallery 
 gods with claptraps and vulgar baits to catch applause ? 
 
 How much of the paint and emphasis is necessary for the fair 
 business of the stage, and how much of the rant and rouge is put 
 on for the vanity of the actor. His audience trusts him: can he 
 trust himself? How much was deliberate calculation and impos- 
 ture how much was false sensibility and how much true feel- 
 ing? Where did the lie begin, and did he know where? and where 
 did the truth end in the art and scheme of this man of genius, this 
 actor, this quack? Some time since, I was in the company of a 
 French actor, who began after dinner, and at his own request, to 
 sing French songs of the sort called des chansons grivoises, and which 
 he performed admirably, and to the dissatisfaction of most persons 
 present. Having finished these, he commenced a sentimental 
 ballad it was so charmingly sung, that it touched all persons 
 present, and especially the singer himself, whose voice trembled, 
 whose eyes filled with emotion, and who was snivelling and weeping 
 quite genuine tears by the time his own ditty was over. I suppose 
 
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 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 Sterne had this artistical sensibility; he used to blubber perpetually 
 in his study, and finding his tears infectious, and that they brought 
 him a great popularity, he exercised the lucrative gift of weeping: 
 he utilized it, and cried on every occasion. I own that I don't value 
 or respect much the cheap dribble of those fountains. He fatigues 
 me with his perpetual disquiet and his uneasy appeals to my risible 
 or sentimental faculties. He is always looking in my face, watching 
 his effect, uncertain whether I think him an impostor or not; 
 posture-making, coaxing, and imploring me. " See what sensibility 
 I have own now that I'm very clever do cry now, you can't resist 
 this." The humor of Swift and Rabelais, whom he pretended to 
 succeed, poured from them as naturally as song does from a bird; 
 they lose no manly dignity with it, but laugh their hearty great 
 laugh out of their broad chests as nature bade them. But this 
 man who can make you laugh, who can make you cry too 
 never lets his reader alone, or will permit his audience repose: 
 when you are quiet, he fancies he must rouse you, and turns over 
 head and heels, or sidles up and whispers a nasty story. The man 
 is a great jester, not a great humorist. He goes to work systemati- 
 cally and of cold blood ; paints his face, puts on his ruff and motley 
 clothes, and lays down his carpet and tumbles on it. 
 
 For instance, take the "Sentimental Journey," and see in the 
 writer the deliberate propensity to make points and seek applause. 
 He gets to " Dessein's Hotel," he wants a carriage to travel to Paris, 
 he goes to the inn-yard, and begins what the actors call "business" 
 at once. There is that little carriage (the desobligeanle). "Four 
 months had elapsed since it had finished its career of Europe in the 
 corner of Monsieur Dessein's coach-yard, and having sallied out 
 thence but a vamped-up business at first, though it had been twice 
 taken to pieces on Mount Sennis, it had not profited much by its 
 adventures, but by none so little as the standing so many months 
 unpitied in the corner of Monsieur Dessein's coach-yard. Much, 
 indeed, was not to be said for it but something might and 
 when a few words will rescue misery out of her distress, I hate the 
 man who can be a churl of them." 
 
 Le tour est fait I Paillasse has tumbled! Paillasse has jumped 
 over the desobligeante, cleared it, hood and all, and bows to the 
 noble company. Does anybody believe that this is a real Senti- 
 ment ? that this luxury of generosity, this gallant rescue of Misery 
 out of an old cab, is genuine feeling ? It is as genuine as the virtu- 
 
 305
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 ous oratory of Joseph Surface when he begins, "The man who," 
 &c. &c., and wishes to pass off for a saint with his credulous 
 good-humored dupes. 
 
 Our friend purchases the carriage: after turning that notorious 
 old monk to good account, and effecting (like a soft and good- 
 natured Paillasse as he was, and very free with his money when he 
 had it,) an exchange of snuff-boxes with the old Franciscan, jogs 
 out of Calais; sets down in immense figures on the credit side of 
 his account the sous he gives away to the Montreuil beggars; and 
 at Nampont, gets out of the chaise and whimpers over that famous 
 dead donkey, for which any sentimentalist may cry who will. It 
 is agreeably and skilfully done that dead jackass: like M. de 
 Soubise's cook on the campaign, Sterne dresses it, and serves it up 
 quite tender and with a very piquante sauce. But tears and fine 
 feelings, and a white pocket-handkerchief, and a funeral sermon, 
 and horses and feathers, and a procession of mutes, and a hearse 
 with a dead donkey inside! Psha, mountebank! I'll not give thee 
 one penny more for that trick, donkey and all ! 
 
 This donkey had appeared once before with signal effect. In 
 1765, three years before the publication of the "Sentimental Jour- 
 ney," the seventh and eight volumes of "Tristram Shandy" were 
 given to the world, and the famous Lyons donkey makes his entry 
 hi those volumes (pp. 315, 316): 
 
 " 'Twas by a poor ass, with a couple of large panniers at his back, 
 who had just turned in to collect eleemosynary turnip-tops and 
 cabbage-leaves, and stood dubious, with his two forefeet at the 
 inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the 
 street, as not knowing very well whether he was to go in or no. 
 
 " Now 'tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to 
 strike : there is a patient endurance of suffering wrote so unaffectedly 
 in his looks and carriage which pleads so mightily for him, that it 
 always disarms me, and to that degree that I do not like to speak 
 unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him where I will, whether 
 in town or country, in cart or under panniers, whether in liberty 
 or bondage, I have ever something civil to say to him on my part; 
 and, as one word begets another (if he has as little to do as I), I 
 generally fall into conversation wi!h him; and surely never is my 
 imagination so busy as in framing responses from the etchings 
 of his countenance; and where those carry me not deep enough, hi 
 flying from my own heart into his, and seeing what is natural for 
 
 306
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 an ass to think as well as a man upon the occasion. In truth, 
 it is the only creature cf all the classes of beings below me with 
 whom I can do this. . . . With an ass I can commune forever. 
 
 "'Come, Honesty,' said I, seeing it was impracticable to pass 
 betwixt him and the gate, 'art thou for coming in or going out?' 
 
 "The ass twisted his head round to look up the street. 
 
 "'Well!' replied I, 'we'll wait a minute for thy driver.' 
 
 "He turned his head thoughtful about, and looked wistfully the 
 opposite way. 
 
 "'I understand thee perfectly,' answered I: 'if thou takest a 
 wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel thee to death. Well! 
 a minute is but a minute ; and if it saves a fellow-creature a drub- 
 bing, it shall not be set down as ill spent.' 
 
 "He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went 
 on, and, in the little peevish contentions between hunger and un- 
 savoriness, had dropped it out of his mouth, half a dozen times, 
 and had picked it up again. 'God help thee, Jack!' said I, 'thou 
 hast a bitter breakfast on't and many a bitter day's labor, and 
 many a bitter blow, I fear, for its wages! 'Tis all, all bitterness 
 to thee whatever life is to others! And now thy mouth if one 
 knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot' (for he had cast 
 aside the stem), 'and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this 
 world that will give thee a macaroon.' In saying this, I pulled 
 out a paper of 'em, which I had just bought, and gave him one; 
 and, at this moment that I am telling it, my heart smites me that 
 there was more of pleasantry in the conceit of seeing how an ass 
 would eat a macaroon, than of benevolence in giving him one, 
 which presided in the act. 
 
 "When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I pressed him to come 
 in. The poor beast was heavy loaded his legs seemed to tremble 
 under him he hung rather backwards, and, as I pulled at his 
 halter, it broke in my hand. He looked up pensive in my face: 
 ' Don't thrash me with it; but if you will you may.' 'If I do,' said 
 I, 'I'll be d ." 
 
 A critic who refuses to see in this charming description wit, hu- 
 mor, pathos, a kind nature speaking, and a real sentiment, must be 
 hard indeed to move and to please. A page or two farther we come 
 to a description not less beautiful a landscape and figures, deli- 
 ciously painted by one who had the keenest enjoyment and the most 
 tremulous sensibility: 
 
 307
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 " 'Twas in the road between Nismes and Lunel, where is the best 
 Muscatto wine in all France: the sun was set, they had done their 
 work: the nymphs had tied up their hair afresh, and the swains were 
 preparing for a carousal. My mule made a dead point. ' 'Tis the 
 pipe and tambourine,' said I 'I never will argue a point with one 
 of your family as long as I live;' so leaping off his back, and kicking 
 off one boot into this ditch and t'other into that, ' I'll take a dance,' 
 said I, ' so stay you here.' 
 
 "A sunburnt daughter of labor rose up from the group to meet 
 me as I advanced towards them; her hair, which was of a dark 
 chestnut approaching to a black, was tied up in a knot, all but a 
 single tress. 
 
 " ' We want a cavalier,' said she, holding out both her hands, as 
 if to offer them. 'And a cavalier you shall have,' said I, taking 
 hold of both of them. 'We could not have done without you,' said 
 she, letting go one hand, with self-taught politeness, and leading me 
 up with the other. 
 
 " A lame youth, whom Apollo had recompensed with a pipe, and 
 to which he had added a tambourine of his own accord, ran sweetly 
 over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank. 'Tie me up this tress 
 instantly,' said Nannette, putting a piece of string into my hand. 
 It taught me to forget I was a stranger. The whole knot fell down 
 we had been seven years acquainted. The youth struck the 
 note upon the tambourine, his pipe followed, and off we bounded. 
 
 " The sister of the youth who had stolen her voice from heaven 
 sang alternately with her brother. 'Twas a Gascoigne rounde- 
 lay : Viva la joia, fidon la trislessa.' The nymphs joined in unison, 
 and their swains an octave below them. 
 
 " Viva la joia was in Nannette's lips, viva la joia in her eyes. A 
 transient spark of amity shot across the space betwixt us. She 
 looked amiable. Why could I not live and end my days thus? 
 ' Just Disposer of our joys and sorrows!' cried I, 'why could not a 
 man sit down in the lap of content here, and dance, and sing, and 
 say his prayers, and go to heaven'with this nut-brown maid ? ' Ca- 
 priciously did she bend her head on one side, and dance up insidious. 
 ' Then 'tis time to dance off,' quoth I." 
 
 And with this pretty dance and chorus, the volume artfully con- 
 cludes. Even here one can't give the whole description. There is 
 not a page in Sterne's writing but has something that were better 
 away, a latent corruption a hint as of an impure presence. 
 
 308
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 Some of that dreary double entendre may be attributed to freer 
 times and manners than ours, but not all. The foul Satyr's eyes 
 leer out of the leaves constantly: the last words the famous author 
 wrote were bad and wicked the last lines the poor stricken wretch 
 penned were for pity and pardon. I think of these past writers and 
 of one who lives amongst us now, and am grateful for the innocent 
 laughter and the sweet and unsullied page which the author of 
 " David Copperfield " gives to my children. 
 
 " Jete" sur cette boule, 
 Laid, che"tif et souffrant; 
 Etouffe" dans la foule, 
 Faute d'fetre assez grand: 
 
 "Une plainte touchante 
 De ma bouche sortit. 
 Le bon Dieu me dit: Chante, 
 Chante, pauvre petit! 
 
 "Chanter, ou je m'abuse, 
 Est ma tache ici bas. 
 Toux ceux qu'ainsi j 'amuse, 
 Ne m'aimeront-ils pas?" 
 
 In those charming lines of Bdranger, one may fancy described 
 the career, the sufferings, the genius, the gentle nature of GOLD- 
 SMITH, and the esteem in which we hold him. Who, of the millions 
 whom he has amused, doesn't love him ? To be the most beloved 
 of English writers, what a title that is for a man! A wild youth, 
 wayward, but full of tenderness and affection, quits the country vil- 
 lage where his boyhood has been passed in happy musing, in idle 
 shelter, in fond longing to see the great world out of doors, and 
 achieve name and fortune; and after years of dire struggle, and 
 neglect and poverty, his heart turning back as fondly to his native 
 place as it had longed eagerly for change when sheltered there, he 
 writes a book and a poem, full of the recollections and feelings of 
 home: he paints the friends and scenes of his youth, and peoples 
 Auburn and Wakefield with remembrances of Lissoy. Wander 
 he must, but he carries away a home-relic with him, and dies with 
 it on his breast. His nature is truant; in repose it longs for change: 
 as on the journey it looks back for friends and quiet. He passes to- 
 day in building an air-castle for to-morrow, or in writing yesterday's 
 elegy; and he would fly away this hour, but that a cage and neces- 
 
 309
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 sity keep him. What is the charm of his verse, of his style, and hu- 
 mor? His sweet regrets, his delicate compassion, his soft smile, 
 his tremulous sympathy, the weakness which he owns? Your love 
 for him is half pity. You come hot and tired from the day's battle, 
 and this sweet minstrel sings to you. Who could harm the kind 
 vagrant harper ? Whom did he ever hurt ? He carries no weapon, 
 save the harp on which he plays to you; and with which he delights 
 great and humble, young and old, the captains in the tents, or the 
 soldiers round the fire, or the women and children in the villages, at 
 whose porches he stops and sings his simple songs of love and beauty. 
 With that sweet story of the "Vicar of Wakefield " he has found en- 
 try into every castle and every hamlet in Europe. Not one of us, 
 however busy or hard, but once or twice in our lives has passed an 
 evening with him, and undergone the charm of his delightful music. 
 Goldsmith's father was no doubt the good Doctor Primrose, 
 whom we all of us know. Swift was yet alive, when the little Oliver 
 was born at Pallas, or Pallasmore, in the county of Longford, in 
 Ireland. In 1730, two years after the child's birth, Charles Gold- 
 smith removed his family to Lissoy, in the county Westmeath, that 
 sweet "Auburn" which every person who hears me has seen in 
 fancy. Here the kind parson* brought up his eight children ; and 
 loving all the world, as his son says, fancied all the world loved 
 him. He had a crowd of poor dependants besides those hungry 
 children. He kept an open table; round which sat flatterers and 
 poor friends, who laughed at the honest rector's many jokes, and 
 
 * "At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
 His looks adorn 'd the venerable place; 
 Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, 
 And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray. 
 The service past, around the pious man, 
 With steady zeal each honest rustic ran; 
 E'en children follow'd with endearing wile, 
 And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile. 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest; 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. 
 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 
 
 The Deserted Village. 
 
 310
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 ate the produce of his seventy acres of farm. Those who have seen 
 an Irish house in the present day can fancy that one of Lissoy. 
 The old beggar still has his allotted corner by the kitchen turf; the 
 maimed old soldier still gets his potatoes and buttermilk; the poor 
 cottier still asks his honor's charity, and prays God bless his rever- 
 ence for the sixpence : the ragged pensioner still takes his place by 
 right and sufferance. There's still a crowd in the kitchen, and a 
 crowd round the parlor-table, profusion, confusion, kindness, pov- 
 erty. If an Irishman comes to London to make his fortune, he 
 has a half-dozen of Irish dependants who take a percentage of his 
 earnings. The good Charles Goldsmith left but little provision 
 for his hungry race when death summoned him: and one of his 
 daughters being engaged to a Squire of rather superior dignity, 
 Charles Goldsmith impoverished the rest of his family to provide 
 the girl with a dowry. 
 
 The small-pox, which scourged all Europe at that time, and 
 ravaged the roses off the cheeks of half the world, fell foul of poor 
 little Oliver's face, when the child was eight years old, and left him 
 scarred and disfigured for his life. An old woman in his father's 
 village taught him his letters, and pronounced him a dunce: Paddy 
 Byrne, the hedge-schoolmaster, took him in hand ; and from Paddy 
 Byrne, he was transmitted to a clergyman at Elphin. When a 
 child was sent to school in those days, the classic phrase was that 
 he was placed under Mr. So-and-so's ferule. Poor little ancestors ! 
 It is hard to think how ruthlessly you were birched ; and how much 
 of needless whipping and tears our small forefathers had to undergo ! 
 A relative kind uncle Contarine, took the main charge of little 
 Noll; who went through his school-days righteously doing as little 
 work as he could: robbing orchards, playing at ball, and making 
 his pocket-money fly about whenever fortune sent it to him. Every- 
 body knows the story of that famous "Mistake of a Night," when 
 the young schoolboy, provided with a guinea and a nag, rode up 
 to the "best house" in Ardagh, called for the landlord's company 
 over a bottle of wine at supper, and for a hot cake for breakfast 
 in the morning; and found, when he asked for the bill, that the best 
 house was Squire Featherstone's, and not the inn for which he mis- 
 took it. Who does not know every story about Goldsmith? That 
 is a delightful and fantastic picture of the child dancing and caper- 
 ing about in the kitchen at home, when the old fiddler gibed at him 
 for his ugliness, and called him ^Esop; and little Noll made his
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 repartee of " Heralds proclaim aloud this saying See .<Esop 
 .dancing and his monkey playing." One can fancy a queer pitiful 
 look of humor and appeal upon that little scarred face the 
 funny little dancing figure, the funny little brogue. In his life, 
 and his writings, which are the honest expression of it, he is con- 
 stantly bewailing that homely face and person; anon, he surveys 
 them in the glass ruefully; and presently assumes the most comical 
 dignity. He likes to deck out his little person in splendor and 
 fine colors. He presented himself to be examined for ordination 
 in a pair of scarlet breeches, and said honestly that he did not like 
 to go into the church, because he was fond of colored clothes. 
 When he tried to practise as a doctor, he got by hook or by crook 
 a black velvet suit, and looked as big and grand as he could, and 
 kept his hat over a patch on the old coat : in better days he bloomed 
 out in plum-color, hi blue silk, and hi new velvet. For some of 
 those splendors the heirs and assignees of Mr. Filby, the tailor, 
 have never been paid to this day: perhaps the kind tailor and his 
 creditor have met and settled the little account in Hades. 
 
 They showed until lately a window at Trinity College, Dublin, 
 on which the name of O. Goldsmith was engraved with a diamond. 
 Whose diamond was it? Not the young sizar's, who made but a 
 poor figure in that place of learning. He was idle, penniless, and 
 fond of pleasure: he learned his way early to the pawnbroker's 
 shop. He wrote ballads, they say, for the street-singers, who paid 
 him a crown for a poem: and his pleasure was to steal out at night 
 and hear his verses sung. He was chastised by his tutor for giving 
 a dance in his rooms, and took the box on the ear so much to heart, 
 that he packed up his all, pawned his books and little property, and 
 disappeared from college and family. He said he intended to go 
 to America, but when his money was spent, the young prodigal 
 came home ruefully, and the good folks there killed their calf it 
 was but a lean one and welcomed him back. 
 
 After college, he hung about his mother's house, and lived for 
 some years the life of a buckeen passed a month with this relation 
 and that, a year with one patron, a great deal of time at the public- 
 house. Tired of this life, it was resolved that he should go to 
 London, and study at the Temple ; but he got no farther on the road 
 to London and the woolsack than Dublin, where he gambled away 
 the fifty pounds given to him for his outfit, and whence he returned 
 to the indefatigable forgiveness of home. Then he determined to 
 
 312
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 be a doctor, and uncle Contarine helped him to a couple of years at 
 Edinburgh. Then from Edinburgh he felt that he ought to hear the 
 famous professors of Leyden and Paris, and wrote most amusing 
 pompous letters to his uncle about the great Farheim, Du Petit, 
 and Duhamel du Monceau, whose lectures he proposed to follow. 
 If uncle Contarine believed those letters if Oliver's mother 
 believed that story which the youth related of his going to Cork, 
 with the purpose of embarking for America, of his having paid his 
 passage-money, and having sent his kit on board ; of the anonymous 
 captain sailing away with Oliver's valuable luggage, in a nameless 
 ship, never to return; if uncle Contarine and the mother at Bally- 
 mahon believed his stories, they must have been a very simple pair; 
 as it was a very simple rogue indeed who cheated them. When the 
 lad, after failing hi his clerical examination, after failing in his plan 
 for studying the law, took leave of these projects and of his parents, 
 and set out for Edinburgh, he saw mother, and uncle, and lazy 
 Ballymahon, and green native turf, and sparkling river for the last 
 time. He was never to look on old Ireland more, and only hi fancy 
 revisit her. 
 
 "But me not destined such delights to share, 
 My prime of life in wandering spent and care, 
 Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue 
 Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view; 
 That like the circle bounding earth and skies 
 Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies: 
 My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 
 And find no spot of all the world my own." 
 
 I spoke in a former lecture of that high courage which enabled 
 Fielding, hi spite of disease, remorse, and poverty, always to retain 
 a cheerful spirit and to keep his manly benevolence and love of 
 truth intact, as if these treasures had been confided to him for the 
 public benefit, and he was accountable to posterity for their honor- 
 able employ ; and a constancy equally happy and admirable I think 
 was shown by Goldsmith, whose sweet and friendly nature bloomed 
 kindly always hi the midst of a life's storm, and rain, and bitter 
 weather. The poor fellow was never so friendless but he could 
 befriend some one; never so pinched and wretched but he could 
 give rf his crust, and speak his word of compassion. If he had but 
 his flute left, he could give that, and make the children happy in the 
 dreary London court. He could give the coals in that queer coal- 
 
 313
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 scuttle we read of to his poor neighbor: he could give away his 
 blankets in college to the poor widow, and warm himself as he best 
 might in the feathers: he could pawn his coat to save his landlord 
 from gaol: when he was a school-usher he spent his earnings in 
 treats for the boys, and the good-natured schoolmaster's wife said 
 justly that she ought to keep Mr. Goldsmith's money as well as the 
 young gentlemen's. When he met his pupils in later life, nothing 
 would satisfy the Doctor but he must treat them still. " Have you 
 seen the print of me after Sir Joshua Reynolds?" he asked one of 
 his old pupils. "Not seen it? not bought it? Sure, Jack, if your 
 picture had been published, I'd not have been without it half an 
 hour." His purse and his heart were everybody's, and his friends' 
 as much as his own. When he was at the height of his reputation, 
 and the Earl of Northumberland, going as Lord Lieutenant to 
 Ireland, asked if he could be of any service to Dr. Goldsmith. 
 Goldsmith recommended his brother, and not himself, to the great 
 man. "My patrons," he gallantly said, "are the booksellers, and 
 I want no others." Hard patrons they were, and hard work he 
 did; but he did not complain much: if in his early writings some 
 bitter words escaped him, some allusions to neglect and poverty, he 
 withdrew these expressions when his works were republished, and 
 better days seemed to open for him; and he did not care to complain 
 that printer or publisher had overlooked his merit, or left him poor. 
 The Court face was turned from honest Oliver, the Court patronized 
 Beattie ; the fashion did not shine on him fashion adored Sterne. 
 Fashion pronounced Kelly to be the great writer of comedy of his 
 day. A little not ill-humour, but plaintiveness a little 
 betrayal of wounded pride which he showed render him not the 
 less amiable. The author of the "Vicar of Wakefield" had a 
 right to protest when Newbery kept back the MS. for two years; 
 had a right to be a little peevish with Sterne; a little angry when 
 Colman's actors declined their parts in his delightful comedy, 
 when the manager refused to have a scene painted for it, and 
 pronounced its damnation before hearing. He had net the great 
 public with him; but he had the noble Johnson, and the admirable 
 Reynolds, and the great Gibbon, and the great Burke, and the great 
 Fox friends and admirers illustrious indeed, as famous as those 
 who, fifty years before, sat round Pope's table. 
 
 Nobody knows, and I dare say Goldsmith's buoyant temper 
 kept no account of all the pains which he endured during the early
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 period of his literary career. Should any man of letters in our day 
 have to bear up against such, heaven grant he may come out of the 
 period of misfortune with such a pure kind heart as that which 
 Goldsmith obstinately bore in his breast. The insults to which he 
 had to submit are shocking to read of slander, contumely, 
 vulgar satire, brutal malignity perverting his commonest motives 
 and actions; he had his share of these, and one's anger is roused 
 at reading of them, as it is at seeing a woman insulted or a child 
 assaulted, at the notion that a creature so very gentle and weak, and 
 full of love, should have had to suffer so. And he had worse than 
 insult to undergo to own to fault and deprecate the anger of 
 ruffians. There is a letter of his extant to one Griffiths, a bookseller, 
 in which poor Goldsmith is forced to confess that certain books 
 sent by Griffiths are in the hands of a friend from whom Goldsmith 
 had been forced to borrow money. "He was wild, sir," Johnson 
 said, speaking of Goldsmith to Boswell, with his great, wise benev- 
 olence and noble mercifulness of heart " Dr. Goldsmith was wild, 
 sir; but he is so no more." Ah! if we pity the good and weak man 
 who suffers undeservedly, let us deal very gently with him from 
 whom misery extorts not only tears, but shame; let us think humbly 
 and charitably of the human nature that suffers so sadly and falls 
 so low. Whose turn may it be to-morrow? What weak heart, 
 confident before trial, may not succumb under temptation invinci- 
 ble ? Cover the good man who has been vanquished cover his 
 face and pass on. 
 
 For the last half-dozen years of his life Goldsmith was far removed 
 from the pressure of any ignoble necessity: and in the receipt, 
 indeed, of a pretty large income from the booksellers his patrons. 
 Had he lived but a few years more, his public fame would have 
 been as great as his private reputation, and he might have enjoyed 
 alive a part of that esteem which his country has ever since paid to 
 the vivid and versatile genius who has touched on almost every 
 subject of literature, and touched nothing that he did not adorn. 
 Except in rare instances, a man is known in our profession, and 
 esteemed as a skilful workman, years before the lucky hit which 
 trebles his usual gains, and stamps him a popular author. In the 
 strength of his age, and the dawn of his reputation, having for 
 backers and friends the most illustrious literary men of his time, 
 fame and prosperity might have been in store for Goldsmith, had 
 fate so willed it; and, at forty-six had not sudden disease carried 
 
 315
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 him off. I say prosperity rather than competence, for it is probable 
 that no sum could have put order into his affairs or sufficed for his 
 irreclaimable habits of dissipation. It must be remembered that he 
 owed 2,ooo/. when he died. "Was ever poet," Johnson asked, "so 
 trusted before?" As has been the case with many another good 
 fellow of his nation, his life was tracked and his substance wasted 
 by crowds of hungry beggars and lazy dependants. If they came 
 at a lucky time (and be sure they knew his affairs better than he 
 did himself, and watched his pay-day), he gave them of his money: 
 if they begged on empty-purse days he gave them his promissory bills: 
 or he treated them to a tavern where he had credit ; or he obliged them 
 with an order upon honest Mr. Filby for coats, for which he paid 
 as long as he could earn, and until the shears of Filby were to cut 
 for him no more. Staggering under a load of debt and labor, 
 tracked by bailiffs and reproachful creditors, running from a 
 hundred poor dependants, whose appealing looks were perhaps the 
 hardest of all pains for him to bear, devising fevered plans for to- 
 morrow, new histories, new comedies, all sorts of new literary 
 schemes, flying from all these into seclusion, and out of seclusion 
 into pleasure at last, at five-and-forty, death seized him and 
 closed his career. I have been many a time in the chambers in the 
 Temple which were his, and passed up the staircase, which Johnson, 
 and Burke, and Reynolds trod to see their friend, their poet, their 
 kind Goldsmith the stair on which the poor women sat weeping 
 bitterly when they heard that the greatest and most generous of all 
 men was dead within the black oak door. Ah, it was a different 
 lot from that for which the poor fellow sighed, when he wrote with 
 heart yearning for home those most charming of all fond verses, 
 in which he fancies he revisits Auburn 
 
 "Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 
 
 Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
 
 And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
 
 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
 
 Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train, 
 
 Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 
 
 "In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
 In all my griefs and God has given my share 
 I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 
 Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; 
 To husband out life's taper at the close, 
 
 316
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 And keep the flame from wasting by repose; 
 I still had hopes for pride attends us still 
 Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 And tell of all I felt and all I saw; 
 And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 
 Pants to the place from whence at first he flew 
 I still had hopes my long vexations past, 
 Here to return, and die at home at last. 
 
 "O blest retirement, friend to life's decline! 
 Retreats from care that never must be mine 
 How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
 A youth of labor with an age of ease; 
 Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
 And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! 
 For him no wretches born to work and weep 
 Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep; 
 No surly porter stands in guilty state 
 To spurn imploring famine from the gate: 
 But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
 Angels around befriending virtue's friend; 
 Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
 Whilst resignation gently slopes the way; 
 And all his prospects brightening to the last, 
 His heaven commences ere the world be past." 
 
 In these verses, I need not say with what melody, with what 
 touching truth, with what exquisite beauty of comparison as 
 indeed in hundreds more pages of the writings of this honest soul 
 the whole character of the man is told his humble confession of 
 faults and weakness; his pleasant little vanity, and desire that his 
 village should admire him; his simple scheme of good in which 
 everybody was to be happy no beggar was to be refused his dinner 
 nobody in fact was to work much, and he to be the harmless chief 
 of the Utopia, and the monarch of the Irish Yvetot. He would 
 have told again, and without fear of their failing, those famous jokes 
 which had hung fire in London ; he would have talked of his great 
 friends of the Club of my Lord Clare and my Lord Bishop, my 
 Lord Nugent sure he knew them intimately, and was hand and 
 glove with some of the best men in town and he would have 
 spoken of Johnson and of Burke, and of Sir Joshua who had 
 painted him and he would have told wonderful sly stories of 
 Ranelagh and the Pantheon, and the masquerades at Madame Cor- 
 
 317
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 nelis'; and he would have toasted, with a sigh, the Jessamy Bride 
 the lovely Mary Hcrneck. 
 
 The figure cf that charming young lady forms one of the prettiest 
 recollections cf Goldsmith's life. She and her beautiful sister, 
 who married Bunbury,'the graceful and humorous amateur artist 
 cf those days, when Gilray had but just begun to try his powers, 
 were among the kindest and dearest of Goldsmith's many friends, 
 cheered and pitied him, travelled abroad with him, made him wel- 
 come at their home, and gave him many a pleasant holiday. He 
 bought his finest clothes to figure at their country-house at Barton 
 he wrote them droll verses. They loved him, laughed at him, 
 played him tricks and made him happy. He asked for a loan from 
 Garrick, and Garrick kindly supplied him, to enable him to go to 
 Barton : but there were to be no more holidays, and only one brief 
 struggle mere for poor Goldsmith. A lock of his hair was taken 
 from the coffin and given to the Jessamy Bride. She lived quite 
 into our time. Hazlitt saw her an old lady, but beautiful still, in 
 Northcote's painting-room, who told the eager critic how proud she 
 always was that Goldsmith had admired her. The younger Col- 
 man has left a touching reminiscence of him. Vol. i. 63, 64. 
 
 "I was only five years old," he says, "when Goldsmith took me 
 on his knee one evening whilst he was drinking coffee with my father, 
 and began to play with me, which amiable act I returned, with the 
 ingratitude of a peevish brat, by giving him a very smart slap on the 
 face : it must have been a tingler, for it left the marks of my spiteful 
 paw on his cheek. This infantile outrage was followed by summary 
 justice, and I was locked up by my indignant father in an adjoining 
 room to undergo solitary imprisonment in the dark. Here I began 
 to howl and scream most abominably, which was no bad step to- 
 wards my liberation, since those who were not inclined to pity me 
 might be likely to set me free for the purpose of abating a nuisance. 
 
 " At length a generous friend appeared to extricate me from jeop- 
 ardy, and that generous friend was no other than the man I had so 
 wantonly molested by assault and battery it was the tender- 
 hearted Doctor himself, with a lighted candle in his hand, and a 
 smile upon his countenance, which was still partially red from the 
 effects of my petulance. I sulked and sobbed as he fondled and 
 soothed, till I began to brighten. Goldsmith seized the propitious 
 moment of returning good-humor, when he put down the candle 
 and began to conjure. He placed three hats, which happened to 
 
 318
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 be in the room, and a shilling tinder each. The shillings he told me 
 were England, France, and Spain. 'Hey Presto cockalorum!' 
 cried the Doctor, and lo, on uncovering the shillings, which had 
 been dispersed each beneath a separate hat, they were all found con- 
 gregated under one. I was no politician at five years old, and there- 
 fore might net have wondered at the sudden revolution which 
 brought England, France, and Spain all under one crown; but, as 
 also I was no conjurer, it amazed me beyond measure. . . . From 
 that time, whenever the doctor came to visit my father, 'I plucked 
 his gown to share the good man's smile;' a game at romps con- 
 stantly ensued, and we were always cordial friends and merry play- 
 fellows. Our unequal companionship varied somewhat as to sports 
 as I grew older; but it did not last long: my senior playmate died 
 in his forty-fifth year, when I had attained my eleventh. ... In 
 all the numerous accounts of his virtues and fcibles, his genius and 
 absurdities, his knowledge of nature and ignorance of the world, 
 his 'compassion for another's woe' was always predominant; and 
 my trivial story of his humoring a froward child weighs but as a 
 feather in the recorded scale of his benevolence." 
 
 Think of him reckless, thriftless, vain if you like but merciful, 
 gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes out of our life, 
 and goes to render his account beyond it. Think of the poor 
 pensioners weeping at his grave; think of the noble spirits that 
 admired and deplored him; think of the righteous pen that wrote 
 his epitaph and of the wonderful and unanimous response of 
 affection with which the world has paid back the love he gave it. 
 His humor delighting us still: his song fresh and beautiful as when 
 first he charmed with it; his words in all our mouths: his very 
 weaknesses beloved and familiar his benevolent spirit seems 
 still to smile upon us: to do gentle kindnesses: to succor with sweet 
 charity: to soothe, caress, and forgive: to plead with the fortunate 
 for the unhappy and the poor. 
 
 His name is the last in the list of those men of humor who have 
 formed the themes of the discourses which you have heard so 
 kindly. 
 
 Long before I had ever hoped for such an audience, or dreamed 
 
 of the possibility of the good fortune which has brought me so many 
 
 friends, I was at issue with some of my literary brethren upon a point 
 
 which they held from tradition I think rather than experience 
 
 319
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 that our profession was neglected in this country; and that men 
 of letters were ill-received and held in slight esteem. It would 
 hardly be grateful of me now to alter my old opinion that we do 
 meet with good-will and kindness, with generous helping hands in 
 the time of our necessity, with cordial and friendly recognition. 
 What claim had any one of these of whom I have been speaking, 
 but genius? What return of gratitude, fame, affection, did it not 
 bring to all ? 
 
 What punishment befell those who were unfortunate among 
 them, but that which follows reckless habits and careless h'ves? 
 For these faults a wit must suffer like the dullest prodigal that ever 
 ran in debt. He must pay the tailor if he wears the coat ; his chil- 
 dren must go in rags if he spends his money at the tavern ; he can't 
 come to London and be made Lord Chancellor if he stops on the 
 road and gambles away his last shilling at Dublin. And he must 
 pay the social penalty of these follies too, and expect that the world 
 will shun the man of bad habits, that women will avoid the man of 
 loose life, that prudent folks will close their doors as a precaution, 
 and before a demand should be made on their pockets by the needy 
 prodigal. With what difficulty had any one of these men to con- 
 tend, save that eternal and mechanical one of want of means and 
 lack of capital, and of which thousands of young lawyers, young 
 doctors, young soldiers and sailors, of inventors, manufacturers, 
 shop-keepers, have to complain ? Hearts as brave and resolute as 
 ever beat in the breast of any wit or poet, sicken and break daily in 
 the vain endeavor and unavailing struggle against life's difficulty. 
 Don't we see daily ruined inventors, gray-haired midshipmen, 
 balked heroes, blighted curates, barristers pining a hungry life out 
 in chambers, the attorneys never mounting to their garrets, whilst 
 scores of them are rapping at the door of the successful quack below ? 
 If these suffer, who is the author, that he should be exempt ? Let 
 us bear our ills with the same constancy with which others endure 
 them, accept our manly part in life, hold our own, and ask no more. 
 I can conceive of no kings or laws causing or curing Goldsmith's 
 improvidence, or Fielding's fatal love of pleasure, or Dick Steele's 
 mania for running races with the constable. You never can out- 
 run that sure-footed officer not by any swiftness or by dodges 
 devised by any genius, however great; and he carries off the Tatler 
 to the spunging-house, or taps the Citizen of the World on the shoul- 
 der as he would any other mortal. 
 
 320
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 Does society look down on a man because he is an author? I 
 suppose if people want a buffoon they tolerate him only in to far as 
 he is amusing; it can hardly be expected that they should respect 
 him as an equal. Is there to be a guard of honor provided for the 
 author of the last new novel or poem? how long is he to reign, 
 and keep other potentates out of possession ? He retires, grumbles, 
 and prints a lamentation that literature is despised. If Captain A. 
 is left out of Lady B.'s parties he does not state that the army is 
 despised: if Lord C. no longer asks Counsellor D. to dinner, Coun- 
 sellor D. does not announce that the bar is insulted. He is not fair 
 to society if he enters it with this suspicion hankering about him; 
 if he is doubtful about his reception, how hold up his head honestly, 
 and look frankly in the face that world about which he is full of 
 suspicion ? Is he place-hunting, and thinking in his mind that he 
 ought to be made an Ambassador, like Prior, or a Secretary of State, 
 like Addison? this pretence of equality falls to the ground at once: 
 he is scheming for a patron, not shaking the hand of a friend, when 
 he meets the world. Treat such a man as he deserves; laugh at his 
 buffoonery, and give him a dinner and a ban jour; laugh at his self- 
 sufficiency and absurd assumptions of superiority, and his equally 
 ludicrous airs of martyrdom: laugh at his flattery and his scheming, 
 and buy it, if it's worth the having. Let the wag have his dinner 
 and the hireling his pay if you want him, and make a profound bow 
 to the grand homme incompris, and the boisterous martyr, and show 
 him the door. The great world, the great aggregate experience, 
 has its good sense as it has its good humor. It detects a pretender, 
 as it trusts a loyal heart. It is kind in the main : how should it be 
 otherwise than kind, when it is so wise and clear headed ? To any 
 literary man who says, "It despises my profession," I say, with all 
 my might no, no, no. It may pass over your individual case 
 how many a brave fellow has failed in the race, and perished un- 
 known in the struggle! but it treats you as you merit in the main. 
 If you serve it, it is not unthankful; if you please, it is pleased; if 
 you cringe to it, it detects you, and scorns you if you are mean; it 
 returns your cheerf ulness with its good humor ; it deals not ungen- 
 erously with your weaknesses; it recognizes most kindly your merits; 
 it gives you a fair place and fair play. To any one of those men of 
 whom we have spoken was it in the main ungrateful ? A king might 
 refuse Goldsmith a pension, as a publisher might keep his master- 
 piece and the delight of all the world in his desk for two years; but 
 
 321
 
 STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 
 
 it was mistake, and not ill-will. Noble and illustrious names of 
 Swift, and Pope, and Addison! dear and honored memories of Gold- 
 smith and Fielding! kind friends, teachers, benefactors! who shall 
 say that our country, which continues to bring you such an unceas- 
 ing tribute of applause, admiration, love, sympathy, does not do 
 honor to the literary calling in the honor which it bestows upon 
 you? 
 
 322
 
 FROM 
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF 
 TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 BY 
 
 LAURENCE STERNE
 
 THE STORY OF LE FEVER 
 
 IT was some time in the summer of that year in which Dender- 
 mond was taken by the allies, which was about seven years 
 before my father came into the country, and about as many, 
 after the time, that my uncle Toby and Trim had privately de- 
 camped from my father's house in town, in order to lay some of 
 
 the finest sieges to some of the finest fortified cities in Europe 
 
 when my uncle Toby was one evening getting his supper, with 
 Trim sitting behind him at a small sideboard, I say, sitting for 
 in consideration of the corporal's lame knee (which sometimes 
 gave him exquisite pain) when my uncle Toby dined or supped 
 alone, he would never suffer the corporal to stand; and the poor 
 fellow's veneration for his master was such, that, with a proper 
 artillery, my uncle Toby could have taken Dendermond itself, with 
 less trouble than he was able to gain this point over him ; for many 
 a time when my uncle Toby supposed the corporal's leg was at rest, 
 he would look back, and detect him standing behind him with the 
 most dutiful respect: this bred more little squabbles betwixt them, 
 than all other causes for five-and-twenty years together But this 
 
 this is neither here nor there why do I mention it ? Ask my 
 
 pen, it governs me, I govern not it. 
 
 He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the land- 
 lord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour, with an 
 empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or two of sack; "Pis for a 
 poor gentleman, I think, of the army, said the landlord, who 
 has been taken ill at my house four days ago, and has never held 
 up his head since, or had a desire to taste any thing, till just now, 
 
 that he has a fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast, 1 
 
 think, says he, taking his hand from his forehead, it would com- 
 fort me. 
 
 If I could neither beg, borrow, or buy such a thing added 
 
 the landlord, I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, 
 
 he is so ill. 1 hope in God he will still mend, continued he, 
 
 we are all of us concerned for him. 
 
 325
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Thou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for thee, cried my 
 uncle Toby; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in 
 a glass of sack thyself, and take a couple of bottles with my 
 service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen 
 more if they will do him good. 
 
 Though I am persuaded, said my uncle Toby, as the landlord 
 shut the door, he is a very compassionate fellow Trim, yet 
 I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there 
 must be something more than common in him, that in so short a 
 
 time should win so much upon the affections of his host ; And 
 
 of his whole family, added the corporal, for they are all concerned 
 
 for him. Step after him, said my uncle Toby, do, Trim, 
 
 and ask if he knows his name. 
 
 1 have quite forgot it truly, said the landlord, coming back 
 
 into the parlour with the corporal, but I can ask his son again : 
 
 Has he a son with him then ? said my uncle Toby. A boy, 
 
 replied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age ; but 
 the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father; he does 
 
 nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day: He has 
 
 not stirred from the bed-side these two days. 
 
 My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate 
 from before him, as the landlord gave him the account ; and Trim, 
 without being ordered, took away, without saying one word, and 
 in a few minutes after brought him his pipe and tobacco. 
 
 Stay in the room a little, said my uncle Toby. 
 
 Trim! said my uncle Toby, after he lighted his pipe, and 
 
 smoak'd about a dozen whiffs. Trim came in front of his master, 
 
 and made his bow; my uncle Toby smoak'd on, and said no 
 
 more. Corporal ! said my uncle Toby the corporal made 
 
 his bow. My uncle Toby proceeded no farther, but finished his 
 
 pipe. 
 
 Trim! said my uncle Toby, I have a project in my head, as it is 
 a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and 
 paying a visit to this pocr gentleman. Your honour's roque- 
 laure, replied the corporal, has not once been had on, since the 
 night before your honour received your wound, when we mounted 
 guard in the trenches before the gate of St. Nicholas; and be- 
 sides, it is so cold and rainy a night, that what with the roquelaure 
 and what with the weather, 'twill be enough to give your honour 
 your death, and bring on your honour's torment in your groin. I 
 
 326
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 fear so, replied my uncle Toby; but I am not at rest in my mind, 
 
 Trim, since the account the landlord has given me. 1 wish 
 
 I had not known so much of this affair, added my uncle Toby, 
 
 or that I had known more of it: How shall we manage it? 
 
 Leave it, an't please your honour, to me, quoth the corporal; 
 
 I'll take my hat and stick and go to the house and reconnoitre, and 
 act accordingly; and I will bring your honour a full account in an 
 hour. - Thou shalt go, Trim, said my uncle Toby, and here's 
 a shilling for thee to drink with his servant. I shall get it all 
 out of him, said the corporal, shutting the door. 
 
 My uncle Toby filled his second pipe; and had it not been, that 
 he now and then wandered from the point, with considering whether 
 it was not full as well to have the curtain of the tenaille a straight 
 line, as a crooked one, he might be said to have thought of 
 nothing else but poor Le Fever and his boy the whole time he 
 smoaked it. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED 
 
 IT was not till my uncle Toby had knocked the ashes out of his 
 third pipe, that corporal Trim returned from the inn, and 
 gave him the following account. 
 
 I despaired, at first, said the corporal, of being able to bring 
 back your honour any kind of intelligence concerning the poor sick 
 
 lieutenant. Is he in the army, then ? said my uncle Toby He 
 
 is, said the corporal And in what regiment? said my uncle 
 
 Toby I'll tell your honour, replied the corporal, every thing 
 
 straight forwards, as I learnt it. Then, Trim, I'll fill another 
 pipe, said my uncle Toby, and not interrupt thee till thou hast done ; 
 so sit down at thy ease, Trim, in the window-seat, and begin thy 
 story again. The corporal made his old bow, which generally 
 spoke as plain as a bow could speak it Your honour is good: 
 
 And having done that, he sat down, as he was ordered, and 
 
 begun the story to my uncle Toby over again in pretty near the 
 same words. 
 
 I despaired at first, said the corporal, of being able to bring back 
 any intelligence to your honour, about the lieutenant and his son; 
 for when I asked where his servant was, from whom I made myself 
 
 327
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 sure of knowing every thing which was proper to be asked, 
 That's a right distinction, Trim, said my uncle Toby I was 
 answered, an' please your honour, that he had no servant with him; 
 
 that he had come to the inn with hired horses, which, upon 
 
 finding himself unable to proceed (to join, I suppose, the regiment), 
 he had dismissed the morning after he came. If I get better, my 
 dear, said he, as he gave his purse to his son to pay the man, we 
 
 can hire horses from hence. But alas ! the poor gentleman 
 
 will never get from hence, said the landlady to me, for I heard 
 
 the death-watch all night long; and when he dies, the youth, 
 
 his son, will certainly die with him; for he is broken-hearted already. 
 
 I was hearing this account, continued the corporal, when the 
 youth came into the kitchen, to order the thin toast the landlord 
 
 spoke of ; but I will do it for my father myself, said the youth. 
 
 Pray let me save you the trouble, young gentleman, said I, 
 
 taking up a fork for the purpose, and offering him my chair to sit 
 
 down upon by the fire, whilst I did it. 1 believe, Sir, said he, 
 
 very modestly, I can please him best myself. 1 am sure, said I, 
 
 his honour will not like the toast the worse for being toasted by an 
 
 old soldier. The youth took hold of my hand, and instantly 
 
 burst into tears. Poor youth ! said my uncle Toby, he has 
 
 been bred up from an infant in the army, and the name of a soldier 
 Trim, sounded in his ears like the name of a friend ; I wish I had 
 him here. 
 
 1 never, in the longest march, said the corporal, had so 
 
 great a mind to my dinner, as I had to cry with him for company: 
 What could be the matter with me, an' please your honour ? Nothing 
 in the world, Trim, said my uncle Toby, blowing his nose, but 
 that thou art a good-natured fellow. 
 
 When I gave him the toast, continued the corporal, I thought 
 it was proper to tell him I was captain Shandy's servant, and that 
 your honour (though a stranger) was extremely concerned for his 
 father ; and that if there was any thing in your house or cellar 
 
 (And thou might 'st have added my purse too, said my uncle 
 
 Toby) he was heartily welcome to it : He made a very 
 
 low bow (which was meant to your honour), but no answer for 
 his heart was full so he went up stairs with the toast ; I warrant 
 you, my dear, said I, as I opened the kitchen-door, your father will 
 
 be well again. Mr. Yorick's curate was smcaking a pipe by 
 
 the kitchen fire, but said not a word good or bad to comfort the 
 
 328
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 youth. 1 thought it wrong; added the corporal 1 think so 
 
 too, said my uncle Toby. 
 
 When the lieutenant had taken his glass of sack and toast, he 
 felt himself a little revived, and sent down into the kitchen, to let 
 me know, that in about ten minutes he should be glad if I would 
 
 step up stairs. 1 believe, said the landlord, he is going to say 
 
 his prayers, for there was a book laid upon the chair by his 
 
 bedside, and as I shut the door, I saw his son take up a cushion. 
 
 I thought, said the curate, that you gentlemen of the army, Mr. 
 Trim, never said your prayers at all. 1 heard the poor gentle- 
 man say his prayers last night, said the landlady, very devoutly, 
 
 and with my own ears, or I could not have believed it. Are you 
 
 sure of it ? replied the curate. A soldier, an' please your 
 
 reverence, said I, prays as often (of his own accord) as a parson ; 
 
 and when he is fighting for his king, and for his own life, and for 
 his honour too, he has the most reason to pray to God of any one 
 in the whole world. 'Twas well said of thee, Trim, said my 
 uncle Toby. But when a soldier, said I, an' please your rever- 
 ence, has been standing for twelve hours together in the trenches, 
 up to his knees in cold water, or engaged, said I, for months 
 together in long and dangerous marches; harassed, perhaps, in 
 his rear to-day; harassing others to-morrow; detached here; 
 countermanded there; resting this night out upon his arms; 
 beat up in his shirt the next ; benumbed in his joints ; perhaps 
 
 without straw in his tent to kneel on; must say his prayers 
 
 how and when he can. I believe, said I, for I was piqued, 
 quoth the corporal, for the reputation of the army, I believe, 
 an' please your reverence, said I, that when a soldier gets time to 
 pray, he prays as heartily as a parson, though not with all 
 
 his fuss and hypocrisy. Thou shouldst not have said that, 
 
 Trim, said my uncle Toby, for God only knows who is a hypo- 
 crite, and who is not: At the great and general review of us 
 
 all, corporal, at the day of judgment (and not till then) it will be 
 seen who has done their duties in this world, and who has not ; 
 
 and we shall be advanced, Trim, accordingly. 1 hope we shall, 
 
 said Trim. It is in the Scripture, said my uncle Toby; and I 
 
 will shew it thee to-morrow : In the mean time we may depend 
 upon it, Trim, for our comfort, said my uncle Toby, that God 
 Almighty is so good and just a governor of the world, that if we 
 have but done our duties in it, it will never be enquired into, 
 
 329
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 whether we have done them in a red coat or a black one : 1 
 
 hope not, said the corporal But go on, Trim, said my uncle 
 
 Toby, with thy story. 
 
 When I went up, continued the corporal, into the lieutenant's 
 room, which I did not do till the expiration of the ten minutes, 
 he was lying in his bed with his head raised upon his hand, with his 
 elbow upon the pillow, and a clean white cambrick handkerchief 
 
 beside it : The youth was just stooping down to take up the 
 
 cushion, upon which I supposed he had been kneeling, the book 
 was laid upon the bed, and, as he rose, in taking up the cushion 
 with one hand, he reached out his other to take it away at the same 
 time. Let it remain there, my dear, said the lieutenant. 
 
 He did not offer to speak to me, till I had walked up close to his 
 bed-side: If you are captain Shandy's servant, said he, you must 
 present my thanks to your master, with my little boy's thanks along 
 with them, for his courtesy to me ; if he was of Leven's said 
 the lieutenant. I told him your honour was. Then, said he, I 
 served three campaigns with him in Flanders, and remember him, 
 but 'tis most likely, as I had not the honour of any acquaintance 
 with him, that he knows nothing of me. You will tell him, 
 however, that the person his good-nature has laid under obligations 
 to him, is one Le Fever, a lieutenant in Angus' 's but he knows 
 me not, said he, a second time, musing; - possibly he may 
 my story added he pray tell the capiain I was the ensign at 
 Breda, whose wife was most unfortunately killed with a musket- 
 shot, as she lay in my arms hi my tent. 1 remember the story 
 
 an't please your honour, said I, very well. Do you so ? said he, 
 
 wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, then well may I. In 
 saying this, he drew a little ring out of his bosom, which seemed 
 tied with a black ribband about his neck, and kiss'd it twice 
 Here, Billy, said he, the boy flew across the room to the bed- 
 side, and falling down upon his knee, took the ring hi his hand, 
 and kissed it too, then kissed his father, and sat down upon the 
 bed and wept. 
 
 I wish, said my uncle Toby, with a deep sigh, I wish, Trim, 
 I was asleep. 
 
 Your honour, replied the corporal, is too much concerned; 
 
 shall I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe ? Do, 
 
 Trim, said my uncle Toby. 
 
 I remember, said my uncle Toby, sighing again, the story of the 
 
 330
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 ensign and his wife, with a circumstance his modesty omitted; 
 and particularly well that he, as well as she, upon some account 
 or other (I forget what) was universally pitied by the whole regi- 
 ment ; but finish the story thou art upon : 'Tis finished already, 
 said the corporal, for I could stay no longer, so wished his 
 honour a good night; young Le Fever rose from off the bed, and 
 saw me to the bottom of the stairs; and as we went down together, 
 told me, they had come from Ireland, and were on their route to 
 join the regiment in Flanders. But alas! said the corporal, 
 the lieutenant's last day's march is over. Then what is to become 
 of his poor boy? cried my uncle Toby. 
 
 CHAPTER VHI 
 
 THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED 
 
 IT was to my uncle Toby's eternal honour, though I telJ 
 it only for the sake of those, who, when coop'd in betwixt 
 a natural and a positive law, know not, for their souls, which way 
 in the world to turn themselves - That notwithstanding my 
 uncle Toby was warmly engaged at that time in carrying on the 
 siege of Dendermond, parallel with the allies, who pressed theirs 
 on so vigorously, that they scarce allowed him time to get his dinner 
 
 that nevertheless he gave up Dendermond, though he had 
 
 already made a lodgment upon the counterscarp ; and bent his 
 whole thoughts towards the private distresses at the inn; and ex- 
 cept that he ordered the garden gate to be bolted up, by which 
 he might be said to have turned the siege of Dendermond into a 
 blockade, he left Dendermond to itself to be relieved or not 
 by the French king, as the French king thought good; and only 
 considered how he himself should relieve the poor lieutenant and 
 his son. 
 
 That kind BEING, who is a friend to the friendless, shall 
 
 recompence thee for this. 
 
 Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle Toby to the cor- 
 poral, as he was putting him to bed, and I will tell thee in 
 
 what, Trim. In the first place, when thou madest an offer 
 
 of my services to Le Fever, as sickness and travelling are 
 
 both expensive, and thou knowest he was but a poor lieutenant, 
 
 331
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 with a son to subsist as well as himself out of his pay, that thou 
 didst not make an offer to him of my purse ; because, had he stood 
 in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had been as welcome to it as my- 
 self. Your honour knows, said the corporal, I had no orders; 
 
 True, quoth my uncle Toby, thou didst very right, Trim, 
 
 as a soldier, but certainly very wrong as a man. 
 
 In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same excuse, 
 
 continued my uncle Toby, when thou offeredst him whatever 
 
 was in my house, thou shouldst have offered him my house 
 
 too: A sick brother officer should have the best quarters, 
 
 Trim, and if we had him with us, we could tend and look to 
 
 him: Thou art an excellent nurse thyself, Trim, and what 
 
 with thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine 
 together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon 
 his legs. 
 
 In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, smiling, 
 
 he might march. He will never march; an' please your 
 
 honour, in this world, said the corporal: He will march; said 
 
 my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed, with one shoe 
 
 off: An' please your honour, said the corporal, he will never 
 
 march but to his grave: He shall march, cried my uncle Toby, 
 
 marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing 
 
 an inch, he shall march to his regiment. He cannot stand 
 
 it, said the corporal; He shall be supported, said my uncle 
 
 Toby ; He'll drop at last, said the corporal, and what will 
 
 become of his boy ? He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby, 
 
 firmly. A-well-o'day, do what we can for him, said Trim, 
 
 maintaining his point the poor soul will die: He shall not 
 
 die, by G , cried my uncle Toby. 
 
 The ACCUSING SPIRIT, which flew up to heaven's chancery 
 with the oath, blush'd as he gave it in ; and the RECORDING ANGEL, 
 as he wrote it down, dropp'd a tear upon the word, and blotted it 
 out for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MY uncle Toby went to his bureau, put his purse into 
 his breeches pocket, and having ordered the corporal to go 
 early in the morning for a physician, he went to bed, and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 332
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED 
 
 THE sun looked bright the morning after, to every eye in the 
 village but Le Fever's and his afflicted son's ; the hand of death 
 
 press'd heavy upon his eyelids, and hardly could the wheel at 
 
 the cistern turn round its circle, when my uncle Toby, who had 
 rose up an hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant's 
 room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the 
 chair by the bed-side, and independently of all modes and customs, 
 opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and brother officer 
 would have done it, and asked him how he did, how he had 
 rested in the night, what was his complaint, where was his 
 
 pain, and what he could do to help him: and without giving 
 
 him time to answer any one of the enquiries, went on, and told him 
 of the litttle plan which he had been concerting with the corporal 
 the night before for him. 
 
 You shall go home directly, Le Fever ,said my uncle Toby, to 
 
 my house, and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter, 
 and we'll have an apothecary, and the corporal shall be your 
 nurse ; and I'll be your servant, Le Fever. 
 
 There was a frankness in my uncle Toby, not the effect of fami- 
 liarity, but the cause of it, which let you at once into his soul, 
 and shewed you the goodness of his nature ; to this, there was some- 
 thing in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eter- 
 nally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under 
 him; so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers 
 he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close 
 to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was 
 
 pulling it towards him. The blood and spirits of Le Fever, 
 
 which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating 
 to their last citadel, the heart, rallied back, the film forsook 
 his eyes for a moment, he looked up wishfully in my uncle Toby's 
 
 face, then cast a look upon his boy, and that ligament, fine 
 
 as it was, was never broken. 
 
 Nature instantly ebb'd again, the film returned to its place, 
 
 the pulse fluttered stopp'd went on throbb'd 
 
 stopp'd again moved stopp'd shall I go on? 
 
 No. 
 
 333
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 I AM so impatient to return to my own story, that what remains 
 of young Le Fever's, that is, from this turn of his fortune, to 
 the time my uncle Toby recommended him for my preceptor, shall 
 be told in a very few words in the next chapter. All that is neces- 
 sary to be added to this chapter is as follows. 
 
 That my uncle Toby, with young Le Fever in his hand, attended 
 the poor lieutenant, as chief mourners, to his grave. 
 
 .That the governor of Dendermond paid his obsequies all military 
 honours, and that Yorick, not to be behind-hand paid him all 
 ecclesiastic for he buried him in his chancel : And it appears 
 likewise, he preached a funeral sermon over him I say it ap- 
 pears, for it was Yorick' s custom, which I suppose a general one 
 with those of his profession, on the first leaf of every sermon which 
 he composed, to chronicle down the time, the place, and the occasion 
 of its being preached : to this, he was ever wont to add some short 
 comment or stricture upon the sermon itself, seldom, indeed, much 
 to its credit: For instance, This sermon upon the Jewish dispen- 
 sation I don't like it all; Though I own there is a world of 
 WATER-LANDISH knowledge in it, but 'tis all tritical, and most 
 tritically put together. -- This is but a flimsy kind of a com- 
 position; what was in my head when I made it ? 
 
 - N. B. The excellency of this text is, that it will suit any ser- 
 mon, and of this sermon, - that it will suit any text. 
 
 - For this sermon I shall be hanged, for I have stolen the 
 
 greatest part of it. Doctor Paidagunes found me out. ff2P Set a 
 thief to catch a thief. - 
 
 On the back of half a dozen I find written, So, so, and no more 
 and upon a couple Moderate; by which, as far as one may 
 
 gather from Altieri's Italian dictionary, but mostly from the au- 
 thority of a piece of green whipcord, which seemed to have been 
 the unravelling of Yorick's whip-lash, with which he has left us 
 the two sermons marked Moderato, and the half dozen of So, so, 
 tied fast together in one bundle by themselves, one may safely 
 suppose he meant pretty near the same thing. 
 
 There is but one difficulty in the way of this conjecture, which is 
 this, that the moderate's are five times better than the so, so's; 
 show ten times more knowledge of the human heart ; have seventy 
 times more wit and spirit in them; (and, to rise properly in my 
 
 334
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 climax) discovered a thousand times more genius; and to 
 crown all, are infinitely more entertaining than those tied up with 
 them: for which reason, whene'er Yorick's dramatic sermons are 
 offered to the world, though I shall admit but one out of the whole 
 number of the so, so's, I shall, nevertheless, adventure to print the 
 two moderate's without any sort of scruple. 
 
 What Yorick could mean by the words lentamente, tenute, 
 grave, and sometimes adagio, as applied to theological compo- 
 sitions, and with which he has characterised some of these sermons, 
 
 I dare not venture to guess. 1 am more puzzled still upon 
 
 rinding a I'octava altal upon one; Con strepito upon the back 
 
 of another; Siciliana upon a third; Alia, capella upon a 
 
 fourth ; Con I'arco upon this ; Senza I' aero upon that. 
 
 All I know is, that they are musical terms, and have a meaning; 
 
 and as he was a musical man, I will make no doubt, but that by 
 some quaint application of such metaphors to the compositions in 
 hand, they impressed very distinct ideas of their several characters 
 upon his fancy, whatever they may do upon that of others. 
 
 Amongst these, there is that particular sermon which has unac- 
 countably led me into this digression The funeral sermon 
 
 upon poor Le Fever, wrote out very fairly, as if from a hasty copy. 
 I take notice of it the more, because it seems to have been his fav- 
 ourite composition It is upon mortality ; and is tied lengthways 
 and cross-ways with a yarn thrum, and then rolled up and twisted 
 round with a half-sheet of dirty blue paper, which seems to have 
 been onge. the cast cover of a general review, which to this day 
 smells horribly of horse drugs. Whether these marks of humil- 
 iation were designed, I something doubt; because at the 
 
 end of the sermon (and not at the beginning of it) very different 
 from his way of treating the rest, he had wrote 
 
 Bravo! 
 
 Though not very offensively, for it is at two inches, at 
 
 least, and a half's distance from, and below the concluding line of 
 the sermon, at the very extremity of the page, and in the right-hand 
 corner of it, which, you know, is generally covered with your thumb ; 
 and, to do it justice, it is wrote besides with a crow's quill so faintly 
 in a small Italian hand, as scarce to solicit the eye towards the place, 
 whether your thumb is there or not, so that from the manner of 
 it, it stands half excused ; and being wrote moreover with very pale 
 
 335
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 ink, diluted almost to nothing, 'tis more like a ritratto of the 
 shadow of vanity, than of VANITY herself of the two; resembling 
 rather a faint thought of transient applause, secretly stirring up 
 in the heart of the composer; than a gross mark of it, coarsely 
 obtruded upon the world. 
 
 With all these extenuations, I am aware, that in publishing this, 
 I do no service to Yorick's character as a modest man ; but all 
 men have their failings! and what lessens this still farther, and 
 almost wipes it away, is this; that the word was struck through 
 sometime afterwards (as appears from a different tint of the ink) 
 
 with a line quite across it in this manner, BRAVO as if he 
 
 had retracted, or was ashamed of the opinion he had once enter- 
 tained of it. 
 
 These short characters of his sermons were always written, except- 
 ing in this one instance, upon the first leaf of his sermon, which 
 served as a cover to it ; and usually upon the inside of it, which was 
 turned towards the text; but at the end of his discourse, where, 
 perhaps, he had five or six pages, and sometines, perhaps, a whole 
 score to turn himself in, he took a large circuit, and, indeed, a 
 much more mettlesome one; as if he had snatched the occasion of 
 unlacing himself with a few more frolicksome strokes at vice, than 
 the straightness of the pulpit allowed. These, though hussard-like, 
 they skirmish lightly and out of all order, are still auxiliaries on 
 the side of virtue; \te\l me then, Mynheer Vander Blonederdonder- 
 gewdenstronke, why they should not be printed together ? 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN my uncle Toby had turned every thing into money, and 
 settled all accounts betwixt the agent of the regiment and 
 
 Le Fever, and betwixt Le Fever and all mankind, there 
 
 remained nothing more in my uncle Toby's hands, than an old regi- 
 mental coat and a sword ; so that my uncle Toby found little or no 
 opposition from the world in taking administration. The coat my 
 
 uncle Toby gave the corporal; Wear it, Trim, said my uncle 
 
 Toby, as long as it will hold together, for the sake of the poor lieuten- 
 ant And this, said my uncle Toby, taking up the sword in 
 
 his hand, and drawing it out of the scabbard as he spoke 
 and this, Le Fever, I'll save for thee, 'tis all the fortune, continued 
 my uncle Toby, hanging it up upon a crook, and pointing to it, 'tis 
 
 336
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 all the fortune, my dea* Le Fever, which God has left thee; but if 
 he has given thee a heart to fight thy way with it hi the world, 
 and thou doest it like a man of honour, 'tis enough for us. 
 
 As soon as my uncle Toby had laid a foundation, and taught 
 him to inscribe a regular polygon hi a circle, he sent him to a public 
 school, where, excepting Whitsontide and Christmas, at which 
 times the corporal was punctually dispatched for him, he 
 remained to the spring of the year, seventeen; when the stories of 
 the emperor's sending his army into Hungary against the Turks, 
 kindling a spark of fire in his bosom, he left his Greek and Latin 
 without leave, and throwing himself upon his knees before my 
 uncle Toby, begged his father's sword, and my uncle Toby's leave 
 along with it, to go and try his fortune under Eugene. Twice 
 did my uncle Toby forget his wound and cry out, Le Fever 1 1 will 
 
 go with thee, and thou shalt fight beside me And twice he 
 
 laid his hand upon his groin, and hung down his head in sorrow 
 and disconsolation. 
 
 My uncle Toby took down the sword from the crook, where it 
 had hung untouched ever since the lieutenant's death, and delivered 
 
 it to the corporal to brighten up; and having detained Le Fever 
 
 a single fortnight to equip him, and contract for his passage to 
 
 Leghorn, he put the sword into his hand. If thou art brave, 
 
 Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, this will not fail thee, but 
 
 Fortune, said he (musing a little), Fortune may And if 
 
 she does, added my uncle Toby, embracing him, come back 
 again to me, Le Fever, and we will shape thee another course. 
 
 The greatest injury could not have oppressed the heart of 
 Le Fever more than my uncle Toby's paternal kindness; he 
 parted from my uncle Toby, as the best of sons from the best of 
 
 fathers both dropped tears and as my uncle Toby gave 
 
 him his last kiss, he slipped sixty guineas, tied up hi an old purse 
 of his father's, in which was his mother's ring, into his hand, and 
 bid God bless him. 
 
 CHAPTER Xin 
 
 LE FEVER got up to the Imperial army just time enough to 
 try what metal his sword was made of, at the defeat of the 
 Turks before Belgrade; but a series of unmerited mischances had 
 pursued him from that moment, and trod close upon his heels for 
 
 337
 
 LIFE OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 four years together after; he had withstood these buffetings to 
 the last, till sickness overtook him at Marseilles, from whence he 
 wrote my uncle Toby word, he had lost his time, his services, his 
 
 health, and, in short, every thing but his sword; and was 
 
 waiting for the first ship to return back to him. 
 
 As his letter came to hand about six weeks before Susannah's 
 accident, Le Fever was hourly expected; and was uppermost in my 
 uncle Toby's mind all the time my father was giving him and 
 Yorick a description of what kind of a person he would chuse for a 
 preceptor to me : but as my uncle Toby thought my father at first 
 somewhat fanciful in the accomplishments he required, he forebore 
 
 mentioning Le Fever's name, till the character, by Yorick' s 
 
 interposition, ending unexpectedly, in one, who should be gentle- 
 tempered, and generous, and good, it impressed the image of 
 Le Fever, and his interest, upon my uncle Toby so forcibly, he rose 
 instantly off his chair; and laying down his pipe, in order to take 
 hold of both my father's hands I beg, brother Shandy, said my 
 uncle Toby, I may recommend poor Le Fever's son to you I 
 
 beseech you do, added Yorick He has a good heart, said my 
 
 uncle Toby And a brave one too, an' please your honour, said 
 
 the corporal. 
 
 The best hearts, Trim, are ever the bravest, replied my 
 
 uncle Toby. And the greatest cowards, an' please your honour, 
 
 hi our regiment, were the greatest rascals hi it. There was 
 
 sergeant Kumber, and ensign 
 
 We'll talk of them, said my father, another time. 
 
 338
 
 SAUNTERINGS IN FRANCE 
 
 BOOK VII 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 NO 1 think, I said, I would write two volumes every year, 
 provided the vile cough which then tormented me, and which 
 to this hour I dread worse than the devil, would but give me leave 
 and in another place (but where, I can't recollect now) speaking 
 of my book at a machine, and laying my pen and ruler down cross- 
 wise upon the table, in order to gain the greater credit to it I 
 swore it should be kept a going at that rate these forty years, if it 
 pleased but the fountain of life to bless me so long with health and 
 good spirits. 
 
 Now as for my spirits, little have I to lay to their charge nay 
 so very little (unless the mounting me upon a long stick and playing 
 the fool with me nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, be accusa- 
 tions) that on the contrary, I have much much to thank 'em for: 
 cheerily have ye made me tread the path of life with all the burthens 
 of it (except its cares) upon my back; in no one moment of my exist- 
 ence, that I remember, have ye once deserted me, or tinged the objects 
 which came in my way, either with sable, or with a sickly green; 
 in dangers ye gilded my horizon with hope, and when DEATH 
 himself knocked at my door ye bad him come again ; and in so 
 gay a tone of careless indifference, did ye do it, that he doubted of 
 his commission 
 
 " There must certainly be some mistake in this matter," 
 quoth he. 
 
 Now there is nothing in this world I abominate worse, than to be 
 
 interrupted in a story and I was that moment telling Eugenius 
 
 a most tawdry one in my way, of a nun who fancied herself a shell- 
 
 339
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 fish, and of a monk damn'd for eating a muscle, and was shewing 
 him the grounds and justice of the procedure. 
 
 " Did ever so grave a personage get into so vile a scrape?" 
 quoth Death. Thou hast had a narrow escape, Tristram, said 
 Eugenius, taking hold of my hand as I finished my story. 
 
 But there is no living, Eugenius, replied I, at this rate; for as this 
 son of a whore has found out my lodgings 
 
 You call him rightly, said Eugenius, for by sin, we are told, 
 
 he enter'd the world 1 care not which way he enter'd, quoth 
 
 I, provided he be not in such a hurry to take me out with him 
 for I have forty volumes to write, and forty thousand things to say 
 and do which no body in the world will say and do for me, except 
 thyself; and as thou seest he has got me by the throat (for Eugenius 
 could scarce hear me speak across the table), and that I am no 
 match for him in the open field, had I not better, whilst these few 
 scatter'd spirits remain, and these two spider legs of mine (holding 
 one of them up to him) are able to support me had I not better, 
 Eugenius, fly for my life ? 'Tis my advice, my dear Tristram, said 
 Eugenius, Then by heaven! I will lead him a dance he little 
 thinks of for I will gallop, quoth I, without looking once be- 
 hind me, to the banks of the Garonne; and if I hear him clattering 
 
 at my heels I'll scamper away to mount Vesuvius from 
 
 thence to Jappa, and from Jap pa to the world's end; where, if he 
 follows me, I pray God he may break his neck 
 
 He runs more risk there, said Eugenius, than thou. 
 Eugenius's wit and affection brought blood into the cheek from 
 
 whence it had been some months banish'd 'twas a vile moment 
 
 to bid adieu in ; he led me to my chaise Allans! said I ; the post- 
 boy gave a crack with his whip off I went like a cannon, and 
 in half a dozen bounds got into Dover. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 NOW hang it! quoth I, as I look'd towards the French coast 
 a man should know something of his own country too, before 
 
 he goes abroad and I never gave a peep into Rochester church, 
 
 or took notice of the dock of Chatham, or visited St. Thomas at 
 Canterbury, though they all three laid in my way 
 
 But mine, indeed, is a particular case 
 
 So without arguing the matter further with Thomas o' Becket, 
 
 340
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 or any one else I skip'd into the boat, and in five minutes we 
 got under sail, and scudded away like the wind. 
 
 Pray, captain, quoth I, as I was going down into the cabin, is a 
 man never overtaken by Death in this passage? 
 
 Why, there is not time for a man to be sick in it, replied he 
 
 What a cursed lyar! for I am sick as a horse, quoth I, already 
 
 what a brain! upside down! hey-day! the cells are 
 
 broke loose one into another, and the blood, and the lymph, and 
 the nervous juices, with the fix'd and volatile salts, are all jumbled 
 
 into one mass good G ! every thing turns round in it like a 
 
 thousand whirlpools I'd give a shilling to know if I shan't 
 
 write the clearer for it 
 
 Sick! sick! sick! sick! 
 
 When shall we get to land ? captain they have hearts like 
 
 stones O I am deadly sick! reach me that thing, boy 
 
 'tis the most discomfiting sickness 1 wish I was at the bottom 
 
 Madam! how is it with you? Undone! undone! un O! 
 
 undone! sir What the first time? No, 'tis the second, 
 
 third, sixth, tenth time, sir, hey-day! what a trampling 
 
 over head! hollo! cabin boy! what's the matter? 
 
 The wind chopp'd about! s' Death! then I shall meet him full 
 in the face. 
 
 What luck! 'tis chopp'd about again, master O the devil 
 
 chop it 
 
 Captain, quoth she, for heaven's sake, let us get ashore. 
 
 CHAPTER HI 
 
 IT is a great inconvenience to a man in a haste, that there are 
 three distinct roads between Calais and Paris, in behalf of 
 which there is so much to be said by the several deputies from the 
 towns which lie along them, that half a day is easily lost in settling 
 which you'll take. 
 
 First, the road by Lisle and Arras, which is the most about 
 
 but most interesting, and instructing. 
 
 The second, that by Amiens, which you may go, if you would 
 see Chantilly 
 
 And that by Beauvais, which you may go, if you will. 
 
 For this reason a great many chuse to go by Beauvais, 
 
 341
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 " "VTOWbefore I quit Calais" a travel- writer would say, "it would 
 .L^l not be amiss to give some account of it." Now I think it 
 very much amiss that a man cannot go quietly through a town, 
 and let it alone, when it does not meddle with him, but that he must 
 be turning about and drawing his pen at every kennel he crosses 
 over, merely o' my conscience for the sake of drawing it; because, 
 if we may judge from what has been wrote of these things, by all 
 who have wrote and gallop 'd or who have gallop'd and -wrote, 
 which is a different way still ; or who, for more expedition than the 
 rest, have wrote galloping, which is the way I do at present 
 from the great Addison, who did it with his satchel of school books 
 hanging at his a , and galling his beast's crupper at every stroke 
 there is not a galloper of us all who might not have gone on am- 
 bling quietly in his own ground (in case he had any), and have wrote 
 all he had to write, dryshod, as well as not. 
 
 For my own part, as heaven is my judge, and to which I shall ever 
 make my last appeal I know no more of Calais (except the little 
 my barber told me of it as he was whetting his razor), than I do this 
 moment of Grand Cairo; for it was dusky in the evening when I 
 landed, and dark as pitch in the morning when I set out, and yet by 
 merely knowing what is what, and by drawing this from that in one 
 part of the town, and by spelling and putting this and that together 
 in another I would lay any travelling odds, that I this moment 
 write a chapter upon Calais as long as my arm ; and with so distinct 
 and satisfactory a detail of every item, which is worth a stranger's 
 curiosity in the town that you would take me for the town-clerk 
 of Calais itself and where, sir, would be the wonder? was not 
 Democritus, who laughed ten times more than I town-clerk of 
 Abdera? and was not (I forget his name) who had more discretion 
 
 than us both, town-clerk of Ephesus? it should be penn'd 
 
 moreover, sir, with so much knowledge and good sense, and truth, 
 
 and precision 
 
 Nay if you don't believe me, you may read the chapter for 
 your pains. 
 
 342
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 CALAIS, Calatium, Calusium, Calesium 
 This town, if we may trust its archives, the authority of which 
 I see no reason to call in question in this place was once no more 
 than a small village belonging to one of the first Counts de Guignes; 
 and as it boasts at present of no less than fourteen thousand inhabi- 
 tants, exclusive of four hundred and twenty distinct families in the 
 
 basse ville, or suburbs it must have grown up by little and little, 
 
 I suppose, to its present size. 
 
 Though there are four convents, there is but one parochial church 
 in the whole town; I had not an opportunity of taking its exact 
 dimensions, but it is pretty easy to make a tolerable conjecture of 'em 
 
 for as there are fourteen thousand inhabitants in the town, if 
 the church holds them all it must be considerably large and if it 
 will not 'tis a very great pity they have not another it is built 
 in form of a cross, and dedicated to the Virgin Mary; the steeple, 
 which has a spire to it, is placed hi the middle of the church, and 
 stands upon four pillars elegant and light enough, but sufficiently 
 strong at the same time it is decorated with eleven altars, most of 
 which are rather fine than beautiful. The great altar is a masterpiece 
 in its kind ; 'tis of white marble, and, as I was told, near sixty feet high 
 
 had it been much higher, it had been as high as mount Calvary it- 
 self therefore, I suppose it must be high enough in all conscience. 
 
 There was nothing struck me more than the great Square; tho' 
 I cannot say 'tis either well paved or well built ; but 'tis in the heart 
 of the town, and most of the streets, especially those in that quarter, 
 all terminate in it; could there have been a fountain in all Calais, 
 which it seems there cannot, as such an object would have been a 
 great ornament, it is not to be doubted, but that the inhabitants 
 would have had it in the very centre of this square, not that it is 
 properly a square, because 'tis forty feet longer from east to 
 west, than from north to south; so that the French in general have 
 more reason on their side in calling them Places than Squares, 
 which, strictly speaking, to be sure, they are not. 
 
 The town-house seems to be but a sorry building, and not to be 
 kept hi the best repair ; otherwise it had been a second great orna- 
 ment to this place ; it answers however its destination, and serves very 
 well for the reception of the magistrates, who assemble in it from 
 time to time; so that 'tis presumable, justice is regularly distributed. 
 
 343
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 I have heard much of it, but there is nothing at all curious in 
 the C 'our gain; 'tis a distinct quarter of the town, inhabited solely by 
 sailors and fishermen ; it consists of a number of small streets, neatly 
 built and mostly of brick; 'tis extremely populous, but as that may 
 be accounted for, from the principles of then- diet, there is nothing 
 
 curious hi that neither. A traveller may see it to satisfy himself 
 
 he must not omit however taking notice of La Tour de Guet, 
 upon any account; 'tis so called from its particular destination, 
 because in war it serves to discover and give notice of the enemies 
 
 which approach the place, either by sea or land; but 'tis 
 
 monstrous high, and catches the eye so continually, you cannot 
 avoid taking notice of it if you would. 
 
 It was a singular disappointment to me, that I could not have 
 permission to take an exact survey of the fortifications, which are 
 the strongest in the world, and which, from first to last, that is, 
 from the time they were set about by Philip of France, Count of 
 Boulogne, to the present war, wherein many reparations were made, 
 have cost (as I leaned afterwards from an engineer in Gascony) 
 above a hundred millions of livres. It is very remarkable, that at 
 the Tete de Gravelenes, and where the town is naturally the weakest, 
 they have expended the most money; so that the outworks stretch 
 a great way into the campaign, and consequently occupy a large 
 tract of ground However, after all that is said and done, it must 
 be acknowledged that Calais was never upon any account so con- 
 siderable from itself, as from its situation, and that easy entrance 
 which it gave our ancestors, upon all occasions, into France: it was 
 not without its conveniences also; being no less troublesome to the 
 English in those times, than Dumkirk has been to us, in ours; so 
 that it was deservedly looked upon as the key to both kingdoms, 
 which no doubt is the reason that there have arisen so many conten- 
 tions who should keep it: of these, the siege of Calais, or rather the 
 blockade (for it was shut up both by land and sea), was the most 
 memorable, as it withstood the efforts of Ed-ward the Third a whole 
 year, and wasnot terminated at last but by famine and extreme misery; 
 the gallantry of Eustace de St. Pierre, who first offered himself a 
 victim for his fellow-citizens, has rank'd his name with heroes. As 
 it will not take up above fifty pages, it would be injustice to the 
 reader, not to give him a minute account of that romantic transac- 
 tion, as well as of the siege itself, in Rapin's own words: 
 
 344
 
 B 
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 !UT courage! gentle reader! I scorn it 'tis 
 
 enough to have thee in my power but to make 
 
 use of the advantage which the fortune of the pen has now gained 
 
 over thee, would be too much No ! by that all-powerful 
 
 fire which warms the visionary brain, and lights the spirits through 
 unworldly tracts! ere I would force a helpless creature upon this 
 hard service, and make thee pay, poor soul! for fifty pages, which 
 
 I have no right to sell thee, naked as I am, I would browse 
 
 upon the mountains, and smile that the north wind brought me 
 neither my tent or my supper. 
 
 So put on, my brave boy! and make the best of thy way to 
 Boulogne. 
 
 B 
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 OULOGNE! hah! so we are all got together 
 
 debtors and sinners before heaven; a jolly set of 
 us but I can't stay and quaff it off with you I'm pursued 
 myself like a hundred devils, and shall be overtaken, before I can 
 
 well change horses: for heaven's sake, make haste 'Tis 
 
 for high-treason, quoth a very little man, whispering as low as he 
 
 could to a very tall man, that stood next him Or else for 
 
 murder; quoth the tall man Well thrown, Size-ace quoth I. 
 
 No; quoth a third, the gentleman has been committing 
 
 Ah! ma chere fillet said I, as she tripp'd by from her matins 
 you look as rosy as the morning (for the sun was rising, and it made 
 the compliment the more gracious) No; it can't be that, quoth 
 
 a fourth (she made a curt'sy to me I kiss'd my hand) 'tis 
 
 debt, continued he: 'Tis certainly for debt; quoth a fifth; I would 
 not pay that gentleman's debts, quoth Ace, for a thousand pounds; 
 nor would I, quoth Size, for six times the sum Well thrown, 
 Size-ace, again! quoth I; but I have no debt but the debt of 
 NATURE, and I want but patience of her, and I will pay her every 
 
 farthing I owe her How can you be so hard-hearted, MADAM, 
 
 to arrest a poor traveller going along without molestation to any one 
 upon his lawful occasions ? do stop that death-looking, long-strid- 
 ing scoundrel of a scare-sinner, who is posting after me he never 
 would have followed me but for you if it be but for a stage or 
 
 345
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 two, just to give me start of him, I beseech you, madam do, 
 
 dear lady 
 
 Now, in troth, 'tis a great pity, quoth mine Irish host, that 
 
 all this good courtship should be lost ; for the young gentlewoman 
 has been after going out of hearing of it all along. 
 
 Simpleton ! quoth I. 
 
 So you have nothing else in Boulogne worth seeing ? 
 
 By Jasus! there is the finest SEMINARY for the HUMANI- 
 TIES 
 
 There cannot be a finer; quoth I. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WHEN the precipitancy of a man's wishes hurries on his ideas 
 ninety times faster than the vehicle he rides in woe be to 
 
 truth: and woe be to the vehicle and its tackling (let 'em be made 
 of what stuff you will) upon which he breathes forth the disapp int- 
 ment of his soul! 
 
 As I never give general characters either of men or things in 
 choler, "the most haste the worst speed," was all the reflection I 
 made upon the affair, the first time it happen 'd; the second, 
 third, fourth, and fifth time, I confined it respectively to those 
 times, and accordingly blamed only the second, third, fourth, and 
 fifth post-boy for it, without carrying my reflections further; but 
 the event continuing to befal me from the fifth, to the sixth, seventh, 
 eighth, ninth, and tenth time, and without one exception, I then 
 could not avoid making a national reflection of it, which I do in 
 these words; 
 
 That something is always wrong in a French post-chaise, upon 
 first setting out. 
 
 Or the proposition may stand thus: 
 
 A French postilion has always to alight before he has got three 
 hundred yards out of town. 
 
 What's wrong now ? Diable ! a rope's broke ! a 
 
 knot has slipt! a staple's drawn! a bolt's to whittle! 
 
 a tag, a rag, a jag, a strap, a buckle, or a buckle's tongue, want 
 altering. 
 
 Now true as all this is, I never think myself impowered to excom- 
 municate thereupon either the post-chaise, or its driver nor do 
 
 346
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 I take it into my head to swear by the living G , I would rather 
 
 go a-foot ten thousand times or that I will be damn'd, if ever 
 
 I get into another but I take the matter cooly before me, 
 
 and consider, that some tag, or rag, or jag, or bolt, or buckle, or 
 buckle's tongue, will ever be a wanting, or want altering, travel 
 where I will so I never chaff, but take the good and the bad as 
 
 they fall in my road, and get on: Do so, my lad! said I; he had 
 
 lost five minutes already, in alighting in order to get at a luncheon 
 of black bread, which he had cramm'd into the chaise -pocket, and 
 
 was remounted and going le is rely on, to relish it the better 
 
 Get on, my lad, said I, briskly but in the most persuasive tone 
 imaginable, for I ingled a four-and-twenty sous piece against the 
 glass, taking care to hold the flat side towards him, as he look'd 
 back: the dog grinn'd intelligence from his right ear to his left, 
 and behind his sooty muzzle discovered such a pearly row of teeth 
 that Soverei nty would have pawn 'd her jewels for them. 
 
 . ( What masticators! 
 Just heaven ! \ ,, T , . . , . 
 
 ( What bread ! 
 
 and so as he finished the last mouthful of it, we entered the town 
 of MontreuU. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THERE is not a town in all France, which, in my opinion, 
 looks better in the map, than MONTREUIL: 1 own, it 
 
 does not look so well in the book of post -roads ; but when you come 
 to see it to be sure it looks most pitifully. 
 
 There is one thing, however, in it at present very handsome; 
 and that is, the inn-keeper's daughter: She has been eighteen months 
 at Amiens, and six at Paris, in going through her classes; so knits, 
 and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very well. 
 
 A slut ! in running them over within these five minutes that I 
 have stood looking at her, she has let fall at least a dozen loops in 
 
 a white thread stocking yes, yes I see, you cunning gipsy! 
 
 'tis l^ng and taper you need not pin it to your knee and that 
 'tis your own and fits you exactly. 
 
 That Nature should have told this creature a word about a 
 
 statue's thumb 1 
 
 But as this sample is worth all their thumbs besides, I have 
 
 her thumbs and fingers in at the bargain, if they can be any guide to 
 
 347
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 me, and as Janatone withal (for that is her name) stands so well 
 
 for a drawing may I never draw more, or rather may I draw 
 
 like a draught -horse, by main strength all the days of my life, if 
 I do not draw her in all her proportions, and with as determined a 
 pencil, as if I had her in the wettest drapery. 
 
 But your worships chuse rather that I give you the length, 
 breadth, and perpendicular height of the great parish-church, or 
 drawing of the facade of the abbey of Saint Austreberte which has 
 been transported from Artois hither every thing is just I suppose 
 as the masons and carpenters left them, and if the belief in Christ 
 continues so long, will be so these fifty years to come so your wor- 
 ships and reverences may all measure them at your leisures but 
 
 he who measures thee, Janatone, must do it now thou carriest 
 the principles of change within thy frame; and considering the 
 chances of a transitory life, I would not answer for thee a moment; 
 ere twice twelve months are passed and gone, thou mayest grow out 
 
 like a pumpkin, and lose thy shapes or thou mayest go off 
 
 like a flower, and lose thy beauty nay, thou mayest go off like a 
 hussy and lose thyself. I would not answer for my aunt 
 
 Dinah, was she alive 'faith, scarce for her picture were it 
 
 but painted by Reynolds 
 
 But if I go on with my drawing, after naming that son of Apollo 
 I'll be shot 
 
 So you must e'en be content with the original; which, if the even- 
 ing is fine in passing thro' Montreuil, you will see at your chaise- 
 door, as you change horses: but unless you have as bad a reason for 
 
 haste as I have you had better stop : She has a little of the 
 
 devote : but that, sir, is a terce to a nine in your favour 
 
 L help me ! I could not count a single point : so had been 
 piqued and repiqued, and capotted to the devil. 
 
 348
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ALL which being considered, and that Death moreover might 
 be much nearer me than I imagined 1 wish I was at 
 
 Abbeville, quoth I, were it only to see how they card and spin 
 
 so off we set. 
 
 de Montreuil a Nampont-poste et demi 
 
 de Nampont a Bernay poste 
 
 de Bernay a Nouvion poste 
 
 de Nouvion a ABBEVILLE - poste 
 
 but the carders and spinners were all gone to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 WHAT a vast advantage is travelling! only it heats one; but 
 there is a remedy for that, which you may pick out of the 
 next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WAS I in a condition to stipulate with Death, as I am this 
 moment with my apothecary, how and where I will take his 
 
 clyster 1 should certainly declare against submitting to it before 
 
 my friends; and therefore I never seriously think upon the mode 
 and manner of this great catastrophe, which generally takes up and 
 torments my thoughts as much as the catastrophe itself; but I con- 
 stantly draw the curtain across it with this wish, that the Disposer 
 of all things may so order it, that it happen not to me in my own 
 
 house but rather in some decent inn at home, I know it, 
 
 the concern of my friends, and the last services of wiping my 
 
 brows, and smoothing my pillow, which the quivering hand of pale 
 affection shall pay me, will so crucify my soul, that I shall die of a 
 distemper which my physician is not aware of: but in an inn, the 
 few cold offices I wanted, would be purchased with a few guineas, 
 
 and paid me with an undisturbed, but punctual attention 
 
 but mark. This inn should not be the inn at Abbeville if 
 
 there was not another inn in the universe, I would strike that inn 
 out of the capitulation : so 
 Let the horses be in the chaise exactly by four in the morning 
 
 Yes, by four, Sir, or by Genevieve I I'll raise a clatter in 
 
 the house shall wake the dead. 
 
 349
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 "TV TAKE them like unto a wheel," is a bitter sarcasm, as all the 
 
 JLVJ. learned know, against the grand tour, and that restless 
 spirit for making it, which David prophetically foresaw would 
 haunt the children of men in the latter days; and therefore, as 
 thinketh the great bishop Hall, 'tis one of the severest imprecations 
 which David ever utter'd against the enemies of the Lord and, 
 as if he had said, "I wish them no worse luck than always to be 
 rolling about" So much motion, continues he (for he was very 
 corpulent) is so much un quietness; and so much of rest, by the 
 same analogy, is so much of heaven. 
 
 Now, I (being very thin) think differently; and that so much of 
 
 motion, is so much of life, and so much of joy and that to stand 
 
 still, or get on but slowly, is death and the devil 
 
 Hollo! Ho! the whole world's asleep! bring out the 
 
 horses grease the wheels tie on the mail and drive 
 
 a nail into that moulding I'll not lose a moment 
 
 Now the wheel we are talking of, and whereinto (but not where- 
 onto, for that would make an Ixion's wheel of it) he curseth his 
 enemies, according to the bishop's habit of body, should certainly 
 be a post-chaise wheel, whether they were set up in Palestine at that 
 
 time or not and my wheel, for the contrary reasons, must as 
 
 certainly be a cart-wheel groaning round its revolution once in an 
 age; and of which sort, were I to turn commentator, I should make 
 no scruple to affirm, they had great store in that hilly country. 
 
 I love the Pythagoreans (much more than ever I dare tell my dear 
 Jenny) fcr their (( )^(apia-p.ov O.-TTO TOV Sw/zaros, eis TO KaXai? <iAo(ro<eu/" 
 
 [their] "getting out oj the body, in order to think well." No 
 
 man thinks right, whilst he is in it; blinded as he must be, with 
 his congenial humours, and drawn differently aside, as the bishop 
 
 and myself have been, with too lax or too tense a fibre REASON 
 
 is, half of it, SENSE; and the measure of heaven itself is but the 
 measure of our present appetites and concoctions 
 
 But which of the two, in the present case, do you think to 
 
 be mostly in the wrong? 
 
 You, certainly: quoth she, to disturb a whole family so early. 
 
 350
 
 B 
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 i UT she did not know I was under a vow not to shave my 
 beard till I got to Paris ; yet I hate to make mys- 
 teries of nothing; 'tis the cold cautiousness of one of those little 
 
 souls from which Lessius (lib. 13, de moribus divinis, cap. 24) hath 
 made his estimate, wherein he setteth forth, That one Dutch mile, 
 cubically multiplied, will allow room enough, and to spare, for eight 
 hundred thousand millions, which he supposes to be as great a 
 number of souls (counting from the fall of Adam) as can possibly 
 be damn'd to the end of the world. 
 
 From what he has made this second estimate unless from 
 
 the parental goodness of God I don't know I am much more 
 at a loss what could be in Franciscus Ribbera's head, who pretends 
 that no less a space than one of two hundred Italian miles multi- 
 plied into itself, will be sufficient to hold the like number he 
 
 certainly must have gone upon some of the old Roman souls, of 
 which he had read, without reflecting how much, by a gradual and 
 most tabid decline, in the course of eighteen hundred years, they 
 must unavoidably have shrunk so as to have come, when he wrote, 
 almost to nothing. 
 
 In Lessius's time, who seems the cooler man, they were as little 
 as can be imagined 
 
 We find them less now- 
 
 And next winter we shall find them less again; so that if we go 
 on from little to less, and from less to nothing, I hesitate not one 
 moment to affirm, that in half a century, at this rate, we shall have 
 no souls at all; which being the period beyond which I doubt like- 
 wise of the existence of the Christian faith, 'twill be one advantage 
 that both of 'em will be exactly worn out together. 
 
 Blessed Jupiter/ and blessed every other heathen god and god- 
 dess! for now ye will all come into play again, and with Priapus at 
 
 your tails what jovial times! but where am I? and into 
 
 what a delicious riot of things am I rushing ? I 1 who must 
 
 be cut short hi the midst of my days, and taste no more of 'em than 
 
 what I borrow from my imagination peace to thee, generous 
 
 fool! and let me go on.
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 hating, I say, to make mysteries of nothing" 
 
 ! intrusted it with the post-boy, as soon as ever I 
 got off the stones ; he gave a crack with his whip to balance the com- 
 pliment ; and with the thill-horse trotting, and a sort of an up and a 
 down of the other, we danced it along to Ailly au dockers, famed 
 in days of yore for the finest chimes in the world; but we danced 
 through it without music the chimes being greatly out of order 
 (as in truth they were through all France). 
 
 And so making all possible speed, from 
 
 Ailly au dockers, I got to Hixcourt, 
 from Hixcourt, I got to Pequignay, and 
 from Pequignay, I got to AMIENS, 
 concerning which town I have nothing to inform you, but what I 
 
 have informed you once before and that was that Janatone 
 
 went there to school. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IN the whole catalogue of those whiffling vexations which come 
 puffing across a man's canvass, there is not one of a more teasing 
 and tormenting nature, than this particular one which I am going 
 
 to describe and for which (unless you travel with an avance- 
 
 courier, which numbers do in order to prevent it) there is no 
 
 help : and it is this. 
 
 That be you in never so kindly a propensity to sleep tho' you 
 
 are passing perhaps through the finest country upon the best 
 
 roads, and in the easiest carriage for doing it in the world nay, 
 
 was you sure you could sleep fifty miles straight forwards, without 
 once opening your eyes nay, what is more, was you as demon- 
 stratively satisfied as you can be of any truth in Euclid, that you 
 should upon all accounts be full as well asleep as awake nay, 
 
 perhaps better Yet the incessant returns pf paying for the 
 
 horses at every stage, with the necessity thereupon of putting 
 
 your hand into your pocket, and counting out from thence three 
 livres fifteen sous (sous by sous), puts an end to so much of the pro- 
 ject, that you cannot execute above six miles of it (or supposing 
 
 352
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 it is a post and a half, that is but nine) were it to save your 
 
 soul from destruction. 
 
 I'll be even with 'em, quoth I, for I'll put the precise sum in 
 a piece of paper, and hold it ready in my hand all the way: "Now 
 I shall have nothing to do," said I (composing myself to rest), "but 
 to drop this gently into the post-boy's hat, and not say a word." 
 
 Then there wants two sous more to drink or there is a 
 
 twelve sous piece of Louis XIV. which will not pass or a livre 
 and some odd liards to be brought over from the last stage, which 
 Monsieur had forgot; which altercations (as a man cannot dispute 
 very well asleep) rouse him: still is sweet sleep retrievable; and still 
 might the flesh weigh down the spirit, and recover itself of these 
 blows but then, by heaven ! you have paid but for a single post 
 whereas 'tis a post and a half; and this obliges you to pull out 
 your book of post-roads, the print of which is so very small, it forces 
 you to open your eyes, whether you will or no: Then Monsieur le 
 
 Curi offers you a pinch of snuff or a poor soldier shews you his 
 
 leg or a shaveling his box or the priestess of the cistern will 
 
 water your wheels they do not want it but she swears by 
 
 her priesthood (throwing it back) that they do: then you have 
 
 all these points to argue, or consider over in you.r mind ; in doing of 
 
 which, the rational powers get so thoroughly awakened you 
 
 may get 'em to sleep again as you can. 
 
 It was entirely owing to one of these misfortunes, or I had pass'd 
 
 clean by the stables of Chantilly 
 
 But the postilion first affirming, and then persisting in it to 
 my face, that there was no mark upon the two sous piece, I open'd 
 my eyes to be convinced and seeing the mark upon it as plain as 
 my nose I leap'd out of the chaise in a passion, and so saw every 
 
 thing at Chantilly in spite. 1 tried it but for three posts and a 
 
 half, but believe 'tis the best principle in the world to travel speedily 
 upon; for as few objects look very inviting in that mood you 
 have little or nothing to stop you; by which means it was that I 
 passed through St. Dennis, without turning my head so much as on 
 one side towards the Abby 
 
 Richness of their treasury! stuff and nonsense! bating 
 
 their jewels, which are all false, I would not give three sous for any 
 
 one thing in it, but Jaidas's lantern nor for that either, only 
 
 as it grows dark, it might be of use. 
 
 353
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 CRACK, crack crack, crack crack, crack so 
 this is Paris I quoth I (continuing in the same mood) and 
 
 this is Paris I humph! Paris I cried I, repeating the name 
 
 the third time 
 
 The first, the finest, the most brilliant 
 
 The streets however are nasty. 
 
 But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells crack, crack 
 
 crack, crack what a fuss thou makest! as if it con- 
 
 cerned the good people to be informed, that a man with pale face 
 and clad in black, had the honour to be driven into Paris at nine 
 o'clock at night, by a postilion in a tawny yellow jerkin, turned up 
 
 with red calamanco crack, crack crack, crack, crack, 
 
 crack 1 wish thy whip 
 
 But 'tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack crack on. 
 
 Ha! and no one gives the wall! but in the SCHOOL OF 
 
 URBANITY herself, the walls are besh-t how can you do other- 
 wise? 
 
 And prithee when do they light the lamps ? What ? never in 
 
 the summer months! Ho! 'tis the time of sallads. O rare! 
 
 sallad and soup soup and sallad sallad and soup, encore 
 
 'Tis too much for sinners. 
 
 Now I cannot bear the barbarity of it; how can that uncon- 
 scionable coachman talk so much bawdy to that lean horse ? don't 
 you see, friend, the streets are so villainously narrow, that there 
 is not room in all Paris to turn a wheelbarrow? In the grandest 
 city of the whole world, it would not have been amiss, if they had 
 been left a thought wider; nay, were it only so much in every single 
 street, as that a man might know (was it only for satisfaction) on 
 which side of it he was walking. 
 
 One two three four five six seven eight 
 nine ten. Ten cook's shops! and twice the number of 
 barbers! and all within three minutes driving! one would think 
 that all the cooks in the world, on some great merry-meeting with 
 the barbers, by joint consent had said Come, let us all go live 
 
 at Paris : the French love good eating they are all gourmands 
 
 we shall rank high; if their god is their belly their 
 
 cooks must be gentlemen: and forasmuch as the periwig maketh 
 the man, and the periwig-maker maketh the periwig ergo, would 
 
 354
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 the barbers say, we shall rank higher still we shall be above 
 you all we shall be Capitouls at least pardi I we shall all wear 
 
 swords 
 
 And so, one would swear (that is, by candle light, but 
 there is no depending upon it) they continue to do, to this day. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE French are certainly misunderstood : but whether the 
 fault is theirs, in not sufficiently explaining themselves; or 
 speaking with that exact limitation and precision which one would 
 expect on a point of such importance, and which, moreover, is so 
 
 likely to be contested by us or whether the fault may not be 
 
 altogether on our side, in not understanding their language always 
 
 so critically as to know "what they would be at" 1 shall not 
 
 decide ; but 'tis evident to me, when they affirm, " That they who 
 have seen Paris, have seen every thing" they must mean to speak 
 of those who have seen it by day-light. 
 
 As for candle-light I give it up 1 have said before, there 
 
 was no depending upon it and I repeat it again ; but not because 
 the lights and shades are too sharp or the tints confounded 
 or that there is neither beauty or keeping, &c. ... for that's 
 not truth but it is an uncertain light in this respect, That in all 
 the five hundred grand Hotels, which they number up to you in 
 Paris and the five hundred good things, at a modest computa- 
 tion (fo: 'tis only allowing one good thing to a H6tel), which by 
 candle-light are best to be seen, felt, heard, and understood (which, 
 
 by the bye, is a quotation from Lilly) the devil a one of us 
 
 out of fifty, can get our heads fairly thrust in amongst them. 
 This is no part of the French computation : 'tis simply this, 
 That by the last survey taken in the year one thousand seven 
 hundred and sixteen, since which time there have been considerable 
 augmentations, Paris doth contain nine hundred streets; (viz.) 
 In the quarter called the City there are fifty-three streets. 
 In St. James of the Shambles, fifty-five streets. 
 In St. Oportune, thirty-four streets. 
 In the quarter of the Louvre, twenty-five streets. 
 In the Palace Royal, or St. Honorius, forty-nine streets. 
 In Mont. Martyr, forty-one streets. 
 
 355
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 In St. Eustace, twenty-nine streets. 
 
 In the Halles, twenty-seven streets. 
 
 In St. Dennis, fifty-five streets. 
 
 In St. Martin, fifty-four streets. 
 
 In St. Paul, or the Mortellerie, twenty-seven streets. 
 
 The Greve, thirty-eight streets. 
 
 In St. Avoy, or the Verrerie, nineteen streets. 
 
 In the Marais, or the Temple, fifty-two streets. 
 
 In St. Antony's, sixty-eight streets. 
 
 In the Place Maubert, eighty-one streets. 
 
 In St. Bennet, sixty streets. 
 
 In St. Andrews de Arcs, fifty-one streets. 
 
 In the quarter of the Luxembourg, sixty-two streets. 
 
 And in that of St. Germain, fifty-five streets, into any of which you 
 
 may walk; and that when you have seen them with all that belongs 
 
 to them, fairly by day-light their gates, their bridges, their 
 
 squares, their statues and have crusaded it moreover, through 
 
 all their parish-churches, by no means omitting St. Roche and 
 
 Sulpice and to crown all, have taken a walk to the four palaces, 
 
 which you may see, either with or without the statues and pictures, 
 just as you chuse 
 
 Then you will have seen 
 
 but, 'tis what no one needeth to tell you, for you will read 
 
 of it yourself upon the portico of the Louvre, in these words, 
 
 EARTH NO SUCH FOLKS ! NO FOLKS E'ER SUCH A TOWN AS PARIS 
 IS! SING, DERRY, DERRY, DOWN. 
 
 The French have a gay way of treating every thing that is Great ; 
 and that is all can be said upon it. 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 N mentioning the word gay (as in the close of the last chapter) 
 
 it puts one (i. e. an author) in mind of the word spleen 
 especially if he has any thing to say upon it : not that by any analysis 
 or that from any table of interest or genealogy, there appears 
 much more ground of alliance betwixt them, than betwixt light 
 and darkness, or any two of the most unfriendly opposites in 
 
 nature only 'tis an undercraft of authors to keep up a good 
 
 understanding amongst words, as politicians do amongst men 
 
 356
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 not knowing how. near they may be under a necessity of placing 
 
 them to each other which point being now gain'd, and that I 
 
 may place mine exactly to my mind, I write it down here 
 
 SPLEEN 
 
 This, upon leaving Chantilly, I declared to be the best principle 
 in the world to travel speedily upon; but I gave it only as matter 
 of opinion. I still continue in the same sentiments only I had 
 not then experience enough of its working to add this, that though 
 you do get on at a tearing rate, yet you get on but uneasily to your- 
 self at the same time; for which reason I here quit it entirely, and 
 for ever, and 'tis heartily at any one's service it has spoiled me 
 the digestion of a good supper, and brought on a bilious diarrhcea, 
 which has brought me back again to my first principle on which 
 
 I set out and with which I shall now scamper it away to the 
 
 banks of the Garonne 
 
 No; 1 cannot stop a moment to give you the char- 
 acter of the people their genius their manners their cus- 
 toms their laws their religion their government their 
 
 manufactures their commerce their finances, with all the 
 resources and hidden springs which sustain them: qualified as I 
 may be, by spending three days and two nights amongst them, and 
 during all that time making these things the entire subject of my 
 enquiries and reflections 
 
 Still still I must away the roads are paved the posts 
 
 are short the days are long 'tis no more than noon I shall 
 be at Fontainbleau before the king 
 
 Was he going there ? not that I know 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 NOW I hate to hear a person, especially if he be a traveller, 
 complain that we do not get on so fast in France as we do in 
 England; whereas we get on much faster, consider atis consider andis; 
 thereby always meaning, that if you weigh their vehicles with the 
 mountains of baggage which you lay both before and behind upon 
 them and then consider their puny horses, with the very little 
 they give them 'tis a wonder they get on at all: their suffering 
 is most unchristian, and 'tis evident thereupon to me, that a French 
 
 357
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 post-horse would not know what in the world to do, was it not for 
 the two words ****** and ****** in which there is as much sus- 
 tenance, as if you gave him a peck of corn : now as these words cost 
 nothing, I long from my soul to tell the reader what they are; but 
 here is the question they must be told him plainly, and with the 
 most distinct articulation, or it will answer no end and yet to 
 do it in that plain way though their reverences may laugh at 
 it in the bed-chamber full well I wot, they will abuse it in the 
 parlour: for which cause, I have been volving and revolving in my 
 fancy some time, but to no purpose, by what clean device or facette 
 contrivance I might so modulate them, that whilst I satisfy that ear 
 which the reader chuses to lend me I might not dissatisfy the other 
 which he keeps to himself. 
 
 My ink burns my finger to try and when I have 
 
 'twill have a worse consequence it will burn ( I fear) my paper. 
 
 No; 1 dare not 
 
 But if you wish to know how the abbess of Andoiiillets and a 
 novice of her convent got over the difficulty (only first wishing 
 myself all imaginable success) I'll tell you without the least 
 scruple 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE abbess of Andoiiillets, which, if you look into the large 
 set of provincial maps now publishing at Paris, you will find 
 situated amongst the hills which divide Burgundy from Savoy, 
 being in danger of an Anchylosis or stiff joint (the sinovi of her 
 knee becoming hard by long matins), and having tried every remedy 
 
 first, prayers and thanksgiving ; then invocations to all the 
 
 saints in heaven promiscuously then particularly to every 
 
 saint who had ever had a stiff leg before her then touching it 
 
 with all the reliques of the convent, principally with the thigh-bone 
 
 of the man of Lystra, who had been impotent from his youth 
 
 then wrapping it up in her veil when she went to bed then cross- 
 wise her rosary then bringing in to her aid the secular arm, and 
 anointing it with oils and hot fat of animals then treating it 
 with emollient and resolving fomentations then with poul- 
 tices of marsh-mallows, mallows, bonus Henricus, white lilies and 
 fenugreek then taking the woods, I mean the smoak of 'em, 
 holding her scapulary across her lap then decoctions of wild 
 
 358
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 chicory, water-cresses, chervil, sweet cecily and cochlearia and 
 
 nothing all this while answering, was prevailed on at last to try the 
 
 hot baths of Bourbon so having first obtain 'd leave of the 
 
 visitor-general to take care of her existence she ordered all to 
 be got ready for her journey: a novice of the convent of about seven- 
 teen, who had been troubled with a whitloe hi her middle finger, 
 by sticking it constantly into the abbess's cast poultices, &c. 
 had gained such an interest, that overlooking a sciatical old nun, 
 who might have been set up for ever by the hot-baths of Bourbon, 
 Margarita, the little novice, was elected as the companion of the 
 journey. 
 
 An old calesh, belonging to the abbess, lined with green frize, 
 was ordered to be drawn out into the sun the gardener of the 
 convent being chosen muleteer, led out the two old mules, to clip 
 the hair from the rump-ends of their tails, whilst a couple of lay- 
 sisters were busied, the one in darning the lining, and the other in 
 sewing on the shreds of yellow binding, which the teeth of time had 
 
 unravelled the under-gardener dress'd the muleteer's hat hi hot 
 
 wine-lees and a taylor sat musically at it, hi a shed over-against 
 
 the convent, in assorting four dozen of bells for the harness, whistling 
 to each bell, as he tied it on with a thong. 
 
 The carpenter and the smith of Andouillets held a council 
 
 of wheels; and by seven, the morning after, ah 1 look'd spruce, and 
 was ready at the gate of the convent for the hot-baths of Bourbon 
 two rows of the unfortunate stood ready there an hour before. 
 
 The abbess of Andouillets, supported by Margarita the novice, 
 advanced slowly to the calesh, both clad hi white, with their black 
 
 rosaries hanging at their breasts 
 
 - There was a simple solemnity in the contrast: they entered 
 the calesh; and nuns in the same uniform, sweet emblem of inno- 
 cence, each occupied a window, and as the abbess and Margarita 
 look'd up each (the sciatical poor nun excepted) each stream'd 
 out the end of her veil hi the air then kiss'd the lily hand which 
 let it go: the good abbess and Margarita laid their hands saint-wise 
 upon their breasts look'd up to heaven then to them and 
 look'd " God bless you, dear sisters." 
 
 I declare I am interested hi this story, and wish I had been there. 
 
 The gardener, whom I shall now call the muleteer, was a little, 
 hearty, broad-set, good-natured, chattering, toping kind of a fellow, 
 who troubled bis head very little with the hows and whens of life; so 
 
 359
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 had mortgaged a month of his conventical wages in a borrachio, 
 or leathern cask of wine, which he had disposed behind the calesh, 
 with a large russet-coloured riding-coat over it, to guard it from the 
 sun; and as the weather was hot, and he not a niggard of his labours, 
 walking ten times more than he rode he found more occasions 
 than those of nature , to fall back to the rear of his carriage ; till by 
 frequent coming and going, it had so happen'd, that all his wine 
 had leak'd out at the legal vent of the borrachio, before one half of 
 the journey was finish'd. 
 
 Man is a creature bom to habitudes . The day had been sultry 
 the evening was delicious the wine was generous the Burgun- 
 dian hill on which it grew was steep a little tempting bush over 
 the door of a cool cottage at the foot of it, hung vibrating in full 
 harmony with the passions a gentle air rustled distinctly through 
 the leaves "Come come, thirsty muleteer come in." 
 
 The muleteer was a son of Adam; I need not say a word more. 
 He gave the mules, each of 'em, a sound lash, and looking in the 
 abbess's and Margarita's faces (as he did it) as much as to say 
 "here I am" he gave a second good crack as much as to say 
 
 to his mules, " get on " so slinking behind, he enter'd the little 
 
 inn at the foot of the hill. 
 
 The muleteer, as I told you, was a little, joyous, chirping fellow, 
 who thought not of to-morrow, nor of what had gone before, or 
 what was to follow it, provided he got but his scantling of Burgundy, 
 and a little chit-chat along with it; so entering into a long conversa- 
 tion, as how he was chief gardener to the convent of Andoiiillets, 
 &c. &c., and out of friendship for the abbess and Mademoiselle 
 Margarita, who was only in her noviciate, he had come along with 
 them from the confines of Savoy, &c. &c. and as how she had 
 got a white swelling by her devotions and what a nation of herbs 
 he had procured to mollify her humours, &c. &c., and that if the 
 waters of Bourbon did not mend that leg she might as well be 
 lame of both &c. &c. &c. He so contrived his story, as 
 absolutely to forget the heroine of it and with her the little 
 novice, and what was a more ticklish point to be forgot than both 
 the two mules ; who being creatures that take advantage of the world, 
 inasmuch as their parents took it of them and they not being in a 
 condition to return the obligation down-wards (as men and women 
 and beasts are) they do it side-ways, and long-ways, and back- 
 ways and up hill, and down hill, and which way they can. 
 
 360
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 Philosophers, with all their ethicks, have never considered this 
 rightly how should the poor muleteer, then in his cups, consider 
 it at all? he did not in the least 'tis time we do; let us leave him 
 then in the vortex of his element, the happiest and most thoughtless 
 
 of mortal men and for a moment let us look after the mules, 
 
 the abbess, and Margarita. 
 
 By virtue of the muleteer's two last strokes the mules had gone 
 quietly on, following their own consciences up the hill, till they had 
 conquer'd about one half of it; when the elder of them, a shrewd 
 crafty old devil, at the turn of an angle, giving a side glance, and 
 no muleteer behind them 
 
 By my fig! said she, swearing, I'll go no further And if I do, 
 
 replied the other, they shall make a drum of my hide. 
 
 And so with one consent they stopp'd thus 
 
 G 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ET on with you, said the abbess. 
 
 Wh ysh ysh cried Margarita. 
 
 She a shu shu u sh aw shaw'd 
 
 the abbess. 
 
 Whu v w whew w w whuv'd Margarita, 
 
 pursing up her sweet lips betwixt a hoot and a whistle. 
 
 Thump thump thump obstreperated the abbess of An- 
 doiiillets with the end of her gold-headed cane against the bottom 
 of the calesh 
 
 The old mule let a f 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WE are ruin'd and undone, my child, said the abbess to Mar- 
 garita, we shall be here all night we shall be plun- 
 
 der'd we shall be ravish'd 
 
 We shall be ravish'd, said Margarita, as sure as a gun. 
 
 Sancta Maria! cried the abbess (forgetting the Of) why was I 
 govern'd by this wicked stiff joint? why did I leave the convent of 
 Andoiiillets? and why didst thou not suffer thy servant to go unpol- 
 luted to her tomb ?
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 O my finger! my finger! cried the novice, catching fire at the word 
 servant why was I not content to put it here, or there, any where 
 rather than be in this strait? 
 
 Strait! said the abbess. 
 
 Strait said the novice; for terror had struck their under- 
 standings the one knew not what she said the other what 
 
 she answer'd. 
 
 O my virginity! virginity! cried the abbess. 
 
 inityl inity! said the novice, sobbing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MYdear mother, quoth the novice, coming a little to herself, 
 there are two certain words, which I have been told will force 
 any horse, or ass, or mule, to go up a hill whether he will or no ; be he 
 never so obstinate or ill-will'd, the moment he hears them utter'd, 
 he obeys. They are words magic! cried the abbess in the utmost 
 horror No; replied Margarita calmly but they are words 
 sinful What are they? quoth the abbess, interrupting her: They 
 are sinful in the first degree, answered Margarita, they are mortal 
 and if we are ravish'd and die unabsolved of them, we shall 
 
 both but you may pronounce them to me, quoth the abbess of 
 
 Andouillets They cannot, my dear mother, said the novice, be 
 
 pronounced at all; they will make all the blood in one's body fly 
 up into one's face But you may whisper them in my ear, quoth 
 the abbess. 
 
 Heaven! hadst thou no guardian angel to delegate to the inn at 
 the bottom of the hill? was there no generous and friendly spirit 
 
 unemployed no agent in nature, by some monitory shivering, 
 
 creeping along the artery which led to his heart, to rouse the muleteer 
 
 from his banquet ? no sweet minstrelsy to bring back the fair 
 
 idea of the abbess and Margarita, with their black rosaries! 
 
 Rouse! rouse! but 'tis too late the horrid words are pro- 
 nounced this moment 
 
 and how to tell them Ye, who can speak of every thing 
 
 existing, with unpolluted lips instruct me guide me 
 
 362
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ALL sins whatever, quoth the abbess, turning casuist in the 
 distress they were under, are held by the confessor of our 
 convent to be either mortal or venial: there is no further division. 
 Now a venial sin being the slightest and least of all sins being 
 halved by taking either only the half of it, and leaving the rest 
 or, by taking it all, and amicably halving it betwixt yourself and 
 another person in course becomes diluted into no sin at all. 
 
 Now I see no sin in saying, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, a hundred 
 times together; nor is there any turpitude in pronouncing the 
 syllable ger, ger, ger, ger, ger, were it from our matins to our vespers: 
 Therefore, my dear daughter, continued the abbess of Andotiittets 
 I will say bou, and thou shalt say ger; and then alternately, as there 
 is no more sin in fou than in bou Thou shalt say fou and I 
 will come in (like fa, sol, la, re, mi, ut, at our complines) with ter. 
 And accordingly the abbess, giving the pitch note, set off thus: 
 
 Abbess, | Bou bou bou 
 
 Margarita, \ ger, - - ger, - - ger. 
 
 Margarita, ) Fou fou fou 
 
 Abbess, ) ter, ter, ter. 
 
 The two mules acknowledged the notes by a mutual lash of their 
 
 tails ; but it went no further 'Twill answer by an' by, said the 
 
 novice. 
 
 Abbess, ) Bou- bou- bou- bou- bou- bou- 
 
 Margarita, } ger, ger, ger, ger, ger, ger. 
 
 Quicker still, cried Margarita. 
 
 Fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou. 
 
 Quicker still, cried Margarita. 
 
 Bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou. 
 
 Quicker still God preserve me; said the abbess They do 
 not understand us, cried Margarita But the Devil does, said the 
 abbess of Andouillets. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 WHAT a tract of country have I run ! how many degrees 
 nearer to the warm sun am I advanced, and how many fair 
 and goodly cities have I seen, during the time you have been read- 
 ing, and reflecting, Madam, upon this story! There's FONTAIN- 
 
 363
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 BLEAU, and SENS, and JOIGNY, and AUXERRE, and DIJON the capi- 
 tal of Burgundy, and CHALLON, and Mdcon the capital of the 
 
 Maconese, and a score more upon the road to LYONS and now 
 
 I have run them over 1 might as well talk to you of so many 
 
 market towns in the moon, as tell you one word about them : it will 
 be this chapter at the least, if not both this and the next entirely 
 lost, do what I will 
 
 Why, 'tis a strange story! Tristram. 
 
 Alas! Madam, 
 
 had it been upon some melancholy lecture of the cross the peace 
 
 of meekness, or the contentment of resignation 1 had not been 
 
 incommoded : or had I thought of writing it upon the purer abstrac- 
 tions of the soul, and that food of wisdom and holiness and contem- 
 plation, upon which the spirit of man (when separated from the 
 
 body) is to subsist for ever You would have come with a better 
 
 appetite from it 
 
 1 wish I never had wrote it: but as I never blot any thing out 
 
 let us use some honest means to get it out of our heads directly. 
 
 Pray reach me my fool's cap 1 fear you sit upon it, 
 
 Madam 'tis under the cushion I'll put it on 
 
 Bless me! you have had it upon your head this half hour. 
 There then let it stay, with a 
 
 Fa-ra diddle di 
 
 and a fa-ri diddle d 
 
 and a high-dum dye-dum 
 
 fiddle dumb - c. 
 
 And now, Madam, we may venture, I hope, a little to go on. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVH 
 
 A LL you need say of Fontairibleau (in case you are ask'd) 
 
 JT\. is, that it stands about forty miles (south something) 
 from Paris, in the middle of a large forest That there is some- 
 thing great in it That the king goes there once every two or 
 
 three years, with his whole court, for the pleasure of the chase 
 and that, during that carnival of sporting, any English gentleman of 
 fashion (you need not forget yourself) may be accommodated with a 
 nag or two, to partake of the sport, taking care only not to out-gallop 
 the king 
 
 364
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 Though there are two reasons why you need not talk loud of this 
 to every one. 
 First, Because 'twill make the said nags the harder to be got; and 
 
 Secondly, 'Tis not a word of it true. Allans / 
 
 As for SENS you may dispatch in a word "'Tis 
 
 an archiepiscopal see." 
 
 For JOIGNY the less, I think, one says of it the better. 
 
 But for AUXERRE I could go on for ever : for in my grand tour 
 through Europe, in which, after all, my father (not caring to trust 
 me with any one) attended me himself, with my uncle Toby, and 
 Trim, and Obadiah, and indeed most of the family, except my 
 mother, who being taken up with a project of knitting my father a 
 pair of large worsted breeches (the thing is common sense) 
 and she not caring to be put out of her way, she staid at home, at 
 SHANDY HALL, to keep things right during the expedition ; in which, 
 I say, my father stopping us two days at Auxerre, and his researches 
 being ever of such a nature, that they would have found fruit even 
 
 in a desert he has left me enough to say upon AUXERRE: in 
 
 short, wherever my father went but 'twas more remarkably so, 
 
 in this journey through France and Italy, than in any other stages 
 
 of his life his road seemed to lie so much on one side of that, 
 
 wherein all other travellers have gone before him he saw kings 
 
 and courts and silks of all colours, in such strange lights and 
 
 his remarks and reasonings upon the characters, the manners, and 
 customs of the countries we pass'd over, were so opposite to those of 
 all other mortal men, particularly those of my uncle Toby and Trim 
 
 (to say nothing of myself) and to crown all the occurrences 
 and scrapes which we were perpetually meeting and getting into, in 
 consequence of his systems and opiniatry they were of so odd, so 
 mix'd and tragi-comical a contexture That the whole put to- 
 gether, it appears of so different a shade and tint from any tour of 
 Europe, which was ever executed that I will venture to pronounce 
 
 the fault must be mine and mine only if it be not read by all 
 travellers and travel-readers, till travelling is no more, or which 
 comes to the same point till the world, finally, takes it into its 
 head to stand still. 
 
 But this rich bale is not to be open'd now ; except a small 
 
 thread or two of it, merely to unravel the mystery of my father's 
 stay at AUXERRE. 
 
 365
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 As I have mentioned it 'tis too slight to be kept suspended ; 
 
 and when 'tis wove in, there is an end of it. 
 
 We'll go, brother Toby, said my father, whilst dinner is coddling 
 to the abby of Saint Germain, if it be only to see these bodies, 
 of which Monsieur Sequier has given such a recommendation. 
 I'll go see any body, quoth my uncle Toby; for he was all com- 
 pliance through every step of the journey Defend me! said 
 
 my father they are all mummies Then one need not shave ; 
 
 quoth my uncle Toby Shave! no cried my father 'twill 
 
 be more like relations to go with our beards on So out we sallied, 
 the corporal lending his master his arm, and bringing up the rear, 
 to the abby of Saint Germain. 
 
 Every thing is very fine, and very rich, and very superb, and 
 very magnificent, said my father, addressing himself to the sacristan, 
 who was a younger brother of the order of Benedictines but our 
 curiosity has led us to see the bodies, of which Monsieur Sequier 
 has given the world so exact a description. The sacristan made 
 a bow, and lighting a torch first, which he had always in the vestry 
 
 ready for the purpose; he led us into the tomb of St. Heribald 
 
 This, said the sacristan, laying his hand upon the tomb, was a 
 renowned prince of the house of Bavaria, who under the successive 
 reigns of Charlemagne, Louis le Debonnair, and Charles the Bald, 
 bore a great sway in the government, and had a principal hand in 
 bringing every thing into order and discipline 
 
 Then he has been as great, said my uncle, hi the field, as in the 
 
 cabinet 1 dare say he has been a gallant soldier He was 
 
 a monk said the sacristan. 
 
 My uncle Toby and Trim sought comfort in each other's faces 
 but found it not: my father clapped both his hands upon his cod- 
 piece, which was a way he had when any thing hugely tickled him : 
 for though he hated a monk and the very smell of a monk worse 
 
 than all the devils in hell yet the shot hitting my uncle Toby 
 
 and Trim so much harder than him, 'twas a relative triumph; and 
 put him into the gayest humour in the world. 
 
 And pray what do you call this gentleman? quoth my 
 
 father, rather sportingly: This tomb, said the young Benedictine, 
 looking downwards, contains the bones of Saint MAXIMA, who 
 came from Ravenna on purpose to touch the body 
 
 Of Saint MAXIMUS, said my father, popping in with his 
 
 saint before him, they were two of the greatest saints in the whole 
 
 366
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 martyrology, added my father Excuse me, said the sacristan 
 
 'twas to touch the bones of Saint Germain, the builder of 
 
 the abby And what did she get by it ? said my uncle Toby 
 
 What does any woman get by it ? said my father MARTYR- 
 DOME; replied the young Benedictine, making a bow down to the 
 ground, and uttering the word with so humble, but decisive a 
 cadence, it disarmed my father for a moment. 'Tis supposed, 
 continued the Benedictine, that St. Maxima has lain in this tomb 
 
 four hundred years, and two hundred before her canonization 
 
 'Tis but a slow rise, brother Toby, quoth my father, in this self- 
 same army of martyrs. A desperate slow one, an' please your 
 
 honour, said Trim, unless one could purchase 1 should rather 
 
 sell out entirely, quoth my uncle Toby 1 am pretty much of 
 
 your opinion, brother Toby, said my father. 
 
 Poor St. Maximal said my uncle Toby low to himself, as 
 
 we turn'd from her tomb: She was one of the fairest and most 
 beautiful ladies either of Italy or France, continued the sacristan 
 
 But who the duce has got lam down here, besides her ? quoth 
 
 my father, pointing with his cane to a large tomb as we walked 
 
 on It is Saint Optat, Sir, answered the sacristan And 
 
 properly is Saint Optat plac'd! said my father: And what is Saint 
 O plat's story? continued he. Saint Optat, replied the sacristan, 
 was a bishop 
 
 1 thought so, by heaven! cried my father, interrupting 
 
 him Saint Optat how should Saint Optat fail ? so snatch- 
 ing out his pocket-book, and the young Benedictine holding him 
 the torch as he wrote, he set it down as a new prop to his system 
 of Christian names, and I will be bold to say, so disinterested was 
 he in the search of truth, that had he found a treasure in Saint 
 
 plat's tomb, it would not have made him half so rich: 'Twas as 
 successful a short visit as ever was paid to the dead ; and so highly 
 was his fancy pleas'd with all that had passed in it, that he 
 determined at once to stay another day in Auxerre. 
 
 I'll see the rest of these good gentry to-morrow, said my father, 
 as we cross'd over the square And while you are paying that 
 visit, brother Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby the corporal and 
 
 1 will mount the ramparts. 
 
 367
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIH 
 
 tm ' s * s tne most P uzz ^ skein of all - for in this 
 last chapter, as far at least as it has help'd me through 
 Auxerre, I have been getting forwards in two different journies 
 together, and with the same dash of the pen for I have got 
 entirely out of Auxerre in this journey which I am writing now, and 
 I am got half way out of Auxerre in that which I shall write here- 
 after - There is but a certain degree of perfection in every thing; 
 and by pushing at something beyond that, I have brought myself 
 into such a situation, as no traveller ever stood before me ; for I am 
 this moment walking across the market-place of Auxerre with my 
 father and my uncle Toby, in our way back to dinner - and I 
 am this moment also entering Lyons with my post-chaise broke into 
 a thousand pieces and I am moreover this moment in a handsome 
 pavillion built by Pringello, upon the banks of the Garonne, which 
 Mons. Sligniac has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodising all 
 these affairs. 
 - Let me collect myself, and pursue my journey. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 I AM glad of it, said I, settling the account with myself, as I 
 walk'd into Lyons - my chaise being all laid higgledy- 
 piggledy with my baggage in a cart, which was moving slowly before 
 me - 1 am heartily glad, said I, that 'tis all broke to pieces; for 
 now I can go directly by water to Avignon, which will carry me on a 
 hundred and twenty miles of my journey, and not cost me seven 
 livres - and from thence, continued I, bringing forwards the 
 account, I can hire a couple of mules or asses, if I like, (for 
 nobody knows me) and cross the plains of Languedoc for almost 
 nothing - 1 shall gain four hundred livres by the misfortune 
 clear into my purse: and pleasure! worth worth double the money 
 by it. With what velocity, continued I, clapping my two hands 
 together, shall I fly down the rapid Rhone, with the VTVARES on my 
 right hand, and DAUPHTNY on my left, scarce seeing the ancient 
 cities of VIENNE, Valence, and Vivieres. What a flame will it 
 rekindle in the lamp, to snatch a blushing grape from the Hermitage 
 and Cdte roti, as I shoot by the foot of them ! and what a fresh spring 
 in the blood! to behold upon the banks advancing and retiring, the 
 
 368
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 castles of romance, whence courteous knights have whilome rescued 
 
 the distress'd and see vertiginous, the rocks, the mountains, 
 
 the cataracts, and all the hurry which Nature is in with all her great 
 works about her. 
 
 As I went on thus, methought my chaise, the wreck of which 
 look'd stately enough at the first, insensibly grew less and less in its 
 size ; the freshness of the painting was no more the gilding lost 
 its lustre and the whole affair appeared so poor in my eyes so 
 sorry! so contemptible! and, in a word, so much worse than the 
 abbess of Andoiiillets' itself that I was just opening my mouth to 
 give it to the devil when a pert vamping chaise-undertaker, 
 stepping nimbly across the street, demanded if Monsieur would 
 have his chaise refitted No, no, said I, shaking my head side- 
 ways Would Monsieur chuse to sell it ? rejoined the undertaker 
 With all my soul, said I the iron work is worth forty livres 
 and the glasses worth forty more and the leather you may take 
 to live on. 
 
 What a mine of wealth, quoth I, as he counted me the money, 
 has this post-chaise brought me in ? And this is my usual method 
 of book-keeping, at least with the disasters of life making a penny 
 of every one of 'em as they happen to me 
 
 Do, my dear Jenny, tell the world for me, how I behaved 
 
 under one, the most oppressive of its kind, which could befal me as 
 a man, proud as he ought to be of his manhood 
 
 'Tis enough, saidst thou, coming close up to me, as I stood with 
 
 my garters in my hand, reflecting upon what had not pass'd 
 
 'Tis enough, Tristram, and I am satisfied, saidst thou, whispering 
 these words in mv ear 'fc^ 5 ^ %% %%%% ^t^f^? %%%%%$ ^^t^;^; $$ %% 
 
 any other man would have sunk down to the center 
 
 Every thing is good for something, quoth I. 
 
 I'll go into Wales for six weeks, and drink goat's whey 
 
 and I'll gain seven years longer life for the accident. For which 
 reason I think myself inexcusable, for blaming fortune so often as 
 I have done, for pelting me all my life long, like an ungracious 
 duchess, as I call'd her, with so many small evils: surely, if I have 
 any cause to be angry with her, 'tis that she has not sent me great 
 ones a score of good cursed, bouncing losses, would have been as 
 good as a pension to me. 
 
 One of a hundred a year, or so, is all I wish I would not 
 
 be at the plague of paying land-tax for a larger. 
 
 369
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 TO those who call vexations, VEXATIONS, as knowing what they 
 are, there could not be a greater, than to be the best part of a 
 day at Lyons, the most opulent and flourishing city in France, 
 enriched with the most fragments of antiquity and not be able to 
 see it. To be withheld upon any account, must be a vexation; 
 
 but to be withheld by a vexation must certainly be, what 
 
 philosophy justly calls 
 
 VEXATION 
 
 UPON 
 
 VEXATION 
 
 I had got my two dishes of milk coffee (which by the bye is 
 excellently good for a consumption, but you must boil the milk and 
 coffee together otherwise 'tis only coffee and milk) and as it 
 was no more than eight in the morning, and the boat did not go off 
 till noon, I had time to see enough of Lyons to tire the patience of 
 all the friends I had in the world with it. I will take a walk to the 
 cathedral, said I, looking at my list, and see the wonderful mechan- 
 ism of this great clock of Lippius of Basil, in the first place 
 
 Now, of all things in the world, I understand the least of mechan- 
 ism 1 have neither genius, or taste, or fancy and have a 
 
 brain so entirely unapt for every thing of that kind, that I solemnly 
 declare I was never yet able to comprehend the principles of motion 
 of a squirrel cage, or a common knife-grinder's wheel tho' I have 
 many an hour of my life look'd up with great devotion at the one 
 and stood by with as much patience as any Christian ever could do, 
 at the other 
 
 I'll go see the surprising movements of this great clock, said I, 
 the very first thing I do : and then I will pay a visit to the great library 
 of the Jesuits, and procure, if possible, a sight of the thirty volumes 
 of the general history of China, wrote (not in the Tartarean, but) 
 in the Chinese language, and in the Chinese character too. 
 
 Now I almost know as little of the Chinese language, as I do of the 
 mechanism of Lippius' s clock-work; so, why these should have 
 jostled themselves into the two first articles of my list I leave 
 to the curious as a problem of Nature. I own it looks like one of 
 her ladyship's obliquities; and they who court her, are interested in 
 finding out her humour as much as I. 
 
 370
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 When these curiosities are seen, quoth I, half addressing myself 
 
 to my valet de place, who stood behind me 'twill be no hurt if 
 
 we go to the church of St. Irenaus, and see the pillar to which 
 
 Christ was tied and after that, the house where Pontius Pilate 
 
 lived -'Twas at the next town, said the valet de place at Vienne; 
 I am glad of it, said I, rising briskly from my chair, and walking 
 
 across the room with strides twice as long as my usual pace 
 
 " for so much the sooner shall I be at the Tomb of the two lovers." 
 
 What was the cause of this movement, and why I took such long 
 
 strides in uttering this 1 might leave to the curious too; but as 
 
 no principle of clock-work is concerned in it 'twill be as well 
 
 for the reader if I explain it myself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 O THERE is a sweet sera in the life of man, when (the brain 
 being tender and fibrillous, and more like pap than any thing 
 else) a story read of two fond lovers, separated from each other 
 
 by cruel parents, and by still more cruel destiny 
 
 Amandus He 
 
 Amanda She 
 
 each ignorant of the other's course, 
 
 He east 
 
 She west 
 
 Amandus taken captive by the Turks, and carried to the emperor 
 of Morocco's court, where the princess of Morocco falling in love 
 with him, keeps him twenty years in prison for the love of his 
 
 Amanda. 
 
 She (Amanda) all the time wandering barefoot, and with 
 dishevell'd hair, o'er rocks and mountains, enquiring for Amandus! 
 
 Amandus I Amandus 1 making every hill and valley to 
 
 echo back his name 
 
 A mandus 1 A mandus I 
 
 at every town and city, sitting down forlorn at the gate Has 
 
 Amandus ! has my Amandus enter'd ? till, going round, 
 
 and round, and round the world chance unexpected bringing 
 
 them at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, 
 to the gate of Lyons, their native city, and each in well-known 
 accents calling out aloud. 
 
 371
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 Is Amandus 
 
 T j i still alive? 
 
 Is my Amanda 
 
 they fly into each other's arms, and both drop down dead for joy. 
 
 There is a soft aera in every gen tie mortal's life, where such a story 
 affords more pabulum to the brain, than all the Frusts, and Crusts, 
 and Rusts of antiquity, which travellers can cook up for it. 
 
 'Twas all that stuck on the right side of the cullender in my 
 
 own, of what Spon and others, in their accounts of Lyons, had 
 strained into it; and finding, moreover, in some Itinerary, but in 
 
 what God knows That sacred to the fidelity of Amandus and 
 
 Amanda, a tomb was built without the gates, where, to this hour, 
 
 lovers called upon them to attest their truths 1 never could get 
 
 into a scrape of that kind in my life, but this tomb of the lovers would, 
 somehow or other, come in at the close nay such a kind of em- 
 pire had it established over me, that I could seldom think or speak 
 of Lyons and sometimes not so much as see even a Lyons-waist- 
 coat, but this remnant of antiquity would present itself to my fancy; 
 and I have often said in my wild way of running on tho' I fear 
 
 with some irreverence " I thought this shrine (neglected as it 
 
 was) as valuable as that of Mecca, and so little short, except in 
 wealth, of the Santa Casa itself, that some time or other, I would go 
 a pilgrimage (though I had no other business at Lyons) on purpose 
 to pay it a visit." 
 
 In my list, therefore, of Videnda at Lyons, this, tho' last, was 
 not, you see, least; so taking a dozen or two of longer strides than 
 usual across my room, just whilst it passed my brain, I walked down 
 calmly into the Basse Cour, in order to sally forth; and having called 
 for my bill as it was uncertain whether I should return to my inn, 
 
 I had paid it had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was 
 
 just receiving the dernier compliments of Monsieur Le Blanc, for a 
 
 pleasant voyage down the Rhdne when I was stopped at the 
 
 gate 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 (WAS by a poor ass, who had just turned in with a couple 
 of large panniers upon his back, to collect eleemosynary 
 turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves; and stood dubious, with his two 
 fore-feet on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet 
 towards the street, as not knowing very well whether he was to go in 
 or no. 
 
 372 
 
 T
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 Now, 'tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to 
 
 strike there is a patient endurance of sufferings, wrote so una- 
 
 affectedly in his looks and carriage, which pleads so mightily for 
 him, that it always disarms me; and to that degree, that I do not 
 like to speak unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him where I 
 will whether in town or country in cart or under panniers 
 
 whether in liberty or bondage 1 have ever something civil to 
 
 say to him on my part; and as one word begets another (if he has as 
 
 little to do as I) 1 generally fall into conversation with him; and 
 
 surely never is my imagination so busy as in framing his responses 
 from the etchings of his countenance and where those carry me 
 
 not deep enough in flying from my own heart into his, and 
 
 seeing what is natural for an ass to think as well as a man, upon 
 the occasion. In truth, it is the only creature of all the classes of be- 
 ings below me, with whom I can do this : for parrots, jackdaws, &c. 
 
 1 never exchange a word with them nor with the apes, 
 
 &c., for pretty near the same reason; they act by rote, as the others 
 speak by it, and equally make me silent: nay my dog and my cat, 
 
 though I value them both (and for my dog he would speak if 
 
 he could) yet somehow or other, they neither of them possess 
 
 the talents for conversation 1 can make nothing of a discourse 
 
 with them, beyond the proposition, the reply, and rejoinder, which 
 terminated my father's and my mother's conversations, in his beds 
 of justice and those utter'd there's an end of the dialogue 
 
 But with an ass, I can commune for ever. 
 
 Come, Honesty 1 said I, seeing it was impracticable to pass 
 
 betwixt him and the gate art thou for coming in, or going out? 
 
 The ass twisted his head round to look up the street 
 
 Well replied I we'll wait a minute for thy driver: 
 
 He turned his head thoughtfully about, and looked wistfully 
 
 the opposite way 
 
 I understand thee perfectly, answered I If thou takest a 
 
 wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel thee to death Well! a 
 
 minute is but a minute, and if it saves a fellow-creature a drubbing, 
 it shall not be set down as ill spent. 
 
 He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went on, 
 and in the little peevish contentions of nature betwixt hunger and 
 unsavouriness, had dropt it out of his mouth half a dozen times, 
 and pick'd it up again God help thee, Jack I said I, thou hast 
 
 373
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 a bitter breakfast on' t and many a bitter day's labour, and 
 
 many a bitter blow, I fear, for its wages 'tis all all bitterness 
 
 to thee, whatever life to is others. And now thy mouth, if one 
 
 knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot (for he had 
 cast aside the stem) and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this 
 
 world, that will give thee a macaroon. In saying this, I pull'd 
 
 out a paper of 'em, which I had just purchased, and gave him one 
 and at this moment that I am telling it, my heart smites me, that 
 there was more of pleasantry in the conceit, of seeing how an ass 
 
 would eat a macaroon than of benevolence in giving him one, 
 
 which presided in the act. 
 
 When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I press'd him to come 
 
 in the poor beast was heavy loaded his legs seem'd to 
 
 tremble under him he hung rather backwards, and as I pull'd 
 
 at his halter, it broke short in my hand he look'd up pensive 
 
 in my face " Don't thrash me with it but if you will, you 
 may" If I do, said I, I'll be d d. 
 
 The word was but one-half of it pronounced, like the abbess of 
 Andoiiillets' (so there was no sin in it) when a person coming 
 in, let fall a thundering bastinado upon the poor devil's crupper, 
 which put an end to the ceremony. 
 Out upon it I 
 
 cried I but the interjection was equivocal and, I think, 
 
 wrong placed too for the end of an osier which had started out 
 from the contexture of the ass's pannier, had caught hold of my 
 breeches pocket, as he rush'd by me, and rent it in the most disas- 
 trous direction you can imagine so that the 
 
 Out upon it / in my opinion, should have come in here but 
 
 this I leave to be settled by 
 
 THE 
 REVIEWERS 
 
 OF 
 MY BREECHES, 
 
 which I have brought over along with me for that purpose. 
 
 374
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 WHEN all was set to rights, I came down stairs again into the 
 basse courwith my valet de place, in order to sally out towards 
 the tomb of the two lovers, &c. and was a second time stopp'd 
 at the gate not by the ass but by the person who struck 
 him ; and who, by that time, had taken possession (as is not uncom- 
 mon after a defeat) of the very spot of ground where the ass stood. 
 
 It was a commissary sent to me from the post-office, with a 
 rescript in his hand for the payment of some six livres odd sous. 
 
 Upon what account ? said I. 'Tis upon the part of the king, 
 
 replied the commissary, heaving up both his shoulders 
 
 My good friend, quoth I as sure as I am I and you 
 
 are you 
 
 And who are you? said he Don't puzzle me; 
 
 said I. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 B 
 
 UT it is an indubitable verity, continued I, addressing 
 myself to the commissary, changing only the form of 
 
 my asserveration that I owe the king of France nothing but 
 
 my good-will; for he is a very honest man, and I wish him all health 
 and pastime in the world 
 
 Pardonnez moi replied the commissary, you are indebted to 
 him six livres four sous, for the next post from hence to St. Fons, 
 in your route to Avignon which being a post royal, you pay 
 double for the horses and postillion otherwise 'twould have 
 amounted to no more than three livres two sous 
 
 But I don't go by land ; said I. 
 
 You may if you please; replied the commissary 
 
 Your most obedient servant said I, making him a low 
 
 bow 
 
 The commissary, with all the sincerity of grave good breeding 
 
 made me one, as low again. 1 never was more disconcerted 
 
 with a bow in my life. 
 
 The devil take the serious character of these people! quoth 
 
 I (aside) they understand no more of IRONY than this 
 
 The comparison was standing close by with his panniers but 
 something seal'd up my lips I could not pronounce the name 
 
 375
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Sir, said I, collecting myself it is not my intention to take 
 post 
 
 But you may said he, persisting in his first reply you 
 may take post if you chuse 
 
 And I may take salt to my pickled herring, said I, if I 
 chuse 
 
 But I do not chuse 
 
 But you must pay for it, whether you do or no. Aye! for the 
 salt; said I (I know) 
 
 And for the post too; added he. Defend me! cried I 
 
 I travel by water I am going down the Rhone this very after- 
 noon my baggage is in the boat and I have actually paid nine 
 livres for my passage 
 
 C'est tout egal 'tis all one; said he. 
 
 Bon Dieu I what, pay for the way I go! and for the way I do not 
 go! 
 
 C'est tout egal ; replied the commissary 
 
 The devil it is! said I but I will go to ten thousand Bastiles 
 
 first - 
 
 England 1 England ! thou land of liberty, and climate of good 
 sense, thou tenderest of mothers and gentlest of nurses, cried I, 
 kneeling upon one knee, as I was beginning my apostrophe. 
 
 When the director of Madam Le Blanc's conscience coming in 
 at that instant, and seeing a person in black, with a face as pale as 
 ashes, at his devotions looking still paler by the contrast and 
 distress of his drapery ask'd, if I stood in want of the aids of the 
 church 
 
 1 go by WATER said I and here's another will be for making 
 me pay for going by OIL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 AS I perceived the commissary of the post-office would have his 
 six livres four sous, I had nothing else for it, but to say some 
 smart thing upon the occasion, worth the money 
 
 And so I set off thus: 
 
 And pray, Mr. Commissary, by what law of courtesy is a 
 
 defenceless stranger to be used just the reverse from what you use a 
 Frenchman in this matter? 
 
 3/6
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 By no means ; said he. 
 
 Excuse me; said I for you have begun, Sir, with first tearing off 
 my breeches and now you want my pocket 
 
 Whereas had you first taken my pocket, as you do with your 
 own people and then left me bare a 'd after I had been a 
 beast to have complain 'd 
 
 As it is 
 
 'Tis contrary to the law of nature. 
 
 'Tis contrary to reason. 
 
 'Tis contrary to the GOSPEL. 
 
 But not to this said he putting a printed paper into my 
 
 hand, 
 
 PAR LE ROY 
 
 'Tis a pithy prolegomenon, quoth I and so read on 
 
 By all which it appears, quoth I, having read it over, a little 
 
 too rapidly, that if a man sets out in a post-chaise from Paris he 
 must go on travelling in one, all the days of his life or pay for it. 
 Excuse me, said the commissary, the spirit of the ordinance is this 
 That if you set out with an intention of running post from Paris 
 to Avignon, &c., you shall not change that intention or mode of 
 travelling, without first satisfying the fermiers for two posts further 
 than the pkce you repent at and 'tis founded, continued he, upon 
 this, that the REVENUES are not to fall short through your -fickleness 
 
 O by heavens! cried I if fickleness is taxable in France 
 
 we have nothing to do but to make the best peace with you we can 
 
 AND SO THE PEACE WAS MADE; 
 
 And if it is a bad one as Tristram Shandy laid the corner- 
 stone of it nobody but Tristram Shandy ought to be hanged. 
 
 377
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THOUGH I was sensible I had said as many clever things 
 to the commissary as came to six livres four sous, yet I was 
 determined to note down the imposition amongst my remarks before 
 I retired from the place ; so putting my hand into my coat-pocket for 
 my remarks (which, by the bye, may be a caution to travellers 
 to take a little more care of their remarks for the future) " my re- 
 marks were stolen" Never did sorry traveller make such a 
 
 pother and racket about his remarks as I did about mine, upon the 
 occasion. 
 
 Heaven! earth! sea! fire! cried I, calling in every thing to my aid 
 
 but what I should My remarks are stolen ! what shall I 
 
 do? Mr. Commissary! pray did I drop any remarks, as I stood 
 
 besides you ? 
 
 You dropp'd a good many very singular ones; replied he 
 
 Pugh! said I, those were but a few, not worth above six livres two 
 
 sous but these are a large parcel He shook his head 
 
 Monsieur Le Blanc I Madam Le Blanc I did you see any papers of 
 mine? you maid of the house! run up stairs Francois I run up 
 after her 
 
 I must have my remarks they were the best remarks, 
 
 cried I, that ever were made the wisest the wittiest What 
 shall I do? which way shall I turn myself? 
 
 Sancho Panfa, when he lost his ass's FURNITURE, did not exclaim 
 more bitterly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH 
 
 WHEN the first transport was over, and the registers of the 
 brain were beginning to get a little out of the confusion into 
 which this jumble of cross accidents had cast them it then 
 presently occurr'd to me, that I had left my remarks in the pocket 
 of the chaise and that in selling my chaise, I had sold my remarks 
 along with it, to the chaise-vamper. I leave this 
 
 void space that the reader may swear into it any oath that he is 
 
 most accustomed to For my own part, if ever I swore a whole 
 
 oath into a vacancy hi my life, I think it was into that 
 *********, said I and so my remarks through France, which 
 
 378
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 were as full of wit, as an egg is full of meat, and as well worth four 
 hundred guineas, as the said egg is worth a penny have I been 
 selling here to a chaise-vamper for four Louis d'Ors and 
 giving him a post-chaise (by heaven) worth six into the bargain; 
 had it been to Dodsley, or Becket, or any creditable bookseller, who 
 was either leaving off business, and wanted a post-chaise or who 
 was beginning it and wanted my remarks, and two or three 
 
 guineas along with them I could have borne it but to a 
 
 chaise-vamper! shew me to him this moment, Franfois, said 
 I The valet de place put on his hat, and led the way and I 
 pull'd off mine, as I pass'd the commissary, and followed him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVHI 
 
 T T 7HEN we arrived at the chaise-vamper's house, both the house 
 V V and the shop were shut up ; it was the eighth of September, 
 the nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary, mother of God 
 
 Tantarra-ra-tan-tivi the whole world was gone out a 
 
 May-poling frisking here capering there nobody cared 
 
 a button for me or my remarks ; so I sat me down upon a bench by 
 the door, philosophating upon my condition : by a better fate than 
 usually attends me, I had not waited half an hour, when the mistress 
 came in to take the papilliotes from off her hair, before she went 
 to the May-poles 
 
 The French women, by the bye, love May-poles, a la folie 
 
 hat is, as much as their matins give 'em but a May-pole, 
 
 whether in May, June, July, or September they never count the 
 
 times down it goes 'tis meat, drink, washing, and lodging 
 
 to 'em and had we but the policy, an' please your worships 
 
 (as wood is a little scarce in France), to send them but plenty of 
 May-poles 
 
 The women would set them up; and when they had done, they 
 would dance round them (and the men for company) till they were 
 all blind. 
 
 The wife of the chaise-vamper stepp'd in, I told you, to take 
 
 the papilliotes from off her hair the toilet stands still for no 
 
 man so she jerk'd off her cap, to begin with them as she open'd 
 
 the door, hi doing which, one of them fell upon the ground J 
 
 instantly saw it was my own writing 
 
 379
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 O Seigneur! cried I you have got all my remarks upon your 
 
 head, Madam! J'en suis bien mortifiee, said she 'tis well, 
 
 thinks I, they have stuck there for could they have gone deeper, 
 they would have made such confusion in a French woman's noddle 
 She had better have gone with it unfrizled to the day of eternity. 
 
 Tenez said she so without any idea of the nature of my 
 suffering, she took them from her curls, and put them gravely one 
 
 by cne into my hat one was twisted this way another 
 
 twisted that ey! by my faith; and when they are published, 
 
 quoth I, 
 
 They will be worse twisted still. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 AND now for Lippius's clock! said I, with the air of a man, 
 who had got thro' all his difficulties nothing can prevent 
 
 us seeing that, and the Chinese history, &c., except the time, said 
 
 Franfois for 'tis almost eleven Then we must speed the 
 
 faster, said I, striding it away to the cathedral. 
 
 I cannot say, in my heart, that it gave me any concern in being 
 told by one of the minor canons, as I was entering the west door, 
 That Lippius's great clock was all out of joints, and had not gone 
 
 for some years It will give me the more time, thought I, to 
 
 peruse the Chinese history; and besides I shah 1 be able to give the 
 world a better account of the clock in its decay, than I could have 
 done in its flourishing condition 
 
 And so away I posted to the college of the Jesuits. 
 
 Now it is with the project of getting a peep at the history of 
 China in Chinese characters as with many others I could men- 
 tion, which strike the fancy only at a distance ; for as I came nearer 
 and nearer to the point my blood cool'd the freak gradually 
 went off, till at length I would not have given a cherrystone to have 
 
 it gratified The truth was, my time was short, and my 
 
 heart was at the Tomb of the Lovers 1 wish to God, said I, as 
 
 I got the rapper in my hand, that the key of the library may be but 
 lost; it fell out as well 
 
 For all the JESUITS had got the cholic and to that degree, as 
 never was known in the memory of the oldest practitioner. 
 
 380
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AS I knew the geography of the Tomb of the Lovers, as well as 
 if I had lived twenty years in Lyons, namely, that it was upon 
 the turning of my right hand, just without the gate, leading to the 
 
 Fauxbourg de Vaise 1 dispatched Francois to the boat, that I 
 
 might pay the homage I so long ow'd it, without a witness of my 
 weakness I walk'd with all imaginable joy towards the place 
 when I saw the gate which intercepted the tomb, my heart 
 glowed within me 
 
 Tender and faithful spirits! cried I, addressing myself to 
 Amandus and Amanda long long have I tarried to drop this 
 
 tear upon your tomb 1 come 1 come 
 
 When I came there was no tomb to drop it upon. 
 What would I have given for my uncle Toby, to have whistled 
 Lillo bullero! 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 NO matter how, or in what mood but I flew from the tomb of 
 the lovers or rather I did not fly from it (for there was no 
 such thing existing) and just got time enough to the boat to save my 
 passage; and ere I had sailed a hundred yards, the Rhdne and 
 the Sadn met together, and carried me down merrily betwixt them. 
 
 But I have described this voyage down the Rhdne, before I made 
 it 
 
 So now I am at Avignon, and as there is nothing to see but 
 
 the old house, in which the duke of Ormond resided, and nothing to 
 stop me but a short remark upon the place, hi three minutes you 
 will see me crossing the bridge upon a mule, with Francois upon a 
 horse with my portmanteau behind him, and the owner of both, 
 striding the way before us, with a long gun upon his shoulder, and 
 a sword under his arm, lest peradventure we should run away with 
 
 his cattle. Had you seen my breeches in entering Avignon, 
 
 Though you'd have seen them better, I think, as I mounted 
 you would not have thought the precaution amiss, or found in your 
 heart to have taken it in dudgeon ; for my own part, I took it most 
 kindly; and determined to make him a present of them, when we 
 got to the end of our journey, for the trouble they had put him to, of 
 arming himself at all points against them.
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Before I go further, let me get rid of my remark upon Avignon, 
 which is this: That I think it wrong, merely because a man's hat 
 has been blown off his head by chance the first night he comes to 
 Avignon, that he should therefore say, "Avignon is more sub- 
 ject to high winds than any town in all France :" for which reason I 
 laid no stress upon the accident till I had enquired of the master of 
 
 the inn about it, who telling me seriously it was so and hearing, 
 
 moreover, the windiness of Avignon spoke of in the country about 
 
 as a proverb 1 set it down, merely to ask the learned what can 
 
 be the cause the consequence I saw for they are all Dukes, 
 
 Marquisses, and Counts, there the duce a Baron, in all Avig- 
 non so that there is scarce any talking to them on a windy day. 
 
 Prithee, friend, said I, take hold of my mule for a moment 
 for I wanted to pull off one of my jack-boots, which hurt my heel 
 the man was standing quite idle at the door of the inn, and as I had 
 taken it into my head, he was someway concerned about the house 
 or stable, I put the bridle into his hand so begun with the boot : 
 when I had finished the affair, I turned about to take the mule 
 from the man, and thank him 
 
 But Monsieur le Marquis had walked in 
 
 CHAPTER XLH 
 
 I HAD now the whole south of France, from the banks of the 
 Rhone to those of the Garonne, to traverse upon my mule 
 
 at my own leisure at my own leisure for I had left Death, 
 
 the Lord knows and He only how far behind me " I 
 
 have followed many a man thro' France, quoth he but never at 
 
 this mettlesome rate." Still he followed, and still I fled 
 
 him but I fled him chearfully still he pursued but, 
 
 like one wh ; pursued his prey without hope as he lagg'd, 
 
 every step he lost, soften'd his looks why should I fly him 
 
 at this rate ? 
 
 So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had 
 said, I changed the mode of my travelling once more; and, after so 
 precipitate and rattling a course as I had run, I flattered my fancy 
 with thinking of my mule, and that I should traverse the rich plains 
 of Languedoc upon his back, as slowly as foot could fall. 
 
 There is nothing more pleasing to a traveller or more ter- 
 
 382
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 rible to travel-writers, than a large rich plain ; especially if it is with- 
 out great rivers or bridges; and presents nothing to the eye, but 
 one unvaried picture of plenty: for after they have once told you, 
 that 'tis delicious ! or delightful ! (as the case happens) that 
 the soil was grateful, and that nature pours out all her abundance, 
 &c. . . . they have then a large plain upon their hands, which 
 they know not what to do with and which is of little or no use 
 to them but to carry them to some town; and that town, per- 
 haps of little more, but a new place to start from to the next plain 
 and so on. 
 
 This is most terrible work; judge if I don't manage my plains 
 better. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIH 
 
 I HAD not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man 
 with his gun began to look at his priming. 
 
 I had three several times loiter'd terribly behind ; half a mile at 
 least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker, 
 who was making drums for the fairs of Baucaira and Tarascone 
 I did not understand the principles 
 
 The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stopp'd for 
 
 meeting a couple of Franciscans straitened more for time than 
 myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was about 
 1 had turn'd back with them 
 
 The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand -basket 
 of Provence figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at 
 once; but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the 
 figs were paid for, it turn'd out, that there were two dozen of eggs 
 cover'd over with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket as I 
 had no intention of buying eggs I made no sort of claim of 
 them as for the space they had occupied what signified it? 
 I had figs enow for my money 
 
 But it was my intention to have the basket it was the 
 gossip's intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing 
 
 with her eggs and unless I had the basket, I could do as little 
 
 with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of 'em burst 
 at the side: this brought on a short contention, which terminated 
 in sundry proposals, what we should both do 
 
 How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or the 
 
 383
 
 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
 
 Devil himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he 
 was), to form the least probable conjecture: You will read the 
 
 whole of it not this year, for I am hastening to the story 
 
 of my uncle Toby's amours but you will read it in the collection 
 of those which have arose out of the journey across this plain 
 and which, therefore, I call my 
 
 PLAIN STORIES 
 
 How far my pen has been fatigued, like those of other travellers, 
 in this journey of it, over so barren a track the world must judge 
 but the traces of it, which are now all set o' vibrating together 
 this moment, tell me 'tis the most fruitful and busy period of my 
 life; for as I had made no convention with my man with the gun, 
 as to time by stopping and talking to every soul I met, who was 
 not in a full trot joining all parties before me waiting for 
 every soul behind hailing all those who were coming through 
 cross-roads arresting all kinds of beggars, pilgrims, fiddlers, 
 friars not passing by a woman in a mulberry-tree without com- 
 mending her legs, and tempting her into conversation with a pinch 
 
 of snuff In short, by seizing every handle, of what size or 
 
 shape soever, which chance held out to me in this journey I 
 turned my plain into a city I was always in company, and with 
 great variety too; and as my mule loved society as much as myself, 
 and had some proposals always on his part to offer to every beast he 
 met I am confident we could have passed through Pali-Mall 
 or St. Jameses-Street for a month together, with fewer adventures 
 and seen less of human nature. 
 
 O! there is that sprightly frankness, which at once unpins every 
 plait of a Languedocian's dress that whatever is beneath it, it 
 looks so like the simplicity which poets sing of in better days I 
 will delude my fancy, and believe it is so. 
 
 'Twas in the road betwixt Nismes and Lund, where there is the 
 best Muscatto wine in all France, and which by the bye belongs to 
 the honest canons of MONTPELLIER and foul befal the man who 
 has drank it at their table, who grudges them a drop of it. 
 
 The sun was set they had done their work; the nymphs 
 
 had tied up their hair afresh and the swains were preparing for 
 
 a carousal my mule made a dead point 'Tis the fife and 
 
 tabourin, said I I'm frighten'd to death, quoth he - They 
 
 are running at the ring of pleasure, said I, giving him a prick 
 
 384
 
 OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 By saint Boogar, and all the saints at the backside of the door of 
 purgatory, said he (making the same resolution with the abbesse 
 
 of AndouUlets} I'll not go a step further 'Tis very well, 
 
 sir, said I 1 never will argue a point with one of your family, 
 
 as long as I live; so leaping off his back, and kicking off one boot 
 into this ditch, and t'other into that I'll take a dance, said I 
 so stay you here. 
 
 A sun-burnt daughter of Labour rose up from the groupe to 
 meet me, as I advanced towards them; her hair, which was a dark 
 chesnut approaching rather to a black, was tied up hi a knot, all 
 but a single tress. 
 
 We want a cavalier, said she, holding out both her hands, as if to 
 offer them And a cavalier ye shall have ; said I, taking hold of 
 both of them. 
 
 Hadst thou, Nannette, been array'd like a dutchesse! 
 - But that cursed slit in thy petticoat! 
 
 Nannette cared not for it. 
 
 We could not have done without you, said she, letting go one 
 hand, with self-taught politeness, leading me up with the other. 
 
 A lame youth, whom Apollo had recompensed with a pipe, and 
 to which he had added a tabourin of his own accord, ran sweetly 
 
 over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank Tie me up this tress 
 
 instantly, said Nannette, putting a piece of string into my hand 
 
 It taught me to forget I was a stranger The whole knot fell 
 
 down We had been seven years acquainted. 
 
 The youth struck the note upon the tabourin his pipe followed, 
 and off we bounded "the duce take that slit!" 
 
 The sister of the youth, who had stolen her voice from heaven, 
 sung alternately with her brother 'twas a Gascoigne roundelay. 
 
 VIVA LA JOIA! 
 FIDON LA TRISTESSA! 
 
 The nymphs join'd hi unison, and their swains an octave below 
 
 them 
 
 I would have given a crown to have it sew'd up Nannette 
 would not have given a sous Viva la joia ! was in her lips Viva 
 la joia! was hi her eyes. A transient spark of amity shot across 
 
 the space betwixt us She look'd amiable! -Why could I 
 
 not live, and end my days thus? Just Disposer of our joys and 
 sorrows, cried I, why could not a man sit down in the lap of content 
 
 385
 
 LIFE OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
 
 here and dance, and sing, and say his prayers, and go to heaven 
 
 with this nut-brown maid ? Capriciously did she bend her head on 
 
 one side, and dance up insidious Then 'tis time to dance off, 
 
 quoth I; so changing only partners and tunes, I danced it away 
 
 from Lunel to Montpellier from thence to Pesfnas, Beziers 
 
 I danced it along through Narbonne, Carcasson, and Castle Nau- 
 dairy, till at last I danced myself into Perdrillo's pavillion, where 
 pulling out a paper of black lines, that I might go on straight for- 
 wards, without digression or parenthesis, in my uncle Toby's 
 
 amours 
 
 I begun thus 
 
 386
 
 PAPERS FROM 
 
 THE 
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH
 
 LETTERS FROM A CITIZEN OF THE 
 
 WORLD TO HIS FRIENDS IN 
 
 THE EAST 
 
 LETTER I 
 To Mr. , Merchant, in London 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 AMSTERDAM. 
 
 SIR, Yours of the i3th instant, covering two bills, one on 
 Messrs. R. and D. value 478, ios., and the other on Mr. 
 ****, value 285, duly came to hand, the former of which met with 
 honour, but the other has been trifled with, and I am afraid will be 
 returned protested. 
 
 The bearer of this is my friend, therefore let him be yours. He 
 is a native of Honan in China, and one who did me signal services, 
 when he was a mandarine, and I a factor, at Canton. By frequently 
 conversing with the English there, he has learned the language, 
 though he is entirely a stranger to their manners and customs. I 
 am told he is a philosopher I am sure he is an honest man : that 
 to you will be his best recommendation, next to the consideration of 
 his being the friend of, Sir, yours, &c. 
 
 LETTER II 
 
 From Lien Chi Altangi, to , Merchant in Amsterdam 
 
 ARRIVAL OF THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER IN LONDON HIS MOTIVES 
 FOR THE JOURNEY SOME DESCRIPTION OF THE STREETS AND 
 HOUSES 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 FRIEND OF MY HEART, May the wings of peace rest upon thy 
 dwelling, and the shield of conscience preserve thee from vice 
 and misery I For all thy favours accept my gratitude and esteem, 
 the only tributes a poor philosophic wanderer can return. Sure, 
 
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 fortune is resolved to make me unhappy, when she gives others a 
 power of testifying their friendship by actions, and leaves me only 
 words to express the sincerity of mine. 
 
 I am perfectly sensible of the delicacy with which you endeavour 
 to lessen your own merit and my obligations. By calling your late 
 instances of friendship only a return for former favours, you would 
 induce me to impute to your justice what I owe to your generosity. 
 
 The services I did you at Canton, justice, humanity, and my 
 office, bade me perform ; those you have done me since my arrival at 
 Amsterdam, no laws obliged you to, no justice required. Even 
 half your favours would have been greater than my most sanguine 
 expectations. 
 
 The sum of money, therefore, which you privately conveyed into 
 my baggage, when I was leaving Holland, and which I was ignorant 
 of till my arrival in London, I must beg leave to return. You have 
 been bred a merchant, and I a scholar ; you consequently love money 
 better than I. You can find pleasure in superfluity; I am perfectly 
 content with what is sufficient. Take therefore what is yours ; it may 
 give you some pleasure, even though you have no occasion to use it; 
 my happiness it cannot improve, for I have already all that I want. 
 
 My passage by sea from Rotterdam to England was more painful 
 to me than all the journeys I ever made on land. I have traversed 
 the immeasurable wilds of Mogul Tartary; felt all the rigours of 
 Siberian skies; I have had my repose a hundred times disturbed by 
 invading savages, and have seen, without shrinking, the desert sands 
 rise like a troubled ocean all around me. Against these calamities 
 I was armed with resolution; but in my passage to England, though 
 nothing occurred that gave the mariners any uneasiness, to one who 
 was never at sea before, all was a subject of astonishment and 
 terror. To find the land disappear to see our ship mount the 
 waves, swift as an arrow from the Tartar bow to hear the wind 
 howling through the cordage to feel a sickness which depresses 
 even the spirits of the brave, these were unexpected distresses, 
 and, consequently, assaulted me, unprepared to receive them. 
 
 You men of Europe think nothing of a voyage by sea. With us 
 of China, a man who has been from sight of land is regarded upon 
 his return with admiration. I have known some provinces where 
 there is not even a name for the ocean. What a strange people, 
 therefore, am I got amongst, who have founded an empire on this 
 unstable element, who build cities upon billows that rise higher 
 
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 than the mountains of Tipertala, and make the deep more formid- 
 able than the wildest tempest! 
 
 Such accounts as these, I must confess, were my first motives for 
 seeing England. These induced me to undertake a journey of 
 seven hundred painful days, in order to examine its opulence, 
 buildings, sciences, arts, and manufactures on the spot. Judge, 
 then, how great is my disappointment on entering London, to see 
 no signs of that opulence so much talked of abroad: wherever I 
 turn, I am presented with a gloomy solemnity in the houses, the 
 streets, and the inhabitants: none of that beautiful gilding which 
 makes a principal ornament in Chinese architecture. The streets 
 of Nankin are sometimes strewed with gold leaf; very different are 
 those of London : in the midst of their pavements a great lazy puddle 
 moves muddily along; heavy-laden machines, with wheels of 
 unwieldy thickness, crowd up every passage; so that a stranger, 
 instead of finding time for observation, is often happy if he has 
 time to escape from being crushed to pieces. 
 
 The houses borrow very few ornaments from architecture; their 
 chief decoration seems to be a paltry piece of painting, hung out at 
 their doors or windows, at once a proof of their indigence and 
 vanity, in each having one of those pictures exposed to public view; 
 and their indigence in being unable to get them better painted. In 
 this respect, the fancy of their painters is also deplorable. Could 
 you believe it? I have seen five black lions and three blue boars 
 in less than the circuit of half a mile ; and yet you know that animals 
 of these colours are nowhere to be found except in the wild imagina- 
 tions of Europe. 
 
 From these circumstances in their buildings, and from the dismal 
 looks of the inhabitants, I am induced to conclude that the nation 
 is actually poor; and that, like the Persians, they make a splendid 
 figure everywhere but at home. The proverb of Xixofou is, that a 
 man's riches may be seen in his eyes : if we judge of the English by 
 this rule, there is not a poorer nation under the sun. 
 
 I have been here but two days, so will not be hasty in my decisions. 
 Such letters as I shall write to Fipsihi in Moscow, I beg you'll 
 endeavour to forward with all diligence; I shall send them open, in 
 order that you may take copies or translations, as you are equally 
 versed in the Dutch and Chinese languages. Dear friend, think of 
 my absence with regret, as I sincerely regret yours; even while I 
 write, I lament our separation. Farewell. 
 
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 LETTER III 
 
 From Lien Chi Altangi, to the care of Fipsihi, resident in Moscow, 
 to be forwarded by the Russian caravan to Fum Hoam, First Presi- 
 dent of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF LONDON CONTINUED THE LUXURY OF THE 
 ENGLISH ITS BENEFITS THE FINE GENTLEMAN THE FINE 
 LADY 
 
 THINK not, O them guide of my youth! that absence can impair 
 my respect, or interposing trackless deserts blot your reverend 
 figure from my memory. The farther I travel, I feel the pain of 
 separation with stronger force ; those ties that bind me to my native 
 country and you, are still unbroken. By every remove, I only drag 
 a greater length of chain. 
 
 Could I find aught worth transmitting from so remote a region 
 as this to which I have wandered, I should gladly send it; but, 
 instead of this, you must be contented with a renewal of my former 
 professions, and an imperfect account of a people with whom I 
 am as yet but superficially acquainted. The remarks of a man 
 who has been but three days in the country, can only be those 
 obvious circumstances which force themselves upcn the imagina- 
 tion. I consider myself here as a newly created being, introduced 
 into a new world. Every object strikes with wonder and surprise. 
 The imagination, still unsated, seems the only active principle of 
 the mind. The most trifling occurrences give pleasure, till the gloss 
 of novelty is worn away. When I have ceased to wonder, I may 
 possibly grow wise; I may then call the reasoning principle to my 
 aid, and compare those objects with each other, which were before 
 examined without reflection. 
 
 Behold me, then, in London, gazing at the strangers, and they 
 at me. It seems they find somewhat absurd in my figure ; and had 
 I been never from home, it is possible I might find an infinite 
 fund of ridicule in theirs, but by long travelling, I am taught to 
 laugh at folly alone, and to find nothing truly ridiculous but villainy 
 and vice. 
 
 When I had just quitted my native country, and crossed the 
 Chinese wall, I fancied every deviation from the customs and 
 manners of China was a departing from nature. I smiled at the 
 blue lips and red foreheads of the Tonguese ; and could hardly con- 
 
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 tain when I saw the Daures dress their heads with horns: the 
 Ostiacs powdered with red earth; and the Calmuck beauties tricked 
 out in all the finery of sheepskin, appeared highly ridiculous. But 
 I soon perceived that the ridicule lay not in them, but in me; that 
 I falsely condemned others for absurdity, because they happened 
 to differ from a standard originally founded in prejudice or par- 
 tiality. 
 
 I find no pleasure, therefore, in taxing the English with depart- 
 ing from nature in their external appearance, which is all I yet 
 know of their character: it is possible they only endeavour to im- 
 prove her simple plan, since every extravagance in dress proceeds 
 from a desire of becoming more beautiful than nature made us; 
 and this is so harmless a vanity, that I not only pardon, but approve 
 it. A desire to be more excellent than others is what actually 
 makes us so; and as thousands find a livelihood in society by such 
 appetites, none but the ignorant inveigh against them. 
 
 You are not insensible, most reverend Fum Hoam, what number- 
 less trades, even among the Chinese, subsist by the harmless pride 
 of each other. Your nose-borers, feet-swathers, teeth-stainers, 
 eyebrow -pluckers, would all want bread, should their neighbours 
 want vanity. These vanities, however, employ much fewer hands 
 in China than hi England; and a fine gentleman, or a fine lady, 
 here, dressed up to the fashion, seems scarcely to have a single 
 limb that does not suffer some distortions from art. 
 
 To make a fine gentleman, several trades are required, but chiefly 
 a barber. You have undoubtedly heard of the Jewish champion, 
 whose strength lay in his hair. One would think the English were 
 for placing all wisdom there. To appear wise, nothing more is 
 requisite here than for a man to borrow hair from the heads of all 
 his neighbours, and clap it, like a bush, on his own. The distrib- 
 utors of law and physic stick on such quantities, that it is almost 
 impossible, even hi idea, to distinguish between the. head and the 
 hah". 
 
 Those whom I have been now describing affect the gravity of the 
 lion; those I am going to describe more resemble the pert vivacity 
 of smaller animals. The barber, who is still master of the cere- 
 monies, cuts their hair close to the crown; and then, with a compo- 
 sition of meal and hog's-lard, plasters the whole hi such a manner 
 as to make it impossible to distinguish whether the patient wears 
 a cap or a plaster: but, to make the picture more perfectly striking, 
 
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 conceive the tail of some beast, a grey-hound's tail, or a pig's tail, 
 for instance, appended to the back of the head, and reaching down 
 to the place where tails in other animals are generally seen to begin : 
 thus betailed and bepowdered, the man of taste fancies he improves 
 in beauty, dresses up his hard-featured face in smiles, and attempts 
 to look hideously tender. Thus equipped, he is qualified to make 
 love, and hopes for success more from the powder on the outside 
 of his head, than the sentiments within. 
 
 Yet when I consider what sort of a creature the fine lady is, to 
 whom he is supposed to pay his addresses, it is not strange to find 
 him thus equipped in order to please. She is herself every whit 
 as fond of powder, and tails, and hog's-lard, as he. To speak my 
 secret sentiments, most reverend Fum, the ladies here are horridly 
 ugly; I can hardly endure the sight of them; they no way resemble 
 the beauties of China: the Europeans have a quite different idea 
 of beauty from us. When I reflect on the small-footed perfections 
 of an Eastern beauty, how is it possible I should have eyes for a 
 woman whose feet are ten inches long? I shall never forget the 
 beauties of my native city of Nangfew. How very broad their 
 faces; how very short their noses; how very little their eyes; how 
 very thin their lips; how very black their teeth; the snow on the 
 tops of Bao is not fairer than their cheeks; and their eyebrows are 
 small as the line by the pencil of Quamsi. Here a lady with such 
 perfections would be frightful. Dutch and Chinese beauties, 
 indeed, have some resemblance, but English women are entirely 
 different: red cheeks, big eyes, and teeth of a most odious white- 
 ness, are not only seen here, but wished for; and then they have 
 such masculine feet, as actually serve some for walking ! 
 
 Yet uncivil as Nature has been, they seem resolved to outdo her 
 in unkindness : they use white powder, blue powder, and black pow- 
 der for their hair, and a red powder for the face on some particular 
 occasions. 
 
 They like to have the face of various colours, as among the Tar- 
 tars of Koreki, frequently sticking on, with spittle, little black 
 patches on every part of it, except on the tip of the nose, which I 
 have never seen with a patch. You'll have a better idea of their 
 manner of placing these spots, when I have finished a map of an 
 English face patched up to the fashion, which shall shortly be sent 
 to increase your curious collection of paintings, medals, and mon- 
 sters. 
 
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 But what surprises more than all the rest is what I have just now 
 been credibly informed of by one of this country. " Most ladies 
 here," says he, "have two faces; one face to sleep in, and another 
 to show in company. The first is generally reserved for the hus- 
 band and family at home; the other put on to please strangers 
 abroad: the family face is often indifferent enough, but the out- 
 door one looks something better; this is always made at the toilet, 
 where the looking-glass and toad-eater sit in council, and settle the 
 complexion of the day." 
 
 I cannot ascertain the truth of this remark: however, it is actually 
 certain, that they wear more clothes within doors than without; 
 and I have seen a lady, who seemed to shudder at a breeze in her 
 own apartment, appear half naked in the streets. Farewell. 
 
 LETTER IV 
 To the Same 
 
 ENGLISH PRIDE LIBERTY AN INSTANCE OF BOTH NEWS- 
 PAPERS POLITENESS 
 
 THE English seem as silent as the Japanese, yet vainer than the 
 inhabitants of Siam. Upon my arrival I attributed that re- 
 serve to modesty, which, I now find, has its origin in pride. Conde- 
 scend to address them first, and you are sure of their acquaintance ; 
 stoop to flattery, and you conciliate their friendship and esteem. 
 They bear hunger, cold, fatigue, and all the miseries of life without 
 shrinking; danger only calls forth their fortitude; they even exult 
 in calamity; but contempt is what they cannot bear. An English- 
 man fears contempt more than death; he often flies to death as a 
 refuge from its pressure; and dies when he fancies the world has 
 ceased to esteem him. 
 
 Pride seems the source not only of their national vices, but of 
 their national virtues also. An Englishman is taught to love his 
 king as his friend, but to acknowledge no other master than the 
 laws which himself has contributed to enact. He despises those 
 nations who, that one may be free, are all content to be slaves; who 
 first lift a tyrant into terror, and then shrink under his power as if 
 delegated from Heaven. Liberty is echoed in all their assemblies: 
 and thousands might be found ready to offer up their lives for the 
 
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 sound, though perhaps not one of all the number understands its 
 meaning. The lowest mechanic, however, looks upon it as his duty 
 to be a watchful guardian of his country's freedom, and often uses a 
 language that might seem haughty, even in the mouth of the Great 
 Emperor who traces his ancestry to the moon. 
 
 A few days ago, passing by one of their prisons, I could not avoid 
 stopping, in order to listen to a dialogue which I thought might afford 
 me some entertainment. The conversation was carried on between 
 a debtor, through the grate of his prison, a porter, who had stopped 
 to rest his burthen, and a soldier at the window. The subject was 
 upon a threatened invasion from France, and each seemed extremely 
 anxious to rescue his country from the impending danger. "For 
 my part," cries the prisoner, "the greatest of my apprehensions is 
 for our freedom; if the French should conquer, what would become of 
 English liberty? My dear friends, liberty is the Englishman's pre- 
 rogative ; we must preserve that at the expense of our lives ; of that 
 the French shall never deprive us. It is not to be expected that men 
 who are slaves themselves would preserve our freedom should they 
 happen to conquer." "Ay, slaves," cries the porter, "they are all 
 slaves, fit only to carry burthens, every one of them. Before I would 
 stoop to slavery, may this be my poison," (and he held the goblet in 
 his hand), "may this be my poison but I would sooner 'list for a 
 soldier." 
 
 The soldier, taking the goblet from his friend, with much awe, 
 fervently cried out, " It is not so much our liberties, as our religion, 
 that would suffer by such a change: ay, our religion, my lads. May 
 the devil sink me into flames," (such was the solemnity of his adju- 
 ration), "if the French should come over, but our religion would be 
 utterly undone!" So saying, instead of a libation, he applied the 
 goblet to his lips, and confirmed his sentiments with a ceremony of 
 the most persevering devotion. 
 
 In short, every man here pretends to be a politician ; even the fair 
 sex are sometimes found to mix the severity of national altercation 
 with the blandishments of love, and often become conquerors, by 
 more weapons of destruction than their eyes. 
 
 This universal passion for politics is gratified by Daily Gazettes, 
 as with us in China. But as in ours the Emperor endeavours to 
 instruct his people, in theirs the people endeavour to instruct the 
 administration. You must not, however, imagine, that they who 
 compile these papers have any actual knowledge of the politics, or 
 
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 the government, of a state; they only collect their materials from the 
 oracle of some coffee-house, which oracle has himself gathered them 
 the night before from a beau at a gaming-table, who has pillaged his 
 knowledge from a great man's porter, who has had his information 
 from the great man's gentleman, who has invented the whole story 
 for his own amusement the night preceding. 
 
 The English, in general, seem fonder of gaining the esteem than 
 the love of those they converse with. This gives a formality to their 
 amusements: their gayest conversations have something too wise 
 for innocent relaxation: though in company you are seldom dis- 
 gusted with the absurdity of a fool, you are seldom lifted into rap- 
 ture by those strokes of vivacity, which give instant, though not per- 
 manent, pleasure. 
 
 What they want, however, in gaiety, they make up in politeness. 
 You smile at hearing me praise the English for their politeness; you 
 who have heard very different accounts from the missionaries at 
 Pekin, who have seen such a different behaviour in their merchants 
 and seamen at home. But I must still repeat it, the English seem 
 more polite than any of their neighbours: their great art in this 
 respect lies in endeavouring, while they oblige, to lessen the force of 
 the favour. Other countries are fond of obliging a stranger; but 
 seem desirous that he should be sensible of the obligation. The 
 English confer their kindness with an appearance of indifference, 
 and give away benefits with an air as if they despised them. 
 
 Walking, a few days ago, between an English and a Frenchman 
 in the suburbs of the city, we were overtaken by a heavy shower of 
 rain. I was unprepared ; but they had each large coats, which de- 
 fended them from what seemed to me a perfect inundation. The 
 Englishman, seeing me shrink from the weather, accosted me thus: 
 "Psha, man, what dost shrink at? here, take this coat; I don't 
 wan't it; I find it no way useful to me; I had as lief be without it." 
 The Frenchman began to show his politeness in turn. " My dear 
 friend," cries he, " why won't you oblige me by making use of my 
 coat ? you see how well it defends me from the rain ; I should not 
 choose to part with it to others, but to such a friend as you I could 
 even part with my skin to do him service." 
 
 From such minute instances as these, most reverend Fum Hoam, 
 I am sensible your sagacity will collect instruction. The volume of 
 nature is the book of knowledge; and he becomes most wise who 
 makes the most judicious selection. Farewell. 
 
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 LETTER V 
 
 To the Same 
 
 ENGLISH PASSION FOR POLITICS A SPECIMEN OF A NEWSPAPER 
 
 CHARACTERISTICS OF THE MANNERS OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES 
 
 I HAVE already informed you of the singular passion of this 
 nation for politics. An Englishman, not satisfied with find- 
 ing, by his own prosperity, the contending powers of Europe prop- 
 erly balanced, desires also to know the precise value of every weight 
 in either scale. To gratify this curiosity, a leaf of political instruc- 
 tion is served up every morning with tea. When our politician 
 has feasted upon this, he repairs to a coffee-house, in order to rumi- 
 nate upon what he has read, and increase his collection; from 
 thence he proceeds to the ordinary, enquires what news, and, 
 treasuring up every acquisition there, hunts about all the evening 
 in quest of more, and carefully adds it to the rest. Thus at night 
 he retires home, full of the important advices of the day: when lo! 
 awaking next morning, he finds the instructions of yesterday a 
 collection of absurdity, or palpable falsehood. This one would 
 think a mortifying repulse in the pursuit of wisdom ; yet our politi- 
 cian, no way discouraged, hunts on, in order to collect fresh mate- 
 rials, and in order to be again disappointed. 
 
 I have often admired the commercial spirit which prevails over 
 Europe; have been surprised to see them carry on a traffic with 
 productions that an Asiatic stranger would deem entirely useless. 
 It is a proverb in China that a European suffers not even his spittle 
 to be lost; the maxim, however, is not sufficiently strong, since they 
 sell even their lies to great advantage. Every nation drives a con- 
 siderable trade in this commodity with their neighbours. 
 
 An English dealer in this way, for instance, has only to ascend 
 to his work-house, and manufacture a turbulent speech, averred 
 to be spoken in the senate; or a report supposed to be dropt at 
 court; a piece of scandal that strikes at a popular mandarine; or a 
 secret treaty between two neighbouring powers. When finished, 
 these goods are baled up, and consigned to a factor abroad, who 
 sends in return two battles, three sieges, and a shrewd letter filled 
 with dashes blanks, and stars * * * of great importance. 
 
 Thus, you perceive, that a single Gazette is the joint manufacture 
 of Europe; and he who would peruse it with a philosophical eye, 
 
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 might perceive in every paragraph something characteristic of the 
 nation to which it belongs. A map does not exhibit a more dis- 
 tinct view of the boundaries and situation of every country, than 
 its news does a picture of the genius and the morals of its inhabi- 
 tants. The superstition and erroneous delicacy of Italy, the for- 
 mality of Spain, the cruelty of Portugal, the fears of Austria, the 
 confidence of Prussia, the levity of France, the avarice of Holland, 
 the pride of England, the absurdity of Ireland, and the national 
 partiality of Scotland, are all conspicuous in every page. 
 
 But, perhaps, you may find more satisfaction in a real newspaper, 
 than in my description of one; I therefore send a specimen, which 
 may serve to exhibit the manner of their being written, and distin- 
 guish the characters of the various nations which are united in its 
 composition. 
 
 NAPLES. We have lately dug up here a curious Etruscan 
 monument, broke in two in the raising. The characters are scarce 
 visible: but Nugosi, the learned antiquary, supposes it to have been 
 erected in honour of Picus, a Latin king, as one of the lines may be 
 plainly distinguished to begin with a P. It is hoped this discovery 
 will produce something valuable, as the literati of our twelve acade- 
 mies are deeply engaged in the disquisition. 
 
 PISA. Since Father Fudgi, prior of St. Gilbert's, has gone to 
 reside at Rome, no miracles have been performed at the shrine 
 of St. Gilbert: the devout begin to grow uneasy, and some begin 
 actually to fear that St. Gilbert has forsaken them with the reverend 
 father. 
 
 LUCCA. The administrators of our serene republic have fre- 
 quent conferences upon the part they shall take in the present com- 
 motions of Europe. Some are for sending a body of their troops, 
 consisting of one company of foot and six horsemen, to make a 
 diversion in favour of the empress-queen; others are as strenuous 
 asserters of the Prussian interest: what turn these debates may 
 take, time only can discover. However, certain it is, we shall be 
 able to bring into the field, at the opening of the next campaign, 
 seventy-five armed men, a commander-in-chief, and two drummers 
 of great experience. 
 
 SPAIN. Yesterday the new king showed himself to his subjects, 
 and, after having stayed half an hour in his balcony, retired to the 
 royal apartment. The night concluded, on this extraordinary 
 occasion, with illuminations and other demonstrations of joy. 
 
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 The queen is more beautiful than the rising sun, and reckoned one 
 of the first wits in Europe. She had a glorious opportunity of 
 displaying the readiness of her invention and her skill in repartee, 
 lately at court. The Duke of Lerma coming up to her with a low 
 bow and a smile, and presenting a nosegay set with diamonds, 
 "Madame," cries he, "I am your most obedient humble servant." 
 "O, Sir," replies the queen, without any prompter, or the least 
 hesitation, " I'm very proud of the very great honour you do me." 
 Upon which she made a low courtsy, and all the courtiers fell 
 a-laughing at the readiness and the smartness of her reply. 
 
 LISBON. Yesterday we had an auto da fe, at which were 
 burned three young women, accused of heresy, one of them of exqui- 
 site beauty, two Jews, and an old woman, convicted of being a 
 witch. One of the friars who attended the last, reports, that he 
 saw the devil fly out of her at the stake in the shape of a flame of 
 fire. The populace behaved on this occasion with great good- 
 humour, joy, and sincere devotion. 
 
 Our merciful sovereign has been for some time past recovered of 
 his fright: though so atrocious an attempt deserved to exterminate 
 half the nation, yet he has been graciously pleased to spare the lives 
 of his subjects, and not above five hundred have been broke upon 
 the wheel, or otherwise executed, upon this horrid occasion. 
 
 VIENNA. We have received certain advices that a party of 
 twenty thousand Austrians, having attacked a much superior body 
 of Prussians, put them all to flight, and took the rest prisoners of 
 war. 
 
 BERLIN. We have received certain advices that a party of 
 twenty thousand Prussians, having attacked a much superior 
 body of Austrians, put them to flight, and took a great number of 
 prisoners, with their military chest, cannon, and baggage. 
 
 Though we have not succeeded this campaign to our wishes, yet, 
 when we think of him who commands us, we rest in security: while 
 we sleep, our king is watchful for our safety. 
 
 PARIS. We shall soon strike a signal blow. We have seventeen 
 flat-bottomed boats at Havre. The people are in excellent spirits, 
 and our ministers make no difficulty in raising the supplies. 
 
 We are all undone; the people are discontented to the last degree; 
 the ministers are obliged to have recourse to the most rigorous 
 methods to raise the expenses of the war. 
 
 Our distresses are great; but Madame Pompadour continues to 
 
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 supply our king, who is now growing old, with a fresh lady every 
 night. His health, thank Heaven, is still pretty well; nor is he in 
 the least unfit, as was reported, for any kind of royal exercitation. 
 He was so frightened at the affair of Damien, that his physicians 
 were apprehensive lest his reason should suffer; but that wretch's 
 tortures soon composed the kingly terrors of his breast. 
 
 ENGLAND. Wanted an usher to an academy. N. B. He 
 must be able to read, dress hair, and must have had the small-pox. 
 
 DUBLIN. We hear that there is a benevolent subscription on 
 foot among the nobility and gentry of this kingdom, who are great 
 patrons of merit, in order to assist Black and All Black, in his con- 
 test with the Paddereen mare. 
 
 We hear from Germany that Prince Ferdinand has gained a 
 complete victory, and taken twelve kettle-drums, five standards, 
 and four waggons of ammunition, prisoners of war. 
 
 EDINBURGH. We are positive when we say that Saunders 
 M'Gregor, who was lately executed for horse-stealing, is not a 
 Scotsman, but born in Carrickfergus. Farewell. 
 
 LETTER XH 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE FUNERAL SOLEMNITIES OF THE ENGLISH THEIR PASSION 
 FOR FLATTERING EPITAPHS 
 
 FROM the funeral solemnities of the Daures, who think them- 
 selves the politest people in the world, I must make a transi- 
 tion to the funeral solemnities of the English, who think themselves 
 as polite as they. The numberless ceremonies which are used 
 here when a person is sick appear to me so many evident marks 
 of fear and apprehension. Ask an Englishman, however, whether 
 he is afraid of death, and he boldly answers in the negative; but 
 observe his behaviour in circumstances of approaching sickness, 
 and you will find his actions give his assertions the lie. 
 
 The Chinese are very sincere in this respect; they hate to die, 
 and they confess their terrors: a great part of their life is spent in 
 preparing things proper for their funeral. A poor artisan shall 
 spend half his income in providing himself a tomb twenty years 
 
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 before he wants it; and denies himself the necessaries of life, that 
 he may be amply provided for when he shall want them no more. 
 
 But people of distinction in England really deserve pity, for they 
 die in circumstances of the most extreme distress. It is an estab- 
 lished rule, never to let a man know that he is dying: physicians are 
 sent for, the clergy are called, and every thing passes in silent 
 solemnity round the sick-bed. The patient is in agonies, looks 
 round for pity, yet not a single creature will say that he is dying. 
 If he is possessed of fortune, his relations entreat him to make his 
 will, as it may restore the tranquillity of his mind. He is desired 
 to undergo the rites of the church, for decency requires it. His 
 friends take their leave, only because they do not care to see him in 
 pain. In short, a hundred stratagems are used to make him do 
 what he might have been induced to perform only by being told, 
 "Sir, you are past all hopes, and had as good think decently of 
 dying." 
 
 Besides all this, the chamber is darkened, the whole house echoes 
 to the cries of the wife, the lamentations of the children, the grief 
 of the servants, and the sighs of friends. The bed is surrounded 
 with priests and doctors in black, and only flambeaux emit a yellow 
 gloom. Where is the man, how intrepid soever, that would not 
 shrink at such a hideous solemnity? For fear of affrighting their 
 expiring friends, the English practise all that can fill them with 
 terror. Strange effect of human prejudice, thus to torture, merely 
 from mistaken tenderness! 
 
 You see, my friend, what contradictions there are in the tempers 
 of those islanders: when prompted by ambition, revenge, or disap- 
 pointment, they meet death with the utmost resolution: the very 
 man who in his bed would have trembled at the aspect of a doctor, 
 shall go with intrepidity to attack a bastion, or deliberately noose 
 himself up in his garters. 
 
 The passion of the Europeans for magnificent interments, is 
 equally strong with that of the Chinese. When a tradesman dies, 
 his frightful face is painted up by an undertaker, and placed in a 
 proper situation to receive company: this is called lying in state. 
 To this disagreeable spectacle all the idlers in town flock, and learn 
 to loath the wretch dead whom they despised when living. In this 
 manner, you see some who would have refused a shilling to save 
 the life of their dearest friend, bestow thousands on adorning their 
 putrid corpse. I have been told of a fellow, who, grown rich by the 
 
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 price of blood, left it in his will that he should lie in state; and thus 
 unknowingly gibbeted himself into infamy, when he might have 
 otherwise quietly retired into oblivion. 
 
 When the person is buried, the next care is to make his epitaph: 
 they are generally reckoned best which flatter most; such relations, 
 therefore, as have received most benefits from the defunct, discharge 
 this friendly office, and generally flatter in proportion to their joy. 
 When we read those monumental histories of the dead, it may be 
 justly said, that "all men are equal in the dust"; for, they all appear 
 equally remarkable for being the most sincere Christians, the most 
 benevolent neighbours, and the honestest men of their time. To go 
 through a European cemetery, one would be apt to wonder how 
 mankind could have so basely degenerated from such excellent 
 ancestors. Every tomb pretends to claim your reverence and 
 regret; some are praised fcr piety in those inscriptions, who never 
 entered the temple until they were dead ; some are praised for being 
 excellent poets, who were never mentioned, except for their dulness 
 when living; others for sublime orators, who were never noted except 
 for their impudence; and others still, for military achievements, 
 who were never in any other skirmishes but with the watch. Some 
 even make epitaphs for themselves, and bespeak the reader's good- 
 will. It were indeed to be wished, that every man would early 
 learn this manner to make his own; that he would draw it up in 
 terms as flattering as possible, and that he would make it the em- 
 ployment of his whole life to deserve it! 
 
 I have not yet been in a place called Westminster Abbey, but soon 
 intend to visit it. There, I am told, I shall see justice done to 
 deceased merit: none, I am told, are permitted to be buried there, 
 but such as have adorned as well as improved mankind. There, 
 no intruders, by the influence of friends or fortune, presume to mix 
 their unhallowed ashes with philosophers, heroes, and poets. 
 Nothing but true merit has a place hi that awful sanctuary. The 
 guardianship of the tombs is committed to several reverend priests, 
 who are never guilty, for a superior reward, of taking down the 
 names of good men, to make room fcr others of equivocal character, 
 nor ever profane the sacred walls with pageants that posterity can- 
 not know, or shall blush to own. 
 
 I always was of opinion, that sepulchral honours of this kind 
 should be considered as a national concern, and not trusted to the 
 care of the priest of any country, how respectable soever: but from 
 
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 the conduct of the reverend personages, whose disinterested patriot- 
 ism I shall shortly be able to discover, I am taught to retract my 
 former sentiments. It is true, the Spartans and the Persians made 
 a fine political use of sepulchral vanity: they permitted none to be 
 thus interred, who had not fallen in the vindication of their country. 
 A monument thus became a real mark of distinction ; it nerved the 
 hero's arm with tenfold vigor, and he fought without fear, who 
 only fought for a grave. Farewell. 
 
 LETTER XIII 
 
 To the Same 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY [FIRST APPEARANCE OF 
 THE "MAN IN BLACK "] 
 
 I AM just returned from Westminster Abbey, the place of 
 sepulture for the philosophers, heroes, and kings of England. 
 What a gloom do monumental inscriptions, and all the venerable 
 remains of deceased merit inspire ? Imagine a temple marked with 
 the hand of antiquity, solemn as religious awe, adorned with all the 
 magnificence of barbarous profusion, dim windows, fretted pillars, 
 long colonnades, and dark ceilings. Think, then, what were my 
 sensations at being introduced to such a scene. I stood in the 
 midst of the temple, and threw my eyes round on the walls, filled 
 with the statues, the inscriptions, and the monuments of the dead. 
 
 Alas! I said to myself, how does pride attend the puny child of 
 dust even to the grave ! Even humble as I am, I possess more con- 
 sequence in the present scene than the greatest hero of them all: 
 they have toiled for an hour to gain a transient immortality, and are 
 at length retired to the grave, where they have no attendant but the 
 worm, none to flatter but the epitaph. 
 
 As I was indulging such reflections, a gentleman dressed in black, 
 perceiving me to be a stranger, came up, entered into conversation, 
 and politely offered to be my instructor and guide through the 
 temple. "If any monument," said he, "should particularly excite 
 your curiosity, I shall endeavour to satisfy your demands." I 
 accepted, with thanks, the gentleman's offer, adding, that "I was 
 come to observe the policy, the wisdom, and the justice of the 
 English, in conferring rewards upon deceased merit. If adulation 
 
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 like this," continued I, "be properly conducted, as it can no ways 
 injure those who are flattered, so it may be a glorious incentive to 
 those who are now capable of enjoying it. It is the duty of every 
 good government to turn this monumental pride to its own advan- 
 tage ; to become strong in the aggregate from the weakness of the 
 individual. If none but the truly great have a place hi this awful 
 repository, a temple like this will give the finest lessons of morality, 
 and be a strong incentive to true ambition. I am told, that none 
 have a place here but characters of the most distinguished merit." 
 The man in black seemed impatient at my observations, so I dis- 
 continued my remarks, and we walked on together to take a view 
 of every particular monument in order as it lay. 
 
 As the eye is naturally caught by the finest objects, I could not 
 avoid being particularly curious about one monument, which 
 appeared more beautiful than the rest: "That," said I to my guide, 
 " I take to be the tomb of some very great man. By the peculiar 
 excellence of the workmanship, and the magnificence of the design, 
 this must be a trophy raised to the memory of some king who has 
 saved his country from ruin, or lawgiver who has reduced his fellow- 
 citizens from anarchy into just subjection." " It is not requisite," 
 replied my companion, smiling, "to have such qualifications in 
 order to have a very fine monument here: more humble abilities 
 will suffice." "What, I suppose, then, the gaining two or three 
 battles, or the taking half a score towns is thought a sufficient 
 qualification?" "Gaining battles, or taking towns," replied the 
 man in black, "may be of service; but a gentleman may have a 
 very fine monument here without ever seeing a battle or a siege." 
 " This, then, is the monument of some poet, I presume of one 
 whose wit has gained him immortality?" "No, Sir," replied 
 my guide, "the gentleman who lies here never made verses; and 
 as for wit, he despised it in others, because he had none himself." 
 "Pray tell me, then, in a word," said I, peevishly, "what is the 
 great man who lies here particularly remarkable for?" "Re- 
 markable, Sir?" said my companion; "why, Sir, the gentleman 
 that lies here is remarkable, very remarkable for a tomb in 
 Westminster Abbey." "But, head of my Ancestors! how has he 
 got here ? I fancy he could never bribe the guardians of the temple 
 to give him a place: should he not be ashamed to be seen among 
 company where even moderate merit would look like infamy?" 
 "I suppose," replied the man in black, "the gentleman was rich. 
 
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 and his friends, as is usual in such a case, told him he was great, 
 He readily believed them ; the guardians of the temple, as they got 
 by the self-delusion, were ready to believe him too; so he paid his 
 money for a fine monument; and the workman, as you see, has 
 made him one of the most beautiful. Think not, however, that 
 this gentleman is singular in his desire of being buried among the 
 great ; there are several others in the temple, who, hated and shunned 
 by the great while alive, have come here, fully resolved to keep 
 them company now they are dead." 
 
 As we walked along to a particular part of the temple, " There," 
 says the gentleman, pointing with his finger, "that is the Poet's 
 Corner; there you see the monuments of Shakespear, and Milton, 
 and Prior, and Drayton." "Drayton!" I replied; "I never heard 
 of him before; but I have been told of one Pope is he there?" 
 "It is time enough," replied my guide, "these hundred years; 
 he is not long dead; people have not done hating him yet."- 
 "Strange," cried I; "can any be found to hate a man whose 
 life was wholly spent in entertaining and instructing his fellow- 
 creatures?" "Yes," says my guide, "they hate him for that 
 very reason. There are a set of men called answerers of books, 
 who take upon them to watch the republic of letters, and distribute 
 reputation by the sheet;. they somewhat resemble the eunuchs in a 
 seraglio, who are incapable of giving pleasure themselves, and 
 hinder those that would. These answerers have no other employ- 
 ment but to cry out Dunce and Scribbler; to praise the d6ad, and 
 revile the living; to grant a man of confessed abilities some small 
 share of merit; to applaud twenty blockheads in order to gain the 
 reputation of candour ; and to revile the moral character of the man 
 whose writings they cannot injure. Such wretches are kept hi 
 pay by some mercenary bookseller, or, more frequently, the book- 
 seller himself takes this dirty work off their hands, as all that is 
 required is to be very abusive and very dull. Every poet of any 
 genius is sure to find such enemies; he feels, though he seems to 
 despise their malice; they make him miserable here, and in the 
 pursuit of empty fame, at last he gains solid anxiety." 
 
 "Has this been the case with every poet I see here?" cried I. 
 "Yes, with every mother's son of them," replied he, "except he 
 happened to be born a mandarine. If he has much money, he 
 may buy reputation from your book-answerers, as well as a monu- 
 ment from the guardians of the temple." 
 
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 " But are there not some men of distinguished taste, as in China, 
 who are willing to patronize men of merit, and soften the rancour 
 of malevolent dulness?" 
 
 "I own there are many," replied the man in black; "but, alas! 
 Sir, the book-answerers crowd about them, and call themselves the 
 writers of books; and the patron is too indolent to distinguish, 
 thus poets are kept at a distance, while their enemies eat up all their 
 rewards at the mandarine's table." 
 
 Leaving this part of the temple, we made up to an iron gate, 
 through which my companion told me we were to pass, in order 
 to see the monuments of the kings. Accordingly, I marched up 
 without further ceremony, and was going to enter, when a person, 
 who held the gate in his hand, told me I must pay first. I was 
 surprised at such a demand ; and asked the man, whether the people 
 of England kept a show? whether the paltry sum he demanded 
 was not a national reproach? whether it was not more to the 
 honour of the country to let their magnificence, or then* antiquities, 
 be openly seen, than thus meanly to tax a curiosity which tended 
 to their own honour? "As for your questions," replied the gate- 
 keeper, " to be sure they may be very right, because I don't under- 
 stand them; but, as for that there threepence, I farm it from one 
 who rents it from another who hires it from a third who leases 
 it from the guardians of the temple, and we all must live." I 
 expected, upon paying here, to see something extraordinary, since 
 what I had seen for nothing filled me with so much surprise: but 
 in this I was disappointed ; there was little more within than black 
 coffins, rusty armour, tattered standards, and some few slovenly 
 figures in wax. I was sorry I had paid, but I comforted myself 
 by considering it would be my last payment. A person attended 
 us, who, without once blushing, told a hundred lies: he talked of 
 a lady who died by pricking her finger; of a king with a golden 
 head, and twenty such pieces of absurdity. "Look ye there, 
 gentlemen," says he, pointing to an old oak chair, " there's a curi- 
 osity for ye; in that chair the kings of England were crowned: you 
 see also a stone underneath, and that stone is Jacob's pillow." I 
 could see no curiosity either in the oak chair or the stone: could 
 I, indeed, behold one of the old kings of England seated in this, or 
 Jacob's head laid upon the other, there might be something curious 
 in the sight; but in the present case, there was no more reason for 
 my surprise, than if I should pick a stone from their streets, and 
 
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 call it a curiosity, merely because one of the kings happened to 
 tread upon it as he passed in a procession. 
 
 From hence our conductor led us through several dark walks and 
 winding ways, uttering lies, talking to himself, and flourishing a 
 wand which he held in his hand. He reminded me of the black 
 magicians of Kobi. After we had been almost fatigued with a 
 variety of objects, he at last desired me to consider attentively a 
 certain suit of armour, which seemed to show nothing remarkable. 
 "This armour," said he, "belonged to General Monk." "Very 
 surprising that a general should wear armour ! " " And pray," added 
 he, "observe this cap; this is General Monk's cap." "Very 
 strange, indeed, very strange, that a general should have a cap also! 
 Pray, friend, what might this cap have cost originally?" "That, 
 Sir," says he, " I don't know; but this cap is all the wages I have for 
 my trouble." "A very small recompense, truly," said I. "Not so 
 very small," replied he, " for every gentleman puts some money 
 into it, and I spend the money." "What more money! still 
 more money!" "Every gentleman gives something, Sir." "I'll 
 give thee nothing," returned I; " the guardians of the temple should 
 pay you your wages, friend, and not permit you to squeeze thus 
 from every spectator. When we pay our money at the door to see 
 a show, we never give more as we are going out. Sure the guard- 
 ians of the temple can never think they get enough. Show me the 
 gate ; if I stay longer I may probably meet with more of those eccle- 
 siastical beggars." 
 
 Thus leaving the temple precipitately, I returned to my lodgings, 
 in order to ruminate over what was great, and to despise what was 
 mean, in the occurrences of the day. 
 
 LETTER XIV 
 To the Same 
 
 THE RECEPTION OF THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER FROM A LADY OF 
 
 DISTINCTION 
 
 I WAS some days ago agreeably surprised by a message from 
 a lady of distinction, who sent me word, that she most passion- 
 ately desired the pleasure of my acquaintance, and, with the utmost 
 impatience, expected an interview. I will not deny, my dear Finn 
 
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 Hoam, but that my vanity was raised at such an invitation. I 
 flattered myself that she had seen me in some public place, and had 
 conceived an affection for my person, which thus induced her to 
 deviate from the usual decorums of the sex. My imagination 
 painted her in all the bloom of youth and beauty. I fancied her 
 attended by the Loves and Graces; and I set out with the most 
 pleasing expectations of seeing the conquest I had made. 
 
 When I was introduced into her apartment, my expectations 
 were quickly at an end; I perceived a little shrivelled figure indo- 
 lently reclined on a sofa, who nodded, by way of approbation, at 
 my approach. This, as I was afterwards informed, was the lady 
 herself, a woman equally distinguished for rank, politeness, taste, 
 and understanding. As I was dressed after the fashion of Europe, 
 she had taken me for an Englishman, and consequently saluted me 
 in her ordinary manner: but when the footman informed her grace 
 that I was the gentleman from China, she instantly lifted herself 
 from the couch, while her eyes sparkled with unusual vivacity. 
 "Bless me! can this be the gentleman that was born so far from 
 home? What an unusual share of somethingness in his whole 
 appearance! Lord, how I am charmed with the outlandish cut 
 of his face! how bewitching the exotic breadth of his forehead! 
 I would give the world to see him in his own country dress. Pray, 
 turn about, Sir, and let me see you behind. There, there's a 
 travelled air for you! You that attend there, bring up a plate of 
 beef cut into small pieces; I have a violent passion to see him eat. 
 Pray, Sir, have you got your chop-sticks about you? It will be 
 so pretty to see the meat carried to the mouth with a jerk. Pray, 
 speak a little Chinese : I have learned some of the language myself. 
 Lord! have you nothing pretty from China about you; something 
 that one does not know what to do with? I have got twenty 
 things from China that are of no use in the world. Look at those 
 jars; they are of the right pea-green: these are the furniture!" 
 "Dear Madam," said I, "these, though they may appear fine in 
 your eyes, are but paltry to a Chinese; but, as they are useful 
 utensils, it is proper they should have a place in every apartment." 
 "Useful, Sir!" replied the lady; "sure you mistake; they are of 
 no use in the world." "What! are they not filled with an infusion 
 of tea, as hi China?" replied I. "Quite empty and useless, upon 
 my honour, Sir." "Then they are the most cumbrous and 
 clumsy furniture in the world, as nothing is truly elegant but what 
 
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 unites use with beauty." "I protest," says the lady, "I shall 
 begin to suspect thee of being an actual barbarian. I suppose 
 you hold my two beautiful pagods in contempt." "What!" 
 cried I, " has Fohi spread his gross superstitions here also ? Pagods 
 of all kinds are my aversion." "A Chinese, a traveller, and want 
 taste! it surprises me. Pray, Sir, examine the beauties of that 
 Chinese temple which you see at the end of the garden. Is there 
 any thing in China more beautiful?" "Where I stand, I see 
 nothing, Madam, at the end of the garden, that may not as well 
 be called an Egyptian pyramid as a Chinese temple; for that little 
 building in view is as like the one as t'other." "What, Sir! is not 
 that a Chinese temple ? you must surely be mistaken. Mr. Freeze, 
 who designed it, calls it one, and nobody disputes his pretensions 
 to taste." I now found it vain to contradict the lady in any thing 
 she thought fit to advance ; so was resolved rather to act the disciple 
 than the instructor. She took me through several rooms, all 
 furnished as she told me, in the Chinese manner; sprawling dra- 
 gons, squatting pagods, and clumsy mandarines, were stuck upon 
 every shelf: in turning round, one must have used caution not to 
 demolish a part of the precarious furniture. 
 
 In a house like this, thought I, one must live continually upon 
 the watch: the inhabitant must resemble a knight in an enchanted 
 castle, who expects to meet an adventure at every turning. " But, 
 Madam," said I, "do not accidents ever happen to all this finery?" 
 "Man, Sir," replied the lady, "is born to misfortunes, and it 
 is but fit I should have a share. Three weeks ago, a careless ser- 
 vant snapped off the head of a favourite mandarine: I had scarce 
 done grieving for that, when a monkey broke a beautiful jar; 
 this I took the more to heart, as the injury was done me by a friend. 
 However, I survived the calamity; when yesterday crash went 
 half a dozen dragons upon the marble hearth-stone : and yet I live ; 
 I survive it all : you can't conceive what comfort I find under afflic- 
 tions from philosophy. There is Seneca, and Bolingbroke, and 
 some others, who guide me through life, and teach me to support 
 its calamities." I could not but smile at a woman who makes her 
 own misfortunes, and then deplores the miseries of her situation. 
 Wherefore, tired of acting with dissimulation, and willing to indulge 
 my meditations in solitude, I took leave just as the servant was 
 bringing in a plate of beef, pursuant to the directions of his mistress. 
 Adieu. 
 
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 LETTER XXI 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER GOES TO SEE A PLAY 
 
 THE English are as fond of seeing plays acted as the Chinese; 
 but there is a vast difference in the manner of conducting 
 them. We play our pieces in the open air, the English theirs under 
 cover ; we act by daylight, they by the blaze of torches. One of our 
 plays continues eight or ten days successively; an English piece 
 seldom takes up above four hours in the representation. 
 
 My companion in black, with whom I am now beginning to con- 
 tract an intimacy, introduced me a few nights ago to the playhouse, 
 where we placed ourselves conveniently at the foot of the stage. 
 As the curtain was riot drawn before my arrival, I had an opportu- 
 nity of observing the behaviour of the spectators, and indulging 
 those reflections which novelty generally inspires. 
 
 The rich in general were placed in the lowest seats, and the poor 
 rose above them in degrees proportioned to their poverty. The 
 order of precedence seemed here inverted; those who were under- 
 most all the day, now enjoyed a temporary eminence, and became 
 masters of the ceremonies. It was they who called for the music, 
 indulging every noisy freedom, and testifying all the insolence of 
 beggary in exaltation. 
 
 They who held the middle region seemed not so riotous as those 
 above them, nor yet so tame as those below: to judge by their looks, 
 many of them seemed strangers there as well as myself. They 
 were chiefly employed, during this period of expectation, in eating 
 oranges, reading the story of the play, or making assignations. 
 
 Those who sat in the lowest rows, which are called the pit, 
 seemed to consider themselves as judges of the merit of the poet 
 and the performers; they were assembled partly to be amused, and 
 partly to show their taste; appearing to labour under that restraint 
 which an affectation of superior discernment generally produces. 
 My companion, however, informed me, that not one in a hundred of 
 them knew even the first principles of criticism ; that they assumed 
 the right of being censors because there was none to contradict 
 their pretensions; and that every man who now called himself a 
 connoisseur, became such to all intents and purposes. 
 
 Those who sat in the boxes appeared in the most unhappy situa- 
 
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 tion of all. The rest of the audience came merely for their own 
 amusement; these, rather to furnish out a part of the entertain- 
 ment themselves. I could not avoid considering them as acting 
 parts in dumb show not a courtesy or nod, that was not all the 
 result of art; not a look nor a smile that was not designed for mur- 
 der. Gentlemen and ladies ogled each other through spectacles; 
 for, my companion observed, that blindness was of late become 
 fashionable; all affected indifference and ease, while their hearts at 
 the same time burned for conquest. Upon the whole, the lights, 
 the music, the ladies in their gayest dresses, the men with cheerful- 
 ness and expectation in their looks, all conspired to make a most 
 agreeable picture, and to fill a heart that sympathizes at human 
 happiness with inexpressible serenity. 
 
 The expected time for the play to begin at last arrived; the 
 curtain was drawn, and the actors came on. A woman, who per- 
 sonated a queen, came in curtseying to the audience, who clapped 
 their hands upon her appearance. Clapping of hands is, it seems, 
 the manner of applauding in England; the manner is absurd, but 
 every country, you know, has its peculiar absurdities. I was 
 equally surprised, however, at the submission of the actress, who 
 should have considered herself as a queen, as at the little discern- 
 ment of the audience who gave her such marks of applause before 
 she attempted to deserve them. Preliminaries between her and 
 the audience being thus adjusted, the dialogue was supported 
 between her and a most hopeful youth, who acted the part of her 
 confidant. They both appeared in extreme distress, for it seems 
 the queen had lost a child some fifteen years before, and still kept its 
 dear resemblance next her heart, while her kind companion bore a 
 part in her sorrows. 
 
 Her lamentations grew loud; comfort is offered, but she detests 
 the very sound : she bids them preach comfort to the winds. Upon 
 this her husband comes in, who, seeing the queen so much afflicted, 
 can himself hardly refrain from tears, or avoid partaking in the soft 
 distress. After thus grieving through three scenes, the curtain 
 dropped for the first act. 
 
 "Truly," said I to my companion, "these kings and queens are 
 very much disturbed at no very great misfortune: certain I am, 
 were people of humbler stations to act in this manner, they would 
 be thought divested of common sense." I had scarcely finished 
 this observation, when the curtain rose, and the king came on in a 
 
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 violent passion. His wife had, it seems, refused his proffered ten- 
 derness, had spurned his royal embrace, and he seemed resolved 
 not to survive her fierce disdain. After he had thus fretted, and 
 the queen had fretted through the second act, the curtain was let 
 down once more. 
 
 "Now," says my companion, "you perceive the king to be a 
 man of spirit ; he feels at every pore : one of your phlegmatic sons of 
 clay would have given the queen her own way, and let her come to 
 herself by degrees; but the king is for immediate tenderness, or 
 instant death: death and tenderness are leading passions of every 
 modern buskined hero; this moment they embrace, and the next 
 stab, mixing daggers and kisses in every period." 
 
 I was going to second his remarks, when my attention was 
 engrossed by a new object ; a man came in balancing a straw upon 
 his nose, and the audience were clapping their hands in all the rap- 
 tures of applause. "To what purpose," cried I, "does this un- 
 meaning figure make his appearance ? is he a part of the plot ? " 
 "Unmeaning do you call him?" replied my friend in black; "this 
 is one of the most important characters of the whole play; nothing 
 pleases the people more than seeing a straw balanced: there is a 
 good deal of meaning in the straw: there is something suited to 
 every apprehension in the sight; and a fellow possessed of talents 
 like these is sure of making his fortune." 
 
 The third act now began with an actor who came to inform us 
 that he was the villain of the play, and intended to show strange 
 things before all was over. He was joined by another who seemed 
 as much disposed for mischief as he: their intrigues continued 
 through this whole division. "If that be a villain," said I, "he 
 must be a very stupid one to tell his secrets without being asked; 
 such soliloquies of late are never admitted in China." 
 
 The noise of clapping interrupted me once more; a child of six 
 years old was learning to dance on the stage, which gave the ladies 
 and mandarines infinite satisfaction. "I am sorry," said I, "to 
 see the pretty creature so early learning so very bad a trade; 
 dancing being, I presume, as contemptible here as in China." 
 "Quite the reverse," interrupted my companion; "dancing is a 
 very reputable and genteel employment here; men have a greater 
 chance for encouragement from the merit of their heels than their 
 heads. One who jumps up and flourishes his toes three times 
 before he comes to the ground, may have three hundred a year; he 
 
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 who flourishes them four times, gets four hundred; but he who 
 arrives at five is inestimable, and may demand what salary he 
 thinks proper. The female dancers, too, are valued for this sort 
 of jumping and crossing; and it is a cant word amongst them, that 
 she deserves most who shows highest. But the fourth act is begun ; 
 let us be attentive." 
 
 In the fourth act the queen finds her long lost child, now grown 
 up into a youth of smart parts and great qualifications; wherefore 
 she wisely considers that the crown will fit his head better than that 
 of her husband, whom she knows to be a driveller. The king dis- 
 covers her design, and here comes on the deep distress : he loves the 
 queen, and he loves the kingdom; he resolves, therefore, in order 
 to possess both, that her son must die. The queen exclaims at his 
 barbarity, is frantic with rage, and at length, overcome with sor- 
 row, falls into a fit; upon which the curtain drops, and the act is 
 concluded. 
 
 "Observe the art of the poet," cries my companion. "When 
 the queen can say no more, she falls into a fit. While thus her 
 eyes are shut, while she is supported in the arms of Abigail, what 
 horrors do we not fancy! We feel it in every nerve: take my word 
 for it, that fits are the true aposiopesis of modern tragedy." 
 
 The fifth act began, and a busy piece it was. Scenes shifting, 
 trumpets sounding, mobs hallooing, carpets spreading, guards 
 bustling from one door to another; gods, demons, daggers, racks, 
 and ratsbane. But whether the king was killed, or the queen was 
 drowned, or the son was poisoned, I have absolutely forgotten. 
 
 When the play was over, I could not avoid observing, that the 
 persons of the drama appeared in as much distress in the first act 
 as in the last. "How is it possible," said I, "to sympathize with 
 them through five long acts ? Pity is but a short lived passion. I 
 hate to hear an actor mouthing trifles. Neither startings, strain- 
 ings, nor attitudes, affect me, unless there be cause: after I have 
 been once or twice deceived by those unmeaning alarms, my 
 heart sleeps in peace, probably unaffected by the principal distress. 
 There should be. one great passion aimed at by the actor as well as 
 the poet; all the rest should be subordinate, and only contribute to 
 make that the greater; if the actor, therefore, exclaims upon every 
 occasion, in the tones of despair, he attempts to move us too soon; 
 he anticipates the blow, he ceases to affect, though he gains our 
 applause." 
 
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 I scarce perceived that the audience were almost all departed; 
 wherefore, mixing with the crowd, my companion and I got into 
 the street, where, essaying a hundred obstacles from coach-wheels 
 and palanquin poles, like birds in their flight through the branches 
 of a forest, after various turnings, we both at length got home in 
 safety. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER XXVI 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF THE MAN IN BLACK; WITH SOME INSTANCES 
 OF HIS INCONSISTENT CONDUCT 
 
 THOUGH fond of many acquaintances, I desire an intimacy 
 only with a few. The man in black, whom I have often men- 
 tioned, is one whose friendship I could wish to acquire, because he 
 possesses my esteem. His manners, it is true, are tinctured with 
 some strange inconsistencies, and he may be justly termed a hu- 
 mourist in a nation of humourists. Though he is generous even to 
 profusion, he affects to be thought a prodigy of parsimony and pru- 
 dence ; though his conversation be replete with the most sordid and 
 selfish maxims, his heart is dilated with the most unbounded love. 
 I have known him profess himself a man-hater, while his cheek was 
 glowing with compassion; and, while his looks were softened into 
 pity, I have heard him use the language of the most unbounded 
 ill-nature. Some affect humanity and tenderness, others boast of 
 having such dispositions from nature ; but he is the only man I ever 
 knew who seemed ashamed of his natural benevolence. He takes 
 as much pains to hide his feelings, as any hypocrite would to conceal 
 his indifference; but on every unguarded moment the mask drops 
 off, and reveals him to the most superficial observer. 
 
 In one of our late excursions into the country, happening to dis- 
 course upon the provision that was made for the poor in England, 
 he seemed amazed how any of his countrymen could be so foolishly 
 weak as to relieve occasional objects of charity, when the laws had 
 made much ample provision for their support. "In every parish- 
 house," says he, "the poor are supplied with food, clothes, fire, 
 and a bed to lie on; they want no more, I desire no more myself; 
 yet still they seem discontented. I am surprised at the inactivity 
 of our magistrates, in not talking up such vagrants, who are only a 
 weight upon the industrious; I am surprised that the people are 
 
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 found to relieve them, when they must be at the same time sensible 
 that it, in some measure, encourages idleness, extravagance, and 
 imposture. Were I to advise any man for whom I had the least re- 
 gard, I would caution him by all means not to be imposed upon by 
 their false pretences: let me assure you, Sir, they are imposters, 
 every one of them, and rather merit a prison than relief." 
 
 He was proceeding in this strain, earnestly to dissuade me from 
 an imprudence of which I am seldom guilty, when an old man, who 
 still had about him the remnants of tattered finery, implored our 
 compassion. He assured us that he was no common beggar, but 
 forced into the shameful profession, to support a dying wife, and 
 five hungry children. Being prepossessed against such falsehoods, 
 his story had not the least influence upon me ; but it was quite other- 
 wise with the man in black; I could see it visibly operate upon his 
 countenance, and effectually interrupt his harangue. I could easily 
 perceive, that his heart burned to relieve the five starving children, 
 but he seemed ashamed to discover his weakness to me. While 
 he thus hesitated between compassion and pride, I pretended to 
 look another way, and he seized this opportunity of giving the poor 
 petitioner a piece of silver, bidding him at the same time, in order 
 that I should hear, go work for his bread, and not tease passengers 
 with such impertinent falsehoods for the future. 
 
 As he had fancied himself quite unperceived, he continued, as we 
 proceeded, to rail against beggars with as much animosity as before ; 
 he threw in some episodes on his own amazing prudence and econ- 
 omy, with his profound skill in discovering imposters ; he explained 
 the manner in which he would deal with beggars were he a magis- 
 trate, hinted at enlarging some of the prisons for their reception, 
 and told two stories of ladies that were robbed by beggarmen. He 
 was beginning a third to the same purpose, when a sailor with a 
 wooden leg once more crossed our walks, desiring our pity, and 
 blessing our limbs. I was for going on without taking any notice, 
 but my friend looking wishfully upon the poor petitioner, bid me 
 stop, and he would show me with how much ease he could at any 
 time detect an impostor. 
 
 He now, therefore, assumed a look of importance, and in an 
 angry tone began to examine the sailor, demanding in what engage- 
 ment he was thus disabled and rendered unfit for service. The 
 sailor replied, in a tone as angrily as he, that he had been an officer 
 on board a private ship of war, and that he had lost his leg abroad, 
 
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 in defence of those who did nothing at home. At this reply, all my 
 friend's importance vanished in a moment; he had not a single 
 question more to ask; he now only studied what method he should 
 take to relieve him unobserved. He had, however, no easy part to 
 act, as he was obliged to preserve the appearance of ill-nature before 
 me, and yet relieve himself by relieving the sailor. Casting, there- 
 fore, a furious look upon some bundles of chips which the fellow 
 carried in a string at his back, my friend demanded how he sold his 
 matches; but, not waiting for a reply, desired, in a surly tone, to 
 have a shilling's worth. The sailor seemed at first surprised at his 
 demand, but soon recollected himself, and presenting his whole 
 bundle, "Here, master," says he, "take all my cargo, and a blessing 
 into the bargain." 
 
 It is impossible to describe with what an air of triumph my friend 
 marched off with his new purchase: he assured me, that he was 
 firmly of opinion that those fellows must have stolen their goods, 
 who could thus afford to sell them for half value. He informed me 
 of several different uses to which those chips might be applied; he 
 expatiated largely upon the savings that would result from lighting 
 candles with a match, instead of thrusting them into the fire. He 
 averred, that he would as soon have parted with a tooth as his money 
 to those vagabonds, unless for some valuable consideration. I can- 
 not tell how long this panegyric upon frugality and matches might 
 have continued, had not his attention been called off by another 
 object more distressful than either of the former. A woman in 
 rags, with one child in her arms, and another on her back, was at- 
 tempting to sing ballads, but with such a mournful voice, that it was 
 difficult to determine whether she was singing or crying. A wretch, 
 who in the deepest distress still aimed at good-humour, was an 
 object my friend was by no means capable of withstanding : his viva- 
 city and his discourse were instantly interrupted; upon this occa- 
 sion, his very dissimulation had forsaken him. Even hi my pres- 
 ence he immediately applied his hands to his pockets, in order to 
 relieve her; but guess his confusion when he found he had already 
 given away all the money he carried about him to former objects. 
 The misery painted in the woman's visage was not half so strongly 
 expressed as the agony in his. He continued to search for some 
 time, but to no purpose, till, at length recollecting himself, with a 
 face of ineffable good -nature, as he had no money, he put into her 
 hands his shilling's worth of matches. 
 
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 LETTER XXVII 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE MAN IN BLACK 
 
 AS there appeared something reluctantly good in the character 
 of my companion, I must own it surprised me what could be 
 his motives for thus concealing virtues which others take such 
 pains to display. I was unable to repress my desire of knowing 
 the history of a man who thus seemed to act under continual 
 restraint, and whose benevolence was rather the effect of appetite 
 than reason. 
 
 It was not, however, till after repeated solicitations he thought 
 proper to gratify my curiosity. "If you are fond," says he, "of 
 hearing hairbreadth 'scapes, my history must certainly please; 
 for I have been for twenty years upon the very verge of starving, 
 without ever being starved. 
 
 "My father, the younger son of a good family, was possessed 
 of a small living in the church. His education was above his 
 fortune, and his generosity greater than his education. Poor as 
 he was, he had his flatterers still poorer than himself; for every 
 dinner he gave them, they returned an equivalent in praise; and 
 this was all he wanted. The same ambition that actuates a mon- 
 arch at the head of an army, influenced my father at the head of 
 his table. He told the story of the ivy-tree, and that was laughed 
 at; he repeated the jest of the two scholars and one pair of breeches, 
 and the company laughed at tha*- but the story of Taffy in the 
 sedan-chair, was sure to set the table in a roar. Thus his pleasure 
 increased in proportion to the pleasure he gave; he loved all the 
 world, and he fancied all the world loved him. 
 
 " As his fortune was but small, he lived up to the very extent of 
 it; he had no intentions of leaving his children money, for that 
 was dross; he was resolved they should have learning; for learning, 
 he used to observe, was better than silver or gold . For this purpose, 
 he undertook to instruct us himself; and took as much pains to 
 form our morals, as to improve our understanding. We were 
 told, that universal benevolence was what first cemented society; 
 we were taught to consider all the wants of mankind as our own; 
 to regard the 'human face divine' with affection and esteem; 
 
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 he wound us up to be mere machines of pity, and rendered us 
 incapable of withstanding the slightest impulse made either by real 
 or fictitious distress: in a word, we were perfectly instructed in the 
 art of giving away thousands, before we were taught the more 
 necessary qualifications of getting a farthing. 
 
 "I cannot avoid imagining, that thus refined by his lessons out 
 of all my suspicion, and divested of even all the little cunning which 
 nature had given me, I resembled, upon my first entrance into the 
 busy and insidious world, one of those gladiators who were exposed 
 without armour in the amphitheatre at Rome. My father, how- 
 ever, who had only seen the world on one side, seemed to triumph 
 in my superior discernment; though my whole stock of wisdom 
 consisted in being able to talk like himself upon subjects that once 
 were useful, because they were then topics of the busy world, but 
 that now were utterly useless, because connected with the busy 
 world no longer. 
 
 "The first opportunity he had of rinding his expectations dis- 
 appointed, was in the very middling figure I made in the university; 
 he had flattered himself that he should soon see me rising into the 
 foremost rank in literary reputation, but was mortified to find me 
 utterly unnoticed and unknown. His disappointment might have 
 been partly ascribed to his having overrated my talents, and partly 
 to my dislike of mathematical reasonings, at a time when my 
 imagination and memory, yet unsatisfied, were more eager after 
 new objects, than desirous of reasoning upon those I knew. This 
 did not, however, please my tutor, who observed, indeed, that I 
 was a little dull; but at the same time allowed, that I seemed to be 
 very good-natured, and had no harm in me. 
 
 "After I had resided at college seven years, my father died, 
 and left me his blessing. Thus shoved from shore without 
 ill-nature to protect, or cunning to guide, or proper stores to sub- 
 sist me in so dangerous a voyage, I was obliged to embark in the 
 wide world at twenty-two. But, in order to settle in life, my 
 friends advised, (for they always advise when they begin to despise 
 us ) they advised me, I say, to go into orders. 
 
 " To be obliged to wear a long wig, when I liked a short one, 
 or a black coat, when I generally dressed in brown, I thought was 
 such a restraint upon my liberty, that I absolutely rejected the 
 proposal. A priest in England is not the same mortified creature 
 with a bonze in China. With us, not he that fasts best, but eats 
 
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 best, is reckoned the best liver; yet I rejected a life of luxury, indo- 
 lence, and ease, from no other consideration but that boyish one of 
 dress. So that my friends were now perfectly satisfied I was 
 undone; and yet they thought it a pity for one who had not the 
 least harm in him, and was so very good-natured. 
 
 "Poverty naturally begets dependence, and I was admitted as 
 flatterer to a great man. At first, I was surprised that the situa- 
 tion of a flatterer at a great man's table could be thought disagree- 
 able: there was no great trouble in listening attentively when his 
 lordship spoke, and laughing when he looked round for applause. 
 This even good manners might have obliged me to perform. I 
 found, however, too soon, that his lordship was a greater dunce 
 than myself; and from that very moment flattery was at an end. 
 I now rather aimed at setting him right, than at receiving his absur- 
 dities with submission. To flatter those we do not know is an 
 easy task; but to flatter our intimate acquaintances, all whose 
 foibles are strongly in our eye, is drudgery insupportable. Every 
 time I now opened my lips in praise, my falsehood went to my 
 conscience: his lordship soon perceived me to be very unfit for 
 service; I was therefore discharged; my patron at the same time 
 being graciously pleased to observe, that he believed I was tolerably 
 good-natured, and had not the least harm in me. 
 
 "Disappointed in ambition, I had recourse to love. A young 
 lady, who lived with her aunt, and was possessed of a pretty fortune 
 in her own disposal, had given me, as I fancied, some reason to 
 expect success. The symptoms by which I was guided were 
 striking. She had always laughed with me at her awkward ac- 
 quaintance, and at her aunt among the number; she always 
 observed, that a man of sense would make a better husband than 
 a fool, and I as constantly applied the observation in my own 
 favour. She continually talked, in my company, of friendship and 
 the beauties of the mind, and spoke of Mr. Shrimp my rival's high- 
 heeled shoes with detestation. These were circumstances which 
 I thought strongly in my favour; so, after resolving, and re-resolv- 
 ing, I had courage enough to tell her my mind. Miss heard my 
 proposal with serenity, seeming at the same time to study the 
 figures of her fan. Out at last it came: There was but one small 
 
 objection to complete our happiness, which was no more than 
 
 that she was married three months before to Mr. Shrimp, with 
 high-heeled shoes! By way of consolation, however, she observed, 
 
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 that, though I was disappointed in her, my addresses to her aunt 
 would probably kindle her into sensibility; as the old lady always 
 allowed me to be very good-natured, and not to have the least 
 share of harm in me. 
 
 "Yet still I had friends, numerous friends, and to them I was 
 resolved to apply. O friendship! thou fond soother of the human 
 breast, to thee we fly in every calamity; to thee the wretched seek 
 for succour; on thee the care-tired son of misery fondly relies; from 
 thy kind assistance the unfortunate always hopes relief, and may 
 be ever sure of disappointment! My first application was to a 
 city scrivener, who had frequently offered to lend me money, when 
 he knew I did not want it. I informed him, that now was the 
 time to put his friendship to the test; that I wanted to borrow a 
 couple of hundreds for a certain occasion, and was resolved to take 
 it up from him. 'And pray, Sir,' cried my friend, 'do you want 
 all this money?' 'Indeed, I never wanted it more,' returned I. 
 ' I am sorry for that,' cries the scrivener, 'with all my heart; for they 
 who want money when they come to borrow, will always want 
 money when they should come to pay.' 
 
 "From him I flew with indignation, to one of the best friends 
 I had in the world, and made the same request. 'Indeed, Mr. 
 Drybone,' cries my friend, 'I always thought it would come to this. 
 You know, Sir, I would not advise you but for your own good ; but 
 your conduct has hitherto been ridiculous in the highest degree, 
 and some of your acquaintance always thought you a very silly 
 fellow. Let me see you want two hundred pounds. Do you 
 only want two hundred, Sir, exactly?' 'To confess a truth,' 
 returned I, 'I shall want three hundred; but then I have another 
 friend, from whom I can borrow the rest.' 'Why, then,' replied 
 my friend, 'if you would take my advice, (and you know I should 
 not presume to advise you but for your own good), I would recom- 
 mend it to you to borrow the whole sum from that other friend, 
 and then one note will serve for all, you know.' 
 
 " Poverty now began to come fast upon me ; yet instead of grow- 
 ing more provident or cautious as I grew poor, I became every day 
 more indolent and simple. A friend was arrested for fifty pounds; 
 I was unable to extricate him, except by becoming his bail. When 
 at liberty, he fled from his creditors, and left me to take his place. 
 In prison I expected greater satisfactions than I had enjoyed at 
 large. I hoped to converse with men in this new world, simple 
 
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 and believing like myself; but I found them as cunning and as 
 cautious as those in the world I had left behind. They spunged 
 up my money while it lasted, borrowed my coals and never paid 
 for them, and cheated me when I played at cribbage. All this was 
 done because they believed me to be very good-natured, and knew 
 that I had no harm in me. 
 
 "Upon my first entrance into this mansion, which is to some 
 the abode of despair, I felt no sensations different from those I 
 experienced abroad. I was now on one side the door, and those 
 who were unconfined were on the other: this was all the difference 
 between us. At first, indeed, I felt some uneasiness, in consider- 
 ing how I should be able to provide this week for the wants of the 
 week ensuing ; but, after some time, if I found myself sure of eating 
 one day, I never troubled my head how I was to be supplied another. 
 I seized every precarious meal with the utmost good -humour; 
 indulged no rants of spleen at my situation; never called down 
 heaven and all the stars to behold me dining upon a halfpenny 
 worth of radishes ; my very companions were taught to believe that 
 I liked salad better than mutton. I contented myself with think- 
 ing, that all my life I should either eat white bread or brown; con- 
 sidered that all that happened was best ; laughed when 1 was not 
 in pain, took the world as it went, and read Tacitus often, for want 
 of more books and company. 
 
 "How long I might have continued in this torpid state of sim- 
 plicity I cannot tell, had I not been roused by seeing an old ac- 
 quaintance, whom I knew to be a prudent block-head, preferred 
 to a place in the government. I now found that I had pursued 
 a wrong track, and that the true way of being able to relieve others, 
 was first to aim at independence myself. My immediate care, 
 therefore, was to leave my present habitation, and make an entire 
 reformation in my conduct and behaviour. For a free, open, 
 undesigning deportment, I put on that of closeness, prudence, and 
 economy. One of the most heroic actions I ever performed, and 
 for which I shall praise myself as long as I live, was the refusing 
 half-a-crown to an old acquaintance, at the time when he wanted 
 it, and I had it to spare : for this alone I deserve to be decreed an 
 ovation. 
 
 "I now therefore pursued a course of uninterrupted frugality, 
 seldom wanted a dinner, and was consequently invited to twenty. 
 I soon began to get the character of a saving hunks that had money, 
 
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 and insensibly grew into esteem. Neighbours have asked my 
 advice in the disposal of their daughters; and I have always taken 
 care not to give any. I have contracted a friendship with an alder-, 
 man, only by observing, that if we take a farthing from a thousand 
 pounds, it will be a thousand pounds no longer. I have been in- 
 vited to a pawnbroker's table, by pretending to hate gravy, and 
 am now actually upon treaty of marriage with a rich widow, for 
 only having observed that the bread was rising. If ever I am 
 asked a question, whether I know it or not, instead of answering, 
 I only smile and look wise. If a charity is proposed, I go about 
 with the hat, but put nothing in myself. If a wretch solicits my 
 pity, I observe that the world is filled with impostors, and take a 
 certain method of not being deceived, by never relieving. In short 
 I now find the truest way of finding esteem, even from the indigent 
 is to give away nothing, and thus have much in our power to 
 give." 
 
 ON THE GREAT NUMBER OF OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS IN LONDON 
 SOME OF THE CAUSES 
 
 LATELY, in company with my friend in black, whose conversa- 
 tion is now both by amusement and instruction, I could not 
 avoid observing the great numbers of old bachelors and maiden 
 ladies with which this city seems to be overrun. " Sure, marriage," 
 said I, "is not sufficiently encouraged, or we should never behold 
 such crowds of battered beaux and decayed coquettes, still attempt- 
 ing to drive a trade they have been so long unfit for, and swarming 
 upon the gaity of the age. I behold an old bachelor in the most 
 contemptible light, as an animal that lives upon the common stock 
 without contributing his share: he is a beast of prey, and the laws 
 should make use of as many stratagems, and as much force, to 
 drive the reluctant savage into the toils, as the Indians when they 
 hunt the rhinoceros. The mob should be permitted to halloo 
 after him, boys might play tricks on him with impunity, every well- 
 bred company should laugh at him ; and if, when turned of sixty, he 
 offered to make love, his mistress might spit in his face, or, what would 
 be perhaps a greater punishment, should fairly grant the favour. 
 
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 "As for old maids," continued I, "they should not be treated 
 with so much severity, because I suppose none would be so if they 
 could. No lady in her senses would choose to make a subordinate 
 figure at christenings or lyings-in, when she might be the principal 
 herself; nor curry favour with a sister-in-law, when she might 
 command a husband ; nor toil in preparing custards, when she might 
 lie a-bed, and give directions how they ought to be made; nor stifle 
 all her sensations in demure formality, when she might, with 
 matrimonial freedom, shake her acquaintance by the hand, and 
 wink at a double entendre. No lady could be so very silly as to live 
 single, if she could help it. I consider an unmarried lady, declining 
 into the vale of years, as one of those charming countries bordering 
 on China, that lies waste for want of proper inhabitants. We are 
 not to accuse the country, but the ignorance of its neighbours, who 
 are insensible of its beauties, though at liberty to enter and cultivate 
 the soil." 
 
 "Indeed, Sir," replied my companion, "you are very little 
 acquainted with the English ladies, to think they are old maids 
 against their will. I dare venture to affirm, that you can hardly 
 select one of them all, but has had frequent offers of marriage, 
 which either pride or avarice has not made her reject. Instead of 
 thinking it a disgrace, they take every occasion to boast of their 
 former cruelty; a soldier does not exult more when he counts over 
 the wounds he has received, than a female veteran when she relates 
 the wounds she has formerly given: exhaustless when she begins a 
 narrative of the former death-dealing power of her eyes, she tells 
 of the knight in gold lace, who died with a single frown, and never 
 rose again till he was married to his maid; of the squire who, 
 being cruelly denied, in a rage flew to the window, and lifting up 
 the sash, threw himself, in an agony into his arm-chair; of the 
 parson, who, crossed in love, resolutely swallowed opium, which 
 banished the stings of despised love by making him sleep. In 
 short, she talks over her former losses with pleasure, and, like some 
 tradesmen, finds consolation in the many bankruptcies she has 
 suffered. 
 
 "For this reason, whenever I see a superannuated beauty still 
 unmarried, I tacitly accuse her either of pride, avarice, coquetry, 
 or affectation. There's Miss Jenny Tinderbox: I once remember 
 her to have had some beauty, and a moderate fortune. Her elder 
 sister happened to marry a man of quality, and this seemed as a 
 
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 statute of virginity against poor Jane. Because there was one 
 lucky hit in the family, she was resolved not to disgrace it by intro- 
 ducing a tradesman ; thus, rejecting her equals, and neglected or 
 despised by her superiors, she now acts in the capacity of tutoress 
 to her sister's children, and undergoes the drudgery of three ser- 
 vants without receiving the wages of one. 
 
 "Miss Squeeze was a pawnbroker's daughter; her father had 
 early taught her that money was a very good thing, and left her a 
 moderate fortune at his death. She was so perfectly sensible of the 
 value of what she had got, that she was resolved never to part with 
 a farthing without an equality on the part of her suitor; she thus 
 refused several offers made her by people who wanted to better 
 themselves, as the saying is, and grew old and ill-natured, without 
 ever considering that she should have made an abatement in her 
 pretensions, from her face being pale, and marked with the small- 
 pox. 
 
 " Lady Betty Tempest, on the contrary, had beauty, with fortune 
 and family. But, fond of conquest, she passed from triumph to 
 triumph: she had read plays and romances, and there had learned, 
 that a plain man of common sense was no better than a fool. Such 
 she refused, and sighed only for the gay, giddy, inconstant, and 
 thoughtless. After she had thus rejected hundreds who liked her, 
 and sighed for hundreds who despised her, she fo'und herself insen- 
 sibly deserted. At present she is company only for her aunts 
 and cousins, and sometimes makes one in a country-dance, with 
 only one of the chairs for a partner, casts off round a joint-stool, 
 and sets to a corner cupboard. In a word, she is treated with 
 civil contempt from every quarter, and placed, like a piece of 
 old-fashioned lumber, merely to fill up a corner. 
 
 "But Sophronia, the sagacious Sophronia! how shall I mention 
 her? She was taught to love Greek, and hate the men from her 
 very infancy. She has rejected fine gentlemen because they were 
 not pedants, and pedants because they were not fine gentlemen; 
 her exquisite sensibility has taught her to discover every fault in 
 every lover, and her inflexible justice has prevented her pardoning 
 them: thus she rejected several offers, till the wrinkles of age had 
 overtaken her; and now, without one good feature in her face, she 
 talks incessantly of the beauties of the mind," Farewell, 
 
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 LETTER XXIX 
 To the Same 
 
 A DESCRIPTION OF A CLUB OF AUTHORS 
 
 WERE we to estimate the learning of the English by the num- 
 ber of books that are every day published among them, 
 perhaps no country, not even China itself, could equal them in this 
 particular. I have reckoned not less than twenty-three new books 
 published in one day, which, upon computation, makes eight 
 thousand three hundred and ninety-five in one year. Most of 
 these are not confined to one single science, but embrace the 
 whcle circle. History, politics, poetry, mathematics, meta- 
 physics, and the philosophy of nature, are all comprised in a 
 manual not larger than that in which our children are taught 
 the letters. If, then, we suppose the learned of England to read 
 but an eighth part of the works which daily come from the press 
 (and surely none can pretend to learning upon less easy terms), at 
 this rate every scholar will read a thousand books in one year. 
 From such a calculation, you may conjecture what an amazing 
 fund of literature a man must be possessed of, who thus reads 
 three new books every day, not one of which but contains all the 
 good things that ever were said or written. 
 
 And yet I know not how it happens, but the English are not, in 
 reality, so learned as would seem from this calculation. We meet 
 but few who know all arts and sciences to perfection ; whether it is 
 that the generality are incapable of such extensive knowledge, or 
 that the authors of those books are not adequate instructors. In 
 China, the Emperor himself takes cognizance of all the doctors in 
 the kingdom who profess authorship. In England, every man 
 may be an author, that can write; for they have by law a liberty, 
 not only of saying what they please, but of being also as dull as they 
 please. 
 
 Yesterday, I testified my surprise, to the man in black, where 
 writers could be found in sufficient number to throw off the books 
 I daily saw crowding from the press. I at first imagined that their 
 learned seminaries might take this method of instructing the world. 
 But to obviate this objection, my companion assured me, that the 
 doctors of colleges never wrote, and that some of them had actually 
 
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 forgot their reading; "but if you desire," continued he, "to see a 
 collection of authors, I fancy I can introduce you this evening to 
 a club, which assembles every Saturday at seven, at the sign of The 
 Broom, near Islington, to talk over the business of the last, and the 
 entertainment of the week ensuing." I accepted his invitation; 
 we walked together, and entered the house some time before the 
 usual hour for the company assembling. 
 
 My friend took this opportunity of letting me into the characters 
 of the principal members of the club, not even the host excepted, 
 who, it seems, was once an author himself, but preferred by a book- 
 seller to this situation as a reward for his former services. 
 
 "The first person," said he, "of our society, is Doctor Nonentity, 
 a metaphysician. Most people think him a profound scholar; but, 
 as he seldom speaks, I cannot be positive in that particular; he gen- 
 erally spreads himself before the fire, sucks his pipe, talks little, 
 drinks much, and is reckoned very good company. I'm told he 
 writes indexes to perfection : he makes essays on the origin of evil, 
 philosophical enquiries upon any subject, and draws up an answer 
 to any book upon twenty-four hours warning. You may distinguish 
 him from the rest of the company by his long grey wig, and the blue 
 handkerchief round his neck. 
 
 "The next to him in merit and esteem is Tim Syllabub, a droll 
 creature : he sometimes shines as a star of the first magnitude among 
 the choice spirits of the age: he is reckoned equally excellent at 
 a rebus, a riddle, a bawdy song, and a hymn for the Tabernacle. 
 You will know him by his shabby finery, his powdered wig, dirty 
 shirt, and broken silk stockings. 
 
 "After him succeeds Mr. Tibs, a very useful hand: he writes 
 receipts for the bite of a mad dog, and throws off an Eastern tale 
 to perfection; he understands the business of an author as well as 
 any man ; for no bookseller alive can cheat him. You may distin- 
 guish him by the peculiar clumsiness of his figure, and the coarseness 
 of his coat; however, though it be coarse (as he frequently tells the 
 company), he has paid for it. 
 
 " Lawyer Squint is the politician of the society: he makes speeches 
 for Parliament, writes addresses to his fellow-subjects, and letters 
 to noble commanders; he gives the history of every new play, and 
 finds seasonable thoughts upon every occasion.' My companion 
 was proceeding in his description, when the host came running in, 
 with terror on his countenance, to tell us that the door was beset with 
 
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 bailiffs. "If that be the case, then," says my comp nion, "we 
 had as good be going; for I am positive we shall not see one of the 
 company this night." Wherefore, disappointed, we were both 
 obliged to return home he to enjoy the oddities which compose 
 his character alone, and I to write as usual to my friend the occur- 
 rences of the day. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER XXX 
 To the Same 
 
 THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE CLUB OF AUTHORS 
 
 BY my last advices from Moscow, I find the caravan has not yet 
 departed for China:! still continue to write, expecting that 
 you may receive a large number of letters at once. In them you will 
 find rather a minute detail of English peculiarities, than a general 
 picture of their manners or disposition. Happy it were for mankind, 
 if all travellers would thus, instead of characterizing a people in 
 general terms, lead us into a detail of those minute circumstances 
 which first influenced their opinion. The genius of a country 
 should be investigated with a kind of experimental enquiry: by this 
 means, we should have more precise and just notions of foreign 
 nations, and detect travellers themselves when they happened to 
 form wrong conclusions. 
 
 My friend and I repeated our visit to the club of authors; where, 
 upon our entrance, we found the members all assembled, and 
 engaged in a loud debate. 
 
 The poet, in shabby finery, holding a manuscript in his hand, 
 was earnestly endeavouring to persuade the company to hear him 
 read the first book of an heroic poem, which he had composed the 
 day before. But against this all the members very warmly objected. 
 They knew no reason why any member of the club should be 
 indulged with a particular hearing, when many of them had pub- 
 lished whole volumes which had never been looked into. They 
 insisted that the law should be observed , where reading in company 
 was expressly noticed. It was hi vain that the plaintiff pleaded the 
 peculiar merit of his piece ; he spoke to an assembly insensible to all 
 his remonstrances: the book of laws was opened, and read by the 
 
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 secretary, where it was expressly enacted, "That whatsoever poet, 
 speech-maker, critic, or historian, should presume to engage the 
 company by reading his own works, he was to lay down sixpence 
 previous to opening the manuscript, and should be charged one 
 shilling an hour while he continued reading: the said shilling to be 
 equally distributed among the company, as a recompense for their 
 trouble." 
 
 Our poet seemed at first to shrink at the penalty, hesitating for 
 some time whether he should deposit the fine, or shut up the poem; 
 but, looking round, and perceiving two strangers in the room, his love 
 of fame outweighed his prudence, and, laying down the sum by 
 law established, he insisted on his prerogative. 
 
 A profound silence ensuing, he began by explaining his design. 
 " Gentlemen," says he, " the present piece is not one of your common 
 epic poems, which come from the press like paper-kites in summer: 
 there are none of your Turn uses or Didos in it; it is an heroical 
 description of nature. I only beg you'll endeavour to make your 
 souls unison with mine, and hear with the same enthusiasm with 
 which I have written. The poem begins with the description of 
 an author's bedchamber: the picture was sketched in my own apart- 
 ment; for you must know, gentlemen, that I am myself the hero." 
 Then putting himself into the attitude of an orator, with all the 
 emphasis of voice and action, he proceeded: 
 
 "Where the Red Lion, flaring o'er the way, 
 Invites each passing stranger that can pay; 
 Where Cal vert's butt, and Parson's black champagne, 
 Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane: 
 There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, 
 The muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug. 
 A window, patch 'd with paper, lent a ray, 
 That dimly show'd the state in which he lay; 
 The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; 
 The humid wall with paltry pictures spread 
 The Royal Game of Goose was there in view 
 And the Twelve Rules the Royal Martyr drew; 
 The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place, 
 And brave Prince William show'd his lamp-black face. 
 The morn was cold: he views with keen desire 
 The rusty grate, unconscious of a fire: 
 With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, 
 And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board; 
 A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 
 A cap by night a stocking all the day ! " 
 
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 With this last line he seemed so much elated, that he was unable 
 to proceed. "There, gentlemen," cries he, "there is a description 
 for you; Rabelais 's bed-chamber is but a fool to it: 
 
 ' A cap by night a stocking all the day!' 
 
 There is sound, and sense, and truth, and nature in the trifling com- 
 pass of ten little syllables." 
 
 He was too much employed in self-admiration to observe the 
 company; who, by nods, winks, shrugs, and stifled laughter, testified 
 every mark of contempt. He turned severally to each for their 
 opinion, and found all, however, ready to applaud. One swore it 
 was inimitable; another said it was damn'd fine; and a third cried 
 out in a rapture " Carissimo ! " At last, addressing himself to the 
 president, "And pray, Mr. Squint," says he, "let us have your 
 opinion." "Mine!" answered the president (taking the manu- 
 script out of the author's hand) ; " may this glass suffocate me, but I 
 think it equal to any thing I have seen; and I fancy" (continued he, 
 doubling up the poem and forcing it into the author's pocket) 
 "that you will get great honour when it comes out; so I shall beg 
 leave to put it in. We will not intrude upon your good-nature, in 
 desiring to hear more of it at present; ex ungue Herculem, we are 
 satisfied, perfectly satisfied." The author made two or three at- 
 tempts to pull it out a second time, and the president made as 
 many to prevent him. Thus, though with reluctance, he was at 
 last obliged to sit down, contented with the commendations for 
 which he had paid. 
 
 When this tempest of poetry and praise was blown over, one of 
 the company changed the subject, by wondering how any man 
 could be so dull as to write poetry at present, since prose itself would 
 hardly pay. "Would you think it, gentlemen," continued he, "I 
 have actually written, last week, sixteen prayers, twelve bawdy 
 jests, and three sermons, all at the rate of sixpence a-piece; and, 
 what is still more extraordinary, the bookseller has lost by the bar- 
 gain. Such sermons would once have gained me a prebend's 
 btall; but now, alas! we have neither piety, taste, nor humour among 
 us! Positively, if this season does not turn out better than it has 
 begun, unless the ministry commit some blunders to furnish us with 
 a new topic of abuse, I shall resume my old business of working 
 at the press, instead of finding it employment." 
 
 The whole club seemed to join in condemning the season, as one 
 
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 of the worst that had come for some time : a gentleman particularly 
 observed that the nobility were never known to subscribe worse 
 than at present. "I know not how it happens," said he, "though 
 I follow them up as close as possible, yet I can hardly get a single 
 subscription in a week. The houses of the great are as inacces- 
 sible as a frontier garrison at midnight. I never see a nobleman's 
 door half opened, that some surly porter or footman does not stand 
 full in the breach. I was yesterday to wait with a subscription 
 proposal upon my Lord Squash, the Creolian. I had posted myself 
 at his door the whole morning, and, just as he was getting into his 
 coach, thrust my proposal snug into his hand, folded up in the form 
 of a letter from myself. He just glanced at the superscription, 
 and not knowing the hand, consigned it to his valet-de-chambre ; 
 this respectable personage treated it as his master, and put it into 
 the hands of the porter; the porter grasped my proposal frowning; 
 and, measuring my figure from top to toe, put it back into my own 
 hands unopened." 
 
 "To the devil I pitch all the nobility!" cries a little man, in a 
 peculiar accent; "I am sure they have cf late used me most scurvily. 
 You must know, gentlemen, some time ago, upon the arrival of a 
 certain noble duke from his travels, I sat myself down, and vamped 
 up a fine flaunting poetical panegyric, which I had written in such 
 a strain, that I fancied it would have even wheedled milk from a 
 mouse. In this I represented the whole kingdom welcoming his 
 grace to his native soil; not forgetting the loss France and Italy 
 would sustain in their arts by his departure. I expected to touch 
 for a bank-bill at least; so, folding up my verses in gilt paper, I 
 gave my last half-crown to a genteel servant to be the bearer. My 
 letter was safely conveyed to his grace, and the servant, after four 
 hours absence, during which time I led the life of a fiend, returned 
 with a letter four times as big as mine. Guess my extasy at the 
 prospect of so fine a return. I eagerly took the packet into my 
 hands, that trembled to receive it. I kept it some time unopened 
 before me, brooding over the expected treasure it contained; when 
 opening it, as I hope to be saved, gentlemen, his grace had sent me 
 in payment for my poem, no bank-bills, but six copies of verses, 
 each longer than mine, addressed to him upon the same occasion." 
 
 "A nobleman," cries a member, who had hitherto been silent, 
 "is created as much for the confusion of us authors, as the catch- 
 pole. I'll tell you a story, gentlemen, which is as true as that this 
 
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 pipe is made of clay: When I was delivered of my first book, 
 I owed my tailor for a suit of clothes ; but that is nothing new, you 
 know, and may be any man's case as well as mine. Well, owing 
 him for a suit of clothes, and hearing that my book took very well, 
 he sent for his money and insisted upon being paid immediately. 
 Though I was at that time rich in fame for my book ran like 
 wild-fire yet I was very short in money, and, being unable to 
 satisfy his demand, prudently resolved to keep my chamber, pre- 
 ferring a prison of my own choosing at home, to one of my tailor's 
 choosing abroad. In vain the bailiffs used all their arts to decoy 
 me from my citadel ; in vain they sent to let me know that a gentle- 
 man wanted to speak with me at the next tavern ; in vain they came 
 with an urgent message from my aunt in the country; in vain I was 
 told that a particular friend was at the point of death, and desired 
 to take his last farewell: I was deaf, insensible, rock, adamant; 
 the bailiffs could make no impression on my hard heart, for I effectu- 
 ally kept my liberty by never stirring out of the room. 
 
 "This was very well for a fortnight; when one morning I received 
 a most splendid message from the Earl of Doomsday, importing, 
 that he had read my book, and was in raptures with every line of it; 
 he impatiently longed to see the author, and had some designs which 
 might turn out greatly to my advantage. I paused upon the con- 
 tents of this message, and found there could be no deceit, for the 
 card was gilt at the edges, and the bearer, I was told, had quite the 
 looks of a gentleman. Witness, ye powers, how my heart triumphed 
 at my own importance ! I saw a long perspective of felicity before 
 me ; I applauded the taste of the times which never saw genius for- 
 saken: I had prepared a set introductory speech for the occasion; 
 five glaring compliments for his lordship, and two more modest for 
 myself. The next morning, therefore, in order to be punctual to 
 my appointment, I took coach, and ordered the fellow to drive to 
 the street and house mentioned in his lordship's address. I had the 
 precaution to pull up the windows as I went along, to keep off the 
 busy part of mankind, and, big with expectation, fancied the coach 
 never went fast enough. At length, however, the wished for mo- 
 ment of its stopping arrived: this for some time I impatiently ex- 
 pected, and letting down the window in a transport, in order to take 
 a previous view of his lordship's magnificent palace and situation, 
 I found poison to my sight ! I found myself not in an elegant 
 street, but a paltry lane: not at a nobleman's door, but the door of 
 
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 a spunging-house : I found the coachman had all this while been 
 just driving me to jail; and I saw the bailiff, with a devil's face, 
 coming out to secure me." 
 
 To a philosopher, no circumstance, however trifling, is too minute; 
 he finds instruction and entertainment in occurrences, which are 
 passed over by the rest of mankind, as low, trite, and indifferent; 
 it is from the number of these particulars, which to many appear in- 
 significant, that he is at last enabled to form general conclusions; 
 this, therefore, must be my excuse for sending so far as China, ac- 
 counts of manners and follies, which, though minute in their own 
 nature, serve more truly to characterize this people, than histories 
 of their public treaties, courts, ministers, negotiations, and ambassa- 
 dors. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER XLI 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE CONGREGATION IN ST. PAUL'S CHURCH 
 
 AT PRAYERS 
 
 SOME time since I sent thee, O holy disciple of Confucius, an 
 account of the grand abbey, or mausoleum, of the kings and 
 heroes of this nation: I have since been introduced to a temple, not 
 so ancient, but far superior in beauty and magnificence. In this, 
 which is the most considerable of the empire, there are no pompous 
 inscriptions, no flattery paid the dead, but all is elegant and awfully 
 simple. There are, however, a few rags hung round the walls, 
 which have, at a vast expense, been taken from the enemy in the 
 present war. The silk of which they are composed, when new, 
 might be valued at half a string of copper money in China ; yet this 
 wise people fitted out a fleet and an army in order to seize them, 
 though now grown old, and scarcely capable of being patched up 
 into a handkerchief. By this conquest, the English are said to 
 have gained, and the French to have lost, much honour. Is the 
 honour of European nations placed only in tattered silk ? 
 
 In this temple I was permitted to remain during the whole ser- 
 vice ; and were you not already acquainted with the religion of the 
 English, you might, from my description, be inclined to believe 
 them as grossly idolatrous as the disciples of Lao. The idol which 
 they seem to address, strides like a colossus over the door of the 
 
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 inner temple, which here, as with the Jews, is esteemed the most 
 sacred part of the building. Its oracles are delivered in a hundred 
 various tones, which seem to inspire the worshippers with enthusi- 
 asm and awe: an old woman, who appeared to be the priestess, 
 was employed in various attitudes, as she felt the inspiration. 
 When it began to speak, all the people remained fixed hi silent at- 
 tention, nodding assent, looking approbation, appearing highly 
 edified by those sounds which to a stranger might seem inarticu- 
 late and unmeaning. 
 
 When the idol had done speaking, and the priestess had locked 
 up its lungs with a key, observing almost all the company leaving 
 the temple, I concluded the service was over, and taking my hat, 
 was going to walk away with the crowd, when I was stopped by the 
 man in black, who assured me that the ceremony had scarcely yet 
 begun! "What!" cried I, "do I not see almost the whole body of 
 the worshippers leaving the church ? Would you persuade me that 
 such numbers who profess religion and morality, would, in this 
 shameless manner, quit the temple before the service was concluded ? 
 You surely mistake: not even the Kalmucks would be guilty of 
 such an indecency, though all the object of their worship was but a 
 joint-stool." My friend seemed to blush for his countrymen, as- 
 suring me that those whom I saw running away, were only a parcel 
 of musical blockheads, whose passion was merely for sounds, and 
 whose heads are as empty as a fiddle-case: those who remained 
 behind, says he, are the true religious; they make use of music to 
 warm their hearts, and to lift them to a proper pitch of rapture: 
 examine their behaviour, and you will confess there are some among 
 us who practise true devotion. 
 
 I now looked round me as directed, but saw nothing of that 
 fervent devotion which he had promised: one of the worshippers 
 appeared to be ogling the company through a glass; another was 
 fervent, not in addresses to Heaven, but to his mistress; a third 
 whispered, a fourth took snuff, and the priest himself, in a drowsy 
 tone, read over the duties of the day. 
 
 " Bless my eyes ! " cried I, as I happened to look towards the doors, 
 "what do I see? one of the worshippers fallen fast asleep, and actu- 
 ally sunk down on his cushion! Is he now enjoying the benefit 
 of a trance, or does he receive the influence of some mysterious vi- 
 sion?" "Alas! alas!" replied my companion, "no such thing; he 
 has only had the misfortune of eating too hearty a dinner, and finds 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 it impossible to keep his eyes open." Turning to another part of 
 the temple, I perceived a young lady just in the same circumstances 
 and attitude: "Strange," cried I; "can she, too, have over-eaten 
 herself?" " Oh, fie!" replied my friend, "you now grow censori- 
 ous. She grow drowsy from eating too much! that would be pro- 
 fanation ! She only sleeps now from having sat up all night at a brag 
 party." - "Turn me where I will, then," says I, " I can perceive no 
 single symptom of devotion among the worshippers, except from 
 that old woman in the corner, who sits groaning behind the long 
 sticks of a mourning fan; she indeed seems greatly edified with 
 what she hears."- "Ay," replied my friend, "I knew we should 
 find some to catch you; I know her; that is the deaf lady who lives 
 in the cloisters." 
 
 In short, the remissness of behaviour in almost all the worshippers, 
 and some even of the guardians, struck me with surprise. I had 
 been taught to believe that none were ever promoted to offices in 
 the temple, but men remarkable for their superior sanctity, learning, 
 and rectitude; that there was no such thing heard of, as persons 
 being introduced into the church merely to oblige a senator, or pro- 
 vide for the younger branch of a noble family: I expected, as their 
 minds were continually set upon heavenly things, to see their eyes 
 directed there also; and hoped, from their behaviour, to perceive 
 their inclinations corresponding with their duty. But I am since 
 informed, that some are appointed to preside over temples they 
 never visit; and, while they receive all the money, are contented 
 with letting others do all the goood. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER XLV 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE ARDOUR OF THE PEOPLE OF LONDON IN RUNNING AFTER SIGHTS 
 AND MONSTERS 
 
 THOUGH the frequent invitations I receive from men of dis- 
 tinction here might excite the vanity of some, I am quite mor- 
 tified, however, when I consider the motives thatinspire their civility. 
 I am sent for not to be treated as a friend, but to satisfy curiosity; 
 not to be entertained so much as wondered at, the same earnestness 
 which excites them to see a Chinese, would have made them equally 
 proud of a visit from the rhinoceros. 
 
 435
 
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 From the highest to the lowest, this people seem fond of sights 
 and monsters. I am told of a person here who gets a very comfort- 
 able livelihood by making wonders, and then selling or showing 
 them to the people for money: no matter how insignificant they 
 were in the beginning, by locking them up close, and showing for 
 money, they soon become prodigies! His first essay in this way was 
 to exhibit himself as a wax-work figure behind a glass door at a pup- 
 pet show. Thus, keeping the spectators at a proper distance, and 
 having his head adorned with a copper crown, he looked " extremely 
 natural, and very like the life itself." He continued this exhibition 
 with success, till an involuntary fit of sneezing brought him to life 
 before all the spectators, and consequently rendered him for that 
 time as entirely useless as the peaceable inhabitant of a catacomb. 
 
 Determined to act the statue no more, he next levied contribu- 
 tions under the figure of an Indian king; and by painting his face, 
 and counterfeiting the savage howl, he frighted several ladies and 
 children with amazing success: in this manner, therefore, he might 
 have lived very comfortably, had he not been arrested for a debt 
 that was contracted when he was the figure in wax-work: thus his 
 face underwent an involuntary ablution, and he found himself 
 reduced to his primitive complexion and indigence. 
 
 After some time, being freed from jail, he was now grown wiser, 
 and instead of making himself a wonder, was resolved only to make 
 wonders. He learned the art of pasting up mummies; was never 
 at a loss for an artificial lusus naturce; nay, it has been reported, 
 that he has sold seven petrified lobsters of his own manufacture 
 to a noted collector of- rarities ; but this the learned Cracovius Putri- 
 dus has undertaken to refute in a very elaborate dissertation. 
 
 His last wonder was nothing more than a halter, yet by this halter 
 he gained more than by all his former exhibitions. The people, 
 it seems, had got it in their heads, that a certain noble criminal was 
 to be hanged with a silken rope. Now, there was nothing they s'o 
 much desired to see as this very rope ; and he was resolved to gratify 
 their curiosity: he therefore got one made, not only of silk, but, 
 to render it more striking, several threads of gold were intermixed. 
 The people paid their money only to see silk, but were highly satis- 
 fied when they found it was mixed with gold into the bargain. It 
 is scarcely necessary to mention, that the projector sold his silken 
 rope for almost what it had cost him, as soon as the criminal was 
 known to be hanged in hempen materials. 
 
 43 6
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 By their fondness of sights, one would be apt to imagine that 
 instead of desiring to see things as they should be, they are rather 
 solicitous of seeing them as they ought not to be. A cat with four 
 legs is disregarded, though never so useful; but if it has but two, 
 and is consequently incapable of catching mice, it is reckoned 
 inestimable, and every man of taste is ready to raise the auction. 
 A man, though in his person faultless as an aerial genius, might 
 starve; but if stuck over with hideous warts like a porcupine, his 
 fortune is made for ever, and he may propagate the breed with 
 impunity and applause. 
 
 A good woman in my neighbourhood, who was bred a habit- 
 maker, though she handled her needle tolerably well, could scarcely 
 get employment. But being obliged by an accident to have both 
 her hands cut off from the elbows, what would in another country 
 have been her ruin, made her fortune here: she now was thought 
 more fit for her trade than before ; business flowed in apace, and all 
 people paid for seeing the mantua-maker who wrought without 
 hands. 
 
 A gentleman, showing me his collection of pictures, stopped at 
 one with peculiar admiration: "There," cries he, "is an inestimable 
 piece." I gazed at the picture for some time, but could see none 
 of those graces with which he seemed enraptured; it appeared to 
 me the most paltry piece of the whole collection: I therefore de- 
 manded where those beauties lay, of which I was yet insensible. 
 " Sir," cries he, " the merit does not consist in the piece, but in the 
 manner in which it was done. The painter drew the whole with 
 his foot, and held the pencil between his toes: I bought it at a very 
 great price; for peculiar merit should ever be rewarded." 
 
 But these people are not more fond of wonders, than liberal in 
 rewarding those who show them. From the wonderful dog of 
 knowledge, at present under the patronage of the nobility, down 
 to the man with the box, who professes to show "the best imita- 
 tion of Nature that was ever seen," they all live in luxury. A sing- 
 ing woman shall collect subscriptions in her own coach and six; 
 a fellow shall make a fortune by tossing a straw from his toe to 
 his nose; one in particular has found that eating fire was the most 
 ready way to live; and another, who jingles several bells fixed to 
 his cap, is the only man that I know of who has received emolu- 
 ment from the labours of his head. 
 
 A young author, a man of good-nature and learning, was com- 
 
 437
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 plaining to me some nights ago of this misplaced generosity of the 
 times. " Here," says he, " have I spent part of my youth in attempt- 
 ing to instruct and amuse my fellow-creatures, and all my reward 
 has been solitude, and reproach; while a fellow, possessed of even 
 poverty, the smallest share of fiddling merit, or who has perhaps 
 learned to whistle double, is rewarded, applauded, and caressed!" 
 "Prithee, young man," says I to him, "are you ignorant, that 
 in so large a city as this, it is better to be an amusing than a useful 
 member of society? Can you leap up, and touch your feet four 
 times before you come to the ground?" "No, sir." "Can 
 you pimp for a man of quality ? " " No, sir." " Can you stand 
 upon two horses at full speed ? " " No, sir." " Can you swallow 
 a penknife?" "I can do none of these tricks." "Why then," 
 cried I, "there is no other prudent means of subsistence left, but 
 to apprize the town that you speedily intend to eat up your own 
 nose, by subscription." 
 
 I have frequently regretted that none of our Eastern posture- 
 masters, or showmen, have ever ventured to England. I should 
 be pleased to see that money circulate in Asia, which is now sent to 
 Italy and France, in order to bring their vagabonds hither. Several 
 of our tricks would undoubtedly give the English high satisfaction. 
 Men of fashion would be greatly pleased with the postures as well 
 as the condescension of our dancing girls; and the ladies would 
 equally admire the conductors of our fireworks. What an agreeable 
 surprise would it be to see a huge fellow with whiskers flash a 
 charged blunderbuss full in a lady's face, without singeing her hair, 
 or melting her pomatum. Perhaps, when the first surprise was 
 over, she might then grow familiar with danger; and the ladies 
 might vie with each other in standing fire with intrepidity. 
 
 But of all the wonders of the East, the most useful, and I should 
 fancy the most pleasing, would be the looking-glass of Lao, which 
 reflects the mind as well as the body. It is said, that the Emperor 
 Chusi used to make his concubines dress their heads and their 
 hearts in one of these glasses every morning: while the lady was at 
 her toilet, he would frequently look over her shoulder; and it is 
 recorded, that among the three hundred which composed his 
 seraglio, not one was found whose mind was not even more beauti- 
 ful than her person. 
 
 I make no doubt but a glass in this country would have the very 
 same effect. The English ladies, concubines and all, would 
 
 438
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 undoubtedly cut very pretty figures in so faithful a monitor. There, 
 should we happen to peep over a lady's shoulder while dressing, 
 we might be able to see neither gaming nor ill-nature ; neither pride, 
 debauchery, nor a love of gadding. We should find her, if any 
 sensible defect appeared in the mind, more careful in rectifying it, 
 than plastering up the irreparable decays of the person ; nay, I am 
 even apt to fancy, that ladies would find more real pleasure in this 
 utensil in private, than in any other bauble imported from China, 
 though never so expensive or amusing. 
 
 LETTER XLVI 
 
 To the Same 
 [THE LOOKING-GLASS OF LAO], A DREAM 
 
 UPON finishing my last letter, I retired to rest, reflecting upon 
 the wonders of the glass of Lao, wishing to" be possessed of 
 one here, and resolved, in such a case, to oblige every lady with a 
 sight of it for nothing. What fortune denied me waking, fancy 
 supplied in a dream: the glass, I know not how, was put into my 
 possession, and I could perceive several ladies approaching, some 
 voluntarily, others driven forward against their wills, by a set of 
 discontented genii, whom, by intuition, I knew were their husbands. 
 
 The apartment in which I was to show away, was filled with 
 several gaming-tables, as if just forsaken ; the candles were burnt to 
 the socket, and the hour was five o'clock hi the morning. Placed at 
 one end of the room, which was of prodigious length, I could more 
 easily distinguish every female figure as she marched up from the 
 door; but, guess my surprise, when I could scarce perceive one 
 blooming or agreeable face among the number. This, however, I 
 attributed to the early hour, and kindly considered that the face of 
 a lady just risen from bed, ought always to find a compassionate 
 advocate. 
 
 The first person who came up hi order to view her intellectual 
 face, was a commoner's wife, who, as I afterwards found, being 
 bred up during her virginity in a pawn-broker's shop, now attempted 
 to make up the defects of breeding and sentiment by the magnifi- 
 cence of her dress, and the expensiveness of her amusements. " Mr. 
 Showman," cried she, approaching, "I am told you has something 
 
 439
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 to show in that there sort of magic lantern, by which folks can see 
 themselves on the inside: I protest, as my Lord Beetle says, I am 
 sure it will be vastly pretty, for I have never seen anything like it 
 before. But how, Are we to strip off our clothes, and be turned 
 inside out? if so, as Lord Beetle says, I absolutely declare off; for 
 I would not strip for the world before a man's face, and so I tells 
 his Lordship almost every night of my life." I informed the 
 lady that I would dispense with the ceremony of stripping, and 
 immediately presented my glass to her view. 
 
 As when a first-rate beauty, after having with difficulty escaped 
 the small-pox, revisits her favourite mirror that mirror which 
 had repeated the flattery of every lover, and even added force to 
 the compliment expecting to see what had so often given her 
 pleasure, she no longer beholds the cherry lip, the polished forehead, 
 and speaking blush, but a hateful phiz, quilted into a thousand 
 seams by the hand of deformity ; grief, resentment, and rage fill her 
 bosom by turns she blames the fates and stars, but, most of all, 
 the unhappy glass feels her resentment: So it was with the lady 
 hi question; she had never seen her own mind before, and was now 
 shocked at its deformity. One single look was sufficient to satisfy 
 her curiosity: I held up the glass to her face, and she shut her eyes; 
 no entreaties could prevail upon her to gaze once more ! She was 
 even going to snatch it from my hands, and break it in a thousand 
 pieces. I found it was time, therefore, to dismiss her as incorrigible, 
 and show away to the next that offered. 
 
 This was an unmarried lady, who continued in a state of virginity 
 till thirty-six, and then admitted a lover when she despaired of a 
 husband. No woman was louder at a revel than she, perfectly free 
 hearted, and almost, in every respect a man; she understood ridicule 
 to perfection, and was once known even to sally out in order to 
 beat the watch. "Here, you, my dear, with the outlandish face," 
 said she, addressing me, "let me take a single peep. Not that I 
 care three damns what figure I may cut in the glass of such an old- 
 fashioned creature: if I am allowed the beauties of the face by 
 people of fashion, I know the world will be complaisant enough to 
 toss me the beauties of the mind into the bargain." I held my glass 
 before her as she desired, and, must confess, was shocked with the 
 reflection. The lady, however, gazed for some time with the utmost 
 complacency; and, at last, turning to me with the most satisfied 
 smile, said, she never could think she had been half so handsome. 
 
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 Upon her dismission, a lady of distinction was reluctantly hauled 
 along to the glass by her husband. In bringing her forward, as he 
 came first to the glass himself, his mind appeared tinctured with 
 immoderate jealousy, and I was going to reproach him for using 
 her with such severity; but when the lady came to present herself, 
 I immediately retracted: for, alas! it was seen that he had but too 
 much reason for his suspicions. 
 
 The next was a lady who usually teased all her acquaintance, 
 desiring to be told of her faults, and then never mended any. 
 Upon approaching the glass, I could readily perceive vanity, affecta- 
 tion, and some other ill-looking blots on her mind; wherefore, by 
 my advice, she immediately set about mending. But I could 
 easily find she was not earnest hi the work; for as she repaired 
 them on one side, they generally broke out on another. Thus, 
 after three or four attempts, she began to make the ordinary use of 
 the glass in settling her hair. 
 
 The company now made room for a woman of learning, who 
 approached with a slow pace and a solemn countenance, which, 
 for her own sake, I could wish had been cleaner. " Sir," cried the 
 lady, flourishing her hand, which held a pinch of snuff, " I shall be 
 enraptured by having presented to my view a mind, with which I 
 have so long studied to be acquainted ; but, in order to give the sex 
 a proper example, I must insist, that all the company may be per- 
 mitted to look over my shoulder." I bowed assent, and, present- 
 ing the glass, showed the lady a mind by no means so fair as she 
 had expected to see. Ill-nature, ill-placed pride, and spleen, were 
 too legible to be mistaken. Nothing could be more amusing than 
 the mirth of her female companions who had looked over. They 
 had hated her from the beginning, and now the apartment echoed 
 with a universal laugh. Nothing but a fortitude like hers could 
 have withstood their raillery: she stood it, however; and, when the 
 burst was exhausted, with great tranquillity she assured the com- 
 pany, that the whole was a deceptio visus, and that she was too well 
 acquainted with her own mind to believe any false representations 
 from another. Thus saying, she retired with a sullen satisfaction, 
 resolved not to mend her faults, but to write a criticism on the 
 mental reflector. 
 
 I must own, by this time, I began myself to suspect the fidelity 
 of my mirror; for, as the ladies appeared at least to have the merit 
 of rising early, since they were up at five, I was amazed to find 
 
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 nothing of this good quality pictured upon their minds in the reflec- 
 tion: I was resolved, therefore, to communicate my suspicions to a 
 lady whose intellectual countenance appeared more fair than any 
 of the rest not having above seventy-nine spots in all, besides slips 
 and foibles. "I own, young woman," said I, "that there are some 
 virtues upon that mind of yours; but there is still one which I do 
 not see represented, I mean that of rising betimes in the morning 
 I fancy the glass false in that particular." The young lady 
 smiled at my simplicity; and, with a blush, confessed, that she and 
 the whole company had been up all night gaming. 
 
 By this time all the ladies, except one, had seen themselves suc- 
 cessively, and disliked the show, or scolded the showman: I was 
 resolved, however, that she who seemed to neglect herself, and was 
 neglected by the rest, should take a view; and, going up to a corner 
 of the room where she still continued sitting, I presented my glass 
 full in her face. Here it was that I exulted in my success ; no blot, 
 no stain appeared on any part of the faithful mirror. As when the 
 large unwritten page presents its snowy spotless bosom to the 
 writer's hand, so appeared the glass to my view. "Here, O ye 
 daughters of English ancestors!" cried I, "turn hither, and 
 behold an object worthy imitation! Look upon the mirror now, 
 and acknowledge its justice, and this woman's pre-eminence!" 
 The ladies, obeying the summons, came up in a group, and looking 
 on, acknowledged there was some truth in the picture, as the person 
 now represented had been deaf, dumb, and a fool from her cradle ! 
 
 Thus much of my dream I distinctly remember; the rest was 
 filled with chimeras, enchanted castles, and flying dragons as 
 usual. As you, my dear Fum Hoam, are particularly versed in the 
 interpretation of those midnight warnings, what pleasure should I 
 find in your explanation ! But that our distance prevents : I make 
 no doubt, however, but that, from my description, you will very 
 much venerate the good qualities of the English ladies in general, 
 since dreams, you know, go always by contraries. Adieu. 
 
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 LETTER LI 
 
 To the Same 
 A BOOKSELLER'S VISIT TO THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER 
 
 AS I was yesterday seated at breakfast over a pensive dish of 
 tea, my meditations were interrupted by my old friend and 
 companion, who introduced a stranger, dressed pretty much like 
 himself. The gentleman made several apologies for his visit, 
 begged of me to impute his intrusion to the sincerity of his respect, 
 and the warmth of his curiosity. 
 
 As I am very suspicious of my company when I find them very 
 civil without any apparent reason, I answered the stranger's caresses 
 at first with reserve; which my friend perceiving, instantly let me 
 into my visitant's trade and character, asking Mr. Fudge, whether 
 he had lately published any thing new? I now conjectured that 
 my guest was no other than a bookseller, and his answer confirmed 
 my suspicions. 
 
 "Excuse me, Sir," says he, "it is not the season; books have 
 their time as well as cucumbers. I would no more bring out a new 
 work in summer, than I would sell pork hi the dog days. Nothing 
 in my way goes off in summer, except very light goods indeed. 
 A review, a magazine, or a Sessions paper, may amuse a summer 
 reader; but all our stock of value we reserve for a spring and winter 
 trade." "I must confess, Sir," says I, "a curiosity to know what 
 you call a valuable stock, which can only bear a winter perusal." 
 "Sir," replied the bookseller, "it is not my way to cry up my own 
 goods; but, without exaggeration, I will venture to show with any 
 of the trade: my books at least have the peculiar advantage of 
 being always new ; and it is my way to clear off my old to the trunk- 
 makers every season. I have ten new title-pages now about me, 
 which only want books to be added to make them the finest things 
 in nature. Others may pretend to direct the vulgar; but that is 
 not my way; I always let the vulgar direct me; wherever popular 
 clamour arises, I always echo the million. For instance, should 
 the people in general say, that such a man is a rogue, I instantly 
 give orders to set him down in print a villain ; thus every roan buys 
 the book, not to learn new sentiments, but to have the pleasure 
 of seeing his own reflected." "But, Sir," interrupted I, "you 
 
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 speak as if you yourself wrote the books you publish; may I be so 
 bold as to ask a sight of some of those intended publications which 
 are shortly to surprise the world?" "As to that, Sir," replied 
 the talkative bookseller, "I only draw out the plans myself; and 
 though I am very cautious of communicating them to any, yet, 
 as in the end I have a favour to ask, you shall see a few of them. 
 Here, Sir, here they are; diamonds of the first water, I assure you. 
 Imprimis, a Translation of several Medical precepts for the use of 
 such physicians as do not understand Latin. Item, the Young 
 Clergyman's art of placing patches regularly, with a Dissertation 
 on the different manners of smiling without distorting the face. 
 Item, the whole Art of Love made perfectly easy, by a broker of 
 'Change Alley. Item, the proper manner of Cutting blacklead 
 pencils, and making crayons, by the Right Hon. the Earl of * * *. 
 Item, the Muster-master-general, or the review of reviews." - 
 "Sir," cried I, interrupting him, "my curiosity, with regard to 
 title-pages, is satisfied; I should be glad to see some longer manu- 
 script, a history, or an epic poem." -" Bless me!" cries the man 
 of industry, "now you speak of an epic poem, you shall see an 
 excellent farce. Here it is; dip into it where you will, it will be 
 found replete with true modern humour. Strokes, Sir; it is filled 
 with strokes of wit and satire in every line." - " Do you call these 
 dashes of the pen strokes," replied I, "for I must confess I can 
 see no other?"- "And pray, Sir," returned he, "what do you 
 call them? Do you see any thing good now-a-days, that is not 
 filled with strokes and dashes ? Sir, a well placed dash makes 
 half the wit of our writers of modern humour. I bought a piece 
 last season that had no other merit upon earth than nine hundred 
 and ninety-five breaks, seventy-two ha-ha's, three good things, 
 and a garter. And yet it played off, and bounced, and cracked, 
 and made more sport than a firework." - "I fancy, then, Sir, you 
 were a considerable gainer ? " " It must be owned the piece did 
 pay; but, upon the whole, I cannot much boast of last winter's suc- 
 cess; I gained by two murders; but then I lost by an ill-timed 
 charity sermon. I was a considerable sufferer by my Direct Road 
 to an Estate, but the Infernal Guide brought me up again. Ah, 
 Sir, that was a piece touched off by the hand of a master; filled with 
 good things from one end to the other. The author had nothing 
 but the jest in view; no dull moral lurking beneath, nor ill-natured 
 satire to sour the reader's good -humour; he wisely considered, that 
 
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 moral and humour at the same time were quite overdoing the 
 business." "To what purpose was the book then published?" 
 cried I. " Sir, the book was published in order to be sold ; and no 
 book sold better, except the criticisms upon it, which came out soon 
 after: of all kinds of writing, that goes off best at present; and I 
 generally fasten a criticism upon every selling book that is pub- 
 lished. 
 
 "I once had an author who never left the least opening for the 
 critics: close was the word; always very right and very dull; ever on 
 the safe side of an argument; yet, with all his qualifications, incapa- 
 ble of coming into favour. I soon perceived that his bent was for 
 criticism; and, as he was good for nothing else, supplied him with 
 pens and paper, and planted him, at the beginning of every month, 
 as a censor on the works of others. In short, I found him a trea- 
 sure; no merit could escape him; but what is most remarkable of all, 
 he ever wrote best and bitterest when drunk." "But are there 
 not some works," interrupted I, "that, from the very manner of 
 their composition, must be exempt from criticism; particularly 
 such as profess to disregard its laws ? " " There is no work 
 whatsoever but he can criticise," replied the bookseller; "even 
 though you wrote in Chinese, he would have a pluck at you. Sup- 
 pose you should take it into your head to publish a book, let it be a 
 volume of Chinese letters, for instance ; write how you will, he shall 
 show the world you could have written better. Should you, with 
 the most local exactness, stick to the manners and customs of the 
 country from whence you come; should you confine yourself to 
 the narrow limits of Eastern knowledge, and be perfectly simple, 
 and perfectly natural, he has then the strongest reason to exclaim. 
 He may, with a sneer, send you back to China for readers. He 
 may observe, that after the first or second letter, the iteration of the 
 same simplicity is insupportably tedious. But the worst of all is, 
 the public, in such a case, will anticipate his censures, and leave you, 
 with all your uninstructive simplicity, to be mauled at discretion." 
 
 "Yes," cried I, "but in order to avoid his indignation, and, what 
 I should fear more, that of the public, I would, in such a case, 
 write with all the knowledge I was master of. As I am not possessed 
 of much learning, at least I would not suppress what little I had; 
 nor would I appear more stupid than nature made me." "Here, 
 then," cries the bookseller, "we should have you entirely in our 
 power; unnatural, un-Eastern, quite out of character, erroneously 
 
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 sensible, would be the whole cry. Sir, we should then hunt you 
 down like a rat." "Head of my father!" said I, "sure there are 
 but two ways; the door must either be shut or it must be open. I 
 must either be natural or unnatural."- "Be what you will, we 
 shall criticise you," returned the bookseller, "and prove you a 
 dunce in spite of your teeth. But, Sir, it is time that I should come 
 to business. I have just now in the press a history of China; and 
 if you will but put your name to it as the author, I shall repay the 
 obligation with gratitude." "What, Sir!" replied I, "put my 
 name to a work which I have not written ? Never, while I retain 
 a proper respect for the public and myself." The bluntness of 
 my reply quite abated the ardour of the bookseller's conversation ; 
 and, after about half an hour's disagreeable reserve, he, with some 
 ceremony, took his leave, and withdrew. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER LII 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF DISTINGUISHING MEN IN ENGLAND BY THEIR 
 DRESS. TWO INSTANCES OF THIS 
 
 IN all other countries, my dear Fum Hoam, the rich are distin- 
 guished by their dress. In Persia, China, and most parts of 
 Europe, those who are possessed of much gold or silver, put some 
 of it upon their clothes; but in England, those who carry much upon 
 their clothes, are remarked for having but little in their pockets. A 
 tawdry outside is regarded as a badge of poverty; and those who 
 can sit at home, and gloat over their thousands in silent satisfaction, 
 are generally found to do it in plain clothes. 
 
 This diversity of thinking from the rest of the world which pre- 
 vails here, I was, at first, at a loss to account for; but am since in- 
 formed, that it was introduced by an intercourse between them and 
 their neighbours the French, who, whenever they came in order to 
 pay these islanders a visit, were generally very well dressed, and very 
 poor, daubed with lace, but all the gilding on the outside. By 
 this means laced clothes have been brought so much into contempt, 
 that, at present, even their mandarines are ashamed of finery. 
 
 I must own myself a convert to English simplicity ; I am no more 
 for ostentation of wealth than of learning: the person who in com- 
 
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 pany should pretend to be wiser than others, I am apt to regard 
 as illiterate and ill-bred; the person whose clothes are extremely 
 fine, I am too apt to consider as not being possessed of any superior- 
 ity of fortune, but resembling those Indians who are found to wear 
 all the gold they have in the world in a bob at the nose. 
 
 I was lately introduced into a company of the best dressed men 
 I have seen since my arrival. Upon entering the room, I was 
 struck with awe at the grandeur of the different dresses. That 
 personage, thought I, in blue and gold must be some emperor's 
 son ; that in green and silver, a prince of the blood; he in embroidered 
 scarlet, a prime minister; all first rate noblemen, I suppose, and 
 well-looking noblemen too. I sat for some time with that uneasi- 
 ness which conscious inferiority produces in the ingenuous mind, 
 all attention to their discourse. However, I found their conversa- 
 tion more vulgar than I could have expected from personages of 
 such distinction : If these, thought I to myself, be princes, they are 
 the most stupid princes I have ever conversed with: yet still I con- 
 tinued to venerate their dress; for dress has a kind of mechanical 
 influence on the mind. 
 
 My friend in black, indeed, did not behave with the same defer- 
 ence, but contradicted the finest of them all in the most peremptory 
 tones of contempt. But I had scarce time to wonder at the impru- 
 dence of his conduct, when I found occasion to be equally surprised 
 at the absurdity of theirs; for upon the entrance of a middle-aged 
 man, dressed in a cap, dirty shirt, and boots, the whole circle seemed 
 diminished of their former importance, and contended who should 
 be first to pay their obeisance to the stranger. They somewhat 
 resembled a circle of Kalmucs offering incense to a bear. 
 
 Eager to know the cause of so much seeming contradiction, I 
 whispered my friend out of the room, and found that the august 
 company consisted of no other than a dancing master, two fiddlers, 
 and a third-rate actor, all assembled in order to make a set at 
 country dances; as the middle-aged gentleman whom I saw enter, 
 was a 'squire from the country, desirous of learning the new manner 
 of footing, and smoothing up the rudiments of his rural minuet. 
 
 I was no longer surprised at the authority which my friend as- 
 sumed among them nay, was even displeased (pardon my 
 Eastern education) that he had not kicked every creature of them 
 down stairs. "What," said I, "shall a set of such paltry fellows 
 dress themselves up like sons of kings, and claim even the transi- 
 
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 tory respect of half an hour ! There should be some law to restrain 
 so manifest a breach of privilege; they should go from house to 
 house as in China, with the instruments of their profession strung 
 round their necks ; by this means, we might be able to distinguish 
 and treat them in a style of becoming contempt." "Hold, my 
 friend," replied my companion, "were your reformation to take 
 place, as dancing masters and fiddlers now mimic gentlemen in 
 appearance, we should then find our fine gentlemen conforming 
 to theirs. A beau might be introduced to a lady of fashion with 
 a fiddle-case hanging at his neck by a red riband ; and, instead of a 
 cane, might carry a fiddlestick. Though to be as dull as a first- 
 rate dancing master might be used with proverbial justice; yet, dull 
 as he is, many a fine gentleman sets him up as the proper standard 
 of politeness; copies not only the pert vivacity of his air, but the 
 flat insipidity of his conversation. In short, if you make a law 
 against dancing masters imitating the fine gentleman, you should 
 with as much reason enact, that no fine gentleman shall imitate 
 the dancing master." 
 
 After I had left my friend, I made towards home, reflecting as 
 I went upon the difficulty of distinguishing men by their appearance. 
 Invited, however, by the freshness of the evening, I did not return 
 directly, but went to ruminate on what had passed in a public 
 garden belonging to the city. Here, as I sat upon one of the 
 benches, and felt the pleasing sympathy which nature in bloom 
 inspires, a disconsolate figure who sat on the other end of the seat, 
 seemed no way to enjoy the serenity of the season. 
 
 His dress was miserable beyond description; a thread-bare coat, 
 of the rudest materials; a shirt, though clean, yet extremely coarse; 
 hair that seemed to have been long unconscious of the comb; and 
 all the rest of his equipage impressed with the marks of genuine 
 poverty. 
 
 As he continued to sigh, and testify every symptom of despair, 
 I was naturally led, from a motive of humanity, to offer comfort 
 and assistance. You know my heart ; and that all who are miserable 
 may claim a place there. The pensive stranger at first declined any 
 conversation ; but at last perceiving a peculiarity in my accent and 
 manner of thinking, he began to unfold himself by degrees. 
 
 I now found that he was not so very miserable as he at first ap- 
 peared; upon my offering him a small piece of money, he refused 
 my favour, yet without appearing displeased at my intended gen- 
 
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 erosity. It is true, he sometimes interrupted the conversation with 
 a sigh, and talked pathetically of neglected merit; yet still I could 
 perceive a serenity in his countenance, that, upon a closer inspec- 
 tion, bespoke inward content. 
 
 Upon a pause in the conversation, I was going to take my leave, 
 when he begged I would favour him with my company home to 
 supper. I was surprised at such a demand from a person of his 
 appearance, but, willing to indulge curiosity, I accepted his invita- 
 tion ; and, though I felt some repugnance at being seen with one who 
 appeared so very wretched, went along with seeming alacrity. 
 
 Still as he approached nearer home, his good humour propor- 
 tionably seemed to increase. At last he stopped, not at the gate 
 of a hovel, but of a magnificent palace ! When I cast my eyes upon 
 all the sumptuous elegance which every where presented upon enter- 
 ing, and then when I looked at my seeming miserable conductor, 
 I could scarce think that all this finery belonged to him ; yet in fact 
 it did. Numerous servants ran through the apartments with silent 
 assiduity; several ladies of beauty, and magnificently dressed, came 
 to welcome his return; a most elegant supper was provided: in 
 short, I found the person whom a little before I had sincerely pitied, 
 to be in reality a most refined epicure: one who courted contempt 
 abroad, in order to feel with keener gust the pleasure of pre-emi- 
 nence at home. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER Lin 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE ABSURD TASTE FOR CERTAIN FORMS OF LITERATURE 
 
 HOW often have we admired the eloquence of Europe! that 
 strength of thinking, that delicacy of imagination, even be- 
 yond the efforts of the Chinese themselves. How were we enrap- 
 tured with those bold figures which sent every sentiment with force 
 to the heart. How have we spent whole days together, in learning 
 those arts by which European writers got within the passions, and 
 led the reader as if by enchantment. 
 
 But though we have learned most of the rhetorical figures of the 
 last age, yet there seems to be one or two of great use here, which 
 have not yet travelled to China. The figures I mean are called 
 Bawdy and Pertness: none are more fashionable none so sure 
 
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 of admirers; they are of such a nature, that the merest blockhead, 
 by a proper use of them, shall have the reputation of a wit ; they lie 
 level to the meanest capacities, and address those passions which 
 all have, or would be ashamed to disown. 
 
 It has been observed, and I believe with some truth, that it is 
 very difficult for a dunce to obtain the reputation of a wit; yet, 
 by the assistance of the figure Bawdy, this may be easily effected, 
 and a bawdy blockhead often passes for a fellow of smart parts and 
 pretensions. Every object in nature helps the jokes forward, 
 without scarce any effort of the imagination. If a lady stands, 
 something very good may be said upon that; if she happens to fall, 
 with the help of a little fashionable pruriency, there are forty sly 
 things ready on the occasion. But a prurient jest has always been 
 found to give most pleasure to a few very old gentlemen, who, being 
 in some measure dead to other sensations, feel the force of the allu- 
 sion with double violence on the organs of risibility. 
 
 An author who writes in this manner is generally sure, therefore, 
 of having the very old and the impotent among his admirers; for 
 these he may properly be said to write, and from these he ought to 
 expect his reward; his works being often a very proper succedaneum 
 to cantharides, or an asafoetida pill. His pen should be considered 
 in the same b'ght as the squirt of an apothecary, both being directed 
 at the same generous end. 
 
 But though this manner of writing be perfectly adapted to the 
 taste of gentlemen and ladies of fashion here, yet still it deserves 
 greater praise in being equally suited to the most vulgar apprehen- 
 sions. The very ladies and gentlemen of Benin or Cafraria are in 
 this respect tolerably polite, and might relish a prurient joke of this 
 kind with critical propriety; probably, too, with higher gust, as 
 they wear neither breeches nor petticoats to intercept the applica- 
 tion. 
 
 It is certain I never could have expected the ladies here, biassed 
 as they are by education, capable at once of bravely throwing off 
 their prejudices, and not only applauding books in which this figure 
 makes the only merit, but even adopting it in their own conversation. 
 Yet so it is; the pretty innocents now carry those books openly in 
 their hands, which formerly were hid under the cushion ; they now 
 lisp their double meanings with so much grace, and talk over the 
 raptures they bestow with such little reserve, that I am sometimes 
 reminded of a custom among the entertainers in China, who think 
 
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 it a piece of necessary breeding to whet the appetites of their guests, 
 by letting them smell dinner in the kitchen, before it is served up to 
 table. 
 
 The veneration we have for many things, entirely proceeds from 
 their being carefully concealed. Were the idolatrous Tartar per- 
 mitted to lift the veil which keeps his idol from view, it might be a 
 certain method to cure his future superstition; with what a noble 
 spirit of freedom, therefore, must that writer be possessed, who 
 bravely paints things as they are who lifts the veil of modesty 
 who displays the most hidden recesses of the temple, and shows the 
 erring people that the object of their vows is either, perhaps a mouse 
 or a monkey ! 
 
 However, though this figure be at present so much hi fashion 
 though the professors of it are so much caressed by the great, those 
 perfect judges of literary excellence, yet it is confessed to be only 
 a revival of what was once fashionable here before. There was a 
 time, when, by this very manner of writing, the gentle Tom Durfey, 
 as I read in English authors, acquired his great reputation, and be- 
 came the favourite of a king. 
 
 The works of this original genius, though they never travelled 
 abroad to China, and scarce have reached posterity at home, were 
 once found upon every fashionable toilet, and made the subject of 
 polite, I mean very polite conversation. "Has your grace seen 
 Mr. Durfey's last new thing, the Oylet Hole? a most facetious 
 piece !" " Sure, my lord, all the world must have seen it; Durfey 
 is certainly the most comical creature alive. It is impossible to 
 read his things and live. Was there ever anything so natural and 
 pretty, as when the 'Squire and Bridget meet in the cellar? And 
 then the difficulties they both find hi broaching the beer barrel, are 
 so arch and so ingenious ! We have certainly nothing of this kind 
 in the language." In this manner they spoke then, and in this man- 
 ner they speak now; for though the successor of Durfey does not 
 excel him in wit, the world must confess he outdoes him in obscenity. 
 
 There are several very duU fellows, who, by a few mechanical 
 helps, sometimes learn to become extremely brilliant and pleasing, 
 with a little dexterity in the management of the eyebrows, fingers, 
 and nose. By imitating a cat, a sow and pigs, by a loud laugh, 
 and a slap on the shoulder, the most ignorant are furnished out 
 for conversation. But the writer finds it impossible to throw his 
 winks, his shrugs, or his attitudes upon paper; he may borrow 
 
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 some assistance, indeed, by printing his face at the title page; but, 
 without wit, to pass for a man of ingenuity, no other mechanical 
 help but downright obscenity will suffice. By speaking of some 
 peculiar sensations, we are always sure of exciting laughter, for the 
 jest does not lie in the writer, but in the subject. 
 
 But Bawdy is often helped on by another figure, called Pertness; 
 and few indeed are found to excel in one that are not possessed of 
 the other. As in common conversation, the best way to make the 
 audience laugh is by first laughing yourself; so in writing, the 
 properest manner is to show an attempt at humour, which will pass 
 upon most for humour in reality. To effect this, readers must be 
 treated with the most perfect familiarity: in one page the author is 
 to make them a low bow, and in the next to pull them by the nose ; 
 he must talk in riddles, and then send them to bed in order to dream 
 for the solution. He must speak of himself, and his chapters, and 
 his manner, and what he would be at, and his own importance, and 
 his mother's importance, with the most unpitying prolixity; now 
 and then testifying his contempt for all but himself, smiling without 
 a jest, and without wit professing vivacity. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER LIV 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF AN IMPORTANT TRIFLER, [BEAU TIBBSJ 
 
 THOUGH naturally pensive, yet I am fond of gay company, 
 and take every opportunity of thus dismissing the mind from 
 duty. From this motive, I am often found in the centre of a crowd ; 
 and wherever pleasure is to be sold, am always a purchaser. In 
 those places, without being remarked by any, I join in whatever 
 goes forward; work my passions into a similitude of frivolous 
 earnestness, shout as they shout, and condemn as they happen to 
 disapprove. A mind thus sunk for a while below its natural stand- 
 ard, is qualified for stronger flights, as those first retire who would 
 spring forward with greater vigour. 
 
 Attracted by the serenity of the evening, my friend and I lately 
 went to gaze upon the company in one of the public walks near the 
 city. Here we sauntered together for some time, either praising 
 the beauty of such as were handsome, or the dresses of such as had 
 
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 nothing else to recommend them. We had gone thus deliberately 
 forward for some time, when, stopping on a sudden, my friend caught 
 me by the elbow, and led me out of the public walk. I could 
 perceive by the quickness of his pace, and by his frequently looking 
 behind, that he was attempting to avoid somebody who followed: 
 we now turned to the right, then to the left: as we went forward, 
 he still went faster, but in vain : the person whom he attempted to 
 escape hunted us through every doubling, and gained upon us each 
 moment, so that at last we fairly stood still, resolving to face what 
 we could not avoid. 
 
 Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all the familiarity 
 of an old acquaintance. " My dear Drybone, " cries he, shaking 
 my friend's hand, " where have you been hiding this half a century? 
 Positively I had fancied you were gone down to cultivate matrimony 
 and your estate in the country." During the reply, I had an oppor- 
 tunity of surveying the appearance of our new companion: his 
 hat was pinched up with peculiar smartness; his looks were pale, 
 thin, and sharp; round his neck he wore a broad black riband, and 
 in his bosom a buckle studded with glass; his coat was trimmed 
 with tarnished twist; he wore by his side a sword with a black hilt; 
 and his stockings of silk, though newly washed, were grown yellow 
 by long service. I was so much engaged with the peculiarity of his 
 dress, that I attended only to the latter part of my friend's reply, in 
 which he complimented Mr. Tibbs on the taste of his clothes, and 
 the bloom of his countenance. "Pshaw, pshaw! Will," cried the 
 figure, " no more of that, if you love me: you know I hate flattery, 
 on my soul I do; and yet, to be sure, an intimacy with the great will 
 improve one's appearance, and a course of venison will fatten ; and 
 yet, faith, I despise the great as much as you do; but there are a 
 great many damn'd honest fellows among them, and we must not 
 quarrel with one half, because the other wants weeding. If they 
 were all such as my Lord Mudler, one of the most good-natured 
 creatures that ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself be among 
 the number of their admirers. I was yesterday to dine at the 
 Duchess of Piccadilly's. My lord was there. 'Ned,' says he to 
 me, 'Ned,' says he, 'I'll hold gold to silver I can tell where you were 
 poaching last night.' 'Poaching, my lord?' says I, 'faith you 
 have missed already; for I staid at home, and let the girls poach for 
 me. That's my way: I take a fine woman as some animals do their 
 prey stand still, and swoop, they fall into my mouth.' " 
 
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 "Ah, Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow," cried my companion, with 
 looks of infinite pity; "I hope your fortune is as much improved as 
 your understanding in such company." "Improved," replied the 
 other; " You shall know, but let it go no further a great secret 
 five hundred a-year to begin with. My lord's word of honour 
 for it. His lordship took me down in his own chariot yesterday, 
 and we had a tete-a-te'te dinner in the country, where we talked of 
 nothing else." "I fancy you forget, Sir," cried I, "you told us 
 but this moment of your dining yesterday in town." "Did I 
 say so?" replied he cooly; "to be sure if I said so, it was so 
 Dined in town; egad, now I do remember, I did dine in town; but 
 I dined in the country too; for you must know, my boys, I eat two 
 dinners. By the by, I am grown as nice as the devil in my eating. 
 I'll tell you a pleasant affair about that: We were a select party 
 of us to dine at Lady Grogram's an affected piece, but let it go 
 no farther a secret Well, there happened to be no asafcetida 
 in the sauce to a turkey, upon which, says I, " I'll hold a thousand 
 guineas, and say done first, that But, dear Drybone, you are an 
 honest creature; lend me half-a-crown for a minute or two, or so, 
 
 just till but hearkee, ask me for it the next time we meet, or 
 
 it may be twenty to one but I forget to pay you." 
 
 When he left us, our conversation naturally turned upon so 
 extraordinary a character. " His very dress," cries my friend, ' ' is 
 not less extraordinary than his conduct. If you meet him this day, 
 you find him in rags ; if the next, in embroidery. With those persons 
 of distinction of whom he talks so familiarly, he has scarce a coffee- 
 house acquaintance. However, both for the interests of society, and 
 perhaps for his own, Heaven has made him poor, and while all the 
 world perceive his wants, he fancies them concealed from every 
 eye. An agreeable companion, because he understands flattery; 
 and all must be pleased with the first part of his conversation, 
 though all are sure of its ending with a demand on their purse. 
 While his youth countenances the levity of his conduct, he may 
 thus earn a precarious subsistence; but when age comes on, the 
 gravity of which is incompatible with buffoonery, then will he find 
 himself forsaken by all; condemned in the decline of life to hang 
 upon some rich family whom he once despised, there to undergo 
 all the ingenuity of studied contempt, to be employed only as a spy 
 upon the servants, or a bugbear to fright the children into obedi- 
 ence." Adieu. 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 LETTER LV 
 To the Same 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF THE TRIFLER CONTINUED: WITH THAT OF HIS 
 WIFE, HIS HOUSE, AND FURNITURE 
 
 I AM apt to fancy I have contracted a new acquaintance whom 
 it will be no easy matter to shake off. My little Beau yester- 
 day overtook me again in one of the public walks, and slapping me 
 on the shoulder, saluted me with an air of the most perfect familiar- 
 ity. His dress was the same as usual, except that he had more 
 powder in his hair, wore a dirtier shirt, a pair of temple spectacles, 
 and his hat under his arm. 
 
 As I knew him to be a harmless, amusing little thing, I could not 
 return his smiles with any degree of severity: so we walked forward 
 on terms of the utmost intimacy, and in a few minutes discussed 
 all the usual topics preliminary to particular conversation. The 
 oddities that marked his character, however, soon began to appear ; 
 he bowed to several well-dressed persons, who, by their manner of 
 returning the compliment, appeared perfect strangers. At intervals 
 he drew out a pocket-book, seeming to take memorandums before 
 all the company, with much importance and assiduity. In this 
 manner he led me through the length of the whole walk, fretting at 
 his absurdities, and fancying myself laughed at not less than him 
 by every spectator. 
 
 When we were got to the end of our procession, "Blast me," 
 cries he, with an ah* of vivacity, " I never saw the Park so thin in my 
 life before! There's no company at all to-day; not a single face to 
 be seen." "No company!" interrupted I, peevishly; "no com- 
 pany where there is such a crowd? why, man, there's too much. 
 What are the thousands that have been laughing at us but com- 
 pany?" "Lord, my dear," returned he, with the utmost good 
 humour, "you seem immensely chagrined; but, blast me, when 
 the world laughs at me, I laugh at the world, and so we are even. 
 My Lord Trip, Bill Squash the Creolian, and I, sometimes make a 
 party at being ridiculous; and so we say and do a thousand things 
 for the joke's sake. But I see you are grave, and if you are for a 
 fine grave sentimental companion, you shall dine with me and my 
 wife to-day; I must insist on't. I'll introduce you to Mrs. Tibbs, a 
 
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 lady of as elegant qualifications as any in nature; she was bred (but 
 that's between ourselves), under the inspection of the Countess of 
 All-night. A charming body of voice; but no more of that, she 
 will give us a song. You shall see my little girl too, Carolina Wil- 
 helmina Amelia Tibbs, a sweet pretty creature: I design her for my 
 Lord Drumstick's eldest son; but that's in friendship, let it go no 
 further: she's but six years old, and yet she walks a minuet, and 
 plays on the guitar immensely already. I intend she shall be as 
 perfect as possible in every accomplishment. In the first place, I'll 
 make her a scholar: I'll teach her Greek myself, and learn that 
 language purposely to instruct her; but let that be a secret." 
 
 Thus saying, without waiting for a reply, he took me by the arm, 
 and hauled me along. We passed through many dark alleys and 
 winding ways; for, from some motives to me unknown, he seemed 
 to have a particular aversion to every frequented street; at last, 
 however, we got to the door of a dismal-looking house in the outlets 
 of the town, where he informed me he chose to reside for the benefit 
 of the air. 
 
 We entered the lower door, which ever seemed to lie most hospi- 
 tably open ; and I began to ascend an old and creaking staircase, 
 when, as he mounted to show me the way, he demanded, whether 
 I delighted in prospects; to which answering in the affirmative, 
 " Then," says he, " I shall show you one of the most charming in the 
 world, out of my window; we shall see the ships sailing, and the 
 whole country for twenty miles round, tip top, quite high. My 
 Lord Swamp would give ten thousand guineas for such a one; but, 
 as I sometimes pleasantly tell him, I always love to keep my pros- 
 pects at home, that my friends may see me the oftener." 
 
 By this time we were arrived as high as the stairs would permit 
 us to ascend, till we came to what he was facetiously pleased to call 
 the first floor down the chimney; and knocking at the door, a voice 
 from within demanded, "Who's there?" My conductor answered 
 that it was him. But this not satisfying the querist, the voice again 
 repeated the demand; to which he answered louder than before; 
 and now the door was opened by an old woman with cautious re- 
 luctance. 
 
 When we were got in, he welcomed me to his house with great 
 ceremony, and turning to the old woman, asked where was her 
 lady? "Good troth," replied she, in a peculiar dialect, "she's 
 washing your twa shirts at the next door, because they have taken 
 
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 an oath against lending out the tub any longer." " My two 
 shirts!" cried he in a tone that faltered with confusion, "what does 
 the idiot mean?" "I ken what I mean weel enough," replied 
 the other ; " she's washing your twa shirts at the next door, because 
 
 " "Fire and fury, no more of thy stupid explanations!" 
 
 cried he; "go and inform her we have got company. Were that 
 Scotch hag," continued he, turning to me, "to be for ever in my 
 family, she would never learn politeness, nor forget that absurd 
 poisonous accent of hers, or testify the smallest specimen of breeding 
 of high life; and yet it is very surprising too, as I had her from a 
 Parliament man, a friend of mine from the Highlands, one of the 
 politest men in the world ; but that's a secret." 
 
 We waited some time for Mrs. Tibbs's arrival, during which 
 interval I had a full opportunity of surveying the chamber and all 
 its furniture, which consisted of four chairs with old wrought 
 bottoms, that he assured me were his wife's embroidery; a square 
 table that had once been japanned; a cradle hi one corner, a lumber- 
 ing cabinet in the other; a broken shepherdess, and a mandarine 
 without a head, were stuck over the chimney; and round the walls 
 several paltry unframed pictures, which, he observed, were all his 
 own drawing. " What do you think, Sir, of that head in the corner, 
 done in the manner of Grisoni? there's the true keeping in it; it 
 is my own face, and though there happens to be no likeness, a 
 Countess offered me a hundred for its fellow: I refused her, for, 
 hang it, that would be mechanical you know." 
 
 The wife at last made her appearance, at once a slattern and a 
 coquette ; much emaciated, but still carrying the remains of beauty. 
 She made twenty apologies for being seen hi such odious dishabille, 
 but hoped to be excused, as she had stayed out all night at the 
 gardens with the Countess, who was excessively fond of the horns. 
 "And, indeed, my dear," added she, turning to her husband, "his 
 lordship drank your health in a bumper." - "Poor Jack!" cries 
 he, "a dear good-natured creature, I know he loves me. But I 
 hope, my dear, you have given orders for dinner; you need make 
 no great preparations neither, there are but three of us; something 
 
 elegant, and little will do, a turbot, an ortolan, a ' "Or 
 
 what do you think, my dear," interrupts the wife, " of a nice pretty 
 bit of ox-cheek, piping hot, and dressed with a little of my own 
 sauce?" "The very thing!" replies he; "it will eat best with 
 some smart bottled beer: but be sure to let us have the sauce his 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 Grace was so fond of. I hate your immense loads of meat ; that is 
 country all over; extremely disgusting to those who are in the least 
 acquainted with high life." 
 
 By this time my curiosity began to abate, and my appetite to 
 increase; the company of fools may at first make us smile, but at 
 last never fails of rendering us melancholy: I therefore pretended 
 to recollect a prior engagement, and, after having shown my respect 
 to the house, according to the fashion of the English, by giving the 
 old servant a piece of money at the door, I took my leave; Mr. 
 Tibbs assuring me, that dinner, if I stayed, would be ready at least 
 in less than two hours. 
 
 LETTER LVIH 
 
 To the Same 
 
 A VISITATION DINNER DESCRIBED 
 
 AS the man in black takes every opportunity of introducing 
 me to such company as may serve to indulge my speculative 
 temper, or gratify my curiosity, I was, by his influence, lately in- 
 vited to a "visitation dinner. To understand this term, you must 
 know, that it was formerly the custom here for the principal priests 
 to go about the country once a-year, and examine upon the spot, 
 whether those of subordinate orders did their duty, or were quali- 
 fied for the task; whether their temples were kept in proper repair 
 or the laity pleased with their administration. 
 
 Though a visitation of this nature was very useful, yet it was 
 found to be extremely troublesome, and for many reasons utterly 
 inconvenient; for, as the principal priests were obliged to attend 
 at court, in order to solicit preferment, it was impossible they could 
 at the same time attend in the country, which was quite out of the 
 road to promotion : if we add to this the gout, which has been time 
 immemorial a clerical disorder here, together with the bad wine, 
 and ill-dressed provisions that must infallibly be served up by the 
 way, it was not strange that the custom has been long discontinued. 
 At present, therefore, every head of the church, instead of going 
 about to visit his priests, is satisfied if his priests come in a body 
 once a-year to visit him; by this means the duty of half a-year is 
 despatched in a day. When assembled, he asks each in turn how 
 
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 they have behaved, and are liked; upon which, those who have 
 neglected their duty, or are disagreeable to their congregation, no 
 doubt accuse themselves, and tell him all their faults, for which he 
 reprimands them most severely. 
 
 The thoughts of being introduced into a company of philosophers 
 and learned men, (for such I conceived them) gave me no small 
 pleasure. I expected our entertainment would resemble those senti- 
 mental banquets, so finely described by Xenophon and Plato: I was 
 hoping some Socrates would be brought in from the door, in order 
 to harangue upon divine love: but as for eating and drinking, I had 
 prepared myself to be disappointed in that particular. I was 
 apprised that fasting and temperance were tenets strongly recom- 
 mended to the professors of Christianity, and I had seen the frugality 
 and mortification of the priests of the East; so that I expected an en- 
 tertainment where we should have much reasoning and little meat. 
 
 Upon being introduced, I confess I found no great signs of morti- 
 fication in the faces or persons of the company. However, I imputed 
 their florid looks to temperance, and their corpulency to a sedentary 
 way of living. I saw several preparations, indeed, for dinner, but 
 none for philosophy. The company seemed to gaze upon the table 
 with silent expectation; but this I easily excused. Men of wisdom, 
 thought I, are ever slow of speech; they deliver nothing unadvisedly. 
 "Silence," says Confucius, "is a friend that will never betray." 
 They are now probably inventing maxims or hard sayings for their 
 mutual instruction, when some one shall think proper to begin. 
 
 My curiosity was now wrought up to the highest pitch; I impa- 
 tiently looked round to see if any were going to interrupt the mighty 
 pause ; when at last one of the company declared, that there was a 
 sow in his neighbourhood that farrowed fifteen pigs at a litter. This 
 I thought a very preposterous beginning; but just as another was 
 going to second the remark, dinner was served, which interrupted 
 the conversation for that time. 
 
 The appearance of dinner, which consisted of a variety of dishes, 
 seemed to diffuse new cheerfulness upon every face; so that I now 
 expected the philosophical conversation to begin, as they improved 
 in good humour. The principal priest, however, opened his mouth 
 with only observing, that the venison had not been kept enough, 
 though he had given strict orders for having it killed ten days before. 
 "I fear," continued he, "it will be found to want the true healthy 
 flavour; you will find nothing of, the original wildness in it." A 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 priest, who sat next him, having smelt it, and wiped his nose, "Ah, 
 my good lord," cries he, "you are too modest, it is perfectly fine; 
 everybody knows that nobody understands keeping venison with 
 your lordship." "Ay, and partridges too," interrupted another; 
 "I never find them right any where else." His lordship was going 
 to reply, when a third took off the attention of the company, by 
 recommending the pig as inimitable. " I fancy, my lord," continues 
 he, "it has been smothered in its own blood." "If it has been 
 smothered in its blood," cried a facetious member, helping himself, 
 "we'll now smother it in egg sauce." This poignant piece of 
 humour produced a long luod laugh, which the facetious brother 
 observing, and now that he was in luck, willing to second his blow, 
 assured the company he would tell them a good story about that: 
 "As good a story," cries he, bursting into a violent fit of laughter 
 himself, " as you ever heard in your lives. There was a farmer in 
 my parish who used to sup upon wild ducks and flummery; so this 
 farmer " "Doctor Marrowfat," cried his lordship, interrupt- 
 ing him; "give me leave to drink your health;" "so being fond 
 
 of wild ducks and flummery, " "Doctor," adds a gentleman 
 
 who sat next him, "let me advise you to a wing of this turkey;" 
 
 "so this farmer being fond " "Hob [and] nob, Doctor, which 
 
 do you choose, white or red?" "so, being fond of wild ducks and 
 
 flummery; " "Take care of your band, Sir, it may dip in the 
 
 gravy." The Doctor, now looking round, found not a single eye 
 disposed to listen; wherefore, calling for a glass of wine, he gulped 
 down the disappointment and the tale in a bumper. 
 
 The conversation now began to be a little more than a rhapsody 
 of exclamations: as each had pretty well satisfied his own appetite, 
 he now found sufficient time to press others. " Excellent ! the very 
 thing! let me recommend the pig." "Do but taste the bacon! 
 never ate a better thing in my life: exquisite! delicious!" This 
 edifying discourse continued through three courses, which lasted 
 as many hours, till every one of the company was unable to swallow 
 or utter any thing more. 
 
 It is very natural for men, who are abridged hi one excess, to 
 break into some other. The clergy here, particularly those who 
 are advanced in years, think if they are abstemious with regard to 
 women and wine, they may indulge their other appetites without 
 censure. Thus some are found to rise in the morning only to a 
 consultation with their cook about dinner, and, when that has been 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 swallowed, make no other use of their faculties (if they have any) 
 but to ruminate on the succeeding meal. 
 
 A debauch in wine is even more pardonable than this, since one 
 glass insensibly leads on to another, and, instead of sating, whets 
 the appetite. The progressive steps to it are cheerful and seducing; 
 the grave are animated, the melancholy relieved, and ther is even 
 classic authority to countenance the excess. But in eating, after 
 nature is once satisfied, every additional morsel brings stupidity 
 and distempers with it, and, as one of their own poets expresses it, 
 
 " The soul subsides, and wickedly inclines 
 To seem but mortal, even in sound divines. " 
 
 Let me suppose, after such a meal as this I have been describing, 
 while all the company are sitting in lethargic silence round the table, 
 grunting under a load of soup, pig, pork, and bacon ; let me suppose, 
 I say, some hungry beggar, with looks of want, peeping through 
 one of the windows, and thus addressing the assembly: "Prithee, 
 pluck those napkins from your chins; after nature is satisfied, all 
 that you eat extraordinary is my property, and I claim it as mine. 
 It was given you in order to relieve me, and not to oppress yourselves. 
 How can they comfort or instruct others, who can scarce feel their 
 own existence, except from the unsavoury returns of an ill-digested 
 meal ? But though neither you nor the cushions you sit upon will 
 hear me, yet the world regards the excesses of its teachers with a 
 prying eye, and notes their conduct with double severity." I 
 know no other answer any one of the company could make to such 
 an expostulation but this: " Friend, you talk of our losing a character, 
 and being disliked by the world; well, and supposing all this to be 
 true, what then ! who cares for the world ? We'll preach for the 
 world, and the world shall pay us for preaching, whether we like 
 each other or not." 
 
 461
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 LETTER LXIV 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE GREAT EXCHANGE HAPPINESS FOR SHOW. THEIR FOLLY IN 
 THIS RESPECT OF USE TO SOCIETY 
 
 THE princes of Europe have found out a manner of rewarding 
 their subjects who have behaved well, by presenting them 
 with about two yards of blue ribbon, which is worn about the 
 shoulder. They who are honoured with this mark of distinction 
 are called knights, and the king himself is always the head of the 
 order. This is a very frugal method of recompensing the most 
 important services; and it is very fortunate for kings that their 
 subjects are satisfied with such trifling rewards. Should a nobleman 
 happen to lose his leg in battle, the king presents him with two yards 
 of ribbon, and he is paid for the loss of his limb. Should an 
 ambassador spend all his paternal fortune in supporting the honour 
 of his country abroad, the king presents him with two yards of 
 ribbon, which is to be considered as an equivalent to his estate. 
 In short, while an European king has a yard of blue or green 
 riband left, he need be under no apprehensions of wanting states- 
 men, generals, and soldiers. 
 
 I cannot sufficiently admire those kingdoms in which men with 
 large patrimonial estates are willing thus to undergo real hardships 
 for empty favours. A person, already possessed of a competent 
 fortune, who undertakes to enter the career of ambition, feels many 
 real inconveniences from his station, while it procures him no real 
 happiness that he was not possessed of before. He could eat, 
 drink, and sleep, before he became a courtier, as well, perhaps 
 better, than when invested with his authority. He could command 
 flatterers in a private station, as well as in his public capacity, and 
 indulge at home eveiy favourite inclination, uncensured and unseen 
 by the people. 
 
 What real good, then, does an addition to a fortune already 
 sufficient procure? Not any. Could the great man, by having 
 his fortune increased, increase also his appetites, then precedence 
 might be attended with real amusement. 
 
 Was he, by having his one thousand made two, thus enabled to 
 enjoy two wives, or eat two dinners, then, indeed, he might be 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 excused for undergoing some pain, in order to extend the sphere 
 of his enjoyments. But, on the contrary, he finds his desire for 
 pleasure often lessen, as he takes pains to be able to improve it; and 
 his capacity of enjoyment diminishes as his fortune happens to 
 increase. 
 
 Instead, therefore, of regarding the great with envy, I generally 
 consider them with some share of compassion. I look upon them 
 as a set of good-natured, misguided people, who are indebted to us, 
 and not to themselves, for all the happiness they enjoy. For our 
 pleasure, and not their own, they sweat under a cumbrous heap of 
 finery; for our pleasure, the lackeyed train, the slow parading 
 pageant, with all the gravity of grandeur, moves in review : a single 
 coat, or a single footman, answers all the purposes of the most 
 indolent refinement as well; and these who have twenty, may be 
 said to keep one for their own pleasure, and the other nineteen 
 merely for ours. So true is the observation of Confucius, "That 
 we take greater pains to persuade others that we are happy, than 
 in endeavouring to think so ourselves." 
 
 But though this desire of being seen, of being made the subject 
 of discourse, and of supporting the dignities of an exalted station, 
 be troublesome enough to the ambitious, yet it is well for society 
 that there are men thus willing to exchange ease and safety for 
 danger and a ribbon. We lose nothing by their vanity, and it 
 would be unkind to endeavour to deprive a child of its rattle. If a 
 duke or a duchess are willing to carry a long train for our entertain- 
 ment, so much the worse for themselves; if they choose to exhibit 
 in public, with a hundred lackeys and mamelukes in their equipage, 
 for our entertainment, still so much the worse for themselves; it is 
 the spectators alone who give and receive the pleasure; they only 
 [are] the sweating figures that swell the pageant. 
 
 A mandarine, who took much pride in appearing with a number 
 of jewels on every part of his robe, was once accosted by an old sly 
 bonze, who, following him through several streets, and bowing 
 often to the ground, thanked him for his jewels. "What does the 
 man mean?" cried the mandarine: "Friend, I never gave thee any 
 of my jewels." "No," replied the other; "but you have let me 
 look at them, and that is all the use you can make of them yourself; 
 so there is no difference between us, except that you have the trouble 
 of watching them, and that is an employment I don't much desire." 
 Adieu. 
 
 463
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 LETTER LXV 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A PHILOSOPHIC COBBLER 
 
 THOUGH not very fond of seeing a pageant myself, yet I am 
 generally pleased with being in the crowd which sees it: it is 
 amusing to observe the effect which such a spectacle has upon the 
 variety of faces; the pleasure it excites in some, the envy in others, 
 and the wishes it raises in all. With this design I lately went to 
 see the entry of a foreign ambassador, resolved to make one in the 
 mob, to shout as they shouted, to fix with earnestness upon the same 
 frivolous objects, and participate for a while the pleasures and the 
 wishes of the vulgar. 
 
 Struggling here for some time, in order to be first to see the caval- 
 cade as it passed, some one of the crowd unluckily happened to 
 tread upon my shoe, and tore it in such a manner, that I was utterly 
 unqualified to march forward with the main body, and obliged to 
 fall back in the rear. Thus rendered incapable of being a spectator 
 of the show myself, I was at least willing to observe the spectators, 
 and limped behind like one of the invalids which follow the march 
 of an army. 
 
 In this plight, as I was considering the eagerness that appeared 
 on every face, how some bustled to get foremost, and others con- 
 tented themselves with taking a transient peep when they could; 
 how some praised the four black servants that were stuck behind 
 one of the equipages, and some the ribbons that decorated the 
 horses' necks in another, my attention was called off to an object 
 more extraordinary than any I had yet seen : a poor cobbler sat in 
 his stall by the way-side, and continued to work, while the crowd 
 passed by, without testifying the smallest share of curiosity. I own 
 his want of attention excited mine; and as I stood hi need of his 
 assistance, I thought it best to employ a philosophic cobbler on this 
 occasion. Perceiving my business, therefore, he desired me to 
 enter and sit down, took my shoe in his lap, and began to mend it 
 with his usual indifference and taciturnity. 
 
 "How, my friend," said I to him, "can you continue to work, 
 while all those fine things are passing by your door?" "Very fine 
 they are, master," returned the cobbler, " for those that like them 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 to be sure; but what are all those fine things to me? You don't 
 know what it is to be a cobbler, and so much the better for yourself. 
 Your bread is baked : you may go and see sights the whole day, and 
 eat a warm supper when you come home at night; but for me, if 
 I should run hunting after all these fine folk, what should I get by 
 my journey but an appetite, and, God help me! I have too much of 
 that at home already, without stirring out for it. Your people who 
 may eat four meals a-day, and a supper at night, are but a bad ex- 
 ample to such a one as I. No, master, as God has called me into 
 this world in order to mend old shoes, I have no business with fine 
 folk, and they no business with me." I here interrupted him with a 
 smile. "See this last, master," continues he, "and this hammer; 
 this last and hammer are the two best friends I have in this world ; 
 nobody else will be my friend, because I want a friend. The great 
 folks you saw pass by just now have five hundred friends, because 
 they have no occasion for them: now, while I stick to my good 
 friends here, I am very contented ; but when I ever so little run after 
 sights and fine things, I begin to hate my work; I grow sad, and 
 have no heart to mend shoes any longer." 
 
 This discourse only served to raise my curiosity to know more of 
 a man whom nature had thus formed into a philosopher. I there- 
 fore insensibly led him into a history of his adventures: "I have 
 lived," said he, "a wandering sort of a life now five-and-fifty years, 
 here to-day, and gone to-morrow; for it was my misfortune, when 
 I was young, to be fond of changing." "You have been a trav- 
 eller, then, I presume," interrupted I. "I cannot boast much of 
 travelling," continued he, "for I have never left the parish in which 
 I was born but three times in my life, that I can remember; but 
 then there is not a street in the whole neighbourhood that I have not 
 lived in, at some time or another. When I began to settle and to 
 take to my business in one street, some unforeseen misfortune, or 
 a desire of trying my luck elsewhere, has removed me, perhaps a 
 whole mile away from my former customers, while some more 
 lucky cobbler would come into my place, and make a handsome 
 fortune among friends of my making: there was one who actually 
 died in a stall that I had left, worth seven pounds seven shillings, all 
 in hard gold, which he had quilted into the waistband of his 
 breeches." 
 
 I could not but smile at these migrations of a man by the fireside, 
 and continued to ask if he had ever been married. "Ay, that I 
 
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 have, master," replied he, "for sixteen long years; and a weary 
 life I had of it, Heaven knows. My wife took it into her head, that 
 the only way to thrive in this world was to save money; so, though 
 our comings-in were but about three shillings a-week, all that ever 
 she could lay her hands upon she used to hide away from me, though 
 we were obliged to starve the whole week after for it. 
 
 " The first three years we used to quarrel about this every day, and 
 I always got the better; but she had a hard spirit, and still continued 
 to hide as usual : so that I was at last tired of quarrelling and getting 
 the better, and she scraped and scraped at pleasure, till I was almost 
 starved to death. Her conduct drove me at last in despair to the 
 alehouse; here I used to sit with people who hated home like my- 
 self, drank while I had money left, and ran in score when any body 
 would trust me; till at last the landlady coming one day with a long 
 bill when I was from home, and putting it into my wife's hands, the 
 length of it effectually broke her heart. I searched the whole stall, 
 after she was dead, for money, but she had hidden it so effectually, 
 that, with all my pains, I could never find a farthing." 
 
 By this time my shoe was mended, and satisfying the poor artist 
 for his trouble, and rewarding him besides for his information, I 
 took my leave, and returned home to lengthen out the amusement 
 his conversation afforded, by communicating it to my friend. 
 Adieu. 
 
 LETTER LXXI 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE SHABBY BEAU, THE MAN IN BLACK, THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER, 
 ETC., AT VAUXHALL 
 
 THE people of London are as fond of walking as our friends at 
 Pekin of riding; one of the principal entertainments of the 
 citizens here in summer is to repair about nightfall to a garden not 
 far from town, where they walk about, show their best clothes and 
 best faces, and listen to a concert provided for the occasion. 
 
 I accepted an invitation a few evenings ago from my old friend, 
 the man in black, to be one of a party that was to sup there; and 
 at the appointed hour waited upon him at his lodgings. There 
 I found the company assembled, and expecting my arrival. Our 
 party consisted of my friend in superlative finery, his stockings 
 
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 rolled, a black velvet waistcoat, which was formerly new, and a 
 grey wig combed down in imitation of hair; a pawnbroker's widow, 
 of whom, by the by, my friend was a professed admirer, dressed 
 out in green damask, with three gold rings on every finger; Mr. 
 Tibbs, the second-rate beau I have formerly described, together 
 with his lady, in flimsy silk, dirty gauze instead of linen, and a hat 
 as big as an umbrella. 
 
 Our first difficulty was in settling how we should set out. Mrs. 
 Tibbs had a natural aversion to the water, and the widow, being 
 a little in flesh, as warmly protested against walking; a coach was 
 therefore agreed upon; which being too small to carry five, Mr. 
 Tibbs consented to sit in his wife's lap. 
 
 In this manner, therefore, we set forward, being entertained 
 by the way with the bodings of Mr. Tibbs, who assured us he did 
 not expect to see a single creature for the evening above the degree 
 of a cheesemonger; that this was the last night of the gardens, and 
 that consequently we should be pestered with the nobility and 
 gentry from Thames Street and Crooked Lane; with several other 
 prophetic ejaculations, probably inspired by the uneasiness of his 
 situation. 
 
 The illuminations began before we arrived, and I must confess, 
 that upon entering the gardens I found every sense overpaid with 
 more than expected pleasure; the lights every where glimmering 
 through the scarcely-moving trees the full-bodied concert burst- 
 ing on the stillness of the night the natural concert of the birds, 
 in the more retired part of the grove vicing with that which was 
 formed by art; the company gaily dressed, looking satisfaction, 
 and the table spread with various delicacies, all conspired to fill 
 my imagination with the visionary happiness of the Arabian law- 
 giver, and lifted me into an ecstasy of admiration. "Head of Con- 
 fucius," cried I to my friend, " this is fine ! this unites rural beauty 
 with courtly magnificence ! If we expect the virgins of immortality, 
 that hang on every tree, and may be plucked at every desire, I do 
 not see how this falls short of Mahomet's Paradise!" "As for 
 virgins," cries my friend, "it is true they are a fruit that do not 
 much abound in our gardens here; but if ladies, as plenty as apples 
 in autumn, and as complying as any Hour! of them all, can content 
 you, I fancy we have no need to go to heaven for Paradise." 
 
 I was going to second his remarks, when we were called to a 
 consultation by Mr. Tibbs and the rest of the company, to know 
 
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 in what manner we were to lay out the evening to the greatest 
 advantage. Mrs. Tibbs was for keeping the genteel walk of the 
 garden, where, she observed, there was always the very best com- 
 pany; the widow, on the contrary, who came but once a season, was 
 for securing a good standing place to see the waterworks, which 
 she assured us would begin in less than an hour at farthest; a dis- 
 pute therefore began, and as it was managed between two of very 
 opposite characters, it threatened to grow more bitter at every 
 reply. Mrs. Tibbs wondered how people could pretend to know 
 the polite world, who had received all their rudiments of breeding 
 behind a counter; to which the other replied, that though some 
 people sat behind counters, yet they could sit at the head of their 
 own tables too, and carve three good dishes of hot meat whenever 
 they thought proper, which was more than some people could say 
 for themselves, that hardly knew a rabbit and onions from a green 
 goose and gooseberries. 
 
 It is hard to say where this might have ended, had not the hus- 
 band, who probably knew the impetuosity of his wife's disposition, 
 proposed to end the dispute by adjourning to a box, and try if there 
 was any thing to be had for supper that was supportable. To this 
 we all consented ; but here a new distress arose ; Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs 
 would sit in none but a genteel box a box where they might see 
 and be seen one, as they expressed it, in the very focus of public 
 view; but such a box was not easy to be obtained, for though we 
 were perfectly convinced of our own gentility, and the gentility 
 of our appearance, yet we found it a difficult matter to persuade 
 the keepers of the boxes to be of our opinion ; they chose to reserve 
 genteel boxes for what they judged more genteel company. 
 
 At last, however, we were fixed, though somewhat obscurely, 
 and supplied with the usual entertainment of the place. The 
 widow found the supper excellent, but Mrs. Tibbs thought every 
 thing detestable. "Come, come, my dear," cries the husband, 
 by way of consolation, " to be sure we can't find such dressing here 
 as we have at Lord Crump's or Lady Crimp's; but, for Vauxhall 
 dressing, it is pretty good: it is not their victuals, indeed, I find 
 fault with, but their wine; their wine," cries he, drinking off a 
 glass, "indeed, is most abominable." 
 
 By this last contradiction, the widow was fairly conquered in 
 point of politeness. She perceived now that she had no preten- 
 sions in the world to taste; her very senses were vulgar, since she 
 
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 had praised detestable custard, and smacked at wretched wine; 
 she was therefore content to yield the victory, and for the rest of 
 the night to listen and improve. It is true, she would now and 
 then forget herself, and confess she was pleased, but they soon 
 brought her back again to miserable refinement. She once praised 
 the painting of the box in which we were sitting, but was soon con- 
 vinced that such paltry pieces ought rather to excite horror than 
 satisfaction: she ventured again to commend one of the singers, 
 but Mrs. Tibbs soon let her know, in the style of a connoisseur, 
 that the singer in question had neither ear, voice, nor judgment. 
 
 Mr. Tibbs, now, willing to prove that his wife's pretensions to 
 music were just, entreated her to favour the company with a song; 
 but to this she gave a positive denial " for you know very well, 
 my dear," says she, "that I am not in voice to-day, and when 
 one's voice is not equal to one's judgment, what signifies singing? 
 besides, as there is no accompaniment, it would be but spoiling 
 music." All these excuses, however, were overruled by the rest 
 of the company, who, though one would think they already had 
 music enough, joined in the entreaty. But particularly the widow, 
 now willing to convince the company of her breeding, pressed so 
 warmly, that she seemed determined to take no refusal. At last, 
 then, the lady complied, and after humming for some minutes, 
 began with such a voice, and such affectation, as, I could perceive, 
 gave but little satisfaction to any except her husband. He sat 
 with rapture in his eye, and beat time with his hand on the table. 
 
 You must observe, my friend, that it is the custom of this country, 
 when a lady or gentleman happens to sing, for the company to sit 
 as mute and motionless as statues. Every feature, every limb, 
 must seem to correspond in fixed attention; and while the song 
 continues, they are to remain in a state of universal petrifaction. 
 In this mortifying situation we had continued for some time, 
 listening to the song, and looking with tranquillity, when the 
 master of the box came to inform us, that the waterworks were 
 going to begin. At this information I could instantly perceive the 
 widow bounce from her seat; but correcting herself, she sat down 
 again, repressed by motives of good breeding. Mrs. Tibbs, who 
 had seen the waterworks a hundred times, resolving not to be 
 interrupted, continued her song without any share of mercy, nor 
 had the smallest pity on our impatience. The widow's face, I 
 own, gave me high entertainment; in it I could plainly read the 
 
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 struggle she felt between good -breeding and curiosity: she talked 
 of the waterworks the whole evening before, and seemed to have 
 come merely in order to see them; but then she could not bounce 
 out in the very middle of a song, for that would be forfeiting all 
 pretensions to high life, or high-lived company, ever after. Mrs. 
 Tibbs, therefore, kept on singing, and we continued to listen, 
 till at last, when the song was just concluded, the waiter came to 
 inform us that the waterworks were over! 
 
 "The waterworks over!" cried the widow; "the waterworks 
 over already! that's impossible! they can't be over so soon!" 
 "It is not my business," replied the fellow, "to contradict your 
 ladyship; I'll run again and see." He went, and soon returned 
 with a confirmation of the dismal tidings. No ceremony could 
 now bind my friend's disappointed mistress; she testified her 
 displeasure in the openest manner: in short, she now began to 
 find fault in turn, and at last insisted upon going home, just at the 
 time that Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs assured the company, that the 
 polite hours were going to begin, and that the ladies would in- 
 stantaneously be entertained with the horns. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER LXXIV 
 To the Same 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF A LITTLE GREAT MAN 
 
 IN reading the newspapers here, I have reckoned up not less 
 than twenty-five great men, seventeen very great men, and 
 nine very extraordinary men, in less than the compass of half-a-year. 
 "These," say the gazettes, "are the men that posterity are to gaze 
 at with admiration ; these the names that Fame will be employed in 
 holding up for the astonishment of succeeding ages." Let me see 
 forty-six great men in half-a-year, amount to just ninety-two in 
 a year. I wonder how posterity will be able to remember them all, 
 or whether the people in future times will have any other business 
 to mind, but that of getting the catalogue by heart. 
 
 Does the mayor of a corporation make a speech? he is in- 
 stantly set down for a great man. Does a pedant digest his 
 commonplace-book into a folio? he quickly becomes great. 
 Does a poet string up trite sentiments in rhyme ? he also becomes 
 
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 the great man of the hour. How diminutive soever the object of 
 admiration, each is followed by a crowd of still more diminutive 
 admirers. The shout begins in his train; onward he marches to 
 immortality; looks back at the pursuing crowd with self-satisfac- 
 tion; catching all the oddities, the whimsies, the absurdities, and 
 the littlenesses of conscious greatness by the way. 
 
 I was yesterday invited by a gentleman to dinner, who promised 
 that our entertainment should consist of a haunch of venison, a 
 turtle, and a great man. I came according to appointment. The 
 venison was fine, the turtle good, but the great man insupportable. 
 The moment I ventured to speak, I was at once contradicted with 
 a snap. I attempted, by a second and a third assault, to retrieve 
 my lost reputation, but was still beat back with confusion. I was 
 resolved to attack him once more from entrenchment, and turned 
 the conversation upon the government of China: but even here he 
 asserted, snapped, and contradicted as before. "Heavens," 
 thought I, "this man pretends to know China even better than 
 myself!" I looked round to see who was on my side; but every 
 eye was fixed in admiration on the great man: I therefore at last 
 thought proper to sit silent, and act the pretty gentleman during 
 the ensuing conversation. 
 
 When a man has once secured a circle of admirers, he may be as 
 ridiculous here as he thinks proper; and it all passes for elevation 
 of sentiment, or learned absence. If he trangresses the common 
 forms of breeding, mistakes even a teapot for a tobacco-box, it is 
 said that his thoughts are fixed on more important objects : to speak 
 and to act like the rest of mankind is to be no greater than they. 
 There is something of oddity in the very idea of greatness; for we 
 are seldom astonished at a thing very much resembling ourselves. 
 
 When the Tartars make a Lama, their first care is to place him in 
 a dark corner of the temple: here he is to sit half concealed from 
 view, to regulate the motion of his hands, lips, and eyes; but, above 
 all, he is enjoined gravity and silence. This, however, is but the 
 prelude to his apotheosis: a set of emissaries are dispatched among 
 the people, to cry up his piety, gravity, and love of raw flesh; the 
 people take them at their word, approach the Lama, now become 
 an idol, with the most humble prostration; he receives their ad- 
 dresses without motion, commences a god, and is ever after fed by 
 his priests with the spoon of immortality. The same receipt in 
 this country serves to make a great man. The idol only keeps close,
 
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 sends out his little emissaries to be hearty in his praise ; and straight, 
 whether statesman or author, he is set down in the list of fame, 
 continuing to be praised while it is fashionable to praise, or while 
 he prudently keeps his minuteness concealed from the public. 
 
 I have visited many countries, and have been in cities without 
 number, yet never did I enter a town which could not produce ten 
 or twelve of those little great men ; all fancying themselves known to 
 the rest of the world, and complimenting each other upon their 
 extensiye reputation. It is amusing enough when two of those 
 domestic prodigies of learning mount the stage of ceremony, and 
 give and take praise from each other. I have been present when 
 a German doctor, for having pronounced a panegyric upon a cer- 
 tain monk, was thought the most ingenious man in the world; till 
 the monk soon after divided this reputation by returning the com- 
 pliment; by which means, they both marched off with universal 
 applause. 
 
 The same degree of undeserved adulation that attends our great 
 man while living, often also follows him to the tomb. It frequently 
 happens that one of his little admirers sits down, big with the impor- 
 tant subject, and is delivered of the history of his life and writings. 
 This may properly be called the revolutions of a life between the 
 fireside and the easy chair. In this we learn the year in which he 
 was born, at what an early age he gave symptoms of uncommon 
 genius and application, together with some of his smart sayings, 
 collected by his aunt and mother while yet but a boy. The next 
 book introduces him to the university, where we are informed of 
 his amazing progress in learning, his excellent skill in darning 
 stockings, and his new invention for papering books to save the 
 covers. He next makes his appearance in the republic of letters, 
 and publishes his folio. Now the colossus is reared, his works are 
 eagerly bought up by all the purchasers of scarce books. The 
 learned societies invite him to become a member: he disputes 
 against some foreigner with a long Latin name, conquers in the 
 controversy, is complimented by several authors of gravity and 
 importance, is excessively fond of egg-sauce with his pig, becomes 
 president of a literary club and dies in the meridian of his glory. 
 Happy they who thus have some little faithful attendant, who never 
 forsakes them, but prepares to wrangle and to praise against every 
 opposer; at once ready to increase their pride while living, and 
 their character when dead! For you and me, my friend, who have 
 
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 no humble admirer thus to attend us we, who neither are, nor 
 never will be, great men, and who do not much care whether we 
 are great men or no, at least let us strive to be honest men, and to 
 have common sense. [Adieu.] 
 
 LETTER LXXVII 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE BEHAVIOUR OF A SHOPKEEPER AND HIS JOURNEYMAN 
 
 THE shops of London are as well furnished as those of Pekin. 
 Those of London have a picture hung at their door, informing 
 the passengers what they have to sell, as those at Pekin have a 
 board to assure the buyer that they have no intentions to cheat him. 
 
 I was this morning to buy silk for a nightcap: immediately upon 
 entering the mercer's shop, the master and his two men, with wigs 
 plastered with powder, appeared to ask my commands. They were 
 certainly the civilest people alive; if I but looked, they flew to the 
 place where I cast my eye; every motion of mine sent them running 
 round the whole shop for my satisfaction. I informed them that I 
 wanted what was good, and they showed me not less than forty 
 pieces, and each was better than the former, the prettiest pattern 
 in nature, and the fittest in the world for nightcaps. " My very good 
 friend," said I to the mercer, "you must not pretend to instruct me 
 in silks; I know these in particular to be no better than your mere 
 flimsy Bungees." "That may be," cried the mercer, who, I 
 afterwards found, had never contradicted a man in his life; "I can't 
 pretend to say but they may; but I can assure you, my Lady Trail 
 has had a sacque from this piece this very morning." "But 
 friend," said I, "though my lady has chosen a sacque from it, I see 
 no necessity that I should wear it for a nightcap."- "That may 
 be," returned he again, " yet what becomes a pretty lady, will at any 
 time look well on a handsome gentleman." This short compliment 
 was thrown in so very seasonably upon my ugly face, that even 
 though I disliked the silk, I desired him to cut me off the pattern 
 of a nightcap. 
 
 While this business was consigned to his journeymen, the master 
 himself took down some pieces of silk still finer than any I had yet 
 seen, and spreading them before me, "There," cries he, "there's 
 beauty; my Lord Snakeskin has bespoke the fellow to this for the 
 
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 birth-night this very morning; it would look charmingly in waist- 
 coats." "But I don't want a waistcoat," replied I. "Not want 
 a waistcoat!" returned the mercer, "then I would advise you to 
 buy one; when waistcoats are wanted, you may depend upon it 
 they will come dear. Always buy before you want, and you are 
 sure to be well used, as they say in Cheapside." There was so 
 much justice in his advice, that I could not refuse taking it; besides, 
 the silk, which was really a good one, increased the temptation; so I 
 gave orders for that too. 
 
 As I was waiting to have my bargains measured and cut, which, 
 I know not how, they executed but slowly, during the interval the 
 mercer entertained me with the modern manner of some of the 
 nobility receiving company in their morning gowns; " Perhaps, Sir," 
 adds he, "you have a mind to see what kind of silk is universally 
 worn." Without waiting for my reply, he spreads a piece before 
 me, which might be reckoned beautiful even in China. "If the 
 nobility," continues he, "were to know I sold this to any under a 
 Right Honourable, I should certainly lose their custom; you see, 
 my Lord, it is at once rich, tasty, and quite the thing."- "I am 
 no Lord," interrupted I. "I beg pardon," cried he; "but be 
 pleased to remember, when you intend buying a morning gown, 
 that you had an offer from me of something worth money. Con- 
 science, Sir, conscience is my way of dealing; you may buy a 
 morning gown now, or you may stay till they become dearer and 
 less fashionable; but it is not my business to advise." In short, 
 most reverend Fum, he persuaded me to buy a morning gown also, 
 and would probably have persuaded me to have bought half the 
 goods in his shop, if I had stayed long enough, or was furnished with 
 sufficient money. 
 
 Upon returning home, I could not help reflecting, with some 
 astonishment, how this very man, with such a confined education 
 and capacity, was yet capable of turning me as he thought proper, 
 and moulding me to his inclinations ! I knew he was only answering 
 his own purposes, even while he attempted to appear solicitous about 
 mine: yet, by a voluntary infatuation, a sort of passion compounded 
 of vanity and good-nature, I walked into the snare with my eyes 
 open, and put myself to future pain in order to give him immediate 
 pleasure. The wisdom of the ignorant somewhat resembles the in- 
 stinct of animals ; it is diffused in but a very narrow sphere, but with- 
 in that circle it acts with vigour, uniformity, and success. Adieu. 
 
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 LETTER LXXVIH 
 To the Same 
 
 THE FRENCH RIDICULED AFTER THEIR OWN MANNER 
 
 FROM my former accounts, you may be apt to fancy the English 
 the most ridiculous people under the sun. They are indeed 
 ridiculous; yet every other nation in Europe is equally so; each 
 laughs at each, and the Asiatic at all. 
 
 I may, upon another occasion, point out what is most strikingly 
 absurd in other countries; I shall at present confine myself only to 
 France. The first national peculiarity a traveller meets upon enter- 
 ing that kingdom, is an odd sort of staring vivacity in every eye, 
 not excepting even the children; the people, it seems, have got it 
 into their heads, that they have more wit than others, and so stare, 
 in order to look smart. 
 
 I know not how it happens, but there appears a sickly delicacy 
 in the faces of their finest women. This may have introduced the 
 use of paint, and paint produces wrinkles ; so that a fine lady shall 
 look like a hag at twenty-three. But as, in some measure, they 
 never appear young, so it may be equally asserted, that they actually 
 think themselves never old; a gentle Miss shall prepare for new 
 conquests at sixty, shall hobble a rigadoon when she can scarce 
 walk out without a crutch; she shall affect the girl, play her fan and 
 her eyes, and talk of sentiments, bleeding hearts, and expiring for 
 love, when actually dying with age. Like a departing philosopher 
 she attempts to make her last moments the most brilliant of her life. 
 
 Their civility to strangers is what they are chiefly proud of; and, 
 to confess sincerely, their beggars are the very politest beggars I 
 ever knew: in other places a traveller is addressed with a piteous 
 whine, or a sturdy solemnity, but a French beggar shall ask your 
 charity with a very genteel bow, and thank you for it with a smile 
 and a shrug. 
 
 Another instance of this people's breeding I must not forget. 
 An Englishman would not speak his native language in a company 
 of foreigners, where he was sure that none understood him; a 
 travelling Hottentot himself would be silent if acquainted only 
 with the language of his country; but a Frenchman shall talk to 
 you whether you understand his language or not; never troubling 
 
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 his head whether you have learned French, still he keeps up the 
 conversation, fixes his eye full in your face, and asks a thousand 
 questions, which he answers himself, for want of a more satisfac- 
 tory reply. 
 
 But their civility to foreigners is not half so great as their admira- 
 tion of themselves. Every thing that belongs to them and their 
 nation is great, magnificent beyond expression, quite romantic! 
 every garden is a paradise, every hovel a palace, and every woman 
 an angel. They shut their eyes close, throw their mouths wide open, 
 and cry out in a rapture, "Sacref what beauty! O del I what 
 taste ! M ort de ma vie I what grandeur ! was ever any people like 
 ourselves ? we are the nation of men, and all the rest no better than 
 two-legged barbarians." 
 
 I fancy the French would make the best cooks in the world if 
 they had but meat; as it is, they can dress you out five different 
 dishes from a nettle-top, seven from a dock-leaf, and twice as many 
 from a frog's haunches; these eat prettily enough when one is a 
 little used to them, are easy of digestion, and seldom overload the 
 stomach with crudities. They seldom dine under seven hot dishes: 
 it is true, indeed, with all this magnificence, they seldom spread 
 a cloth before the guests ; but in that I cannot be angry with them, 
 since those who have got no linen on their backs, may very well 
 be excused for wanting it on their tables. 
 
 Even religion itself loses its solemnity among them. Upon their 
 roads, at about every five miles distance, you see an image of the 
 Virgin Mary, dressed up in grim head-clothes, painted cheeks, and 
 an old red petticoat; before her a lamp is often kept burning, at 
 which, with the saint's permission, I have frequently lighted my 
 pipe. Instead of the Virgin, you are sometimes presented with 
 a crucifix, at other times with a wooden Saviour, fitted out in com- 
 plete garniture, with sponge, spear, nails, pincers, hammer, bees- 
 wax, and vinegar-bottle. Some of those images, I have been told, 
 came down from heaven; if so, in heaven they have but bungling 
 workmen. 
 
 In passing through their towns, you frequently see the men sitting 
 at the doors knitting stockings, while the care of cultivating the 
 ground and pruning the vines falls to the women. This is, perhaps, 
 the reason why the fair sex are granted some peculiar privileges in 
 this country; particularly, when they can get horses, of riding with- 
 out a side-saddle. 
 
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 But I begin to think you may find this description pert and dull 
 enough; perhaps it is so; yet, in general, it is the manner in which 
 the French usually describe foreigners; and it is but just to force 
 a part of that ridicule back upon them, which they attempt to lavish 
 on others. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER LXXIX 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE PREPARATIONS OF BOTH THEATRES, FOR A WINTER CAMPAIGN 
 
 THE two theatres which serve to amuse the citizens here, are 
 again opened for the winter. The mimetic troops, different 
 from those of the state, begin their campaign when all the others 
 quit the field; and, at a time when the Europeans cease to destroy 
 each other in reality, they are entertained with mock battles upon 
 the stage. 
 
 The dancing master once more shakes his quivering feet; the 
 carpenter prepares his paradise of pasteboard; the hero resolves 
 to cover his forehead with brass, and the heroine begins to scour 
 up her copper tail, preparative to future operations; in short, all 
 are in motion, from the theatrical letter carrier in yellow clothes, 
 to Alexander the Great that stands on a stool. 
 
 Both houses have already commenced hostilities. War, open 
 war, and no quarter received or given ! Two singing women, like 
 heralds, have begun the contest; the whole town is divided on this 
 solemn occasion ; one has the finest pipe, the other the finest manner; 
 one curtsies to the ground, the other salutes the audience with a 
 smile ; one comes on with modesty which asks, the other with bold- 
 ness which extorts applause ; one wears powder, the other has none ; 
 one has the longest waist, but the other appears most easy: all, 
 all is important and serious; the town as yet perseveres in its neu- 
 trality ; a cause of such moment demands the most mature delibera- 
 tion; they continue to exhibit, and it is very possible this contest 
 may continue to please to the end of the season. 
 
 But the generals of either army have, as I am told, several rein- 
 forcements to lend occasional assistance. If they produce a pair 
 of diamond buckles at one house, we have a pair of eyebrows that 
 can match them at the other. If we outdo them in our attitude, 
 they can overcome us by a shrug ; if we can bring more children on 
 
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 the stage, they can bring more guards in red clothes, who strut and 
 shoulder their swords to the astonishment of every spectator. 
 
 They tell me here, that people frequent the theatre in order to be 
 instructed as well as amused. I smile to hear the assertion. If I 
 ever go to one of their playhouses, what with trumpets, hallooing 
 behind the stage, and bawling upon it, I am quite dizzy before the 
 performance is over. If I enter the house with any sentiments 
 in my head, I am sure to have none going away, the whole mind 
 being filled with a dead march, a funeral procession, a cat-call, a 
 jig, or a tempest. 
 
 There is, perhaps, nothing more easy than to write properly for 
 the English theatre ; I am amazed that none are apprenticed to the 
 trade. The author, when well acquainted with the value of thunder 
 and lightning; when versed in all the mystery of scene-shifting and 
 trap-doors ; when skilled in the proper periods to introduce a wire- 
 walker or a waterfall; when instructed in every actor's peculiar 
 talent, and capable of adapting his speeches to the supposed 
 excellence; when thus instructed, he knows all that can give a 
 modern audience pleasure. One player shines in an exclamation, 
 another in a groan, a third in a horror, a fourth in a start, a fifth in a 
 smile, a sixth faints, and a seventh fidgets round the stage with 
 peculiar vivacity; that piece, therefore, will succeed best, where 
 each has a proper opportunity of shining: the actor's business is 
 not so much to adapt himself to the poet, as the poet's to adapt him- 
 self to the actor. 
 
 The great secret, therefore, of tragedy writing, at present, is a 
 perfect acquaintance with theatrical " ah " 's and " oh " 's ; a certain 
 number of these, interspersed with "gods!" "tortures!" "racks!" 
 and "damnation!" shall distort every actor almost into convulsions, 
 and draw tears from every spectator; a proper use of these will 
 infallibly fill the whole house with applause. But, above all, a 
 whining scene must strike most forcibly. I would advise, from 
 my present knowledge of the audience, the two favourite players 
 of the town to introduce a scene of this sort in every play. Towards 
 the middle of the last act, I would have them enter with wild looks 
 and outspread arms: there is no necessity for speaking, they are 
 only to groan at each other; they must vary the tones of exclamation 
 and despair through the whole theatrical gamut, wring their figures 
 into every shape of distress, and, when their calamities have drawn 
 a proper quantity of tears from the sympathetic spectators, they 
 
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 may go off in dumb solemnity at different doors, clasping their 
 hands, or slapping their pocket-holes: this, which may be called a 
 tragic pantomime, will answer every purpose of moving the passions 
 as well as words could have done, and it must save those expenses 
 which go to reward an author. 
 
 All modern plays that would keep the audience alive, must be 
 conceived in this manner; and, indeed, many a modern play is 
 made up on no other plan. This is the merit that lifts up the heart, 
 like opium, into a rapture of insensibility, and can dismiss the mind 
 from all the fatigue of thinking: this is the eloquence that shines in 
 many a long forgotten scene, which has been reckoned excessive 
 fine upon acting; this the lightning that flashes no less in the hyper- 
 bolical tyrant, who breakfasts on the wind, than in little Norval, as 
 harmless as the babe unborn. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER LXXXI 
 
 To the Same 
 THE LADIES' TRAINS RIDICULED 
 
 I HAVE as yet given you but a short and imperfect description 
 of the ladies of England. Woman, my friend, is a subject not 
 easily understood, even in China ; what, therefore, can be expected 
 from my knowledge of the sex in a country where they are univer- 
 sally allowed to be ridldes, and I but a stranger ? 
 
 To confess a truth, I was afraid to begin the description, lest the 
 sex should undergo some new revolution before it was finished, and 
 my picture should thus become old before it could well be said to 
 have ever been new. To-day they are lifted upon stilts ; to-morrow 
 they lower their heels, and raise their heads; their clothes at one 
 time are bloated out with whalebone; at present they have laid their 
 hoops aside, and are become as slim as mermaids. All, all is in a 
 state of continual fluctuation, from the mandarine's wife who 
 rattles through the streets in her chariot, to the humble sempstress 
 who clatters over the pavement in iron-shod pattens. 
 
 What chiefly distinguishes the sex at present is the train. As a 
 lady's quality or fashion was once determined here by the circum- 
 ference of her hoop, both are now measured by the length of her 
 tail. Women of moderate fortunes are contented with tails mod- 
 
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 erately long ; but ladies of true taste and distinction set no bounds to 
 their ambition in this particular. I am told the Lady Mayoress, 
 on days of ceremony, carries one longer than a bell-wether of 
 Bantam, whose tail, you know, is trundled along in a wheel-barrow. 
 
 Sun of China, what contradictions do we find hi this strange 
 world! not only the people of different countries think in opposition 
 to each other, but the inhabitants of a single island are often found 
 inconsistent with themselves. Would you believe it? this very 
 people, my Fum, who are so fond of seeing their women with long 
 tails, at the same time dock their horses to the very rump ! ! ! 
 
 But you may easily guess, that I am no ways displeased with a 
 fashion which tends to increase a demand for the commodities of 
 the East, and is so very beneficial to the country in which I was 
 born. Nothing can be better calculated to increase the price of 
 silk than the present manner of dressing. A lady's train is not 
 bought but at some expense, and after it has swept the public walks 
 for a very few evenings, is fit to be worn no longer: more silk must be 
 bought hi order to repair the breach, and some ladies of peculiar 
 economy are thus found to patch up their tails eight or ten times in 
 a season. This unnecessary consumption may introduce poverty 
 here, but then we shah 1 be the richer for it in China. 
 
 The man in black, who is a professed enemy to this manner of 
 ornamenting the tail, assures me, there are numberless inconve- 
 niences attending it, and that a lady dressed up to the fashion is as 
 much a cripple as any in Nankin. But his chief indignation is 
 levelled at those who dress hi this manner without a proper fortune 
 to support it. He assures me, that he has known some who would 
 have a tail though they wanted a petticoat; and others, who, without 
 any other pretensions, fancied they became ladies, merely from the 
 addition of three superfluous yards of ragged silk: "I know a 
 thrifty good woman," continues he, "who thinking herself obliged 
 to carry a train like her betters, never walks from home without the 
 uneasy apprehension of wearing it out too soon: every excursion 
 she makes, gives her new anxiety; and her train is every bit as impor- 
 tunate, and wounds her peace as much as the bladder we sometimes 
 see tied to the tail of a cat." 
 
 Nay, he ventures to affirm, that a train may often bring a lady 
 into the most critical circumstances: "for, should a rude fellow," 
 says he, " offer to come up to ravish a kiss, and the lady attempt to 
 avoid it, in retiring she must necessarily tread upon her train, and 
 
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 thus fall fairly upon her back ; by which means, every one knows, 
 her clothes may be spoiled." 
 
 The ladies here make no scruple to laugh at the smallness of a ' 
 Chinese slipper, but I fancy our wives at China would have a more 
 real cause of laughter, could they but see the immoderate length of 
 a European train. Head of Confucius! to view a human being 
 crippling herself with a great unwieldy tail for our diversion ! Back- 
 ward she cannot go, forward she must move but slowly; and if 
 ever she attempts to turn round, it must be in a circle not smaller 
 than that described by the wheeling crocodile, when it would face 
 an assailant. And yet to think that all this confers importance and 
 majesty ! to think that a lady acquires additional respect from fifteen 
 yards of trailing taffety ! I cannot contain ha ! ha ! ha ! this is 
 certainly a remnant of European barbarity: the female Tartar, 
 dressed in sheep skins, is in far more convenient drapery. Their 
 own writers have sometimes inveighed against the absurdity of 
 this fashion, but perhaps it has never been ridiculed so well as upon 
 the Italian theatre, where Pasquariello being engaged to attend on 
 the Countess of Fernambroco, having one of his hands employed 
 in carrying her muff, and the other her lap-dog, he bears her train 
 majestically along, by sticking it in the waistband of his breeches ! 
 Adieu. 
 
 LETTER LXXXVI 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE RACES OF NEWMARKET RIDICULED. DESCRIPTION OF A CART 
 
 RACE 
 
 OF all the places of amusement where gentlemen and ladies 
 are entertained, I have not been yet to visit Newmarket. 
 This, I am told, is a large field, where, upon certain occasions, 
 three or four horses are brought together, then set a-running, and 
 that horse which runs fastest wins the wager. 
 
 This is reckoned a very polite and fashionable amusement here, 
 much more followed by the nobility than partridge fighting at Java, 
 or paper kites in Madagascar. Several of the great here, I am told, 
 understand as much of farriery as their grooms; and a horse, with 
 any share of merit, can never want a patron among the nobility. 
 
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 We have a description of this entertainment almost every day 
 in some of the gazettes, as for instance : " On such a day the Give 
 and Take Plate was run for between his Grace's Crab, his Lord- 
 ship's Periwinkle, and 'Squire Smackem's Slamerkin. All rode 
 their own horses. There was the greatest concourse of nobility 
 that has been known here for several seasons. The odds were in 
 favour of Crab in the beginning; but Slamerkin, after the first heat, 
 seemed to have the match hollow; however, it was soon seen that 
 Periwinkle improved in wind, which at last turned out accordingly; 
 Crab was run to a stand still, Slamerkin was knocked up, and Peri- 
 winkle was brought in with universal applause." Thus, you see. 
 Periwinkle received universal applause, and, no doubt, his lord- 
 ship came in for some share of that praise which was so liberally 
 bestowed upon Periwinkle. Sun of China! how glorious must the 
 senator appear in his cap and leather breeches, his whip crossed 
 in his mouth, and thus coming to the goal, amongst the shouts of 
 grooms, jockeys, pimps, stable-bred dukes, and degraded generals ! 
 
 From the description of this princely amusement, now tran- 
 scribed, and from the great veneration I have for the characters 
 of its principal promoters, I make no doubt but I shall look upon 
 a horse-race with becoming reverence, predisposed as I am by a 
 similar amusement, of which I have lately been a spectator; for 
 just now I happened to have an opportunity of being present at 
 a cart race. 
 
 Whether this contention between three carts of different parishes 
 was promoted by a subscription among the nobility, or whether 
 the grand jury, in council assembled, had gloriously combined to 
 encourage plaustral merit, I cannot take upon me to determine; 
 but certain it is, the whole was conducted with the utmost regularity 
 and decorum, and the company, which made a brilliant appearance, 
 were universally of opinion, that the sport was high, the running 
 fine, and the riders influenced by no bribe. 
 
 It was run on the road from London, to a village called Brent- 
 ford, between a turnip-cart, a dust-cart, and a dung-cart; each of 
 the owners condescending to mount, and be his own driver. The 
 odds, at starting, were Dust against Dung, five to four; but, after 
 half a mile's going, the knowing ones found themselves all on the 
 wrong side, and it was Turnip against the field, brass to silver. 
 
 Soon, however, the contest became more doubtful; Turnip indeed 
 kept the way, but it was perceived that Dung had better bottom. 
 
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 The road re-echoed with the shouts of the spectators " Dung 
 against Turnip! Turnip against Dung!" was now the universal 
 cry; neck and neck; one rode lighter, but the other had more judg- 
 ment. I could not but particularly observe the ardour with which 
 the fair sex espoused the cause of the different riders on this occa- 
 sion ; one was charmed with the unwashed beauties of Dung; another 
 was captivated with the patibulary aspect of Turnip; while, in the 
 meantime, unfortunate gloomy Dust, who came whipping behind, 
 was cheered by the encouragement of some, and pity of all. 
 
 The contention now continued for some time, without a possi- 
 bility of determining to whom victory designed the prize. The 
 winning post appeared in view, and he who drove the turnip-cart 
 assured himself of success; and successful he might have been, 
 had his horse been as ambitious as he; but, upon approaching a 
 turn from the road, which led homewards, the horse fairly stood 
 still, and refused to move a foot farther. The dung-cart had 
 scarce time to enjoy this temporary triumph, when it was pitched 
 headlong into a ditch by the way-side, and the rider left to wallow 
 in congenial mud. Dust, in the meantime, soon came up, and not 
 being far from the post, came in, amidst the shouts and acclama- 
 tions of all the spectators, and greatly caressed by all the quality 
 of Brentford. Fortune was kind only to one, who ought to have 
 been favourable to all ; each had peculiar merit, each laboured hard 
 to earn the prize, and each richly deserved the cart he drove. 
 
 I do not know whether this description may not have anticipated 
 that which I intended giving of Newmarket. I am told, there is 
 little else to be seen even there. There may be some minute differ- 
 ences in the dress of the spectators, but none at all in their under- 
 standings: the quality of Brentford are as remarkable for polite- 
 ness and delicacy as the breeders of Newmarket. The quality 
 of Brentford drive their own carts, and the honourable fraternity 
 of Newmarket ride their own horses. In short, the matches in 
 one place are as rational as those in the other; and it is more than 
 probable, that turnips, dust, and dung, are all that can be found 
 to furnish out description in either. 
 
 Forgive me, my friend; but a person like me, bred up in a philo- 
 sophic seclusion, is apt to regard perhaps with too much asperity, 
 those occurrences which sink man below his station in nature, and 
 diminish the intrinsic value of humanity. Adieu. 
 
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 LETTER LXXXVIII 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE LADIES ADVISED TO GET HUSBANDS. A STORY TO THIS PURPOSE 
 
 AS the instruction of the fair sex in this country is entirely com- 
 mitted to the care of foreigners; as their language-masters, 
 music-masters, hair-frizzers, and governesses, are all from abroad, 
 I had some intentions of opening a female academy myself, and 
 made no doubt, as I was quite a foreigner, of meeting a favourable 
 reception. 
 
 In this I intended to instruct the ladies in all the conjugal mys- 
 teries; wives should be taught the art of managing husbands, and 
 maids the skill of properly choosing them. I would teach a wife 
 how far she might venture to be sick, without giving disgust; she 
 should be acquainted with the great benefits of the cholic in the 
 stomach, and all the thorough-bred insolence of fashion. Maids 
 should learn the secret of nicely distinguishing every competitor; 
 they should be able to know the difference between a pedant and 
 a scholar, a citizen and a prig, a squire and his horse, a beau and his 
 monkey; but chiefly, they should be taught the art of managing 
 their smiles, from the contemptuous simper to the long laborious 
 laugh. 
 
 But I have discontinued the project; for what would signify 
 teaching ladies the manner of governing or choosing husbands, 
 when marriage is at present so much out of fashion, that a lady is 
 very well off who can get any husband at all ? Celibacy now pre- 
 vails in every rank of life ; the streets are crowded with old bachelors, 
 and the houses with ladies who have refused good offers, and are 
 never likely to receive any for the future. 
 
 The only advice, therefore, I could give the fair sex, as things 
 stand at present, is to get husbands as fast as they can. There is 
 certainly nothing in the whole creation, not even Babylon in ruins, 
 more truly deplorable than a lady in the virgin bloom of sixty- three, 
 or a battered unmarried beau, who squibs about from place to 
 place, showing his pigtail wig and his ears. The one appears to my 
 imagination in the form of a double nightcap, or a roll of pomatum; 
 the other in the shape of an electuary, or a box of pills. 
 
 I would once more, therefore, advise the ladies to get husbands. 
 
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 I would desire them not to discard an old lover without very sufficient 
 reasons, nor treat the new with ill-nature till they know him false; 
 let not prudes allege the falseness of the sex, coquettes the pleasures 
 of long courtship, or parents the necessary preliminaries of penny 
 for penny. I have reasons that would silence even a casuist in this 
 particular. In the first place, therefore, I divide the subject into 
 fifteen heads, and then, sic argumentor, But, not to give you and 
 myself the spleen, be contented at present with an Indian tale : 
 
 [THE MAN-FISH.] 
 
 IN a winding of the river Amidar, just before it falls into the 
 Caspian Sea, there lies an island unfrequented by the inhabitants 
 of the continent. In this seclusion, blest with all that wild unculti- 
 vated nature could bestow, lived a princess and her two daughters. 
 She had been wrecked upon the coast while her children as yet 
 were infants, who, of consequence, though grown. up, were entirely 
 unacquainted with man. Yet, inexperienced as the young ladies 
 were in the opposite sex, both early discovered symptoms, the one 
 of prudery, the other of being a coquette. The eldest was ever 
 learning maxims of wisdom and discretion from her mamma, 
 while the youngest employed all her hours in gazing at her own face 
 in a neighbouring fountain. 
 
 Their usual amusement in this solitude was fishing. Their 
 mother had taught them all the secrets of the art ; she showed them 
 which were the most likely places to throw out the line, what baits 
 were most proper for the various seasons, and the best man- 
 ner to draw up the finny prey, when they had hooked it. In this 
 manner they spent their time, easy and innocent, till one day, the 
 Princess being indisposed, desired them to go and catch her a 
 sturgeon or a shark for supper, which she fancied might sit easy 
 on her stomach. The daughters obeyed, and clapping on a gold fish, 
 the usual bait on those occasions, went and sat upon one of the 
 rocks, letting the gilded hook glide down with the stream. 
 
 On the opposite shore, farther down, at the mouth of the river, 
 lived a diver for pearls, a youth who, by long habit hi his trade, 
 was almost grown amphibious ; so that he could remain whole hours 
 at the bottom of the water, without ever fetching breath. He hap- 
 pened to be at that very instant diving when the ladies were fishing 
 with the gilded hook. Seeing therefore the bait, which to him had 
 
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 the appearance of real gold, he was resolved to seize the prize, 
 but both his hands being already filled with pearl oysters, he found 
 himself obliged to snap at it with his mouth. The consequence is 
 easily imagined; the hook, before unperceived, was instantly 
 fastened in his jaw, nor could he, with all his efforts, or his flounder- 
 ing, get free. 
 
 "Sister," cries the youngest Princess, "I have certainly caught 
 a monstrous fish; I never perceived any thing struggle so at the 
 end of my line before; come and help me to draw it in." They 
 both now, therefore, assisted in fishing up the diver on shore; but 
 nothing could equal their surprise on seeing him. " Bless my eyes ! " 
 cries the prude, " what have we got here ? this is a very odd fish to be 
 sure; I never saw anything in my life look so queer: what eyes, 
 what terrible claws, what a monstrous snout! I have read of this 
 monster somewhere before it certainly must be a tanlang, that 
 eats women ; let us throw it back again into the sea where we found 
 it." 
 
 The diver, in the meantime, stood upon the beach at the end of 
 the line, with the hook in his mouth, using every art that he thought 
 could best excite pity, and particularly looking extremely tender, 
 which is usual in such circumstances. The coquette, therefore, In 
 some measure influenced by the innocence of his looks, ventured to 
 contradict her companion. "Upon my word, sister," says she, "I 
 see nothing in the animal so very terrible as you are pleased to appre- 
 hend; I think it may serve well enough for a change. Always 
 sharks, and sturgeons, and lobsters, and crawfish, make me quite 
 sick. I fancy a slice of this, nicely grilled, and dressed up with 
 shrimp sauce, would be very pretty eating. I fancy mamma would 
 like a bit with pickles above all things hi the world; and if it should 
 not sit easy on her stomach, it will be time enough to discontinue 
 it when found disagreeable, you know." "Horrid!" cries the 
 prude, "would the girl be poisoned? I tell you it is a tanlang; I 
 have read of it in twenty places. It is everywhere described as 
 being the most pernicious animal that ever infested the ocean. I am 
 certain it is the most insidious ravenous creature in the world, and 
 is certain destruction if taken internally." The youngest sister 
 was now therefore obliged to submit: both assisted in drawing the 
 hook with some violence from the diver's jaw ; and he, finding him- 
 self at liberty, beat his breast against the broad wave, and disap- 
 peared in an instant. 
 
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 Just at this juncture the mother came down to the beach, 
 to know the cause of her daughters' delay; they told her every cir- 
 cumstance, describing the monster they had caught. The old 
 lady was one of the most discreet women in the world; she was 
 called the Black -eyed Princess, from two black eyes she had received 
 in her youth, being a little addicted to boxing in her liquor. " Alas, 
 my children," cries she, "what have you done! the fish you caught 
 was a man-fish; one of the most tame domestic animals in the 
 world. We could have let him run and play about the garden, and 
 he would have been twenty times more entertaining than our 
 squirrel or monkey." "If that be all," says the young coquette, 
 "we will fish for him again. If that be all, I'll hold three toothpicks 
 to one pound of snuff, I catch him whenever I please." Accordingly 
 they threw in their line once more ; but with all their gilding, and 
 paddling, and assiduity, they could never after catch the diver. In 
 this state of solitude and disappointment, they continued for many 
 years, still fishing, but without success; till at last the Genius of 
 the place, in pity to their distresses, changed the prude into a 
 shrimp, and the coquette into an oyster. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER XC 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE ENGLISH SUBJECT TO THE SPLEEN 
 
 WHEN the men of this country are once turned of thirty they 
 regularly retire every year, at proper intervals, to lie in of 
 the spleen. The vulgar, unfurnished with the luxurious comforts 
 of the soft cushion, down bed, and easy chair, are obliged, when the 
 fit is on them, to nurse it up by drinking, idleness, and ill-humour. 
 In such dispositions, unhappy is the foreigner who happens to cross 
 them; his long chin, tarnished coat, or pinched hat, are sure to 
 receive no quarter. If they meet no foreigner, however, to fight 
 with, they are, in such cases, generally content with beating each 
 other. 
 
 The rich, as they have more sensibility, are operated upon with 
 greater violence by this disorder. Different from the poor, instead 
 of becoming more insolent, they grow totally unfit for opposition. 
 A general here, who would have faced a culverin when well, if the 
 
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 fit be on him, shall hardly find courage to snuff a candle. An 
 admiral, who could have opposed a broadside without shrinking, 
 shall sit whole days in his chamber, mobbed up in double nightcaps, 
 shuddering at the intrusive breeze, and distinguishable from his wife 
 only by his black beard and heavy eyebrows. 
 
 In the country, this disorder mostly attacks the fair sex; in town, 
 it is most unfavourable to the men. A lady, who has pined whole 
 years amidst cooing doves and complaining nightingales, in rural 
 retirement, shall resume all her vivacity in one night at a city 
 gaming-table; her husband, who roared, hunted, and got drunk at 
 home, shall grow splenetic in town in proportion to his wife's good 
 humour. Upon their arrival in London, they exchange their dis- 
 orders. In consequence of her parties and excursions, he puts 
 on the furred cap and scarlet stomacher, and perfectly resembles 
 an Indian husband, who, when his wife is safely delivered, permits 
 her to transact business abroad, while he undergoes all the formality 
 of keeping his bed, and receiving all the condolence in her place. 
 
 But those who reside constantly in town, owe this disorder mostly 
 to the influence of the weather. It is impossible to describe what a 
 variety of transmutations an east wind shall produce; it has been 
 known to change a lady of fashion into a parlour couch ; an alderman 
 into a plate of custard; and a dispenser of justice into a rat-trap. 
 Even philosophers themselves are not exempt from its influence; 
 it has often converted a poet into a coral and bells, and a patriot 
 senator into a dumb waiter. 
 
 Some days ago I went to visit the man in black, and entered his 
 house with that cheerfulness which the certainty of a favourable 
 reception always inspires. Upon opening the door of his apart- 
 ment, I found him with the most rueful face imaginable, in a morn- 
 ing gown and flannel nightcap, earnestly employed in learning to 
 blow the German flute. Struck with the absurdity of a man in the 
 decline of life thus blowing away all his constitution and spirits, 
 even without the consolation of being musical, I ventured to ask 
 what could induce him to attempt learning so difficult an instrument 
 so late in life ? To this he made no reply, but groaning, and still 
 holding the flute to his lips, continued to gaze at me for some mo- 
 ments very angrily, and then proceeded to practise his gamut aS 
 before. After having produced a variety of the most hideous tones 
 in nature, at last turning to me, he demanded, whether I did not 
 think he had made a surprising progress in two days? "You see/'
 
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 continues he, " I have got theambusheer already ; and as forfingering, 
 my master tells me, I shall have that in a few lessons more." I was 
 so much astonished with this instance of inverted ambition, that I 
 knew not what to reply, but soon discerned the cause of all his 
 absurdities: my friend was under a metamorphosis by the power of 
 spleen, and flute-blowing was unluckily become his adventitious 
 passion. 
 
 In order, therefore, to banish his anxiety imperceptibly, by seem- 
 ing to indulge it, I began to descant on those gloomy topics by 
 which philosophers often get rid of their own spleen, by communi- 
 cating it: the wretchedness of a man in this life; the happiness of 
 some wrought out of the miseries of others; the necessity that 
 wretches should expire under punishment, that rogues might enjoy 
 affluence in tranquillity: I led him on from the inhumanity of the 
 rich to the ingratitude of the beggar; from the insincerity of refine- 
 ment to the fierceness of rusticity ; and at last had the good fortune 
 to restore him to his usual serenity of temper, by permitting him to 
 expatiate upon all the modes of human misery. 
 
 "Some nights ago," says my friend, "sitting alone by my fire, 
 I happened to look into an account of the detection of a set of men 
 called the thief-takers. I read over the many hideous cruelties of 
 those haters of mankind, of their pretended friendship to wretches 
 they meant to betray, of their sending men out to rob, and then 
 hanging them. I could not avoid sometimes interrupting the narra- 
 tive, by crying out, 'Yet these are men!' As I went on, I was 
 informed that they had lived by this practice several years, and had 
 been enriched by the price of blood: ' And yet,' cried I, ' I have been 
 sent into this world, and am desired to call these men my brothers!' 
 I read, that the very man who led the condemned wretch to the 
 gallows, was he who falsely swore his life away; 'and yet,' continued 
 I, 'that perjurer had just such a nose, such lips, such hands, and 
 such eyes, as Newton ! ' I at last came to the account of the wretch 
 that was searched after robbing one of the thief-takers of half-a- 
 crown. Those of the confederacy knew that he had got but that 
 single half-crown in the world; after a long search, therefore, which 
 they knew would be fruitless, and taking from him the half-crown, 
 which they knew was all he had, one of the gang compassionately 
 cried out, 'Alas! poor creature, let him keep all the rest he has got, 
 it will do him service in Newgate, where we are sending him.' This 
 was an instance of such complicated guilt and hypocrisy, that I 
 
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 threw down the book in an agony of rage, and began to think with 
 malice of all the human kind. I sat silent for some minutes, and 
 soon perceiving the ticking of my watch beginning to grow noisy 
 and troublesome, I quickly placed it out of hearing, and strove to 
 resume my serenity. But the watchmen soon gave me a second 
 alarm. I had scarcely recovered from this, when my peace was 
 assaulted by the wind at my window ; and when that ceased to blow, 
 I listened for death-watches in the wainscot. I now found my 
 whole system discomposed. I strove to find a resource in philos- 
 ophy and reason; but what could I oppose, or where direct my 
 blow, when I could see no enemy to combat? I saw no misery 
 approaching, nor knew any I had to fear, yet still I was miserable. 
 Morning came, I sought for tranquillity in dissipation, sauntered 
 from one place of public resort to another, but found myself dis- 
 agreeable to my acquaintance, and ridiculous to others. I tried 
 at different times dancing, fencing, and riding; I solved geometrical 
 problems, shaped tobacco-stoppers, wrote verses, and cut paper. 
 At last I placed my affections on music, and find, that earnest em- 
 ployment, if it cannot cure, at least will palliate every anxiety." 
 Adieu 
 
 LETTER XCI 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF CLIMATE AND SOIL UPON THE TEMPERS AND DIS- 
 POSITIONS OF THE ENGLISH. [THE ENGLISH-MAN] 
 
 IT is no unpleasing contemplation, to consider the influence 
 which soil and climate have upon the disposition of the inhabi- 
 tants, the animals, and vegetables, of different countries. That 
 among the brute creation is much more visible than in man, and 
 that in vegetables more than either. In some places, those plants 
 which are entirely poisonous at home lose their deleterious quality 
 by being carried abroad: there are serpents in Macedonia so harm- 
 less as to be used as playthings for children ; and we are told, that 
 in some parts of Fez, there are lions so very timorous as to be scared, 
 though coming in herds, by the cries of women. 
 
 I know of no country where the influence of climate and soil is 
 more visible than in England; the same hidden cause which gives 
 courage to their dogs and cocks, gives also a fierceness to their men. 
 
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 But chiefly this ferocity appears among the vulgar. The polite of 
 every country pretty nearly resemble each other. But, as in sim- 
 pling, it is among the uncultivated productions of nature we are to 
 examine the characteristic differences of climate and soil, so in an 
 estimate of the genius of the people, we must look among the sons 
 of unpolished rusticity. The vulgar English, therefore, may be 
 easily distinguished from all the rest of the world, by superior pride, 
 impatience, and a peculiar hardiness of soul. 
 
 Perhaps no qualities in the world are more susceptible of a finer 
 polish than these; artificial complaisance, and easy deference, being 
 superinduced over these, generally forms a great character; some- 
 thing at once elegant and majestic, affable, yet sincere. Such, in 
 general, are the better sort; but they who are left in primitive rude- 
 ness, are the least disposed for society with others, or comfort inter- 
 nally, of any people under the sun. 
 
 The poor, indeed, of every country, are but little prone to treat 
 each other with tenderness ; their own miseries are too apt to engross 
 all their pity; and perhaps, too, they give but little commiseration, 
 as they find but little from others. But, in England, the poor treat 
 each other upon every occasion with more than savage animosity, 
 and as if they were hi a state of open war by nature. In China, 
 if two porters should meet in a narrow street, they would lay down 
 their burthens, make a thousand excuses to each other for the acci- 
 dental interruption, and beg pardon on their knees; if two men of 
 the same occupation should meet here, they would first begin to 
 scold, and at last to beat each other. One would think they had 
 miseries enough resulting from penury and labour, not to increase 
 them by ill-nature among themselves, and subjection to new penal- 
 ties; but such considerations never weigh with them. 
 
 But to recompense this strange absurdity, they are in the main 
 generous, brave, and enterprising. They feel the slightest injuries 
 with a degree of ungoverned impatience, but resist the greatest 
 calamities with surprising fortitude. Those miseries under which 
 any other people in the world would sink, they have often showed 
 they were capable of enduring ; if accidentally cast upon some deso- 
 late coast, their perseverance is beyond what any other nation is 
 capable of sustaining; if imprisoned for crimes, their efforts to 
 escape are greater than among others. The peculiar strength of 
 their prisons, when compared to those elsewhere, argues their hardi- 
 ness; even the strongest prisons I have ever seen in other countries, 
 
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 would be very Insufficient to confine the untameable spirit of an 
 Englishman. In short, what man dares do in circumstances of 
 danger, an Englishman will. His virtues seem to sleep in the calm, 
 and are called out only to combat the kindred storm. 
 
 But the greatest eulogy of this people is the generosity of their 
 miscreants; the tenderness, in general, of their robbers and high- 
 waymen. Perhaps no people can produce instances of the same 
 kind, where the desperate mix pity with injustice; still show that 
 they understand a distinction in crimes, and, even in acts of vio- 
 lence, have still some tincture of remaining virtue. In every other 
 country, robbery and murder go almost always together; here, it 
 seldom happens, except upon ill-judged resistance or pursuit. The 
 banditti of other countries are unmerciful to a supreme degree; 
 the highwayman and robber here are generous, at least, in their 
 intercourse among each other. Taking, therefore, my opinion of 
 the English from the virtues and vices practised among the vulgar, 
 they at once present to a stranger all their faults, and keep their 
 virtues up only for the enquiring eye of a philosopher. 
 
 Foreigners are generally shocked at their insolence upon first 
 coming among them: they find themselves ridiculed and insulted 
 in every street; they meet with none of those trifling civilities, so 
 frequent elsewhere, which are instances of mutual good-will, with- 
 out previous acquaintance; they travel through the country, either 
 too ignorant or too obstinate to cultivate a closer acquaintance ; meet 
 every moment something to excite their disgust, and return home 
 to characterize this as the region of spleen, insolence, and ill-nature. 
 In short, England would be the last place in the world I would 
 travel to by way of amusement, but the first for instruction. I 
 would choose to have others for my acquaintance, but Englishmen 
 for my friends. 
 
 LETTER XCVI 
 To the Same 
 
 THE CONDOLENCE AND CONGRATULATION UPON THE DEATH OF THE 
 LATE KING RIDICULED. ENGLISH MOURNING DESCRIBED 
 
 THE manner of grieving for our departed friends in China, is 
 very different from that of Europe. The mourning color of 
 Europe is black; that of China white. When a parent or relation 
 dies here for they seldom mourn for friends it is only clap- 
 
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 ping on a suit of sables, grimacing it for a few days, and all, soon 
 forgotten, goes on as before; not a single creature missing the de- 
 ceased, except, perhaps a favourite housekeeper, or a favourite cat. 
 
 On the contrary, with us in China it is a very serious affair. The 
 piety with which I have seen you behave, on one of these occasions, 
 should never be forgotten. I remember it was upon the death of 
 thy grandmother's maiden sister. The coffin was exposed in the 
 principal hall, in public view. Before it were placed the figures of 
 eunuchs, horses, tortoises, and other animals, in attitudes of grief 
 and respect. The more distant relations of the old lady, and I 
 among the number, came to pay our compliments of condolence, 
 and to salute the deceased, after fhe manner of our country. We 
 had scarce presented our wax candles and perfumes, and given the 
 howl of departure, when, crawling on his belly from under a cur- 
 tain, out came the reverend Fum Hoam himself, in all the dismal 
 solemnity of distress. Your looks were set for sorrow ; your cloth- 
 ing consisted of a hempen bag tied round the neck with a string. 
 For two long months did this mourning continue. By night, you 
 lay stretched on a single mat, and sat on the stool of discontent by 
 day. Pious man ! who could thus set an example of sorrow and de- 
 corum to our country. Pious country! where, if we do not grieve 
 at the departure of our friends for their sakes, at least we are taught 
 to regret them for our own. 
 
 All is very different here; amazement all! What sort of people 
 am I got amongst? Fum, thou son of Fo, what sort of people am 
 I got amongst? No crawling round the coffin; no dressing up in 
 hempen bags; no lying on mats, or sitting on stools! Gentlemen 
 here shall put on first mourning, with as sprightly an air as if pre- 
 paring for a birth-night; and widows shall actually dress for an- 
 other husband in their weeds for the former. The best jest of all 
 is, that our merry mourners clap bits of muslin on their sleeves, and 
 these are called weepers. Weeping muslin ! alas ! alas ! very sor- 
 rowful truly! These weepers, then, it seems, are to bear the whole 
 burthen of the distress. 
 
 But I have had the strongest instance of this contrast, this tragi- 
 comical behaviour in distress, upon a recent occasion. Their king, 
 whose departure, though sudden, was not unexpected, died after a 
 reign of many years. His age, and uncertain state of health, served, 
 in some measure, to diminish the sorrow of his subjects; and their 
 expectations from his successor seemed to balance their minds be- 
 
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 tween uneasiness and satisfaction. But how ought they to have 
 behaved on such an occasion? Surely, they ought rather to have 
 endeavoured to testify their gratitude to their deceased friend, than 
 to proclaim their hopes of the future! Sure, even the successor 
 must suppose their love to wear the face of adulation, which so 
 quickly changed the object ! However, the very same day on which 
 the old king died, they made rejoicing for the new ! 
 
 For my part, I have no conception of this new manner of mourn- 
 ing and rejoicing in a breath; of being merry and sad; of mixing 
 a funeral procession with a jig and a bonfire. At least, it would 
 have been just, that they who flattered the king, while living, for 
 virtues which he had not, should lament him dead, for those he 
 really had. 
 
 In this universal cause for national distress, as I had no interest 
 myself, so it is but natural to suppose I felt no real affliction. " In 
 all the losses of our friends," says" a European philosopher, "we 
 first consider how much our own welfare is affected by their depar- 
 ture, and moderate our real grief, just in the same proportion." 
 Now, as I had neither received, nor expected to receive, favours from 
 kings or their flatterers; as I had no acquaintance in particular with 
 their late monarch; as I knew that the place of a king is soon 
 supplied; and, as the Chinese proverb has it, that though the world 
 may sometimes want cobblers to mend their shoes, there is no 
 danger of its wanting emperors to rule their kingdoms; from such 
 considerations, I could bear the loss of a king with the most philoso- 
 phic resignation. However, I thought it my duty at least to appear 
 sorrowful ; to put on a melancholy aspect, or to set my face by that 
 of the people. 
 
 The first company I came amongst, after the news became general, 
 was a set of jolly companions, who were drinking prosperity to the 
 ensuing reign. I entered the room with looks of despair, and even 
 expected applause for the superlative misery of my countenance. 
 Instead of that, I was universally condemned by the company for a 
 grimacing son of a whore, and desired to take away my penitential 
 phiz to some other quarter. I now corrected my former mistake, 
 and, with the most sprightly air imaginable, entered a company, 
 where they were talking over the ceremonies of the approaching 
 funeral. Here I sat for some time with an air of pert vivacity, 
 when one of the chief mourners immediately observing my good 
 humour, desired me, if I pleased, to go and grin somewhere else; 
 
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 they wanted no disaffected scoundrels there. Leaving this company, 
 therefore, I was resolved to assume a look perfectly neutral: and 
 have ever since been studying the fashionable air; something 
 between jest and earnest; a complete virginity of face, uncontam- 
 inated with the smallest symptom of meaning. 
 
 But though grief be a very slight affair here, the mourning, my 
 friend, is a very important concern. When an emperor dies in 
 China, the whole expense of the solemnities is defrayed from the 
 royal coffers. When the great die here, mandarines are ready 
 enough to order mourning; but I do not see that they are so ready 
 to pay for it. If they send me down from court the grey undress 
 frock, or the black coat without pocket-holes, I am willing enough 
 to comply with their commands, and wear both; but, by the head 
 of Confucius! to be obliged to wear black, and buy it into the 
 bargain, is more than my tranquillity of temper can bear. What! 
 order me to wear mourning before they know whether I can buy it 
 or no ! Fum, thou son of Fo, what sort of a people am I got amongst ? 
 where being out of black is a certain symptom of poverty; where 
 those who have miserable faces cannot have mourning, and those 
 who have mourning will not wear a miserable face ! [Adieu.] 
 
 LETTER XCVIII 
 To the Same 
 
 A DESCRIPTION OF THE COURTS OF JUSTICE IN WESTMINSTER HALL 
 
 I HAD some intentions lately of going to visit Bedlam, the place 
 where those who go mad are confined. I went to wait upon 
 the man in black to be my conductor, but I found him preparing to 
 go to Westminster-hall, where the English hold their courts of justice. 
 It gave me some surprise to find my friend engaged in a law-suit, 
 but more so when he informed me that it had been depending for 
 several years. " How is it possible," cried I, " for a man who knows 
 the world to go to law ? I am well acquainted with the courts of 
 justice in China: they resemble rat-traps every one of them; nothing 
 more easy than to get in, but to get out again is attended with 
 some difficulty, and more cunning than rats are generally found to 
 possess 1 " 
 
 " Faith, "replied my friend, " I should not have gone to law but that 
 I was assured of success before I began ; things were presented to me 
 
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 in so alluring a light, that I thought by barely declaring myself a 
 candidate for the prize, I had nothing more to do but to enjoy the 
 fruits of the victory. Thus have I been upon the eve of an imaginary 
 triumph every term these ten years; have travelled forward with 
 victory ever in my view, but ever out of reach; however, at present, 
 I fancy we have hampered our antagonist in such a manner, that, 
 without some unforeseen demur, we shall this very day lay him 
 fairly on his back." 
 
 " If things be so situated," said I, " I do not care if I attend you 
 to the courts, and partake in the pleasure of your success. But 
 prithee," continued I, as we set forward, "what reasons have you 
 to think an affair at last concluded, which has given you so many 
 former disappointments?" "My lawyer tells me," returned he, 
 "that I have Salkeld and Ventris strong in my favour, and that 
 there are no less than fifteen cases in point." "I understand," 
 said I, "those are two of your judges who have already declared 
 their opinions." "Pardon me," replied my friend, "Salkeld and 
 Ventris are lawyers who some hundred years ago gave their opinions 
 on cases similar to mine; these opinions, which make for me, my 
 lawyer is to cite; and those opinions which look another way are 
 cited by the lawyer employed by my antagonist: as I observed, I 
 have Salkeld and Ventris for me; he has Coke and Hales for him; 
 and he that has most opinions is most likely to carry his cause." 
 "But where is the necessity," cried I, "of prolonging a suit by 
 citing the opinions and reports of others, since the same good sense 
 which determined lawyers in former ages, may serve to guide your 
 judges at this day? They at that time gave their opinions only 
 from the light of reason ; your judges have the same light at present 
 to direct them; let me even add, a greater, as in former ages there 
 were many prejudices from which the present is happily free. If 
 arguing from authorities be exploded from every other branch of 
 learning, why should it be particularly adhered to in this? I 
 plainly foresee how such a method of investigation must embarrass 
 every suit, and even perplex the student; ceremonies will be multi- 
 plied, formalities must increase, and more time will thus be spent in 
 learning the arts of litigation, than in the discovery of right." 
 
 "I see," cries my friend, "that you are for a speedy administra- 
 tion of justice ; but all the world will grant, that the more time that is 
 taken up in considering any subject, the better it will be understood. 
 Besides, it is the boast of an Englishman, that his property is secure, 
 
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 and all the world will grant, that a deliberate administration of jus- 
 tice is the best way to secure his property. Why have we so many 
 lawyers, but to secure our property ? why so many formalities, but to 
 secure our property ? Not less than one hundred thousand families 
 live in opulence, elegance, and ease, merely by securing our property." 
 
 "To embarrass justice," returned I, "by a multiplicity of laws, 
 or to hazard it by a confidence in our judges, are, I grant, the oppo- 
 site rocks on which legislative wisdom has ever split: in one case, the 
 client resembles that emperor, who is said to have been suffocated 
 with the bed-clothes which were only designed to keep him warm; 
 in the other, to that town which let the enemy take possession of its 
 walls, in order to show the world.how little they depended upon aught 
 but courage for safety. But, bless me ! what numbers do I see 
 here all in black! how is it possible that half this multitude 
 can find employment?" "Nothing so easily conceived," returned 
 my companion; "they live by watching each other. For instance, 
 the catchpole watches the man in debt, the attorney watches the 
 catchpole, the counsellor watches the attorney, the solicitor the 
 counsellor, and all find sufficient employment." "I conceive you," 
 interrupted I, " they watch each other, but it is the client that pays 
 them all for watching; it puts me in mind of a Chinese fable, which 
 is entitled, FIVE ANIMALS AT A MEAL. 
 
 "A grasshopper, filled with dew, was merrily singing under a 
 shade; a whangam, that eats grasshoppers, had marked it for its 
 prey, and was just stretching forth to devour it; a serpent, that had 
 for a long time fed only on whangams, was coiled up to fasten on 
 the whangam; a yellow bird was just upon the wing to dart upon 
 the serpent; a hawk had just stooped from above to seize the yel- 
 low bird; all were intent on their prey, and unmindful of their dan- 
 ger: so the whangam ate the grasshopper, the serpent ate the whan- 
 gam, the yellow bird the serpent, and the hawk the yellow bird; 
 when, sousing from on high, a vulture gobbled up the hawk, grass- 
 hopper, whangam, and all in a moment." 
 
 I had scarce finished my fable, when the lawyer came to inform 
 my friend, that his cause was put off till another term, that money 
 was wanted to retain, and that all the world was of opinion, that 
 the very next hearing would bring him off victorious. "If so, then," 
 cries my friend, "I believe it will be my wisest way to continue the 
 cause for another term; and, in the meantime, my friend here and 
 I will go and see Bedlam." Adieu. 
 
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 LETTER XCIX 
 To the Same 
 
 A VISIT FROM THE LITTLE BEAU. THE INDULGENCE WITH WHICH 
 THE FAIR SEX ARE TREATED IN SEVERAL PARTS OF ASIA 
 
 I LATELY received a visit from the little beau, who, I found, 
 had assumed a new flow of spirits with a new suit of clothes. 
 Our discourse happened to turn upon the different treatment of 
 the fair sex here and in Asia, with the influence of beauty in 
 refining our manners, and improving our conversation. 
 
 I soon perceived he was strongly prejudiced in favour of the Asia- 
 tic method of treating the sex, and that it was impossible to persuade 
 him, but that a man was happier who had four wives at his com- 
 mand, than he who had only one. " It is true," cries he, " your men 
 of fashion in the East are slaves, and under some terrors of having 
 their throats squeezed by a bow-string; but what then? they can 
 find ample consolation in a seraglio; they make, indeed, an indiffer- 
 ent figure in conversation abroad, but then they have a seraglio to 
 console them at home. I am told they have no balls, drums, nor 
 operas, but then they have got a seraglio; they may be deprived of 
 wine and French cookery, but they have a seraglio: a seraglio 
 a seraglio, my dear creature, wipes off every inconvenience in the 
 world! 
 
 " Besides, I am told, your Asiatic beauties are the most convenient 
 women alive ; for they have no souls : positively there is nothing in 
 nature I should like so much as ladies without souls; soul, here, is 
 the utter ruin of half the sex. A girl of eighteen shall have soul 
 enough to spend a hundred pounds in the turning of a trump. Her 
 mother shall have soul enough to ride a sweepstake match at a horse- 
 race; her maiden aunt shall have soul enough to purchase the fur- 
 niture of a whole toy-shop; and others shall have soul enough to 
 behave as if they had no souls at all." 
 
 "With respect to the soul," interrupted I, "the Asiatics are much 
 kinder to the fair sex than you imagine: instead of one soul, Fohi, 
 the idol of China, gives every woman three; the Brahmins give 
 them fifteen; and even Mahomet himself nowhere excludes the sex 
 from Paradise. Abulfeda reports, that an old woman one day im- 
 portuning him to know what she ought to do in order to gain Para- 
 dise ' My good lady,' answered the prophet, ' old women never 
 
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 get there.' 'What! never get to Paradise?' returned the matron, 
 in a fury. 'Never,' says he, 'for they always grow young by the 
 way.' 
 
 "No, Sir," continued I; "the men of Asia behave with more 
 deference to the sex than you seem to imagine. As you of Europe 
 say grace upon sitting down to dinner, so it is the custom in China 
 to say grace when a man goes to bed to his wife." "And may I 
 die," returned my companion, "but a very pretty ceremony! for, 
 seriously, Sir, I see no reason why a man should not be as grateful in 
 one situation as in the other. Upon honour, I always find myself 
 much more disposed to gratitude on the couch of a fine woman, 
 than upon sitting down to a sirloin of beef." 
 
 "Another ceremony," said I, resuming the conversation, "in 
 favour of the sex, amongst us, is the bride's being allowed, after 
 marriage, her three days oj freedom. During this interval, a thou- 
 sand extravagances are practised by either sex. The lady is placed 
 upon the nuptial bed, and numberless monkey tricks are played 
 round to divert her. One gentleman smells her perfumed hand- 
 kerchief, another attempts to untie her garters, a third pulls off her 
 shoe to play hunt the slipper, another pretends to be an idiot, and 
 endeavours to raise a laugh by grimacing; hi the meantime, the 
 glass goes briskly about, till ladies, gentlemen, wife, husband, and 
 all, are mixed together in one inundation of arrack punch." 
 
 "Strike me dumb, deaf, and blind," cried my companion, "but 
 very pretty! there's some sense in your Chinese ladies' condescen- 
 sions ! but, among us, you shall scarce find one of the whole sex that 
 shall hold her good-humour for three days together. No later than 
 yesterday, I happened to say some civil things to a citizen's wife of 
 my acquaintance, not because I loved her, but because I had char- 
 ity; and what do you think was the tender creature's reply? Only 
 that she detested my pig-tail wig, high-heeled shoes, and sallow 
 complexion ! That is all. Nothing more ! Yes, by the heavens, 
 though she was more ugly than an unpainted actress, I found her 
 more insolent than a thorough bred woman of quality!" 
 
 He was proceeding in this wild manner, when his invective was 
 interrupted by the man in black, who entered the apartment, intro- 
 ducing his niece, a young lady of exquisite beauty. Her very ap- 
 pearance was sufficient to silence the severest satirist of the sex; 
 easy without pride, and free without impudence, she seemed capa- 
 ble of supplying every sense with pleasure. Her looks, her conver- 
 
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 sation, were natural and unconstrained; she had neither been taught 
 to languish nor ogle, to laugh without a jest, or sigh without sorrow. 
 I found that she had just returned from abroad, and had been con- 
 versant in the manners of the world. Curiosity prompted me to 
 ask several questions, but she declined them all. I own I never 
 found myself so strongly prejudiced in favour of apparent merit 
 before, and could willingly have prolonged our conversation, but the 
 company after some time withdrew. Just, however, before the 
 little beau took his leave, he called me aside, and requested I would 
 change him a twenty pound bill; which, as I was incapable of doing, 
 he was contented with borrowing half-a-crown. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER CII 
 To the Same 
 
 THE PASSION FOR GAMING AMONG LADIES RIDICULED 
 
 THE ladies here are by no means such ardent gamesters as the 
 women of Asia. In this respect I must do the English justice ; 
 for I love to praise where applause is justly merited. Nothing [is] 
 more common in China than to see two women of fashion continue 
 gaming till one has won all the other's clothes, and stripped her 
 quite naked; the winner thus marching off in a double suit of finery, 
 and the loser shrinking behind in the primitive simplicity of nature. 
 
 No doubt, you remember when Shang, our maiden aunt, played 
 with a sharper. First her money went; then her trinkets were 
 produced; her clothes followed, piece by piece, soon after; when 
 she had thus played herself quite naked, being a woman of spirit, 
 and willing to pursue her own, she staked her teeth: fortune was 
 against her even here, and her teeth followed her clothes. At last 
 she played for her left eye; and, oh! hard fate, this too she lost: 
 however, she had the consolation of biting the sharper, for he never 
 perceived that it was made of glass till it became his own. 
 
 How happy, my friend, are the English ladies, who never rise to 
 such an inordinance of passion ! Though the sex here are naturally 
 fond of games of chance, and are taught to manage games of skill 
 from their infancy, yet they never pursue ill fortune with such 
 amazing intrepidity. Indeed, I may entirely acquit them of ever 
 playing I mean of playing for their eyes or their teeth. 
 
 It is true, they often stake their fortune, their beauty, health, and 
 
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 reputations, at a gaming table. It even sometimes happens, that 
 they play their husbands into a jail ; yet still they preserve a decorum 
 unknown to our wives and daughters in China. I have been present 
 at a rout in this country, where a woman of fashion, after losing 
 her money, has sat writhing in all the agonies of bad luck ; and yet, 
 after all, never once attempted to strip a single petticoat, or cover 
 the board, as her last stake, with her head-clothes. 
 
 However, though I praise their moderation at play, I must not 
 conceal their assiduity. In China, our women, except upon some 
 great days, are never permitted to finger a dice-box; but here every 
 day seems to be a festival, and night itself, which gives others rest, 
 only serves to increase the female gamester's industry. I have been 
 told of an old lady in the country who, being given over by the 
 physicians, played with the curate of her parish to pass the time 
 away: having won all his money, she next proposed playing for her 
 funeral charges: her proposal was accepted; but unfortunately the 
 lady expired just as she had taken in her game. 
 
 There are some passions which, though differently pursued, are 
 attended with equal consequences in every country: here they game 
 with more perseverence, there with greater fury; here they strip 
 their families, there they strip themselves naked. A lady in China 
 who indulges a passion for gaming, often becomes a drunkard; and 
 by flourishing a dice-box in one hand, she generally comes to 
 brandish a dram-cup hi the other. Far be it from me to say there 
 are any who drink drams in England; but it is natural to suppose, 
 that when a lady has lost every thing else but her honour, she will 
 be apt to toss that into the bargain ; and, grown insensible to nicer 
 feelings, behave like the Spaniard, who, when all his money was 
 gone, endeavoured to borrow more, by offering to pawn his whisker. 
 Adieu. 
 
 LETTER CV 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE INTENDED CORONATION DESCRIBED. [BEAU TIBBS ON THE 
 PREPARATIONS FOR THE SHOW] 
 
 THE time for the young king's coronation approaches. The 
 great and the little world look forward with impatience. A 
 knight from the country, who has brought up his family to see and 
 be seen on this occasion, has taken all the lower part of the house
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 where I lodge. His wife is laying in a large quantity of silks, 
 which the mercer tells her are to be fashionable next season; and 
 Miss, her daughter, has actually had her ears bored previous to the 
 ceremony. In all this bustle of preparation , I am considered as mere 
 lumber, and have been shoved up two stories higher, to make room 
 for others my landlady seems perfectly convinced are my betters ; but 
 whom, before me, she is contented with only calling very good company. 
 
 The little beau, who has now forced himself into my intimacy, 
 was yesterday giving me a most minute detail of the intended pro- 
 cession. All men are eloquent upon their favourite topic ; and this 
 seemed peculiarly adapted to the size and turn of his understanding. 
 His whole mind was blazoned over with a variety of glittering 
 images, coronets, escutcheons, lace, fringe, tassels, stones, bugles, 
 and spun glass. "Here," cried he, "Garter is to walk; and there 
 Rouge Dragon marches with the escutcheons on his back. Here 
 Clarencieux moves forward; and there Blue Mantle disdains to be 
 left behind. Here the Aldermen march two and two; and there 
 the undaunted Champion of England, no way terrified at the very 
 numerous appearance of gentlemen and ladies, rides forward in 
 complete armour, and, with an intrepid air, throws down his glove. 
 Ah!" continued he, "should any be so hardy as to take up that 
 fatal glove, and so accept the challenge, we should see fine sport; 
 the Champion would show him no mercy; he would soon teach him 
 all his passes, with a witness. However, I am afraid we shall have 
 none willing to try with him upon the approaching occasion, for 
 two reasons, first, because his antagonist would stand a chance 
 of being killed in the single combat; and, secondly, because if he 
 escapes the Champion's arm, he would certainly be hanged for 
 treason. No, no; I fancy none will be so hardy as to dispute it with 
 a Champion like him, inured to arms ; and we shall probably see 
 him prancing unmolested away, holding his bridle thus hi one hand, 
 and brandishing his dram-cup in the other." 
 
 Some men have a manner of describing, which only wraps the 
 subject in more than former obscurity; thus I was unable, with all 
 my companion's volubility, to form a distinct idea of the intended 
 procession. I was certain that the inauguration of a king should be 
 conducted with solemnity and religious awe; and I could not be 
 persuaded that there was much solemnity in this description. " If 
 this be true," cried I to myself, "the people of Europe surely have 
 a strange manner of mixing solemn and fantastic images together; 
 
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 pictures, at once replete with burlesque and the sublime. At a 
 time when the king enters into the most solemn compact with his 
 people, nothing, surely, should be admitted to diminish from the 
 real majesty of the ceremony. A ludicrous image, brought in at 
 such a time, throws an air of ridicule upon the whole. It someway 
 resembles a picture I have seen, designed by Albert Durer, where, 
 amidst all the solemnity of that awful scene, a deity judging, and a 
 trembling world awaiting the decree, he has introduced a merry 
 mortal trundling his scolding wife to hell in a wheel -barrow." 
 
 My companion, who mistook my silence, during this interval of 
 reflection, for the rapture of astonishment, proceeded to describe 
 those frivolous parts of the show that most struck his imagination; 
 and to assure me, that if I stayed in this country some months 
 longer, I should see fine things. " For my own part," continued he, 
 " I know already of fifteen suits of clothes, that would stand on one 
 end with gold lace, all designed to be first shown there; and as for 
 diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls, we shall see them as thick 
 as brass nails in a sedan chair. And then we are all to walk so 
 majestically thus; this foot always behind the foot before. The 
 ladies are to fling nosegays; the court poets to scatter verses; the 
 spectators are to be all in fuh 1 dress; Mrs. Tibbs hi a new sack, 
 ruffles, and Frenched hair: look where you will, one thing finer than 
 another; Mrs. Tibbs curtsies to the Duchess; her Grace returns the 
 compliment with a bow. 'Largess!' cries the Herald. 'Make 
 room!' cries the Gentleman Usher. 'Knock him down!' cries the 
 guard. Ah!" continued he, amazed at his own description, "what 
 an astonishing scene of grandeur can Art produce from the smallest 
 circumstance, when it thus actually turns to wonder one man putting 
 on another man's hat!" 
 
 I now found his mind was entirely set upon the fopperies of the 
 pageant, and quite regardless of the real meaning of such costly 
 preparations. "Pageants," says Bacon, "are pretty things; but 
 we should rather study to make them elegant than expensive." 
 Processions, cavalcades, and all that fund of gay frippery, furnished 
 out by tailors, barbers, and tirewomen, mechanically influence the 
 mind into veneration. An emperor in his nightcap would not meet 
 with half the respect of an emperor with a glittering crown. Politics 
 resemble religion; attempting to divest either of ceremony is the 
 most certain method of bringing either into contempt. The weak 
 must have their inducements to admiration as well as the wise ; and 
 
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 it is the business of a sensible government to impress all ranks with 
 a sense of subordination, whether this be effected by a diamond 
 buckle, or a virtuous edict, a sumptuary law, or a glass necklace. 
 
 This interval of reflection only gave my companion spirits to 
 begin his description afresh; and, as a greater inducement to raise 
 my curiosity, he informed me of the vast sums that were given by 
 the spectators for places. "That the ceremony must be fine," 
 cries he, "is very evident from the fine price that is paid for seeing 
 it. Several ladies have assured me, they could willingly part with 
 one eye rather than be prevented from looking on with the other. 
 Come, come," continues he, "I have a friend, who, for my sake, 
 will supply us with places at the most reasonable rates; I'll take 
 care you shall not be imposed upon ; and he will inform you of the 
 use, finery, rapture, splendour, and enchantment of the whole 
 ceremony, better than I." 
 
 Follies often repeated lose their absurdity, and assume the appear- 
 ance of reason. His arguments were so often and so strongly 
 enforced, that I had actually some thoughts of becoming a spectator. 
 We accordingly went together to bespeak a place; but guess my 
 surprise when the man demanded a purse of gold for a single seat ! 
 I could hardly believe him serious upon making the demand. 
 "Prithee, friend," cried I, "after I have paid twenty pounds for 
 sitting here an hour or two, can I bring a part of the coronation 
 back?" "No, Sir." "How long can I live upon it, after I 
 have come away?" "Not long, Sir." "Can a coronation 
 clothe, feed, or fatten me?" "Sir," replied the man, "you seem 
 to be under a mistake ; all that you can bring away is the pleasure 
 of having it to say, that you saw the coronation." "Blast me!" 
 cries Tibbs, " if that be all, there is no need of paying for that, since 
 I am resolved to have that pleasure, whether I am there or no!" 
 
 I am conscious, my friend, that this is but a very confused descrip- 
 ton of the intended ceremony. You may object, that I neither 
 settle rank, precedency, nor place; that I seem ignorant whether 
 Gules walks before or behind Garter; that I have neither mentioned 
 the dimensions of a lord's cap, nor measured the length of a lady's 
 tail. I know your delight is in minute description : and this I am 
 unhappily disqualified from furnishing; yet, upon the whole, I 
 fancy it will be no way comparable to the magnificence of our late 
 Emperor Whangti's procession, when he was married to the moon, 
 at which Fum Hoam himself presided in person. Adieu. 
 
 54
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 LETTER CXH 
 To the Same 
 
 AN ELECTION DESCRIBED 
 
 THE English are at present employed in celebrating a feast, 
 which becomes general every seventh year; the parliament 
 of the nation being then dissolved, and another appointed to be 
 chosen. This solemnity falls infinitely short of our Feast of the 
 Lanterns in magnificence and splendour; it is also surpassed by 
 others of the East in unanimity and pure devotion; but no festival 
 in the world can compare with it for eating. Their eating, indeed, 
 amazes me. Had I five hundred heads, and were each head fur- 
 nished with brains, yet would they ah 1 be insufficient to compute 
 the number of cows, pigs, geese, and turkeys, which, upon this 
 occasion, die for the good of their country! 
 
 To say the truth, eating seems to make a grand ingredient in all 
 English parties of zeal, business, or amusement. When a church 
 is to be built, or an hospital endowed, the directors assemble, and, 
 instead of consulting upon it, they eat upon it, by which means 
 the business goes forward with success. When the poor are to be 
 relieved, the officers appointed to dole out public charity, assemble 
 and eat upon it. Nor has it ever been known that they filled the 
 bellies of the poor, tih 1 they had previously satisfied their own. But 
 in the election of magistrates, the people seem to exceed all bounds: 
 the merits of a candidate are often measured by the number of his 
 treats; his constituents assemble, eat upon him, and lend their 
 applause, not to his integrity or sense, but to the quantities of 
 his beef and brandy. 
 
 And yet I could forgive this people their plentiful meals on this 
 occasion, as it is extremely natural for every man to eat a great deal 
 when he gets it for nothing; but what amazes me is, that all this good 
 living no way contributes to improve their good humour. On the 
 contrary, they seem to lose their temper as they lose their appetites; 
 every morsel they swallow, and every glass they pour down, serves 
 to increase their animosity. Many an honest man, before as harm- 
 less as a tame rabbit, when loaded with a single election dinner, 
 has become more dangerous than a charged culverin. Upon one 
 of these occasions, I have actually seen a bloody-minded man- 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 milliner sally forth at the head of a mob, determined to face a des- 
 perate pastry-cook, who was general of the opposite party. 
 
 But you must not suppose they are without a pretext for thus 
 beating each other. On the contrary, no man here is so uncivilized 
 as to beat his neighbour without producing very sufficient reasons. 
 One candidate, for instance, treats with gin, a spirit of their own 
 manufacture ; another always drinks brandy, imported from abroad. 
 Brandy is a wholesome liquor; gin, a liquor wholly their own. This 
 then, furnishes an obvious cause of quarrel, Whether it be most 
 reasonable to get drunk with gin, or get drunk with brandy? The 
 mob meet upon the debate, fight themselves sober, and then draw 
 off to get drunk again, and charge for another encounter. So that 
 the English may now properly be said to be engaged in war; since, 
 while they are subduing their enemies abroad, they are breaking 
 each other's heads at home. 
 
 I lately made an excursion to a neighbouring village, in order to 
 be a spectator of the ceremonies practised upon this occasion. I 
 left town in company with three fiddlers, nine dozen of hams, and 
 a corporation poet, which were designed as reinforcements to the 
 gin -drinking party. We entered the town with a very good face; 
 the fiddlers, no way intimidated by the enemy, kept handling their 
 arms up the principal street. By this prudent manoeuvre, they took 
 peaceable possession of their head-quarters, amidst the shouts of 
 multitudes, who seemed perfectly rejoiced at hearing their music, 
 but, above all, at seeing their bacon. 
 
 I must own, I could not avoid being pleased to see all ranks of 
 people, on this occasion, levelled into an equality, and the poor, 
 hi some measure, enjoying the primitive privileges of nature. If 
 there was any distinction shown, the lowest of the people seemed 
 to receive it from the rich. I could perceive a cobbler with a levee 
 at his door, and a haberdasher giving audience from behind his 
 counter. But my reflections were soon interrupted by a mob, who 
 demanded whether I was for the distillery or the brewery? As 
 these were terms with which I was totally unacquainted, I chose 
 at first to be silent; however, I know not what might have been the 
 consequence of my reserve, had not the attention of the mob been 
 called off to a skirmish between a brandy-drinker's cow and a gin- 
 drinker's mastiff, which turned out, greatly to the satisfaction of 
 the mob, in favour of the mastiff. 
 
 This spectacle, which afforded high entertainment, was at last 
 
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 ended by the appearance of one of the candidates, who came to 
 harangue the mob: he made a very pathetic speech upon the late 
 excessive importation of foreign drams, and the downfall of the 
 distillery; I could see some of the audience shed tears. He was 
 accompanied in his procession by Mrs. Deputy and Mrs. Mayoress. 
 Mrs. Deputy was not in the least in liquor; and as for Mrs. Mayor- 
 ess, one of the spectators assured me in my ear, that she was a 
 very fine woman before she had the small-pox. 
 
 Mixing with the crowd, I was now conducted to the hall where 
 the magistrates are chosen ; but what tongue can describe this scene 
 of confusion! The whole crowd seemed equally inspired with 
 anger, jealousy, politics, patriotism, and punch. I remarked one 
 figure that was carried up by two men upon this occasion. I at 
 first began to pity his infirmities as natural, but soon found the 
 fellow so drunk that he could not stand ; another made his appear- 
 ance to give his vote, but though he could stand, he actually lost 
 the use" of his tongue, and remained silent; a third, who, though 
 excessively drunk, could both stand and speak, being asked the 
 candidate's name for whom he voted, could be prevailed upon to 
 make no other answer but "Tobacco and brandy." In short, an 
 election hall seems to be a theatre, where every passion is seen 
 without disguise; a school where fools may readily become worse, 
 and where philosophers may gather wisdom. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER CXVII 
 
 To the Same 
 
 A CITY NIGHT-PIECE 
 
 THE clock just struck two, the expiring taper rises and sinks 
 in the socket, the watchman forgets the hour in slumber, the 
 laborious and the happy are at rest, and nothing wakes but medita- 
 tion, guilt, revelry, and despair. The drunkard once more fills 
 the destroying bowl, the robber walks his midnight round, and the 
 suicide lifts his guilty arm against his own sacred person. 
 
 Let me no longer waste the night over the page of antiquity, or 
 the sallies bf contemporary genius, but pursue the solitary walk, 
 where vanity, ever changing, but a few hours past walked before 
 me: where she kept up the pageant, and now, like a froward child, 
 seems hushed with her own importunities. 
 
 507
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 What a gloom hangs all around ! The dying lamp feebly emits a 
 yellow gleam; no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the 
 distant watch-dog. All the bustle of human pride is forgotten : an 
 hour like this may well display the emptiness of human vanity. 
 
 There will come a time, when this temporary solitude may be 
 made continual, and the city itself, like its inhabitants, fade away, 
 and leave a desert in its room. 
 
 What cities, as great as this, have once triumphed in existence, 
 had their victories as great, joy as just and as unbounded; and, with 
 short-sighted presumption, promised themselves immortality. 
 Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some: The sorrowful 
 traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others ; and, as he beholds, 
 he learns wisdom, and feels the transience of every sublunary 
 possession. 
 
 " Here," he cries, " stood their citadel, now grown over with weeds; 
 there their senate -house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; 
 temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap 
 of ruin. They are fallen, for luxury and avarice first made them 
 feeble. The rewards of the state were conferred on amusing, and 
 not on useful members of society. Their riches and opulence 
 invited the invaders, who, though at first repulsed, returned again, 
 conquered by perseverance, and at last swept the defendants into 
 undistinguished destruction." 
 
 How few appear in those streets which but some few hours ago 
 were crowded! and those who appear, now no longer wear their 
 daily mask, nor attempt to hide their lewdness or their misery. 
 
 But who are those who make the streets their couch, and find a 
 short repose from wretchedness at the doors of the opulent ? These 
 are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are 
 too humble to expect redress, and whose distresses are too great 
 even for pity. Their wretchedness excites rather horror than pity. 
 Some are without the covering even of rags, and others emaciated 
 with disease; the world has disclaimed them; society turns its 
 back upon their distress, and has given them up to nakedness and 
 hunger. These poor shivering females have once seen happier 
 days, and been flattered into beauty. They have been prostituted 
 to the gay luxurious villain, and are now turned out to meet the 
 severity of winter. Perhaps, now lying at the doors of their betray- 
 ers, they sue to wretches whose hearts are insensible, or debauchees 
 who may curse, but will not relieve them. 
 
 508
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings of wretches 
 I cannot relieve! Poor houseless creatures 1 the world will give 
 you reproaches, but will not give you relief. The slightest misfor- 
 tunes of the great, the most imaginary uneasiness of the rich, are 
 aggravated with all the power of eloquence, and held up to engage 
 our attention and sympathetic sorrow. The poor weep unheeded, 
 persecuted by every subordinate species of tyranny; and every law 
 which gives others security, becomes an enemy to them. 
 
 Why was this heart of mine formed with so much sensibility? 
 or why was not my fortune adapted to its impulse ? Tenderness, 
 without a capacity of relieving, only makes the man who feels it 
 more wretched than the object which sues for assistance. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER CXIX 
 
 To the Same 
 
 ON THE DISTRESSES OF THE POOR; EXEMPLIFIED IN THE LIFE OF A 
 PRIVATE SENTINEL 
 
 THE misfortunes of the great, my friend, are held up to engage 
 our attention, are enlarged upon in tones of declamation, and 
 the world is called upon to gaze at the noble sufferers : they have at 
 once the comfort of admiration and pity. 
 
 Yet, where is the magnanimity of bearing misfortunes when the 
 whole world is looking on? Men, in such circumstances, can act 
 bravely even from motives of vanity. He only who in the vale of 
 obscurity, can brave adversity who, without friends to encourage, 
 acquaintances to pity, or even without hope to alleviate his distresses, 
 can behave with tranquillity and indifference, is truly great: whether 
 peasant or courtier, he deserves admiration, and should be held up 
 for our imitation and respect. 
 
 [While the slightest inconveniences of the great are magnified into 
 calamities ; while tragedy mouths out their sufferings in all the strains 
 of eloquence], the miseries of the poor are, however, entirely disre- 
 garded ; though some undergo more real hardships in one day, than 
 the great in their whole lives. It is indeed inconceivable what 
 difficulties the meanest English sailor or soldier endures without 
 murmuring or regret [; without passionately declaiming against 
 Providence, or calling their fellows to be gazers on their intrepidity]. 
 
 59
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 Every day to him is a day of misery, and yet he bears his hard fate 
 without repining. 
 
 With what indignation do I hear the heroes of tragedy complain of 
 misfortunes and hardships, whose greatest calamity is founded in 
 arrogance and pride ! Their severest distresses are pleasures, com- 
 pared to what many of the adventuring poor every day sustain with- 
 out murmuring. These may eat, drink, and sleep; have slaves to 
 attend them, and are sure of subsistence for life; while many of 
 their fellow-creatures are obliged to wander, without a friend to 
 comfort or to assist them, find enmity in every law, and are too poor 
 to obtain even justice. 
 
 I have been led into these reflections from accidentally meeting, 
 some days ago, a poor fellow begging at one of the outlets of this 
 town, with a wooden leg. I was curious to learn what had reduced 
 him to his present situation ; and, after giving him what I thought 
 proper, desired to know the history of his life and misfortunes, and 
 the manner in which he was reduced to his present distress. The 
 disabled soldier, for such he was, with an intrepidity truly British, 
 leaning on his crutch, put himself into an attitude to comply with my 
 request, and gave me his history as follows : 
 
 "As for misfortunes, Sir, I cannot pretend to have gone through 
 more than others. Except the loss of my limb, and my being obliged 
 to beg, I don't know any reason, thank Heaven, that I have to com- 
 plain: there are some who have lost both legs and an eye; but, 
 thank Heaven, it is not quite so bad with me. 
 
 " My father was a labourer in the country, and died when I was 
 five years old; so I was put upon the parish. As he had been a 
 wandering sort of a man, the parishioners were notable to tell to what 
 parish I belonged, or where I was born ; so they sent me to another 
 parish, and that parish sent me to a third: till at last it was thought 
 I belonged to no parish at all. At length, however, they fixed me. 
 I had some disposition to be a scholar, and had actually learned my 
 letters; but the master of the workhouse put me to business as soon 
 as I was able to handle a mallet. 
 
 " Here I lived an easy kind of a life for five years. I only wrought 
 ten hours in the day, and had my meat and drink provided for my 
 labour. It is true, I was not suffered to stir far from the house, for 
 fear I should run away: but what of that? I had the liberty of the 
 whole house, and the yard before the door, and that was enough for 
 me.
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 "I was next bound out to a farmer, where I was up both early 
 and late; but I ate and drank well, and liked my business well 
 enough, till he died. Being then obliged to provide for myself, I 
 was resolved to go and seek my fortune. Thus I lived, and went 
 from town to town, working when I could get employment, and 
 starving when I could get none, and might have lived so still. But 
 happen irg one day to go through a field belonging to a magistrate, 
 I spied a hare crossing the path just before me. I believe the devil 
 put it in my head to fling my stick at it : well, what will you have 
 on't ? I killed the hare, and was bringing it away hi triumph, when 
 the Justice himself met me: he called me a villain, and, collaring me, 
 desired I would give an account of myself. I began immediately 
 to give a full account of all that I knew of my breed, seed, and 
 generation; but though I gave a very long account, the Justice 
 said I could give no account of myself; so I was indicted, and found 
 guilty of being poor, and sent to Newgate in order to be trans- 
 ported to the plantations. 
 
 " People may say this and that of being in jail ; but for my part, 
 I found Newgate as agreeable a place as ever I was hi hi all my life. 
 I had my bellyful to eat and drink, and did no work; but, alas! 
 this kind of life was too good to last for ever! I was taken out of 
 prison, after five months, put on board of a ship, and sent off with 
 two hundred more. Our passage was but indifferent, for we were 
 all confined in the hold, and died very fast, for want of sweet air 
 and provisions; but, for my part, I did not want meat, because I 
 had a fever all the way: Providence was kind; when provisions 
 grew short, it took away my desire of eating. When we came 
 ashore, we were sold to the planters. I was bound for seven years, 
 and as I was no scholar for I had forgot my letters I was 
 obliged to work among the negroes; and served out my time, as in 
 duty bound to do. 
 
 "When my time was expired, I worked my passage home, and 
 glad I was to see Old England again, because I loved my country. 
 O, liberty! liberty! liberty! that is the property of every English- 
 man, and I will die hi its defence! I was afraid, however, that 
 I should be indicted for a vagabond once more, so I did not 
 much care to go hi to the country, but kept about town, and 
 did little jobs when I could get them. I was very happy in this 
 manner for some time; till one evening, coming home from work, 
 two men knocked me down, and then desired me to stand still. 
 
 5"
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 They belonged to a press-gang: I was carried before the Justice, 
 and as I could give no account of myself, (that was the thing that 
 always hobbled me,) I had my choice left, whether to go on board 
 a man-of-war, or list for a soldier. I chose to be a soldier; and in 
 this post of a gentleman I served two campaigns, was at the battles 
 in Flanders, and received but one wound through the breast, which 
 is troublesome to this day. 
 
 "When the peace came on, I was discharged; and as I could not 
 work, because my wound was sometimes painful, I listed for a 
 landman in the East India Company's service. I here fought the 
 French in six pitched battles ; and verily believe, that if I could read 
 or write, our captain would have given me promotion, and made me 
 a corporal. But that was not my good fortune, I soon fell sick, and 
 when I became good for nothing, got leave to return home again 
 with forty pounds in my pocket, which I saved in the service. This 
 was at the beginning of the present war, so I hoped to be set on 
 shore, and to have the pleasure of spending my money; but the 
 government wanted men, and I was pressed again, before ever I 
 could set foot on shore. 
 
 "The boatswain found me, as he said, an obstinate fellow: he 
 swore that I understood my business perfectly well, but that I 
 pretended sickness merely to be idle. God knows, I knew nothing 
 of sea business : he beat me without considering what he was about. 
 But still my forty pounds was some comfort to me under every 
 beating: the money was my comfort, and the money I might have 
 had to this day, but that our ship was taken by the French, and so 
 I lost it all! 
 
 "Our crew was carried into a French prison, and many of them 
 died, because they were not used to live in a jail ; but for my part, 
 it was nothing to me, for I was seasoned. One night, however, as 
 I was sleeping on a bed of boards, with a warm blanket about me, 
 (for I always loved to lie well,) I was awaked by the boatswain, 
 who had a dark lantern in his hand. 'Jack,' says he to me, 'will 
 you knock out the French sentries' brains?' 'I don't care,' says 
 I, striving to keep myself awake, 'if I lend a hand.' 'Then 
 follow me,' says he, 'and I hope we shall do business.' So up I 
 got, and tied my blanket, which was all the clothes I had, about 
 my middle, and went with him to fight the Frenchmen. We had 
 no arms; but one Englishman is able to beat five French at any 
 time; so we went down to the door, where both the sentries were
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 posted, and, rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, 
 and knocked them down. From thence, nine of us ran together 
 to the quay, and seizing the first boat we met, got out of the harbour 
 and put to sea. We had not been here three days before we were 
 taken up by an English privateer, who was glad of so many good 
 hands ; and we consented to run our chance. However, we had not 
 so much luck as we expected. In three days we fell in with a French 
 man-of-war, of forty guns, while we had but twen ty- three ; so to it 
 we went. The fight lasted for three hours, and I verily believe 
 we should have taken the Frenchman, but unfortunately, we lost 
 almost all our men, just as we were going to get the victory. I was 
 once more in the power of the French, and I believe it would have 
 gone hard with me, had I been brought back to my old jail in Brest; 
 but, by good fortune, we were retaken, and carried to England once 
 more. 
 
 "I had almost forgot to tell you, that in this last engagement I 
 was wounded in two places, I lost four fingers of the left hand, 
 and my leg was shot off. Had I had the good fortune to have lost 
 my leg and use of my hand on board a king's ship, and not a priva- 
 teer, I should have been entitled to clothing and maintenance during 
 the rest of my life; but that was not my chance: one man is born 
 with a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden ladle. 
 However, blessed be God, I enjoy good health, and have no enemy 
 in this world, that I know of, but the French and the Justice of 
 Peace." 
 
 Thus saying, he limped off, leaving my friend and me in admira- 
 tion of his intrepidity and content; nor could we avoid acknowledg- 
 ing, that an habitual acquaintance with misery, is the truest school 
 of fortitude and philosophy. Adieu. 
 
 LETTER CXXIH 
 
 To the Same 
 
 THE CONCLUSION 
 
 AFTER a variety of disappointments, my wishes are at length 
 fully satisfied. My son, so long expected, is arrived, at 
 once, by his presence, banishing my anxiety, and opening a new 
 scene of unexpected pleasure. His improvements in mind and 
 
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 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 person have far surpassed even the sanguine expectations of a 
 father. I left him a boy, but he is returned a man ; pleasing in his 
 person, hardened by travel, and polished by adversity. His dis- 
 appointment in love, however, had infused an air of melancholy 
 into his conversation, which seemed at intervals to interrupt our 
 mutual satisfaction. I expected that this could find a cure only 
 from time; but fortune, as if willing to load us with her favours, 
 has, in a moment, repaid every uneasiness with rapture. 
 
 Two days after his arrival, the man in black, with his beautiful 
 niece, came to congratulate us upon this pleasing occasion; but, 
 guess our surprise, when my friend's lovely kinswoman was found 
 to be the very captive my son had rescued from Persia, and who 
 had been wrecked on the Wolga, and was carried by the Russian 
 peasants to the port of Archangel. Were I to hold the pen of a 
 novelist, I might be prolix in describing their feelings at so unex- 
 pected an interview; but you may conceive their joy without my 
 assistance: words were unable to express their transports, then 
 how can words describe it? 
 
 When two young persons are sincerely enamoured of each other, 
 nothing can give me such pleasure as seeing them married : whether 
 I know the parties or not, I am happy at thus binding one link 
 more in the universal chain. Nature has, in some measure, formed 
 me for a matchmaker, and given me a soul to sympathize with 
 every mode of human felicity. I instantly, therefore, consulted 
 the man in black, whether we might not crown their mutual wishes 
 by marriage : his soul seems formed of similar materials with mine ; 
 he instantly gave his consent, and the next day was appointed for 
 the solemnization of the nuptials. 
 
 All the acquaintances which I had made since my arrival, were 
 present at this gay solemnity. The little beau was constituted 
 master of the ceremonies, and his wife, Mrs. Tibbs, conducted 
 the entertainment with proper decorum. The man in black, and 
 the pawnbroker's widow, were very sprightly and tender upon this 
 occasion. The widow was dressed up under the direction of Mrs. 
 Tibbs; and as for her lover, his face was set off by the assistance 
 of a pig-tail wig, which was lent by the little beau, to fit him for 
 making love with proper formality. The whole company easily 
 perceived that it would be a double wedding before all was over, 
 and, indeed, my friend and "the widow seemed to make no secret 
 of their passion ; he even called me aside, in order to know my candid
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 opinion, whether I did not think him a little too old to be married ? 
 "As for my own part," continued he, "I know I am going to play 
 the fool, but all my friends will praise my wisdom, and produce me 
 as the very pattern of discretion to others." 
 
 At dinner, every thing seemed to run on with good-humour, 
 harmony, and satisfaction. Every creature in company thought 
 themselves pretty, and every jest was laughed at. The man in 
 black sat next his mistress, helped her plate, chimed her glass, and 
 jogging her knees and her elbow, he whispered something arch in 
 her ear, on which she patted his cheek: never was antiquated pas- 
 sion so playful, so harmless, and amusing, as between this reverend 
 couple. 
 
 The second course was now called for, and, among a variety of 
 other dishes, a fine turkey was placed before the widow. The 
 Europeans, you know, carve as they eat; my friend, therefore, 
 begged his mistress to help him to a part of the turkey. The widow, 
 pleased with an opportunity of showing her skill in carving, an art 
 upon which it seems she piqued herself, began to cut it up by first 
 taking off the leg. "Madam," cries my friend, "if I might be per- 
 mitted to advise, I would begin by cutting off the wing, and then 
 the leg will come off more easily." - "Sir," replies the widow, 
 "give me leave to understand cutting up a fowl: I always begin with 
 the leg." "Yes, Madam," replies the lover, "but if the wing be 
 the most convenient manner, I would begin with the wing," 
 "Sir," interrupts the lady, "when you have fowls of your own, 
 begin with the wing, if you please, but give me leave to take off the 
 leg; I hope I am not to be taught at this time of day." " Madam," 
 interrupts he, "we are never too old to be instructed." "Old, 
 Sir!" interrupts the other, "who is old, Sir? when I die of age, I 
 know of some that will quake for fear: If the leg does not come off, 
 take the turkey to yourself." - "Madam," replied the man in 
 black, " I don't care a farthing whether the leg or the wing comes 
 off; if you are for the leg first, why you shall have the argument, 
 .even though it be as I say." "As for the matter of that," cries 
 the widow, " I don't care a fig whether you are for the leg off or on ; 
 and, friend, for the future, keep your distance." " O," replied 
 the other, " that is easily done ; it is only removing to the other end 
 of the table; and so, Madam, your most obedient humble servant." 
 
 Thus was this courtship of an age destroyed in one moment; 
 for this dialogue effectually broke off the match between this re- 
 
 515
 
 CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 
 
 spectable couple, that had been but just concluded. The smallest 
 accidents disappoint the most important treaties. However, though 
 it in some measure interrupted the general satisfaction, it no ways 
 lessened the happiness of the youthful couple; and, by the young 
 lady's looks, I could perceive she was not entirely displeased with 
 this interruption. 
 
 In a few hours the whole transaction seemed entirely forgotten, 
 and we have all since enjoyed those satisfactions which result from 
 a consciousness of making each other happy. My son and his fair 
 partner are fixed here for life : the man in black has given them up 
 a small estate in the country, which, added to what I was able 
 to bestow, will be capable of supplying all the real, but not the 
 fictitious demands of happiness. As for myself, the world being 
 but one city to me, I do not much care in which of the streets I 
 happen to reside: I shall, therefore, spend the remainder of my 
 life in examining the manners of different countries, and have pre- 
 vailed upon the man in black to be my companion. " They must 
 often change," says Confucius, "who would be constant in happi- 
 ness or wisdom." Adieu.
 
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