The Tatler (IV)

Name: The Tatler (IV)
Author: Sir Richard Steele

Whole book · 87 sections

Speed

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

The Tatler
Edited by
George A. Aitken

In Four Volumes
Volume Four

B. Lens Sen^r delineavit

Isaac Bickerstaff Esq.

Engraved by Wm. H. Ward & Co. L'd. from the Original by Sturt after Lens.

The Tatler Edited with Introduction & Notes

by
George A. Aitken
Author of
"The Life of Richard Steele," &c.

DESORMAIS

VOL. IV

New York
Hadley & Mathews
156 Fifth Avenue
London: Duckworth & Co.
1899

Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press

To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Halifax. [1] — FOOTNOTES:

From the Hovel at Hamptonwick,
April 7, 1711.

My Lord,

When I first resolved upon doing myself this honour, I could not but indulge a certain vanity in dating from this little covert, where I have frequently had the honour of your Lordship's company, and received from you very many obligations. The elegant solitude of this place, and the greatest pleasures of it, I owe to its being so near those beautiful manors wherein you sometimes reside: it is not retiring from the world, but enjoying its most valuable blessings, when a man is permitted to share in your Lordship's conversations in the country. All the bright images which the wits of past ages have left behind them in their writings, the noble plans which the greatest statesmen have laid down for administration of affairs, are equally the familiar objects of your knowledge. But what is peculiar to your Lordship above all the illustrious personages that have appeared in any age, is, that wit and learning have from your example fallen into a new era. Your patronage has produced those arts, which before shunned the commerce of the world, into the service of life; and it is to you we owe, that the man of wit has turned himself to be a man of business. The false delicacy of men of genius, and the objections which others were apt to insinuate against their abilities for entering into affairs, have equally vanished. And experience has shown, that men of letters are not only qualified with a greater capacity, but also a greater integrity in the despatch of business. Your own studies have been diverted from being the highest ornament, to the highest use to mankind, and the capacities which would have rendered you the greatest poet of your age, have to the advantage of Great Britain been employed in pursuits which have made you the most able and unbiassed patriot. A vigorous imagination, an extensive apprehension, and a ready judgment have distinguished you in all the illustrious parts of administration, in a reign attended with such difficulties, that the same talents without the same quickness in the possession of them would have been incapable of conquering. The natural success of such abilities has advanced you to a seat in that illustrious House where you were received by a crowd of your relations. Great as you are in your honours and personal qualities, I know you will forgive a humble neighbour the vanity of pretending to a place in your friendship, and subscribing himself,

My Lord,
Your Lordship's most obliged
and most devoted Servant,
Richard Steele.

[1] Charles Montague, grandson of the first Earl of Manchester, was born in 1661, at Horton, in Northamptonshire, and was educated at Westminster, and at Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1687 he joined with Prior in writing the "County and the City Mouse," a burlesque on Dryden's "Hind and Panther." Montague was amongst those who signed the invitation sent to William of Orange. After the Revolution, he was made a Lord of the Treasury (March 1692), Chancellor of the Exchequer (1694), and First Lord of the Treasury in 1698. These last two offices he held together until 1699. Among the important schemes which he carried out were a re-coining of the money, the founding of the Bank of England and the new East India Company, and the issue of Exchequer bills. In 1700 he was made Auditor of the Exchequer, and was created Baron Halifax. A Tory House of Commons twice attacked him, but without success. In 1706 he took a leading part in the negotiations which led to the Union with Scotland. He voted for the sentence upon Dr. Sacheverell in 1710, and in the subsequent peace negotiations he opposed the terms of the Treaty of Utrecht. In October 1714 he again became First Lord of the Treasury, and was created Viscount Sunbury and Earl of Halifax; but he died in May 1715. He was the patron of numerous men of letters, and was lauded by many as a second Mæcenas. Pope says he was "fed with soft dedication all day long." In 1711 Steele and Addison dedicated the second volume of the Spectator to Lord Halifax.

The Tatler

By ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.

No. 194. [ Steele. [2] From Tuesday, July 4 , to Thursday, July 6, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 5. — FOOTNOTES:

Militat omnis amans.—Ovid, Amor. El. ix. 1.

I was this morning reading the tenth canto in the fourth book of Spenser, in which Sir Scudamore relates the progress of his courtship to Amoret under a very beautiful allegory, which is one of the most natural and unmixed of any in that most excellent author. I shall transprose it, to use Mr. Bayes's term,[3] for the benefit of many English lovers who have by frequent letters desired me to lay down some rules for the conduct of their virtuous amours; and shall only premise, that by the shield of love is meant a generous, constant passion for the person beloved.

When the fame, says he, of this celebrated beauty first flew abroad, I went in pursuit of her to the Temple of Love. This temple, continues he, bore the name of the goddess Venus, and was seated in a most fruitful island, walled by nature against all invaders. There was a single bridge that led into the island, and before it a castle garrisoned by twenty knights. Near the castle was an open plain, and in the midst of it a pillar, on which was hung the shield of love; and underneath it, in letters of gold, was this inscription:

Happy the man who well can use his bliss;
Whose ever be the shield, fair Amoret be his.

My heart panted upon reading the inscription: I struck upon the shield with my spear. Immediately issued forth a knight well mounted, and completely armed, who, without speaking, ran fiercely at me. I received him as well as I could, and by good fortune threw him out of the saddle. I encountered the whole twenty successively, and leaving them all extended on the plain, carried off the shield in token of victory. Having thus vanquished my rivals, I passed on without impediment, till I came to the outermost gate of the bridge, which I found locked and barred. I knocked and called, but could get no answer. At last I saw one on the other side of the gate, who stood peeping through a small crevice. This was the porter; he had a double face resembling a Janus, and was continually looking about him, as if he mistrusted some sudden danger. His name, as I afterwards learned, was Doubt. Over against him sat Delay, who entertained passengers with some idle story, while they lost such opportunities as were never to be recovered. As soon as the porter saw my shield, he opened the gate; but upon my entering, Delay caught hold of me, and would fain have made me listen to her fooleries. However, I shook her off, and passed forward till I came to the second gate, the Gate of Good Desert, which always stood wide open; but in the porch was a hideous giant, that stopped the entrance: his name was Danger. Many warriors of good reputation, not able to bear the sternness of his look, went back again. Cowards fled at the first sight of him, except some few, who watching their opportunity, slipped by him unobserved. I prepared to assault him; but upon the first sight of my shield, he immediately gave way. Looking back upon him, I found his hinder parts much more deformed and terrible than his face; Hatred, Murder, Treason, Envy, and Detraction lying in ambush behind him, to fall upon the heedless and unwary.

I now entered the Island of Love, which appeared in all the beauties of art and nature, and feasted every sense with the most agreeable objects. Amidst a pleasing variety of walks and alleys, shady seats and flowery banks, sunny hills and gloomy valleys, were thousands of lovers sitting, or walking together in pairs, and singing hymns to the deity of the place.

I could not forbear envying this happy people, who were already in possession of all they could desire. While I went forward to the temple, the structure was beautiful beyond imagination. The gate stood open. In the entrance sat a most amiable woman, whose name was Concord.

On either side of her stood two young men, both strongly armed, as if afraid of each other. As I afterwards learned, they were both her sons, but begotten of her by two different fathers; their names, Love and Hatred.

The lady so well tempered and reconciled them both, that she forced them to join hands; though I could not but observe, that Hatred turned aside his face, as not able to endure the sight of his younger brother.

I at length entered the inmost temple, the roof of which was raised upon a hundred marble pillars, decked with crowns, chains, and garlands. The ground was strewn with flowers. A hundred altars, at each of which stood a virgin priestess clothed in white, blazed all at once with the sacrifice of lovers, who were perpetually sending up their vows to heaven in clouds of incense.

In the midst stood the goddess herself, upon an altar, whose substance was neither gold nor stone, but infinitely more precious than either. About her neck flew numberless flocks of little Loves, Joys, and Graces; and all about her altar lay scattered heaps of lovers, complaining of the disdain, pride, or treachery of their mistresses. One among the rest, no longer able to contain his grief, broke out into the following prayer: "Venus, queen of grace and beauty, joy of gods and men, who with a smile becalmest the seas, and renewest all nature; goddess, whom all the different species in the universe obey with joy and pleasure, grant I may at last obtain the object of my vows."

The impatient lover pronounced this with great vehemence; but I in a soft murmur besought the goddess to lend me her assistance. While I was thus praying, I chanced to cast my eye on a company of ladies, who were assembled together in a corner of the temple waiting for the anthem.

The foremost seemed something elder and of a more composed countenance than the rest, who all appeared to be under her direction. Her name was Womanhood. On one side of her sat Shamefacedness, with blushes rising in her cheeks, and her eyes fixed upon the ground: on the other was Cheerfulness, with a smiling look, that infused a secret pleasure into the hearts of all that saw her. With these sat Modesty, holding her hand on her heart; Courtesy, with a graceful aspect, and obliging behaviour; and the two sisters, who were always linked together, and resembled each other, Silence and Obedience.

Thus sat they all around in seemly rate,
And in the midst of them a goodly maid
Even in the lap of Womanhood there sat,
The which was all in lily-white arrayed,
Where silver streams among the linen strayed;
Like to the morn, when first her shining face
Hath to the gloomy world itself bewrayed.
That same was fairest Amoret in place,
Shining with beauty's light, and heavenly virtue's grace.

As soon as I beheld the charming Amoret, my heart throbbed with hopes. I stepped to her, and seized her hand; when Womanhood immediately rising up, sharply rebuked me for offering in so rude a manner to lay hold on a virgin. I excused myself as modestly as I could, and at the same time displayed my shield; upon which, as soon as she beheld the god emblazoned with his bow and shafts, she was struck mute, and instantly retired.

I still held fast the fair Amoret, and turning my eyes towards the goddess of the place, saw that she favoured my pretensions with a smile, which so emboldened me, that I carried off my prize.

The maid, sometimes with tears, sometimes with smiles, entreated me to let her go: but I led her through the temple-gate, where the goddess Concord, who had favoured my entrance, befriended my retreat.

This allegory is so natural, that it explains itself. The persons in it are very artfully described, and disposed in proper places. The posts assigned to Doubt, Delay, and Danger, are admirable. The Gate of Good Desert has something noble and instructive in it. But above all, I am most pleased with the beautiful group of figures in the corner of the temple. Among these, Womanhood is drawn like what the philosophers call a universal nature, and is attended with beautiful representatives of all those virtues that are the ornaments of the female sex, considered in its natural perfection and innocence.

[2] This paper may be by John Hughes, who published an edition of Spenser in 1715.

[3] In the "Rehearsal," Act I.

No. 195. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 6 , to Saturday, July 8, 1710 . — Grecian Coffee-house, July 7. — FOOTNOTES:

The learned world are very much offended at many of my ratiocinations, and have but a very mean opinion of me as a politician. The reason of this is, that some erroneously conceive a talent for politics to consist in the regard to a man's own interest; but I am of quite another mind, and think the first and essential quality towards being a statesman is to have a public spirit. One of the gentlemen who are out of humour with me, imputes my falling into a way wherein I am so very awkward to a barrenness of invention, and has the charity to lay new matter before me for the future. He is at the bottom my friend, but is at a loss to know whether I am a fool or a physician, and is pleased to expostulate with me with relation to the latter. He falls heavy upon licentiates, and seems to point more particularly at us who are not regularly of the faculty. But since he has been so civil to me as to meddle only with those who are employed no further than about men's lives, and not reflected upon me as of the astrological sect, who concern ourselves about lives and fortunes also, I am not so much hurt as to stifle any part of his fond letter.[4]

"Sir,

"I am afraid there is something in the suspicions of some people, that you begin to be short of matter for your Lucubrations. Though several of them now and then did appear somewhat dull and insipid to me, I was always charitably inclined to believe the fault lay in myself, and that I wanted the true key to uncipher your mysteries, and remember your advertisement upon this account. But since I have seen you fall in an unpardonable error, yea, with a relapse: I mean, since I have seen you turn politician in the present unhappy dissensions, I have begun to stagger, and could not choose but lessen the great value I had for the censor of our isle. How is it possible that a man, whom interest did naturally lead to a constant impartiality in these matters, and who hath wit enough to judge that his opinion was not like to make many proselytes; how is it possible, I say, that a little passion (for I have still too good an opinion of you to think you was bribed by the staggering party) could blind you so far as to offend the very better half of the nation, and to lessen off so much the number of your friends? Mr. Morphew will not have cause to thank you, unless you give over, and endeavour to regain what you have lost. There is still a great many themes you have left untouched; such as the ill-managements of matters relating to law and physic, the setting down rules for knowing the quacks in both professions. What a large field is there left in discovering the abuses of the College, who had a charter and privileges granted them to hinder the creeping in and prevailing of quacks and pretenders; and yet grant licences to barbers, and write letters of recommendation in the country towns, out of the reach of their practice, in favour of mere boys; valuing the health and lives of their countrymen no further than they get money by them. You have said very little or nothing about the dispensation of justice in town and country, where clerks are the counsellors to their masters.

"But as I can't expect that the censor of Great Britain should publish a letter, wherein he is censured with too much reason himself; yet I hope you will be the better for it, and think upon the themes I have mentioned, which must certainly be of greater service to the world, yourself, and Mr. Morphew, than to let us know whether you are a Whig or a Tory. I am still

"Your Admirer and Servant,
"Cato Junior."

This gentleman and I differ about the words "staggering" and "better part"; but instead of answering to the particulars of this epistle, I shall only acquaint my correspondent, that I am at present forming my thoughts upon the foundation of Sir Scudamore's progress in Spenser,[5] which has led me from all other amusements, to consider the state of love in this island; and from the corruptions in the government of that, to deduce the chief evils of life. In the meantime that I am thus employed, I have given positive orders to Don Saltero,[6] of Chelsea, the tooth-drawer, and Dr. Thomas Smith,[7] the corn-cutter, of King Street, Westminster (who have the modesty to confine their pretensions to manual operations), to bring me in, with all convenient speed, complete lists of all who are but of equal learning with themselves, and yet administer physic beyond the feet and gums. These advices I shall reserve for my future leisure; but have now taken a resolution to dedicate the remaining part of this instant July to the service of the fair sex, and have almost finished a scheme for settling the whole remainder of that sex who are unmarried, and above the age of twenty-five.

In order to this good and public service, I shall consider the passion of love in its full extent, as it is attended both with joys and inquietudes; and lay down, for the conduct of my lovers, such rules as shall banish the cares, and heighten the pleasures, which flow from that amiable spring of life and happiness. There is no less than an absolute necessity that some provision be made to take off the dead stock of women in city, town, and country. Let there happen but the least disorder in the streets, and in an instant you see the inequality of the numbers of males and females. Besides that the feminine crowd on such occasions is more numerous in the open way, you may observe them also to the very garrets huddled together, four at least at a casement. Add to this, that by an exact calculation of all that have come to town by stage-coach or waggon for this twelvemonth last, three times in four the treated persons have been males. This over-stock of beauty, for which there are so few bidders, calls for an immediate supply of lovers and husbands; and I am the studious knight-errant who have suffered long nocturnal contemplations to find out methods for the relief of all British females who at present seem to be devoted to involuntary virginity. The scheme upon which I design to act, I have communicated to none but a beauteous young lady (who has for some time left the town), in the following letter:

"To Amanda, in Kent.

"Madam,

"I send with this, my discourse of ways and means for encouraging marriage, and repeopling the island. You will soon observe, that according to these rules, the mean considerations (which make beauty and merit cease to be the objects of love and courtship) will be fully exploded. I have unanswerably proved, that jointures and settlements are the bane of happiness; and not only so, but the ruin even of their fortunes who enter into them. I beg of you, therefore, to come to town upon the receipt of this, where I promise you, you shall have as many lovers as toasters; for there needed nothing but to make men's interests fall in with their inclinations, to render you the most courted of your sex. As many as love you will now be willing to marry you: hasten then, and be the honourable mistress of mankind. Cassander, and many others, stand in the Gate of Good Desert [8] to receive you. I am,

"Madam,
"Your most obedient,
"Most humble Servant,
"Isaac Bickerstaff."

[4] It has been suggested that this letter is by Swift. The Examiner, vol. iv. No. 43, said that Steele's friends "acquainted him with many little incidents and corruptions in low life which he has not touched upon; but, instead of a favourable answer, he has rejected all their hints for mirth and waggery, and transcribed scraps of politics, &c." Another protest against Steele's incursion into politics is printed in Lillie's "Original Letters sent to the Tatler and Spectator" i. 56.

[5] See No. 194.

[6] See Nos. 34 and 221.

[7] See No. 103.

[8] "Faërie Queene," Book iv. c. 10. See No. 194.

No. 196. [ Steele. From Saturday, July 8 , to Tuesday, July 11, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 10. — FOOTNOTES:

Dulcis inexperto cultura potentis amici:
Expertus metuit——

Hor., I Ep. xviii. 86.

The intended course of my studies was altered this evening by a visit from an old acquaintance, who complained to me, mentioning one upon whom he had long depended, that he found his labour and perseverance in his patron's service and interests wholly ineffectual; and he thought now, after his best years were spent in a professed adherence to him and his fortunes, he should in the end be forced to break with him, and give over all further expectations from him. He sighed, and ended his discourse by saying, "You, Mr. Censor, some time ago, gave us your thoughts of the behaviour of great men to their creditors. This sort of demand upon them, for what they invite men to expect, is a debt of honour, which, according to custom, they ought to be most careful of paying, and would be a very worthy subject for a lucubration."

Of all men living, I think, I am the most proper to treat of this matter; because in the character and employment of censor, I have had encouragement so infinitely above my desert, that what I say cannot possibly be supposed to arise from peevishness, or any disappointment in that kind which I myself have met with. When we consider patrons and their clients, those who receive addresses, and those who are addressed to, it must not be understood that the dependants are such as are worthless in their natures, abandoned to any vice or dishonour, or such as without a call thrust themselves upon men in power; nor when we say patrons, do we mean such as have it not in their power, or have no obligation, to assist their friends; but we speak of such leagues where there are power and obligation on the one part, and merit and expectation on the other. Were we to be very particular on this subject, I take it that the division of patron and client may include a third part of our nation. The want of merit and real worth will strike out about ninety-nine in the hundred of these, and want of ability in the patron will dispose of as many of that order. He who out of mere vanity to be applied to will take up another's time and fortune in his service, where he has no prospect of returning it, is as much more unjust as those who took up my friend the upholder's [9] goods without paying him for them. I say, he is as much more unjust as our life and time is more valuable than our goods and movables. Among many whom you see about the great, there is a contented, well-pleased set, who seem to like the attendance for its own sake, and are early at the abodes of the powerful, out of mere fashion. This sort of vanity is as well grounded as if a man should lay aside his own plain suit, and dress himself up in a gay livery of another's.

There are many of this species who exclude others of just expectation, and make those proper dependants appear impatient, because they are not so cheerful as those who expect nothing. I have made use of the penny post for the instruction of these voluntary slaves, and informed them, that they will never be provided for; but they double their diligence upon admonition. Will Afterday has told his friends, that he was to have the next thing these ten years; and Harry Linger has been fourteen within a month of a considerable office. However the fantastic complaisance which is paid to them may blind the great from seeing themselves in a just light, they must needs (if they in the least reflect) at some times have a sense of the injustice they do in raising in others a false expectation. But this is so common a practice in all the stages of power, that there are not more cripples come out of the wars than from the attendance of patrons. You see in one a settled melancholy, in another a bridled rage, a third has lost his memory, and a fourth his whole constitution and humour. In a word, when you see a particular cast of mind or body, which looks a little upon the distracted, you may be sure the poor gentleman has formerly had great friends. For this reason, I have thought it a prudent thing to take a nephew of mine out of a lady's service, where he was a page, and have bound him to a shoemaker.

But what of all the humours under the sun is the most pleasant to consider, is, that you see some men lay as it were a set of acquaintance by them, to converse with when they are out of employment, who had no effect of their power when they were in. Here patrons and clients both make the most fantastical figure imaginable. Friendship indeed is most manifested in adversity; but I do not know how to behave myself to a man who thinks me his friend at no other time but that. Dick Reptile of our club had this in his head the other night, when he said, "I am afraid of ill news when I am visited by any of my old friends." These patrons are a little like some fine gentlemen, who spend all their hours of gaiety with their wenches, but when they fall sick, will let no one come near them but their wives. It seems, truth and honour are companions too sober for prosperity. It is certainly the most black ingratitude to accept of a man's best endeavours to be pleasing to you, and return it with indifference.

I am so much of this mind, that Dick Estcourt [10] the comedian, for coming one night to our club, though he laughed at us all the time he was there, shall have our company at his play on Thursday. A man of talents is to be favoured, or never admitted. Let the ordinary world truck for money and wares, but men of spirit and conversation should in every kind do others as much pleasure as they receive from them. But men are so taken up with outward forms, that they do not consider their actions; else how should it be, that a man shall deny that to the entreaties and almost tears of an old friend, which he shall solicit a new one to accept of? I remember, when I first came out of Staffordshire, I had an intimacy with a man of quality, in whose gift there fell a very good employment. All the town cried, "There's a thing for Mr. Bickerstaff!" when, to my great astonishment, I found my patron had been forced upon twenty artifices to surprise a man with it who never thought of it. But sure it is a degree of murder to amuse men with vain hopes. If a man takes away another's life, where is the difference, whether he does it by taking away the minutes of his time, or the drops of his blood? But indeed, such as have hearts barren of kindness are served accordingly by those whom they employ, and pass their lives away with an empty show of civility for love, and an insipid intercourse of a commerce in which their affections are no way concerned. But on the other side, how beautiful is the life of a patron who performs his duty to his inferiors? a worthy merchant who employs a crowd of artificers? a great lord who is generous and merciful to the several necessities of his tenants? a courtier who uses his credit and power for the welfare of his friends? These have in their several stations a quick relish of the exquisite pleasure of doing good. In a word, good patrons are like the guardian angels of Plato, who are ever busy, though unseen, in the care of their wards; but ill patrons are like the deities of Epicurus, supine, indolent, and unconcerned, though they see mortals in storms and tempests even while they are offering incense to their power.

[9] See No. 180.

[10] See Nos. 51 and 130.

No. 197. [ Steele. From Tuesday, July 11 , to Thursday, July 13, 1710 . — Grecian Coffee-house, July 12. — FOOTNOTES:

Semper ego auditor tantum?—Juv., Sat. i. I.

When I came hither this evening, the man of the house delivered me a book very finely bound. When I received it, I overheard one of the boys whisper another, and say, "It was a fine thing to be a great scholar! What a pretty book that is!" It has indeed a very gay outside, and is dedicated to me by a very ingenious gentleman, who does not put his name to it. The title of it (for the work is in Latin) is, "Epistolarum Obscurorum Virorum, ad Dm. M. Ortuinum Gratium, Volumina II. &c."[11] ("The Epistles of the Obscure Writers to Ortuinus, &c."). The purpose of the work is signified in the dedication, in very elegant language, and fine raillery. It seems this is a collection of letters which some profound blockheads, who lived before our times, have written in honour of each other, and for their mutual information in each other's absurdities. They are mostly of the German nation, whence from time to time inundations of writers have flowed, more pernicious to the learned world than the swarms of Goths and Vandals to the politic. It is, methinks, wonderful, that fellows could be awake, and utter such incoherent conceptions, and converse with great gravity like learned men, without the least taste of knowledge or good sense. It would have been an endless labour to have taken any other method of exposing such impertinences, than by an edition of their own works, where you see their follies, according to the ambition of such virtuosi, in a most correct edition.

Looking over these accomplished labours, I could not but reflect upon the immense load of writings which the commonalty of scholars have pushed into the world, and the absurdity of parents, who educate crowds to spend their time in pursuit of such cold and sprightless endeavours to appear in public. It seems therefore a fruitless labour to attempt the correction of the taste of our contemporaries, except it was in our power to burn all the senseless labours of our ancestors. There is a secret propensity in nature from generation to generation in the blockheads of one age to admire those of another; and men of the same imperfections are as great admirers of each other, as those of the same abilities.

This great mischief of voluminous follies proceeds from a misfortune which happens in all ages, that men of barren geniuses, but fertile imaginations, are bred scholars. This may at first appear a paradox; but when we consider the talking creatures we meet in public places, it will no longer be such. Ralph Shallow is a young fellow, that has not by nature any the least propensity to strike into what has not been observed and said every day of his life by others; but with that inability of speaking anything that is uncommon, he has a great readiness at what he can speak of, and his imagination runs into all the different views of the subject he treats of in a moment. If Ralph had learning added to the common chit-chat of the town, he would have been a disputant upon all topics that ever were considered by men of his own genius. As for my part, I never am teased by an empty town-fellow, but I bless my stars that he was not bred a scholar. This addition, we must consider, would have made him capable of maintaining his follies. His being in the wrong would have been protected by suitable arguments; and when he was hedged in by logical terms, and false appearances, you must have owned yourself convinced before you could then have got rid of him, and the shame of his triumph had been added to the pain of his impertinence.

There is a sort of littleness in the minds of men of wrong sense, which makes them much more insufferable than mere fools, and has the further inconvenience of being attended by an endless loquacity. For which reason, it would be a very proper work, if some well-wisher to human society would consider the terms upon which people meet in public places, in order to prevent the unseasonable declamations which we meet with there. I remember, in my youth it was a humour at the University, when a fellow pretended to be more eloquent than ordinary, and had formed to himself a plot to gain all our admiration, or triumph over us with an argument, to either of which he had no manner of call; I say, in either of these cases, it was the humour to shut one eye. This whimsical way of taking notice to him of his absurdity, has prevented many a man from being a coxcomb. If amongst us on such an occasion each man offered a voluntary rhetorician some snuff, it would probably produce the same effect. As the matter now stands, whether a man will or no, he is obliged to be informed in whatever another pleases to entertain him with, though the preceptor makes these advances out of vanity, and not to instruct, but insult him.

There is no man will allow him who wants courage to be called a soldier; but men who want good sense are very frequently not only allowed to be scholars, but esteemed for being such. At the same time it must be granted, that as courage is the natural part of a soldier, so is a good understanding of a scholar. Such little minds as these, whose productions are collected in the volume to which I have the honour to be patron, are the instruments for artful men to work with, and become popular with the unthinking part of mankind. In courts, they make transparent flatterers; in camps, ostentatious bullies; in colleges, unintelligible pedants; and their faculties are used accordingly by those who lead them.

When a man who wants judgment is admitted into the conversation of reasonable men, he shall remember such improper circumstances, and draw such groundless conclusions from their discourse, and that with such colour of sense, as would divide the best set of company that can be got together. It is just thus with a fool who has a familiarity with books, he shall quote and recite one author against another, in such a manner as shall puzzle the best understanding to refute him; though the most ordinary capacity may observe, that it is only ignorance which makes the intricacy. All the true use of that we call learning, is to ennoble and improve our natural faculties, and not to disguise our imperfections. It is therefore in vain for folly to attempt to conceal itself by the refuge of learned languages. Literature does but make a man more eminently the thing which nature made him; and Polyglottes, had he studied less than he has, and written only in his mother tongue, had been known only in Great Britain for a pedant.

Mr. Bickerstaff thanks Dorinda, and will both answer her letter,[12] and take her advice.

[11] Steele was apparently unaware that the letters in this famous book were a satire, directed against the clergy of the Catholic Church. The letters, written by Ulrich von Hutten and his friends, purported to be from certain monks and theologians to Ortuinus Gratius, doctor of theology. They were intended to ridicule the bad Latin of the clergy, and in every way to satirise the anti-reform party. (See Bayle's "Dictionary," Arts. Hochstrat and Hutten; and Retrospective Review, v. 56.) The elegant edition of this book published in London in 1710, in 12mo, was dedicated to Steele by the editor, Maittaire.

[12] No mention is afterwards made of Dorinda.

No. 198. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 13 , to Saturday, July 15, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 14. The History of Cælia. — FOOTNOTES:

Quale sit id quod amas celeri circumspice mente,
Et tua læsuro substrahe colla jugo.

Ovid, Rem. Amor., i. 89.[13]

It is not necessary to look back into the first years of this young lady, whose story is of consequence only as her life has lately met with passages very uncommon. She is now in the twentieth year of her age, and owes a strict, but cheerful education, to the care of an aunt, to whom she was recommended by her dying father, whose decease was hastened by an inconsolable affliction for the loss of her mother. As Cælia is the offspring of the most generous passion that has been known in our age, she is adorned with as much beauty and grace as the most celebrated of her sex possess; but her domestic life, moderate fortune, and religious education gave her but little opportunity, and less inclination, to be admired in public assemblies. Her abode has been for some years a convenient distance from the Cathedral of St. Paul's, where her aunt and she chose to reside, for the advantage of that rapturous way of devotion which gives ecstasy to the pleasures of innocence, and, in some measure, is the immediate possession of those heavenly enjoyments for which they are addressed.

As you may trace the usual thoughts of men in their countenances, there appeared in the face of Cælia a cheerfulness, the constant companion of unaffected virtue, and a gladness, which is as inseparable from true piety. Her every look and motion spoke the peaceful, mild, resigning, humble inhabitant that animated her beauteous body. Her air discovered her body a mere machine of her mind, and not that her thoughts were employed in studying graces and attractions for her person. Such was Cælia when she was first seen by Palamede at her usual place of worship. Palamede is a young man of two-and-twenty, well-fashioned, learned, genteel, and discreet, and son and heir of a gentleman of a very great estate, and himself possessed of a plentiful one by the gift of an uncle. He became enamoured with Cælia, and after having learned her habitation, had address enough to communicate his passion and circumstances with such an air of good sense and integrity, as soon obtained permission to visit and profess his inclinations towards her. Palamede's present fortune and future expectations were no way prejudicial to his addresses; but after the lovers had passed some time in the agreeable entertainments of a successful courtship, Cælia one day took occasion to interrupt Palamede in the midst of a very pleasing discourse of the happiness he promised himself in so accomplished a companion, and assuming a serious air, told him, there was another heart to be won before he gained hers, which was that of his father. Palamede seemed much disturbed at the overture, and lamented to her, that his father was one of those too provident parents, who only place their thoughts upon bringing riches into their families by marriages, and are wholly insensible of all other considerations. But the strictness of Cælia's rules of life made her insist upon this demand; and the son, at a proper hour, communicated to his father the circumstances of his love, and the merit of the object. The next day the father made her a visit. The beauty of her person, the fame of her virtue, and a certain irresistible charm in her whole behaviour on so tender and delicate an occasion, wrought so much upon him, in spite of all prepossessions, that he hastened the marriage with an impatience equal to that of his son. Their nuptials were celebrated with a privacy suitable to the character and modesty of Cælia, and from that day, till a fatal one of last week, they lived together with all the joy and happiness which attend minds entirely united.

It should have been intimated, that Palamede is a student of the Temple, and usually retired thither early in a morning, Cælia still sleeping.

It happened a few days since, that she followed him thither to communicate to him something she had omitted in her redundant fondness to speak of the evening before. When she came to his apartment, the servant there told her, she was coming with a letter to her. While Cælia in an inner room was reading an apology from her husband, that he had been suddenly taken by some of his acquaintance to dine at Brentford, but that he should return in the evening, a country girl, decently clad, asked, if those were not the chambers of Mr. Palamede? She was answered, they were, but that he was not in town. The stranger asked, when he was expected at home? The servant replied, she would go in and ask his wife. The young woman repeated the word "wife," and fainted. This accident raised no less curiosity than amazement in Cælia, who caused her to be removed into the inner room. Upon proper applications to revive her, the unhappy young creature returned to herself, and said to Cælia, with an earnest and beseeching tone, "Are you really Mr. Palamede's wife?" Cælia replies, "I hope I do not look as if I were any other in the condition you see me." The stranger answers, "No, madam, he is my husband." At the same instant she threw a bundle of letters into Cælia's lap, which confirmed the truth of what she asserted. Their mutual innocence and sorrow made them look at each other as partners in distress, rather than rivals in love. The superiority of Cælia's understanding and genius gave her an authority to examine into this adventure as if she had been offended against, and the other the delinquent. The stranger spoke in the following manner:

"Madam, if it shall please you, Mr. Palamede having an uncle of a good estate near Winchester, was bred at the school there, to gain the more his good-will by being in his sight. His uncle died, and left him the estate, which my husband now has. When he was a mere youth he set his affections on me: but when he could not gain his ends he married me, making me and my mother, who is a farmer's widow, swear we would never tell it upon any account whatsoever; for that it would not look well for him to marry such a one as me; besides, that his father would cut him off of the estate. I was glad to have him in an honest way, and he now and then came and stayed a night and away at our house. But very lately he came down to see us, with a fine young gentleman his friend, who stayed behind there with us, pretending to like the place for the summer; but ever since Master Palamede went, he has attempted to abuse me; and I ran hither to acquaint him with it, and avoid the wicked intentions of his false friend."

Cælia had no more room for doubt, but left her rival the same agonies she felt herself. Palamede returns in the evening, and finding his wife at his chambers, learned all that had passed, and hastened to Cælia's lodgings.

It is much easier to imagine than express the sentiments of either the criminal or the injured at this encounter.

As soon as Palamede had found way for speech, he confessed his marriage, and his placing his companion on purpose to vitiate his wife, that he might break through a marriage made in his nonage, and devote his riper and knowing years to Cælia. She made him no answer; but retired to her closet. He returned to the Temple, where he soon after received from her the following letter:

"Sir,

"You, who this morning were the best, are now the worst of men who breathe vital air. I am at once overwhelmed with love, hatred, rage, and disdain. Can infamy and innocence live together? I feel the weight of the one too strong for the comfort of the other. How bitter, Heaven, how bitter is my portion! How much have I to say; but the infant which I bear about me stirs with my agitation. I am, Palamede, to live in shame, and this creature be heir to it. Farewell for ever."

[13] This quotation is attributed erroneously to Horace in the early editions.

No. 199. [ Steele. [14] From Saturday, July 15 , to Tuesday, July 18, 1710 . — FOOTNOTES:

When we revolve in our thoughts such catastrophes as that in the history of the unhappy Cælia, there seems to be something so hazardous in the changing a single state of life into that of marriage, that (it may happen) all the precautions imaginable are not sufficient to defend a virgin from ruin by her choice. It seems a wonderful inconsistence in the distribution of public justice, that a man who robs a woman of an ear-ring or a jewel, should be punished with death; but one who by false arts and insinuations should take from her her very self, is only to suffer disgrace. This excellent young woman has nothing to console herself with, but the reflection that her sufferings are not the effect of any guilt or misconduct, and has for her protection the influence of a power which, amidst the unjust reproach of all mankind, can give not only patience, but pleasure to innocence in distress.

As the person who is the criminal against Cælia cannot be sufficiently punished according to our present law, so are there numberless unhappy persons without remedy according to present custom. That great ill which has prevailed among us in these latter ages, is the making even beauty and virtue the purchase of money. The generality of parents, and some of those of quality, instead of looking out for introducing health of constitution, frankness of spirit, or dignity of countenance, into their families, lay out all their thoughts upon finding out matches for their estates, and not their children. You shall have one form a plot for the good of his family, that there shall not be six men in England capable of pretending to his daughter. A second shall have a son obliged, out of mere discretion, for fear of doing anything below himself, follow all the drabs in town. These sage parents meet; and as there is no pass, no courtship, between the young ones, it is no unpleasant observation to behold how they proceed to treaty. There is ever in the behaviour of each something that denotes his circumstance; and honest Coupler the conveniencer says, he can distinguish upon sight of the parties, before they have opened any point of their business, which of the two has the daughter to sell. Coupler is of our club, and I have frequently heard him declaim upon this subject, and assert, that the marriage-settlements which are now used have grown fashionable even within his memory.

When the theatre in some late reigns owed its chief support to those scenes which were written to put matrimony out of countenance, and render that state terrible, then it was that pin-money [15] first prevailed, and all the other articles inserted which create a diffidence; and intimate to the young people, that they are very soon to be in a state of war with each other: though this had seldom happened, except the fear of it had been expressed. Coupler will tell you also, that jointures were never frequent till the age before his own; but the women were contented with the third part of the estate the law allotted them, and scorned to engage with men whom they thought capable of abusing their children. He has also informed me, that those who were the oldest benchers when he came to the Temple told him, the first marriage-settlement of considerable length was the invention of an old serjeant, who took the opportunity of two testy fathers, who were ever squabbling to bring about an alliance between their children. These fellows knew each other to be knaves, and the serjeant took hold of their mutual diffidence, for the benefit of the law, to extend the settlement to three skins of parchment.

To this great benefactor to the profession is owing the present price current of lines and words. Thus is tenderness thrown out of the question; and the great care is, what the young couple shall do when they come to hate each other? I do not question but from this one humour of settlements, might very fairly be deduced not only our present defection in point of morals, but also our want of people. This has given way to such unreasonable gallantries, that a man is hardly reproachable that deceives an innocent woman, though she has never so much merit, if she is below him in fortune. The man has no dishonour following his treachery; and her own sex are so debased by force of custom, as to say in the case of the woman, "How could she expect he would marry her."

By this means the good offices, the pleasures and graces of life, are not put into the balance: the bridegroom has given his estate out of himself, and he has no more left but to follow the blind decree of his fate, whether he shall be succeeded by a sot, or a man of merit, in his fortune. On the other side, a fine woman, who has also a fortune, is set up by way of auction; her first lover has ten to one against him. The very hour after he has opened his heart and his rent-roll, he is made no other use of, but to raise her price. She and her friends lose no opportunity of publishing it to call in new bidders. While the poor lover very innocently waits till the plenipotentiaries at the Inns of Court have debated about the alliance, all the partisans of the lady throw difficulties in the way, till other offers come in; and the man who came first is not put in possession, till she has been refused by half the town. If an abhorrence to such mercenary proceedings were well settled in the minds of my fair readers, those of merit would have a way opened to their advancement; nay, those who abound in wealth only, would in reality find their account in it. It would not be in the power of their prude acquaintance, their waiters, their nurses, cousins and whisperers, to persuade them, that there are not above twenty men in a kingdom (and those such as perhaps they may never set eyes on) whom they can think of with discretion. As the case stands now, let any one consider, how the great heiresses, and those to whom they were offered, for no other reason but that they could make them suitable settlements, live together. What can be more insipid, if not loathsome, than for two persons to be at the head of a crowd, who have as little regard for them as they for each other, and behold one another in an affected sense of prosperity, without the least relish of that exquisite gladness at meeting, that sweet inquietude at parting, together with the charms of voice, look, gesture, and that general benevolence between well-chosen lovers, which makes all things please, and leaves not the least trifle indifferent.

But I am diverted from these sketches for future essays [16] in behalf of my numerous clients of the fair sex, by a notice sent to my office in Sheer Lane, that a blooming widow, in the third year of her widowhood, and twenty-sixth of her age, designs to take a colonel of twenty-eight. The parties request I would draw up their terms of coming together, as having a regard to my opinion against long and diffident settlements; and I have sent them the following indenture:

"We John —— and Mary —— having estates for life, resolve to take each other. I John will venture my life to enrich thee Mary; and I Mary will consult my health to nurse thee John. To which we have interchangeably set our hands, hearts, and seals, this 17th of July, 1710."

[14] This paper was probably based on notes by Edward Wortley Montagu. See note to No. 223.

[15] See Addison's paper in the Spectator; No. 295, and Sir Harry Gubbin's complaints of "that cursed pin-money" in Steele's "Tender Husband," act i. sc. 2. In No. 231 of the Tatler, Steele says, "The lawyers finished the writings, in which, by the way, there was no pin-money, and they were married."

[16] See No. 223.

No. 200. [ Steele. From Tuesday, July 18 , to Thursday, July 20, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 19. — The Amicable Contribution for raising the Fortunes of Ten Young Ladies. — FOOTNOTES:

Having devoted the greater part of my time to the service of the fair sex, I must ask pardon of my men correspondents if I postpone their commands, when I have any from the ladies which lie unanswered. That which follows is of importance:

"Sir,

"You can't think it strange if I, who know little of the world, apply to you for advice in the weighty affair of matrimony, since you yourself have often declared it to be of that consequence as to require the utmost deliberation. Without further preface, therefore, give me leave to tell you, that my father at his death left me a fortune sufficient to make me a match for any gentleman. My mother (for she is still alive) is very pressing with me to marry; and I am apt to think, to gratify her, I shall venture upon one of two gentlemen who at this time make their addresses to me. My request is, that you would direct me in my choice; which that you may the better do, I shall give you their characters; and to avoid confusion, desire you to call them by the names of Philander and Silvius. Philander is young, and has a good estate; Silvius is as young, and has a better. The former has had a liberal education, has seen the town, is retired from thence to his estate in the country, is a man of few words, and much given to books. The latter was brought up under his father's eye, who gave him just learning enough to enable him to keep his accounts; but made him withal very expert in country business, such as ploughing, sowing, buying, selling, and the like. They are both very sober men, neither of their persons is disagreeable, nor did I know which to prefer till I had heard them discourse; when the conversation of Philander so much prevailed, as to give him the advantage, with me, in all other respects. My mother pleads strongly for Silvius, and uses these arguments, that he not only has the larger estate at present, but by his good husbandry and management increases it daily; that his little knowledge in other affairs will make him easy and tractable; whereas (according to her) men of letters know too much to make good husbands. To part of this I imagine I answer effectually, by saying, Philander's estate is large enough; that they who think £2000 a year sufficient, make no difference between that and three. I easily believe him less conversant in those affairs, the knowledge of which she so much commends in Silvius; but I think them neither so necessary or becoming in a gentleman as the accomplishments of Philander. It is no great character of a man to say, he rides in his coach and six, and understands as much as he who follows his plough. Add to this, that the conversation of these sort of men seems so disagreeable to me, that though they may make good bailiffs, I can hardly be persuaded they can be good companions. It is possible I may seem to have odd notions, when I say I am not fond of a man only for being of (what is called) a thriving temper. To conclude, I own I am at a loss to conceive how good sense should make a man an ill husband, or conversing with books less complaisant.

"Cælia."

The resolution which this lady is going to take, she may very well say is founded on reason: for after the necessities of life are served, there is no manner of competition between a man of liberal education and an illiterate. Men are not altered by their circumstances, but as they give them opportunities of exerting what they are in themselves; and a powerful clown is a tyrant in the most ugly form he can possibly appear. There lies a seeming objection in the thoughtful manner of Philander: but let her consider which she shall oftener have occasion to wish, that Philander would speak, or Silvius hold his tongue.

The train of my discourse is prevented by the urgent haste of another correspondent:

July 14.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"This comes to you from one of those virgins of twenty-five years old and upwards, that you, like a patron of the distressed, promised to provide for;[17] who makes it her humble request, that no occasional stories or subjects may (as they have for three or four of your last days) prevent your publishing the scheme you have communicated to Amanda, for every day and hour is of the greatest consequence to damsels of so advanced an age. Be quick then, if you intend to do any service for

"Your Admirer,
"Diana Forecast."

In this important affair, I have not neglected the proposals of others. Among them is the following sketch of a lottery for persons. The author of it has proposed very ample encouragement, not only to myself, but also to Charles Lillie and John Morphew. If the matter bears, I shall not be unjust to his merit: I only desire to enlarge his plan; for which purpose I lay it before the town, as well for the improvement as encouragement of it.

"Imprimis, It is proposed to raise 100,000 crowns by way of lots, which will advance for each lady £2500, which sum, together with one of the ladies, the gentleman that shall be so happy as to draw a prize (provided they both like), will be entitled to, under such restrictions hereafter mentioned. And in case they do not like, then either party that refuses shall be entitled to £1000 only, and the remainder to him or her that shall be willing to marry, the man being first to declare his mind. But it is provided, that if both parties shall consent to have one another, the gentleman shall, before he receives the money thus raised, settle £1000 of the same in substantial hands (who shall be as trustees for the said ladies), and shall have the whole and sole disposal of it for her use only.

"Note.—Each party shall have three months' time to consider, after an interview had, which shall be within ten days after the lots are drawn.

"Note also.—The name and place of abode of the prize shall be placed on a proper ticket.

"Item.—They shall be ladies that have had a liberal education, between fifteen and twenty-three, all genteel, witty, and of unblamable characters.

"The money to be raised shall be kept in an iron box, and when there shall be 2000 subscriptions, which amounts to £500, it shall be taken out and put into a goldsmith's hands, and the note made payable to the proper lady, or her assigns (with a clause therein to hinder her from receiving it, till the fortunate person that draws her shall first sign the note), and so on till the whole sum is subscribed for: and as soon as 100,000 subscriptions are completed, and 200 crowns more to pay the charges, the lottery shall be drawn at a proper place, to be appointed a fortnight before the drawing."

Note.—Mr. Bickerstaff objects to the marriageable years here mentioned; and is of opinion, they should not commence till after twenty-three. But he appeals to the learned, both of Warwick Lane and Bishopsgate Street,[18] on this subject.

[17] See No. 195.

[18] The College of Physicians met in Warwick Lane, and the Royal Society at Gresham College, in Bishopsgate Street.

No. 201. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 20 , to Saturday, July 22, 1710 . — White's Chocolate-house, July 21. — From my own Apartment, July 21. — Advertisement. From the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, July 20. — FOOTNOTES:

It has been often asserted in these papers, that the great source of our wrong pursuits is the impertinent manner with which we treat women, both in the common and important circumstances of life. In vain do we say, the whole sex would run into England, while the privileges which are allowed them do no way balance the inconveniences arising from those very immunities. Our women have very much indulged to them in the participation of our fortunes and our liberty; but the errors they commit in the use of either, are by no means so impartially considered as the false steps which are made by men. In the commerce of lovers, the man makes the address, assails, and betrays, and yet stands in the same degree of acceptance as he was in before he committed that treachery: the woman, for no other crime but believing one whom she thought loved her, is treated with shyness and indifference at the best, and commonly with reproach and scorn. He that is past the power of beauty may talk of this matter with the same unconcern as of any other subject: therefore I shall take upon me to consider the sex, as they live within rules, and as they transgress them. The ordinary class of the good or the ill have very little influence upon the actions of others; but the eminent in either kind are those who lead the world below them. The ill are employed in communicating scandal, infamy, and disease, like furies; the good distribute benevolence, friendship, and health, like angels. The ill are damped with pain and anguish at the sight of all that is laudable, lovely, or happy. The virtuous are touched with commiseration toward the guilty, the disagreeable, and the wretched. There are those who betray the innocent of their own sex, and solicit the lewd of ours. There are those who have abandoned the very memory, not only of innocence, but shame. There are those who never forgave, nor could ever bear being forgiven. There are also who visit the beds of the sick, lull the cares of the sorrowful, and double the joys of the joyful. Such is the destroying fiend, such the guardian angel, woman.

The way to have a greater number of the amiable part of womankind, and lessen the crowd of the other sort, is to contribute what we can to the success of well-grounded passions; and therefore I comply with the request of an enamoured man in inserting the following billet:

"Madam,

"Mr. Bickerstaff you always read, though me you will never hear. I am obliged therefore to his compassion for the opportunity of imploring yours. I sigh for the most accomplished of her sex. That is so just a distinction of her to whom I write, that the owning I think so is no distinction of me who write. Your good qualities are peculiar to you, my admiration in common with thousands. I shall be present when you read this, but fear every woman will take it for her character, sooner than she who deserves it."

If the next letter which presents itself should come from the mistress of this modest lover, and I make them break through the oppression of their passions, I shall expect gloves at their nuptials.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"You that are a philosopher know very well the make of the mind of woman, and can best instruct me in the conduct of an affair which highly concerns me. I never can admit my lover to speak to me of love, yet think him impertinent when he offers to talk of anything else. What shall I do with a man that always believes me? 'Tis a strange thing this distance in men of sense; why do not they always urge their fate? If we are sincere in our severity, you lose nothing by attempting. If we are hypocrites, you certainly succeed."

Before I withdraw from business for the night, it is my custom to receive all addresses to me, that others may go to rest as well as myself, at least as far as I can contribute to it. When I called to know if any would speak with me, I was informed that Mr. Mills,[19] the player, desired to be admitted. He was so, and with much modesty acquainted me, as he did other people of note, that "Hamlet" was to be acted on Wednesday next for his benefit. I had long wanted to speak with this person, because I thought I could admonish him of many things which would tend to his improvement. In the general I observed to him, that though action was his business, the way to that action was not to study gesture, for the behaviour would follow the sentiments of the mind.

Action to the player, is what speech is to an orator. If the matter be well conceived, words will flow with ease; and if the actor is well possessed of the nature of his part, a proper action will necessarily follow. He informed me, that Wilks was to act Hamlet. I desired him, to request of him in my name, that he would wholly forget Mr. Betterton; for that he failed in no part of Othello, but where he had him in view. An actor's forming himself by the carriage of another, is like the trick among the widows, who lament their husbands as their neighbours did theirs, and not according to their own sentiments of the deceased.

There is a fault also in the audience which interrupts their satisfaction very much, that is, the figuring to themselves the actor in some part wherein they formerly particularly liked him, and not attending to the part he is at that time performing. Thus, whatever Wilks (who is the strictest follower of nature) is acting, the vulgar spectators turn their thoughts upon Sir Harry Wildair.

When I had indulged the loquacity of an old man for some time in such loose hints, I took my leave of Mr. Mills, and was told, Mr. Elliot [20] of St. James's Coffee-house would speak with me. His business was to desire I would, as I am an astrologer, let him know beforehand who were to have the benefit tickets in the ensuing lottery; which knowledge he was of opinion he could turn to great account, as he was concerned in news.

I granted his request, upon an oath of secrecy, that he would only make his own use of it, and not let it be publicly known till after they were drawn. I had not done speaking, when he produced to me a plan which he had formed of keeping books, with the names of all such adventurers, and the numbers of their tickets, as should come to him, in order to give an hourly account [21] of what tickets shall come up during the whole time of the lottery, the drawing of which is to begin on Wednesday next. I liked his method of disguising the secret I had told him, and pronounced him a thriving man who could so well watch the motion of things, and profit by a prevailing humour and impatience so aptly, as to make his honest industry agreeable to his customers, as it is to be the messenger of their good fortune.

Ordered, that for the improvement of the pleasures of society, a member of this house, one of the most wakeful of the soporific assembly beyond Smithfield Bars, and one of the order of story-tellers in Holborn, may meet and exchange stale matter, and report the same to their principals.

N.B.—No man is to tell above one story in the same evening; but has liberty to tell the same the night following.

Mr. Bickerstaff desires his love correspondents to vary the names they shall assume in their future letters, for that he is overstocked with Philanders.

[19] John Mills, the elder, who died in 1736. Cibber says that Mills owed his advancement to Wilks, to whose friendship his qualities as an "honest, quiet, careful man, of as few faults as excellences, commended him." Mills' salary (see table printed in vol. ii. p. 164) was the same as Betterton's—£4 a week, and £1 for his wife.

[20] On November 19, 1710, Swift and Steele met at the St. James's Coffee-house. "This evening," says Swift, "I christened our coffee-man Elliot's child, where the rogue had a most noble supper, and Steele and I sat among some scurvy company over a bowl of punch; so that I am come late home."

[21] See No. 202, end.

No. 202. [ Steele. From Saturday, July 22 , to Tuesday, July 25, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 24. — FOOTNOTES:

——Est hic,
Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus.

Hor., 1 Ep. xi. 30.

This afternoon I went to visit a gentleman of my acquaintance at Mile End, and passing through Stepney Churchyard, 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 fantastical 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,[22] one, and another, and another conquest, was asked, what he would do after all that? "Then," says the King, "we will make merry." He was well answered, "What hinders your doing that in the condition 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 countermarches, 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 the world was the gayest man in our regiment, ventured his life with alacrity, and enjoyed it with satisfaction, encouraged men below 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 sentry, 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 disappointed 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 themselves 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 squires of this nation even eat and drink out of vanity. A vainglorious 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 dependant 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 makes men impatient of an inactive condition, and urges men to attempt what may tend to their reputation, it is absolutely necessary 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 unreasonable thing, that heroic 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 conspicuous stations. I would have everything to be esteemed as heroic which is great and uncommon in the circumstances in 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 are what should denominate it mean or great. The highest station of human life is to be attained by each man that pretends to it: for every 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 consciousness of its own worth is a reward which it 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.

P.S.—I was going on in my philosophy, when notice was brought me that there was a great crowd in my ante-chamber, who expected audience. When they were admitted, I found they all met at my lodgings; each coming upon the same errand, to know whether they were of the fortunate in the lottery, which is now ready to be drawn. I was much at a loss how to extricate myself from their importunity; but observing the assembly made up of both sexes, I signified to them, that in this case it would appear Fortune is not blind, for all the lots would fall upon the wisest and the fairest. This gave so general a satisfaction, that the room was soon emptied, and the company retired with the best air, and the most pleasing grace, I had anywhere observed. Mr. Elliot [23] of St. James's Coffee-house now stood alone before me, and signified to me, he had now not only prepared his books, but had received a very great subscription already. His design was, to advertise his subscribers at their respective places of abode, within an hour after their number is drawn, whether it was a blank or benefit, if the adventurer lives within the bills of mortality; if he dwells in the country, by the next post. I encouraged the man in his industry, and told him, the ready path to good fortune was to believe there was no such thing.

[22] Cineas the orator (see Plutarch's "Life of Pyrrhus").

[23] See No. 201.

No. 203. [ Steele. From Tuesday, July 25 , to Thursday, July 27, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 26. — Grecian Coffee-house, July 26. — FOOTNOTES:

Ut tu fortunam, sic nos te, Celse, feremus.—Hor., 1 Ep. viii. 17.

It is natural for the imaginations of men who lead their lives in too solitary a manner, to prey upon themselves, and form from their own conceptions beings and things which have no place in nature. This often makes an adept as much at a loss when he comes into the world as a mere savage. To avoid therefore that ineptitude for society, which is frequently the fault of us scholars, and has to men of understanding and breeding something much more shocking and untractable than rusticity itself, I take care to visit all public solemnities, and go into assemblies as often as my studies will permit. This being therefore the first day of the drawing of the lottery,[24] I did not neglect spending a considerable time in the crowd: but as much a philosopher as I pretend to be, I could not but look with a sort of veneration upon the two boys which received the tickets from the wheels, as the impartial and equal dispensers of the fortunes which were to be distributed among the crowd, who all stood expecting the same chance. It seems at first thought very wonderful, that one passion should so universally have the pre-eminence of another in the possession of men's minds as that in this case; all in general have a secret hope of the great ticket: and yet fear in another instance, as in going into a battle, shall have so little influence, as that though each man believes there will be many thousands slain, each is confident he himself shall escape. This certainty proceeds from our vanity; for every man sees abundance in himself that deserves reward, and nothing which should meet with mortification. But of all the adventurers that filled the hall, there was one who stood by me, who I could not but fancy expected the thousand pounds per annum, as a mere justice to his parts and industry. He had his pencil and table-book, and was at the drawing of each lot, counting how much a man with seven tickets was now nearer the great prize, by the striking out another and another competitor. This man was of the most particular constitution I had ever observed; his passions were so active, that he worked in the utmost stretch of hope and fear. When one rival fell before him, you might see a short gleam of triumph in his countenance, which immediately vanished at the approach of another. What added to the particularity of this man, was, that he every moment cast a look, either upon the commissioners, the wheels, or the boys. I gently whispered him, and asked, when he thought the thousand pounds would come up? "Pugh!" says he, "who knows that?" and then looks upon a little list of his own tickets, which were pretty high in their numbers, and said it would not come this ten days. This fellow will have a good chance, though not that which he has put his heart on. The man is mechanically turned, and made for getting. The simplicity and eagerness which he is in, argues an attention to his point; though what he is labouring at does not in the least contribute to it. Were it not for such honest fellows as these, the men who govern the rest of their species would have no tools to work with: for the outward show of the world is carried on by such as cannot find out that they are doing nothing. I left my man with great reluctance, seeing the care he took to observe the whole conduct of the persons concerned, and compute the inequality of the chances with his own hands and eyes. "Dear sir," said I, "they must rise early that cheat you." "Ay," said he, "there's nothing like a man's minding his business himself." "'Tis very true," said I; "the master's eye makes the horse fat."

As it is much the greater number who are to go without prizes, it is but very expedient to turn our lecture [25] to the forming just sentiments on the subject of fortune. One said this morning, that the chief lot he was confident would fall upon some puppy; but this gentleman is one of those wrong tempers who approve only the unhappy, and have a natural prejudice to the fortunate. But as it is certain that there is a great meanness in being attached to a man purely for his fortune, there is no less a meanness in disliking him for his happiness. It is the same perverseness under different colours, and both these resentments arise from mere pride.

The true greatness of mind consists in valuing men apart from their circumstances, or according to their behaviour in them. Wealth is a distinction only in traffic; but it must not be allowed as a recommendation in any other particular, but only just as it is applied. It was very prettily said, that we may learn the little value of fortune by the persons on whom Heaven is pleased to bestow it.[26] However, there is not a harder part in human life than becoming wealth and greatness. He must be very well stocked with merit, who is not willing to draw some superiority over his friends from his fortune: for it is not every man that can entertain with the air of a guest, and do good offices with the mien of one that receives them.

I must confess, I cannot conceive how a man can place himself in a figure wherein he can so much enjoy his own soul, and that greatest of pleasures, the just approbation of his own actions, than as an adventurer on this occasion, to sit and see the lots go off without hope or fear, perfectly unconcerned as to himself, but taking part in the good fortune of others.

I will believe there are happy tempers in being, to whom all the good that arrives to any of their fellow-creatures gives a pleasure. These live in a course of substantial and lasting happiness, and have the satisfaction to see all men endeavour to gratify them. This state of mind not only lets a man into certain enjoyments, but relieves him from as certain anxieties. If you will not rejoice with happy men, you must repine at them. Dick Reptile alluded to this when he said, he would hate no man out of pure idleness. As for my own part, I look at fortune quite in another view than the rest of the world; and, by my knowledge in futurity, tremble at the approaching prize which I see coming to a young lady for whom I have much tenderness; and have therefore written her the following letter, to be sent by Mr. Elliot with the notice of her ticket:

"Madam,

"You receive at the instant this comes to your hands, an account of your having (what only you wanted) fortune; and to admonish you, that you may not now want everything else. You had yesterday wit, virtue, beauty; but you never heard of them till to-day. They say Fortune is blind; but you will find she has opened the eyes of all your beholders. I beseech you, madam, make use of the advantages of having been educated without flattery. If you can still be Chloe, Fortune has indeed been kind to you; if you are altered, she has it not in her power to give you an equivalent."[27]

Some time ago a virtuoso, my very good friend, sent me a plan of a covered summer-house, which a little after was rallied by another of my correspondents.[28] I cannot therefore defer giving him an opportunity of making his defence to the learned in his own words.

"To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. "Sir, July 15, 1710.

"I have been this summer upon a ramble to visit several friends and relations; which is the reason I have left you, and our ingenious, unknown friend of South Wales, so long in your error concerning the grass-plots in my green-house. I will not give you the particulars of my gardener's conduct in the management of my covered garden, but content myself with letting you know, that my little fields within doors, though by their novelty they appear too extravagant to you to subsist even in a regular imagination, are in the effect things that require no conjuration. Your correspondent may depend upon it, that under a sashed roof, which lets in the sun at all times, and the air as often as is convenient, he may have grass-plots in the greatest perfection, if he will be at the pains to water, mow, and roll them. Grass and herbs in general, the less they are exposed to the sun and wind, the livelier is their verdure. They require only warmth and moisture; and if you were to see my plots, your eye would soon confess, that the bowling-green at Marybone [29] wears not half so bright a livery.

"The motto with which the gentleman has been pleased to furnish you, is so very proper, and pleases me so well, that I design to have it set upon the front of my green-house in letters of gold.

"I am, Sir, &c."

[24] See No. 124.

[25] Discourse.

[26] A writer in Notes and Queries (March 19, 1887) has pointed out that Luther says in his "Colloquies" (1652), p. 90, "Our Lord commonly giveth riches to such gross asses to whom He affordeth nothing else that is good."

[27] Chloe's reply is in No. 207.

[28] See Nos. 179 and 188.

[29] In 1728 we hear of persons arriving in London "from their country-houses in Marylebone" (cf. No. 18). Marylebone Gardens, a favourite place of entertainment, had in the centre a bowling-green, "112 paces one way, 88 another," where persons of quality often played.

No. 204. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 27 , to Saturday, July 29, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 28. — FOOTNOTES:

----Gaudent prænomine molles
Auriculæ.——

Hor., 2 Sat. v. 32.

Many are the inconveniences which happen from the improper manner of address in common speech between persons of the same or of different quality. Among these errors, there is none greater than that of the impertinent use of title, and a paraphrastical way of saying "you." I had the curiosity the other day to follow a crowd of people near Billingsgate, who were conducting a passionate woman who sold fish to a magistrate, in order to explain some words which were ill taken by one of her own quality and profession in the public market. When she came to make her defence, she was so very full of, "his Worship," and of, "if it should please his Honour," that we could for some time hardly hear any other apology she made for herself than that of atoning for the ill language she had been accused of towards her neighbour by the great civilities she paid to her judge. But this extravagance in her sense of doing honour, was no more to be wondered at than that her many rings on each finger were worn as instances of finery and dress. The vulgar may thus heap and huddle terms of respect, and nothing better be expected from them; but for people of rank to repeat appellatives insignificantly, is a folly not to be endured, neither with regard to our times or our understanding. It is below the dignity of speech to extend it with more words or phrases than are necessary to explain ourselves with elegance: and it is, methinks, an instance of ignorance, if not of servitude, to be redundant in such expressions.

I waited upon a man of quality some mornings ago: he happened to be dressing; and his shoemaker fitting him, told him, that if his Lordship would please to tread hard, or that if his Lordship would stamp a little, his Lordship would find his Lordship's shoe will fit as easy as any piece of work his Lordship should see in England. As soon as my lord was dressed, a gentleman approached him with a very good air, and told him, he had an affair which had long depended in the Lower Courts, which, through the inadvertency of his ancestors on the one side, and the ill arts of their adversaries on the other, could not possibly be settled according to the rules of the Lower Courts: that therefore he designed to bring his cause before the House of Lords next session, where he should be glad if his Lordship should happen to be present; for he doubted not but his cause would be approved by all men of justice and honour. In this place the word "Lordship" was gracefully inserted, because it was applied to him in that circumstance wherein his quality was the occasion of the discourse, and wherein it was most useful to the one, and most honourable to the other.

This way is so far from being disrespectful to the honour of nobles, that it is an expedient for using them with greater deference. I would not put "Lordship" to a man's hat, gloves, wig, or cane; but to desire his Lordship's favour, his Lordship's judgment, or his Lordship's patronage, is a manner of speaking which expresses an alliance between his quality and his merit. It is this knowledge which distinguished the discourse of the shoemaker from that of the gentleman. The highest point of good-breeding, if any one can hit it, is to show a very nice regard to your own dignity, and with that in your heart express your value for the man above you.

But the silly humour to the contrary has so much prevailed, that the slavish addition of title enervates discourse, and renders the application of it almost ridiculous. We writers of diurnals are nearer in our styles to that of common talk than any other writers, by which means we use words of respect sometimes very unfortunately. The Post-Man,[30] who is one of the most celebrated of our fraternity, fell into this misfortune yesterday in his paragraph from Berlin of July 26. "Count Wartenberg," says he, "Great Chamberlain, and Chief Minister of this Court, who on Monday last accompanied the King of Prussia to Oranienburg, was taken so very ill, that on Wednesday his life was despaired of; and we had a report, that his Excellency was dead."

I humbly presume, that it flattens the narration, to say "his Excellency" in a case which is common to all men; except you would infer what is not to be inferred, to wit, that the author designed to say, "all wherein he excelled others was departed from him."

Were distinctions used according to the rules of reason and sense, those additions to men's names would be, as they were first intended, significant of their worth, and not their persons; so that in some cases it might be proper to say, "The man is dead, but his excellency will never die." It is, methinks, very unjust to laugh at a Quaker, because he has taken up a resolution to treat you with a word, the most expressive of complaisance that can be thought of, and with an air of good-nature and charity calls you friend. I say, it is very unjust to rally him for this term to a stranger, when you yourselves, in all your phrases of distinction, confound phrases of honour into no use at all.

Tom Courtly, who is the pink of courtesy, is an instance of how little moment an undistinguishing application of sounds of honour are to those who understand themselves. Tom never fails of paying his obeisance to every man he sees, who has title or office to make him conspicuous; but his deference is wholly given to outward considerations. I, who know him, can tell within half an acre how much land one man has more than another by Tom's bow to him. Title is all he knows of honour, and civility of friendship: for this reason, because he cares for no man living, he is religiously strict in performing what he calls his respects to you. To this end he is very learned in pedigree, and will abate something in the ceremony of his approaches to a man, if he is in any doubt about the bearing of his coat of arms. What is the most pleasant of all his character is, that he acts with a sort of integrity in these impertinences; and though he would not do any man any solid kindness, he is wonderfully just and careful not to wrong his quality. But as integrity is very scarce in the world, I cannot forbear having respect for the impertinent: it is some virtue to be bound by anything. Tom and I are upon very good terms for the respect he has for the house of Bickerstaff. Though one cannot but laugh at his serious consideration of things so little essential, one must have a value even for a frivolous good conscience.

[30] See No. 155.

No. 205. [ Fuller. [31] From Saturday, July 29 , to Tuesday, Aug. 1, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 31. — FOOTNOTES:

Νήπιοι, οὐδὲ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ἥμισυ παντός,
Οὐδ' ὅσον ἐν μαλάχῃ τε καὶ ἀσφοδέλῳ μέγ' ὄνειαρ.

Hesiod, Works and Days, 20.

Nature has implanted in us two very strong desires, hunger for the preservation of the individual, and lust for the support of the species; or, to speak more intelligibly, the former to continue our own persons, and the latter to introduce others into the world. According as men behave themselves with regard to these appetites, they are above or below the beasts of the field, which are incited by them without choice or reflection. But reasonable creatures correct these incentives, and improve them into elegant motives of friendship and society. It is chiefly from this homely foundation, that we are under the necessity of seeking for the agreeable companion, and the honourable mistress. By this cultivation of art and reason, our wants are made pleasures, and the gratification of our desires, under proper restrictions, a work no way below our noblest faculties. The wisest man may maintain his character, and yet consider in what manner he shall best entertain his friend, or divert his mistress: nay, it is so far from being a derogation to him, that he can in no other instances show so true a taste of his life or his fortune. What concerns one of the above-mentioned appetites, as it is elevated into love, I shall have abundant occasion to discourse of before I have provided for the numberless crowd of damsels I have proposed to take care of. The subject therefore of the present paper shall be that part of society which owes its beginning to the common necessity of hunger. When this is considered as the support of our being, we may take in under the same head thirst also; otherwise when we are pursuing the glutton, the drunkard may make his escape. The true choice of our diet, and our companions at it, seems to consist in that which contributes most to cheerfulness and refreshment: and these certainly are best consulted by simplicity in the food, and sincerity in the company. By this rule are in the first place excluded from pretence to happiness all meals of state and ceremony, which are performed in dumb show and greedy sullenness. At the boards of the great, they say, you shall have a number attending with as good habits and countenances as the guests, which only circumstance must destroy the whole pleasure of the repast: for if such attendants are introduced for the dignity of their appearance, modest minds are shocked by considering them as spectators, or else look upon them as equals, for whose servitude they are in a kind of suffering. It may be here added, that the sumptuous sideboard to an ingenuous eye has often more the air of an altar than a table. The next absurd way of enjoying ourselves at meals, is, where the bottle is plied without being called for, where humour takes place of appetite, and the good company are too dull or too merry to know any enjoyment in their senses.

Though this part of time is absolutely necessary to sustain life, it must be also considered, that life itself is to the endless being of man but what a meal is to this life, not valuable for itself, but for the purpose of it. If there be any truth in this, the expense of many hours this way is somewhat unaccountable; and placing much thought either in too great sumptuousness and elegance in this matter, or wallowing in noise and riot at it, are both, though not equally, unaccountable. I have often considered these different people with very great attention, and always speak of them with the distinction of the eaters and the swallowers. The eaters sacrifice all their senses and understanding to this appetite: the swallowers hurry themselves out of both, without pleasing this or any other appetite at all. The latter are improved brutes, the former degenerated men. I have sometimes thought it would not be improper to add to my dead and living men, persons in an intermediate state of humanity, under the appellation of dozers. The dozers are a sect, who, instead of keeping their appetites in subjection, live in subjection to them; nay, they are so truly slaves to them, that they keep at too great a distance ever to come into their presence. Within my own acquaintance, I know those that I daresay have forgot that they ever were hungry, and are no less utter strangers to thirst and weariness, who are beholden to sauces for their food, and to their food for their weariness.

I have often wondered, considering the excellent and choice spirits that we have among our divines, that they do not think of putting vicious habits into a more contemptible and unlovely figure than they do at present. So many men of wit and spirit as there are in sacred orders, have it in their power to make the fashion of their side. The leaders in human society are more effectually prevailed upon this way than can easily be imagined. I have more than one in my thoughts at this time capable of doing this against all the opposition of the most witty, as well as the most voluptuous. There may possibly be more acceptable subjects, but sure there are none more useful. It is visible, that though men's fortunes, circumstances, and pleasures give them prepossessions too strong to regard any mention either of punishments or rewards, they will listen to what makes them inconsiderable or mean in the imaginations of others, and by degrees in their own.

It is certain such topics are to be touched upon in the light we mean, only by men of the most consummate prudence, as well as excellent wit: for these discourses are to be made, if made to run into example, before such as have their thoughts more intent upon the propriety than the reason of the discourse. What indeed leads me into this way of thinking, is, that the last thing I read was a sermon of the learned Dr. South,[32] upon the Ways of Pleasantness. This admirable discourse was made at court, where the preacher was too wise a man not to believe; the greatest argument, in that place, against the pleasures then in vogue, must be, that they lost greater pleasures by prosecuting the course they were in. The charming discourse has in it whatever wit and wisdom can put together. This gentleman has a talent of making all his faculties bear to the great end of his hallowed profession. Happy genius! he is the better man for being a wit. The best way to praise this author is to quote him; and, I think, I may defy any man to say a greater thing of him, or his ability, than that there are no paragraphs in the whole discourse I speak of below these which follow.

After having recommended the satisfaction of the mind, and the pleasure of conscience, he proceeds:

"An ennobling property of it is, that it is such a pleasure as never satiates or wearies; for it properly affects the spirit, and a spirit feels no weariness, as being privileged from the causes of it. But can the epicure say so of any of the pleasures he so much dotes upon? Do they not expire while they satisfy, and after a few minutes' refreshment determine in loathing and unquietness? How short is the interval between a pleasure and a burden! How undiscernible the transition from one to the other! Pleasure dwells no longer upon the appetite than the necessities of nature, which are quickly and easily provided for; and then all that follows is a load and an oppression. Every morsel to a satisfied hunger is only a new labour to a tired digestion. Every draught to him that has quenched his thirst is but a further quenching of nature, and a provision for rheum and diseases, a drowning of the quickness and activity of the spirits.

"He that prolongs his meals, and sacrifices his time, as well as his other conveniences, to his luxury, how quickly does he outsit his pleasure! And then, how is all the following time bestowed upon ceremony and surfeit! Till at length, after a long fatigue of eating, and drinking, and babbling, he concludes the great work of dining genteelly, and so makes a shift to rise from table, that he may lie down upon his bed; where, after he has slept himself into some use of himself, by much ado he staggers to his table again, and there acts over the same brutish scene: so that he passes his whole life in a dozed condition, between sleeping and waking, with a kind of drowsiness and confusion upon his senses, which, what pleasure it can be, is hard to conceive. All that is of it dwells upon the tip of his tongue, and within the compass of his palate. A worthy prize for a man to purchase with the loss of his time, his reason, and himself!"

[31] Samuel Partiger Fuller was M.P. for Petersfield from 1715 to 1722. Steele's letters show that he was an intimate friend of Fuller's in 1716-17; and in February 1716, when Steele spoke in the House of Commons on behalf of the noblemen condemned for the part they had taken in the rebellion of 1715, he was seconded by Fuller. The following passage from Steele's Theatre, No. 26, March 29, 1720, is the authority for attributing this paper to young Fuller, then a secret correspondent:

"I can hardly conceive a more laudable act, than declaring an abhorrence of so fashionable a crime [viz., duelling], which weakness, cowardice, and an impatience of the reproach of fools, have brought upon reasonable men. This sort of behaviour cannot proceed but from a true and undaunted courage; and I cannot but have in great veneration a generous youth, who, in public, declared his assent and concurrence to this law, by saying, that in spite of the prevailing custom, he triumphed more in being a second to prevent, than he should have done in being one to promote murder. A speech thus ingenuous could come only from a heart that scorned reserves, in compliance to falsehood, to do injury to truth.

"This was true greatness of mind; and the man who did it, could not possibly do it for his own sake, but must be conscious of a courage sufficient for his own defence, who could thus candidly, at this time of life, rescue other men from the necessity of bearing contempt, or doing an ill action.

"The mind usually exerts itself in all its faculties with an equal pace towards maturity; and this gentleman, who at the age of sixteen could form such pleasant pictures of the false and little ambitions of low spirits, as Mr. Fuller did, to whom, when a boy, we owe, with several other excellent pieces, "The Vainglorious Glutton," when a secret correspondent of the Tatler: I say, such a one might easily, as he proceeded in human life, arrive at this superior strength of mind at four-and-twenty. The soul that labours against prejudice, and follows reason, ripens in her capacities and grows in her talents at the same time. As therefore courage is what a man attains by thought, as much as he improves his wit by study, it is only from want of opportunities to call the one or the other forth, and draw the respective qualities into habit, if ever a man of sense is a coward."

[32] See Nos. 61 and 211. In the Guardian (No. 135), Addison quotes from South a passage which, he says, "cannot but make the man's heart burn within him who reads it with due attention."

No. 206. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 1 , to Thursday, Aug. 3, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 2. — FOOTNOTES:

Metiri se quemque suo modulo ac pede verum est.

Hor., 1 Ep. vii. 98.

The general purposes of men in the conduct of their lives (I mean with relation to this life only), end in gaining either the affection or the esteem of those with whom they converse. Esteem makes a man powerful in business, and affection desirable in conversation; which is certainly the reason that very agreeable men fail of their point in the world, and those who are by no means such arrive at it with much ease. If it be visible in a man's carriage that he has a strong passion to please, no one is much at a loss how to keep measures with him, because there is always a balance in people's hands to make up with him, by giving him what he still wants in exchange for what you think fit to deny him. Such a person asks with diffidence, and ever leaves room for denial by that softness of his complexion. At the same time he himself is capable of denying nothing, even what he is not able to perform. The other sort of man who courts esteem, having a quite different view, has as different a behaviour, and acts as much by the dictates of his reason, as the other does by the impulse of his inclination. You must pay for everything you have of him. He considers mankind as a people in commerce, and never gives out of himself what he is sure will not come in with interest from another. All his words and actions tend to the advancement of his reputation and of his fortune, toward which he makes hourly progress, because he lavishes no part of his good-will upon such as do not make some advances to merit it. The man who values affection sometimes becomes popular, he who aims at esteem seldom fails of growing rich.

Thus far we have looked at these different men as persons who endeavour to be valued and beloved from design or ambition; but they appear in quite another figure, when you observe the men who are agreeable and venerable from the force of their natural inclinations. We affect the company of him who has least regard of himself in his carriage, who throws himself into unguarded gaiety, voluntary mirth, and general good-humour; who has nothing in his head but the present hour, and seems to have all his interests and passions gratified, if every man else in the room is as unconcerned as himself. This man usually has no quality or character among his companions; let him be born of whom he will, have what great qualities he please, let him be capable of assuming for a moment what figure he pleases, he still dwells in the imagination of all who know him but as Jack Such-a-One. This makes Jack brighten up the room wherever he enters, and change the severity of the company into that gaiety and good-humour into which his conversation generally leads them. It is not unpleasant to observe even this sort of creature go out of his character, to check himself sometimes for his familiarities, and pretend so awkwardly at procuring to himself more esteem than he finds he meets with. I was the other day walking with Jack Gainly towards Lincoln's Inn Walks. We met a fellow who is a lower officer where Jack is in the direction. Jack cries to him, so, "How is it, Mr. ——?" He answers, "Mr. Gainly, I am glad to see you well." This expression of equality gave my friend a pang, which appeared in a flush of his countenance. "Prithee, Jack," says I, "do not be angry at the man; for do what you will, the man can only love you: be contented with the image the man has of thee; for if thou aimest at any other, it must be hatred or contempt." I went on, and told him, "Look'ee, Jack, I have heard thee sometimes talk like an oracle for half-an-hour, with the sentiments of a Roman, the closeness of a school-man, and the integrity of a divine; but then, Jack, while I admired thee, it was upon topics which did not concern thyself, and where the greatness of the subject (added to thy being personally unconcerned in it) created all that was great in thy discourse." I did not mind his being a little out of humour, but comforted him, by giving him several instances of men of our acquaintance, who had no one quality in any eminence, that were much more esteemed than he was with very many: but the thing is, if your character is to give pleasure, men will consider you only in that light, and not in those acts which turn to esteem and veneration.

When I think of Jack Gainly, I cannot but reflect also upon his sister Gatty. She is young, witty, pleasant, innocent. This is her natural character; but when she observes any one admired for what they call a fine woman, she is all the next day womanly, prudent, observing, and virtuous. She is every moment asked in her prudential behaviour, whether she is not well? Upon which she as often answers in a fret, "Do people think one must be always romping, always a Jack-pudding?" I never fail to inquire of her, if my Lady Such-a-One, that awful beauty, was not at the play last night? She knows the connection between that question and her change of humour, and says, "It would be very well, if some people would examine into themselves as much as they do into others;" or, "Sure there is nothing in the world so ridiculous as an amorous old man."

As I was saying, there is a class which every man is in by his post in nature, from which it is impossible for him to withdraw to another, and become it. Therefore it is necessary that each should be contented with it, and not endeavour at any progress out of that tract. To follow nature, is the only agreeable course; which is what I would fain inculcate to those jarring companions, Flavia and Lucia. They are mother and daughter. Flavia, who is the mamma, has all the charms and desires of youth still about her, and not much turned of thirty: Lucia is blooming and amorous, and but a little above fifteen. The mother looks very much younger than she is, the girl very much older. If it were possible to fix the girl to her sick-bed, and preserve the portion (the use of which the mother partakes), the good widow Flavia would certainly do it. But for fear of Lucia's escape, the mother is forced to be constantly attended with a rival, that explains her age, and draws off the eyes of her admirers. The jest is, they can never be together in strangers' company, but Lucy is eternally reprimanded for something very particular in her behaviour; for which she has the malice to say, she hopes she shall always obey her parents. She carried her passion and jealousy to that height the other day, that coming suddenly into the room, and surprising Colonel Lofty speaking rapture on one knee to her mother, she clapped down by him and asked her blessing.

I do not know whether it is so proper to tell family occurrences of this nature; but we every day see the same thing happen in the public conversation in the world. Men cannot be contented with what is laudable, but they must have all that is laudable. This affectation is what destroys the familiar man into pretences to take state upon him, and the contrary character to the folly of aiming at being winning and complaisant. But in these cases men may easily lay aside what they are, but can never arrive at what they are not.

As to the pursuits after affection and esteem, the fair sex are happy in this particular, that with them the one is much more nearly related to the other than in men. The love of a woman is inseparable from some esteem of her; and as she is naturally the object of affection, the woman who has your esteem has also some degree of your love.[33] A man that dotes on a woman for her beauty, will whisper his friend, "That creature has a great deal of wit when you are well acquainted with her." And if you examine the bottom of your esteem for a woman, you will find you have a greater opinion of her beauty than anybody else. As to us men, I design to pass most of my time with the facetious Harry Bickerstaff; but William Bickerstaff, the most prudent man of our family, shall be my executor.

[33] "Inseparable always from his passion is the exalted admiration he feels; and his love is the very flower of his respect" (Forster's Essay on Steele).

No. 207. [ Steele. From Thursday, Aug. 3 , to Saturday, Aug. 5, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 4. — FOOTNOTES:

Having yesterday morning received a paper of Latin verses, written with much elegance in honour of these my papers, and being informed at the same time that they were composed by a youth under age, I read them with much delight, as an instance of his improvement. There is not a greater pleasure to old age, than seeing young people entertain themselves in such a manner as that we can partake of their enjoyments. On such occasions we flatter ourselves that we are not quite laid aside in the world, but that we are either used with gratitude for what we were, or honoured for what we are. A well-inclined young man, and whose good-breeding is founded upon the principles of nature and virtue, must needs take delight in being agreeable to his elders, as we are truly delighted when we are not the jest of them. When I say this, I must confess I cannot but think it a very lamentable thing that there should be a necessity for making that a rule of life, which should be, methinks, a mere instinct of nature. If reflection upon a man in poverty, whom we once knew in riches, is an argument of commiseration with generous minds; sure old age, which is a decay from that vigour which the young possess, and must certainly (if not prevented against their will) arrive at, should be more forcibly the object of that reverence which honest spirits are inclined to from a sense of being themselves liable to what they observe has already overtaken others.

My three nephews, whom in June last was twelvemonth I disposed of according to their several capacities and inclinations, the first to the University, the second to a merchant, and the third to a woman of quality as her page, by my invitation dined with me to-day. It is my custom often, when I have a mind to give myself a more than ordinary cheerfulness, to invite a certain young gentlewoman of our neighbourhood to make one of the company. She did me that favour this day. The presence of a beautiful woman of honour, to minds which are not trivially disposed, displays an alacrity which is not to be communicated by any other object. It was not unpleasant to me to look into her thoughts of the company she was in. She smiled at the party of pleasure I had thought of for her, which was composed of an old man and three boys. My scholar, my citizen, and myself were very soon neglected; and the young courtier, by the bow he made to her at her entrance, engaged her observation without a rival. I observed the Oxonian not a little discomposed at this preference, while the trader kept his eye upon his uncle. My nephew Will had a thousand secret resolutions to break in upon the discourse of his younger brother, who gave my fair companion a full account of the fashion, and what was reckoned most becoming to this complexion, and what sort of habit appeared best upon the other shape. He proceeded to acquaint her, who of quality was well or sick within the bills of mortality, and named very familiarly all his lady's acquaintance, not forgetting her very words when he spoke of their characters. Besides all this, he had a road of flattery; and upon her inquiring what sort of woman Lady Lovely was in her person, "Really, madam," says the jackanapes, "she is exactly of your height and shape; but as you are fair, she is a brown woman." There was no enduring that this fop should outshine us all at this unmerciful rate, therefore I thought fit to talk to my young scholar concerning his studies; and because I would throw his learning into present service, I desired him to repeat to me the translation he had made of some tender verses in Theocritus. He did so, with an air of elegance peculiar to the college to which I sent him. I made some exceptions to the turn of the phrases, which he defended with much modesty, as believing in that place the matter was rather to consult the softness of a swain's passion, than the strength of his expressions. It soon appeared that Will had outstripped his brother in the opinion of our young lady. A little poetry to one who is bred a scholar has the same effect that a good carriage of his person has on one who is to live in courts. The favour of women is so natural a passion, that I envied both the boys their success in the approbation of my guest; and I thought the only person invulnerable was my young trader. During the whole meal, I could observe in the children a mutual contempt and scorn of each other, arising from their different way of life and education, and took that occasion to advertise them of such growing distastes, which might mislead them in their future life, and disappoint their friends, as well as themselves, of the advantages which might be expected from the diversity of their professions and interests.

The prejudices which are growing up between these brothers from the different ways of education, are what create the most fatal misunderstandings in life. But all distinctions of disparagement merely from our circumstances, are such as will not bear the examination of reason. The courtier, the trader, and the scholar should all have an equal pretension to the denomination of a gentleman. That tradesman who deals with me in a commodity which I do not understand with uprightness, has much more right to that character, than the courtier who gives me false hopes, or the scholar who laughs at my ignorance.

The appellation of gentleman is never to be affixed to a man's circumstances, but to his behaviour in them. For this reason I shall ever, as far as I am able, give my nephews such impressions as shall make them value themselves rather as they are useful to others, than as they are conscious of merit in themselves. There are no qualities from which we ought to pretend to the esteem of others, but such as render us serviceable to them; for free men have no superiors but benefactors. I was going on like a true old fellow to this purpose to my guests, when I received the following epistle:

"Sir,

"I have yours,[34] with notice of a benefit ticket of £400 per annum, both enclosed by Mr. Elliot, who had my numbers for that purpose. Your philosophic advice came very seasonably to me with that good fortune; but I must be so sincere with you as to acknowledge, I owe my present moderation more to my own folly than your wisdom. You will think this strange till I inform you, that I had fixed my thoughts upon the £1000 a year, and had with that expectation laid down so many agreeable plans for my behaviour towards my new lovers and old friends, that I have received this favour of fortune with an air of disappointment. This is interpreted by all who know not the springs of my heart as a wonderful piece of humility. I hope my present state of mind will grow into that; but I confess my conduct to be now owing to another cause. However, I know you will approve my taking hold even of imperfections to find my way towards virtue, which is so feeble in us at the best, that we are often beholden to our faults for the first appearances of it. I am,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"Chloe."

[34] See No. 203.

No. 208. [ Steele. From Saturday, Aug. 5 , to Tuesday, Aug. 8, 1710 . — From my own Apartment Aug. 7. — FOOTNOTES:

Si dixeris "æstuo," sudat.——

Juv., Sat. iii. 103.

An old acquaintance who met me this morning seemed overjoyed 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 creatures 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 acquaintances 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 injudicious civil people. They ordinarily begin upon something that they know must be a satisfaction; but then, for fear of the imputation of flattery, they follow it with the last thing in the world of which you would be reminded. It is this that perplexes civil persons. The reason that there is such a general outcry amongst 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 all 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 certain degree above great imperfections, whom he can live with as his inferior, and who will either overlook or not observe his little defects. Such an easy companion as this, either now and then throws out a little flattery, or lets a man silently flatter himself in his superiority to him. If you take notice, there is hardly a rich man in the world who has not such a led friend [35] 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 listed in our service, is by nature of our retinue. These dependants are of excellent 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 flatterers. They know the course of the town and the general characters of persons: by this means they will sometimes tell the most agreeable 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 discretion.

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 recite 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 older than herself, 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 that of the brightest man I know. It would be a hard matter to give an account of this inclination 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 is 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 outrun the more 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."[36] The love of flattery is indeed sometimes the weakness of a great mind; but you see it also in persons who otherwise discover no manner of relish of anything above mere sensuality. These latter it sometimes improves, but always debases the former. A fool is in himself the object of pity till 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 air 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, that when Sir Jeffery 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 fellows 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 errant 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 [37] 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."

[35] A hanger-on. As Mr. Dobson points out, Thackeray gives the title of "led-captain" to Lord Steyne's toady and trencher-man, Mr. Wagg ("Vanity Fair," chap. xxi.).

[36] "Eunuchus," act ii. sc. 2, l. 23.

[37] See Nos. 36 and 140.

No. 209. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 8 , to Thursday, Aug. 10, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 9. — FOOTNOTES:

A noble painter, who has an ambition to draw a history-piece, has desired of me to give him a subject on which he may show the utmost force of his art and genius. For this purpose I have pitched upon that remarkable incident between Alexander the Great and his physician. This Prince, in the midst of his conquests in Persia, was seized by a violent fever; and according to the account we have of his vast mind, his thoughts were more employed about his recovery as it regarded the war, than as it concerned his own life. He professed, a slow method was worse than death to him, because it was what he more dreaded, an interruption of his glory. He desired a dangerous, so it might be a speedy remedy. During this impatience of the King, it is well known that Darius had offered an immense sum to any who should take away his life. But Philippus, the most esteemed and most knowing of his physicians, promised, that within three days' time he would prepare a medicine for him which should restore him more expeditiously than could be imagined. Immediately after this engagement, Alexander receives a letter from the most considerable of his captains, with intelligence, that Darius had bribed Philippus to poison him. Every circumstance imaginable favoured this suspicion; but this monarch, who did nothing but in an extraordinary manner, concealed the letter; and while the medicine was preparing, spent all his thoughts upon his behaviour in this important incident. From his long soliloquy he came to this resolution: "Alexander must not lie here alive to be oppressed by his enemy. I will not believe my physician guilty; or, I will perish rather by his guilt than my own diffidence."

At the appointed hour, Philippus enters with the potion. One cannot but form to one's self on occasion the encounter of their eyes, the resolution in those of the patient, and the benevolence in the countenance of the physician. The hero raised himself in his bed, and holding the letter in one hand, and the potion in the other, drank the medicine. It will exercise my friend's pencil and brain to place this action in its proper beauty. A prince observing the features of a suspected traitor after having drank the poison he offered him, is a circumstance so full of passion, that it will require the highest strength of his imagination to conceive it, much more to express it. But as painting is eloquence and poetry in mechanism, I shall raise his ideas, by reading with him the finest draughts of the passions concerned in this circumstance from the most excellent poets and orators. The confidence which Alexander assumes from the air of Philippus's face as he is reading his accusation, and the generous disdain which is to rise in the features of a falsely accused man, are principally to be regarded. In this particular he must heighten his thoughts, by reflecting, that he is not drawing only an innocent man traduced, but a man zealously affected to his person and safety, full of resentment for being thought false. How shall we contrive to express the highest admiration mingled with disdain? How shall we in strokes of a pencil say what Philippus did to his Prince on this occasion? "Sir, my life never depended on yours more than it does now. Without knowing this secret, I prepared the potion, which you have taken as what concerned Philippus no less than Alexander; and there is nothing new in this adventure, but that it makes me still more admire the generosity and confidence of my master." Alexander took him by the hand, and said, "Philippus, I am confident you had rather I had any other way to have manifested the faith I have in you, than a case which so nearly concerns me: and in gratitude I now assure you, I am anxious for the effect of your medicine, more for your sake than my own."[38]

My painter is employed by a man of sense and wealth to furnish him a gallery, and I shall join with my friend in the designing part. It is the great use of pictures to raise in our minds either agreeable ideas of our absent friends, or high images of eminent personages. But the latter design is, methinks, carried on in a very improper way; for to fill a room full of battle-pieces, pompous histories of sieges, and a tall hero alone in a crowd of insignificant figures about him, is of no consequence to private men. But to place before our eyes great and illustrious men in those parts and circumstances of life wherein their behaviour may have an effect upon our minds, as being such as we partake with them merely as they were men: such as these, I say, may be just and useful ornaments of an elegant apartment. In this collection therefore that we are making, we will not have the battles, but the sentiments of Alexander. The affair we were just now talking of, has circumstances of the highest nature, and yet their grandeur has little to do with his fortune. If by observing such a piece as that of his taking a bowl of poison with so much magnanimity, a man, the next time he has a fit of the spleen, is less froward to his friend or his servants; thus far is some improvement.

I have frequently thought, that if we had many draughts which were historical of certain passions, and had the true figure of the great men we see transported by them, it would be of the most solid advantage imaginable. To consider this mighty man on one occasion administer to the wants of a poor soldier, benumbed with cold, with the greatest humanity; at another, barbarously stabbing a faithful officer: at one time, so generously chaste and virtuous as to give his captive Statira her liberty; at another, burning a town at the instigation of Thais—this sort of changes in the same person are what would be more beneficial lessons of morality than the several revolutions in a great man's fortune. There are but one or two in an age to whom the pompous incidents of his life can be exemplary; but I or any man may be as sick, as good-natured, as compassionate, and as angry as Alexander the Great. My purpose in all this chat is, that so excellent a furniture may not for the future have so romantic a turn, but allude to incidents which come within the fortunes of the ordinary race of men. I do not know but it is by the force of this senseless custom that people are drawn in postures they would not for half they are worth be surprised in. The unparalleled fierceness of some rural squires drawn in red, or in armour, who never dreamed to destroy anything above a fox, is a common and ordinary offence of this kind. But I shall give an account of our whole gallery on another occasion.

[38] Q. Curtius, "Hist.," iii. 6, &c.

No. 210. [ Steele. From Thursday, Aug. 10 , to Saturday, Aug. 12, 1710 . — Sheer Lane, Aug. 10. — St. James's Coffee-house, Aug. 11. [41] — FOOTNOTES:

I did myself the honour this day to make a visit to a lady of quality, who is one of those who are ever railing at the vices of the age, but mean only one vice, because it is the only vice they are not guilty of. She went so far as to fall foul on a young woman who has had imputations; but whether they were just or not, no one knows but herself. However that is, she is in her present behaviour modest, humble, pious, and discreet. I thought it became me to bring this censorious lady to reason, and let her see she was a much more vicious woman than the person she spoke of.

"Madam," said I, "you are very severe to this poor young woman, for a trespass which I believe Heaven has forgiven her, and for which you see she is for ever out of countenance." "Nay, Mr. Bickerstaff," she interrupted, "if you at this time of day contradict people of virtue, and stand up for ill women—" "No, no, madam," said I, "not so fast; she is reclaimed, and I fear you never will be. Nay, nay, madam, do not be in a passion, but let me tell you what you are. You are indeed as good as your neighbours, but that is being very bad. You are a woman at the head of a family, and lead a perfect town lady's life. You go on your own way, and consult nothing but your glass. What imperfections indeed you see there, you immediately mend as fast as you can. You may do the same by the faults I tell you of, for they are much more in your power to correct.

"You are to know, then, that you visiting ladies, that carry your virtue from house to house with so much prattle in each other's applause, and triumph over other people's faults, I grant you have but the speculation of vice in your own conversations, but promote the practice of it in all others you have to do with.

"As for you, madam, your time passes away in dressing, eating, sleeping, and praying. When you rise in a morning, I grant you an hour spent very well; but you come out to dress in so froward a humour, that the poor girl who attends you, curses her very being in that she is your servant, for the peevish things you say to her; when this poor creature is put into a way, that good or evil are regarded but as they relieve her from the hours she has and must pass with you. The next you have to do with is your coachman and footmen. They convey your ladyship to church. While you are praying there, they are cursing, swearing, and drinking in an alehouse. During the time also which your ladyship sets apart for heaven, you are to know, that your cook is swearing and fretting in preparation for your dinner. Soon after your meal you make visits, and the whole world that belongs to you speaks all the ill of you which you are repeating of others. You see, madam, whatever way you go, all about you are in a very broad one. The morality of these people it is your proper business to inquire into; and till you reform them, you had best let your equals alone; otherwise, if I allow you you are not vicious, you must allow me you are not virtuous."

I took my leave, and received at my coming home the following letter:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I have lived a pure and undefiled virgin these twenty-seven years; and I assure you, 'tis with great grief and sorrow of heart I tell you, that I become weary and impatient of the derision of the gigglers of our sex, who call me old maid, and tell me I shall lead apes.[39] If you are truly a patron of the distressed, and an adept in astrology, you will advise whether I shall or ought to be prevailed upon by the impertinencies of my own sex, to give way to the importunities of yours. I assure you, I am surrounded with both, though at present a forlorn.

"I am, &c."

I must defer my answer to this lady out of a point of chronology. She says, she has been twenty-seven years a maid; but I fear, according to a common error, she dates her virginity from her birth, which is a very erroneous method; for a woman of twenty is no more to be thought chaste so many years, than a man of that age can be said to have been so long valiant. We must not allow people the favour of a virtue till they have been under the temptation to the contrary. A woman is not a maid till her birthday, as we call it, of her fifteenth year. My plaintiff is therefore desired to inform me, whether she is at present in her twenty-eighth or forty-third year, and she shall be despatched accordingly.[40]

A merchant came hither this morning, and read a letter from a correspondent of his at Milan. It was dated of the 7th instant, N.S. The following is an abstract of it: On the 25th of the last month, five thousand men were on their march in the Lampourdan, under the command of General Wesell, having received orders from his Catholic Majesty to join him in his camp with all possible expedition. The Duke of Anjou soon had intelligence of their motion, and took a resolution to decamp, in order to intercept them, within a day's march of our army. The King of Spain was apprehensive the enemy might make such a movement, and commanded General Stanhope [42] with a body of horse, consisting of fourteen squadrons, to observe their course, and prevent their passage over the rivers Segre and Noguera between Lerida and Balaguer. It happened to be the first day that officer had appeared abroad after a dangerous and violent fever; but he received the King's commands on this occasion with a joy which surmounted his present weakness, and on the 27th of last month came up with the enemy on the plains of Balaguer. The Duke of Anjou's rear-guard consisting of twenty-six squadrons, that general sent intelligence of their posture to the King, and desired his Majesty's orders to attack them. During the time which he waited for his instructions, he made his disposition for the charge, which was to divide themselves into three bodies; one to be commanded by himself in the centre, a body on the right by Count Maurice of Nassau, and the third on the left by the Earl of Rochford.[43] Upon the receipt of his Majesty's direction to attack the enemy, the general himself charged with the utmost vigour and resolution, while the Earl of Rochford and Count Maurice extended themselves on his right and left, to prevent the advantage the enemy might make of the superiority of their numbers. What appears to have misled the enemy's general in this affair was, that it was not supposed practicable that the confederates would attack him till they had received a reinforcement. For this reason he pursued his march without facing about, till we were actually coming on to engagement. General Stanhope's disposition made it impracticable to do it at that time, Count Maurice and the Earl of Rochford attacking them in the instant in which they were forming themselves. The charge was made with the greatest gallantry, and the enemy very soon put into so great disorder, that their whole cavalry were commanded to support their rear-guard. Upon the advance of this reinforcement, all the horse of the King of Spain were come up to sustain General Stanhope, insomuch that the battle improved to a general engagement of the cavalry of both armies. After a warm dispute for some time, it ended in the utter defeat of all the Duke of Anjou's horse. Upon the despatch of these advices, that Prince was retiring towards Lerida. We have no account of any considerable loss on our side, except that both those heroic youths, the Earl of Rochford and Count Nassau, fell in this action. They were, you know, both sons of persons who had a great place in the confidence of your late King William; and I doubt not but their deaths will endear their families, which were ennobled by him, in your nation. General Stanhope has been reported by the enemy dead of his wounds; but he received only a slight contusion on the shoulder.

"P.S.—We acknowledge you here a mighty brave people; but you are said to love quarrelling so well, that you cannot be quiet at home. The favourers of the House of Bourbon among us affirm, that this Stanhope, who could as it were get out of his sick-bed to fight against their King of Spain, must be of the anti-monarchical party."

[39] Lady Strafford, writing in 1712, says: "Sis Betty ... hopes you'll provide her a husband against she comes, for she begins to be in fears of leading apes in hell" ("Wentworth Papers," 285).

[40] See reply in No. 212.

[41] The fifth paper of the first volume of the Examiner is a critique on this article, with a comparison of the account of the same events given in the Gazette.

"We too are sorry," says the writer, "for the loss of the Earl of Rochford; but I am afraid Isaac Bickerstaff, who now compliments him with the title of 'heroic youth,' has forgot the Tatler of Tun, Gun, and Pistol." This seems to allude to No. 24.

In the conclusion of the paper, Steele is reproached for meddling with matters of State, and warned in a contemptuous manner, with a reference, no doubt, to his being gazetteer, &c., to take care of himself. Arguments of a different kind, it is said, were made use of about this time, to detach Steele from his party, equally in vain.

[42] James Stanhope, who became Secretary of State on the accession of George I., and Earl Stanhope in 1718, had been appointed commander-in-chief of the British forces in Spain in 1708. He died in 1721.

[43] William, second Earl of Rochford, brigadier-general, was thirty-six years of age when he was killed at the battle of Almenara.

No. 211. [ Steele. From Saturday, Aug. 12 , to Tuesday, Aug. 15, 1710 . — Sunday, Aug. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

----Nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum.

Juv., Sat. vii. 56.

If there were no other consequence of it, but barely that human creatures on this day assemble themselves before their Creator, without regard to their usual employments, their minds at leisure from the cares of this life, and their bodies adorned with the best attire they can bestow on them; I say, were this mere outward celebration of a Sabbath all that is expected from men, even that were a laudable distinction, and a purpose worthy the human nature. But when there is added to it the sublime pleasure of devotion, our being is exalted above itself; and he who spends a seventh day in the contemplation of the next life, will not easily fall into the corruptions of this in the other six. They who never admit thoughts of this kind into their imagination, lose higher and sweeter satisfactions than can be raised by any other entertainment. The most illiterate man who is touched with devotion, and uses frequent exercises of it, contracts a certain greatness of mind, mingled with a noble simplicity, that raises him above those of the same condition; and there is an indelible mark of goodness in those who sincerely possess it. It is hardly possible it should be otherwise; for the fervours of a pious mind will naturally contract such an earnestness and attention towards a better being, as will make the ordinary passages of life go off with a becoming indifference. By this, a man in the lowest condition will not appear mean, or in the most splendid fortune, insolent.

As to all the intricacies and vicissitudes under which men are ordinarily entangled with the utmost sorrow and passion, one who is devoted to Heaven when he falls into such difficulties is led by a clue through a labyrinth. As to this world, he does not pretend to skill in the mazes of it, but fixes his thoughts upon one certainty, that he shall soon be out of it. And we may ask very boldly, What can be a more sure consolation than to have a hope in death? When men are arrived at thinking of their very dissolution with pleasure, how few things are there that can be terrible to them? Certainly nothing can be dreadful to such spirits, but what would make death terrible to them, falsehood towards man, or impiety towards Heaven. To such as these, as there are certainly many such, the gratifications of innocent pleasures are doubled, even with reflections upon their imperfection. The disappointments which naturally attend the great promises we make ourselves in expected enjoyments, strike no damp upon such men, but only quicken their hopes of soon knowing joys, which are too pure to admit of allay or satiety.

It is thought among the politer part of mankind an imperfection to want a relish of any of those things which refine our lives. This is the foundation of the acceptance which eloquence, music, and poetry make in the world; and I know not why devotion, considered merely as an exaltation of our happiness, should not at least be so far regarded as to be considered. It is possible the very inquiry would lead men into such thoughts and gratifications as they did not expect to meet with in this place. Many a good acquaintance has been lost from a general prepossession in his disfavour, and a severe aspect has often hid under it a very agreeable companion.

There are no distinguishing qualities among men to which there are not false pretenders; but though none is more pretended to than that of devotion, there are, perhaps, fewer successful impostors in this kind than any other. There is something so natively great and good in a person that is truly devout, that an awkward man may as well pretend to be genteel, as a hypocrite to be pious. The constraint in words and actions are equally visible in both cases, and anything set up in their room does but remove the endeavourers the further off their pretensions. But however the sense of true piety is abated, there is no other motive of action that can carry us through all the vicissitudes of life with alacrity and resolution. But piety, like philosophy, when it is superficial, does but make men appear the worse for it; and a principle that is but half received, does but distract, instead of guiding our behaviour. When I reflect upon the unequal conduct of Lotius, I see many things that run directly counter to his interest; therefore I cannot attribute his labours for the public good to ambition. When I consider his disregard to his fortune, I cannot esteem him covetous. How then can I reconcile his neglect of himself, and his zeal for others? I have long suspected him to be a little pious: but no man ever hid his vice with greater caution than he does his virtue. It was the praise of a great Roman, that he had rather be, than appear good. But such is the weakness of Lotius, that I dare say, he had rather be esteemed irreligious than devout. By I know not what impatience of raillery he is wonderfully fearful of being thought too great a believer. A hundred little devices are made use of to hide a time of private devotion; and he will allow you any suspicion of his being ill employed, so you do not tax him with being well. But alas! how mean is such a behaviour? To boast of virtue is a most ridiculous way of disappointing the merit of it, but not so pitiful as that of being ashamed of it. How unhappy is the wretch who makes the most absolute and independent motive of action the cause of perplexity and inconstancy? How much another figure does Cælicola [44] make with all who know him? His great and superior mind, frequently exalted by the raptures of heavenly meditation, is to all his friends of the same use as if an angel were to appear at the decision of their disputes. They very well understand he is as much disinterested and unbiassed as such a being. He considers all applications made to him, as those addresses will effect his own application to heaven. All his determinations are delivered with a beautiful humility; and he pronounces his decisions with the air of one who is more frequently a supplicant than a judge.

Thus humble, and thus great, is the man who is moved by piety, and exalted by devotion. But behold this recommended by the masterly hand of a great divine [45] I have heretofore made bold with:

"It is such a pleasure as can never cloy or overwork the mind; a delight that grows and improves under thought and reflection; and while it exercises, does also endear itself to the mind. All pleasures that affect the body must needs weary, because they transport; and all transportation is a violence; and no violence can be lasting, but determines upon the falling of the spirits, which are not able to keep up that height of motion that the pleasure of the senses raises them to. And therefore how inevitably does an immoderate laughter end in a sigh, which is only nature's recovering itself after a force done to it; but the religious pleasure of a well-disposed mind moves gently, and therefore constantly. It does not effect by rapture and ecstasy, but is like the pleasure of health, greater and stronger than those that call up the senses with grosser and more affecting impressions. No man's body is as strong as his appetites; but Heaven has corrected the boundlessness of his voluptuous desires by stinting his strengths, and contracting his capacities.... The pleasure of the religious man is an easy and a portable pleasure, such a one as he carries about in his bosom, without alarming either the eye or envy of the world. A man putting all his pleasure into this one, is like a traveller putting all his goods into one jewel; the value is the same, and the convenience greater."

[44] Possibly John Hughes, author of the "Siege of Damascus," who contributed to both Tatler and Spectator. He died in 1720, aged forty-seven. In the Theatre (No. 15) Steele said that Hughes's "head, hand, or heart was always employed in something worthy imitation."

[45] Dr. South (see Nos. 61 and 205).

No. 212. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 15 , to Thursday, Aug. 17, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 16. — FOOTNOTES:

I have had much importunity to answer the following letter:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Reading over a volume of yours, I find the words simplex munditiis mentioned as a description of a very well-dressed woman.[46] I beg of you, for the sake of the sex, to explain these terms. I cannot comprehend what my brother means, when he tells me they signify my own name, which is,

"Sir,
"Your humble Servant,
"Plain English."

I think the lady's brother has given us a very good idea of that elegant expression, it being the greatest beauty of speech to be close and intelligible. To this end nothing is to be more carefully consulted than plainness. In a lady's attire this is the single excellence; for to be what some call fine, is the same vice in that case as to be florid is in writing or speaking. I have studied and written on this important subject till I almost despair of making a reformation in the females of this island, where we have more beauty than in any spot in the universe, if we did not disguise it by false garniture, and detract from it by impertinent improvements. I have by me a treatise concerning pinners, which I have some hopes will contribute to the amendment of the present head-dresses, to which I have solid and unanswerable objections. But most of the errors in that and other particulars of adorning the head, are crept into the world from the ignorance of modern tirewomen; for it is come to that pass, that an awkward creature in the first year of her apprenticeship, that can hardly stick a pin, shall take upon her to dress a woman of the first quality. However, it is certain that there requires in a good tirewoman a perfect skill in optics; for all the force of ornament is to contribute to the intention of the eyes. Thus she who has a mind to look killing, must arm her face accordingly, and not leave her eyes and cheeks undressed. There is Araminta so sensible of this, that she never will see even her own husband without a hood [47] on. Can any one living bear to see Miss Gruel, lean as she is, with her hair tied back after the modern way? But such is the folly of our ladies, that because one who is a beauty, out of ostentation of her being such, takes care to wear something that she knows cannot be of any consequence to her complexion; I say, our women run on so heedlessly in the fashion, that though it is the interest of some to hide as much of their faces as possible, yet because a leading toast appeared with a backward head-dress, the rest shall follow the mode, without observing that the author of the fashion assumed it because it could become no one but herself.

Flavia [48] is ever well dressed, and always the genteelest woman you meet: but the make of her mind very much contributes to the ornament of her body. She has the greatest simplicity of manners of any of her sex. This makes everything look native about her, and her clothes are so exactly fitted, that they appear as it were part of her person. Every one that sees her, knows her to be of quality; but her distinction is owing to her manner, and not to her habit. Her beauty is full of attraction, but not of allurement. There is such a composure in her looks, and propriety in her dress, that you would think it impossible she should change the garb you one day see her in for anything so becoming, till you next day see her in another. There is no other mystery in this, but that however she is apparelled, she is herself the same: for there is so immediate a relation between our thoughts and gestures, that a woman must think well to look well.

But this weighty subject I must put off for some other matters in which my correspondents are urgent for answers, which I shall do where I can, and appeal to the judgment of others where I cannot.

Aug. 15, 1710.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Taking the air the other day on horseback in the Green Lane that leads to Southgate, I discovered coming towards me a person well mounted in a mask; and I accordingly expected, as any one would, to have been robbed. But when we came up with each other, the spark, to my greater surprise, very peaceably gave me the way; which made me take courage enough to ask him, if he masqueraded, or how? He made me no answer, but still continued incognito. This was certainly an ass in a lion's skin; a harmless bull-beggar,[49] who delights to fright innocent people, and set them a-galloping. I bethought myself of putting as good a jest upon him, and had turned my horse, with a design to pursue him to London, and get him apprehended, on suspicion of being a highwayman: but when I reflected, that it was the proper office of the magistrate to punish only knaves, and that we had a censor of Great Britain for people of another denomination, I immediately determined to prosecute him in your court only. This unjustifiable frolic I take to be neither wit nor humour: therefore hope you will do me, and as many others as were that day frighted, justice. I am,

"Sir,
"Your Friend and Servant,
"J. L."

"Sir,

"The gentleman begs your pardon, and frighted you out of fear of frightening you; for he is just come out of the smallpox."

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Your distinction concerning the time of commencing virgins [50] is allowed to be just. I write you my thanks for it, in the twenty-eighth year of my life, and twelfth of my virginity. But I am to ask you another question, May a woman be said to live any more years a maid than she continues to be courted?

"I am, &c."

Aug. 15, 1710.

"Sir,

"I observe that the Post-Man of Saturday last, giving an account of the action in Spain, has this elegant turn of expression: 'General Stanhope,[51] who in the whole action expressed as much bravery as conduct, received a contusion in his right shoulder.' I should be glad to know, whether this cautious politician means to commend or to rally him, by saying, 'He expressed as much bravery as conduct'? If you can explain this dubious phrase, it will inform the public, and oblige,

"Sir,
"Your humble Servant, &c."

[46] See No. 151.

[47] The Spectator contains accounts of the new-fashioned hoods, which were made in various tints, especially cherry-colour. In the reign of King William the ladies wore a high head-dress, as appears from the following passage in a letter of Swift to Esther Johnson, dated Nov. 22, 1711: "I dined to-day with Sir Thomas Hanmer, whose lady, the Duchess of Grafton, wears a great high head-dress, such as was in fashion fifteen years ago, and looks like a mad woman in it, yet she has great remains of beauty." In the Spectator (No. 98) Addison refers to these high head-dresses as in fashion ten years earlier, i.e. about 1701.

[48] This picture of Flavia has been thought to be a representation of Mrs. Anne Oldfield (see No. 10), of whom Cibber wrote: "Had her birth placed her in a higher rank of life, she had certainly appeared in reality what in the character of Lady Betty Modish she only excellently acted, an agreeable gay woman of quality, a little too conscious of her natural attractions. I have often seen her in private societies, where women of the first rank might have borrowed some part of their behaviour, without the least diminution of their sense of dignity." From this passage it will be seen that the account of a lady "of quality," with "the greatest simplicity of manners," can hardly be a description of Mrs. Oldfield. Moreover, the name "Flavia" occurs in No. 239, by Addison, and it appears that the lady there referred to was Miss Osborne, who became Atterbury's wife.

[49] Something used to frighten children. Cf. Sir T. Smith's "Appendix to his Life," p. 34: "As children be afraid of bear-bugs and bull-beggars."

[50] See No. 210

[51] Ibid.

No. 213. [ Steele. From Thursday, Aug. 17 , to Saturday, Aug. 19, 1710 . — Sheer Lane, Aug. 16. — Sheer Lane, Aug. 17. — FOOTNOTES:

There has of late crept in among the downright English a mighty spirit of dissimulation. But before we discourse of this vice, it will be necessary to observe, that the learned make a difference between simulation and dissimulation.[52] Simulation is a pretence of what is not, and dissimulation a concealment of what is. The latter is our present affair. When you look round you in public places in this island, you see the generality of mankind carry in their countenance an air of challenge or defiance: and there is no such man to be found among us who naturally strives to do greater honours and civilities than he receives. This innate sullenness or stubbornness of complexion is hardly to be conquered by any of our islanders. For which reason, however they may pretend to choose one another, they make but very awkward rogues; and their dislike to each other is seldom so well dissembled, but it is suspected. When once it is so, it had as good be professed. A man who dissembles well must have none of what we call stomach, otherwise he will be cold in his professions of good-will where he hates; an imperfection of the last ill consequence in business. This fierceness in our natures is apparent from the conduct of our young fellows, who are not got into the schemes and arts of life which the children of this world walk by. One would think that, of course, when a man of any consequence for his figure, his mien, or his gravity, passes by a youth, he should certainly have the first advances of salutation; but he is, you may observe, treated in a quite different manner, it being the very characteristic of an English temper to defy. As I am an Englishman, I find it a very hard matter to bring myself to pull off the hat first; but it is the only way to be upon any good terms with those we meet with: therefore the first advance is of high moment. Men judge of others by themselves; and he that will command with us must condescend. It moves one's spleen very agreeably to see fellows pretend to be dissemblers without this lesson. They are so reservedly complaisant till they have learned to resign their natural passions, that all the steps they make towards gaining those whom they would be well with, are but so many marks of what they really are, and not of what they would appear.

The rough Britons, when they pretend to be artful towards one another, are ridiculous enough; but when they set up for vices they have not, and dissemble their good with an affectation of ill, they are insupportable. I know two men in this town who make as good figures as any in it, that manage their credit so well as to be thought atheists, and yet say their prayers morning and evening. Tom Springly the other day pretended to go to an assignation with a married woman at Rosamond's Pond,[53] and was seen soon after reading the responses with great gravity at six-of-clock prayers.

Though the following epistle bears a just accusation of myself, yet in regard it is a more advantageous piece of justice to another, I insert it at large:

Garraway's Coffee-house,
Aug. 10.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I have lately read your paper [54] wherein you represent a conversation between a young lady, your three nephews, and yourself; and am not a little offended at the figure you give your young merchant in the presence of a beauty. The topic of love is a subject on which a man is more beholden to nature for his eloquence, than to the instruction of the schools, or my lady's woman. From the two latter, your scholar and page must have reaped all their advantage above him. I know by this time you have pronounced me a trader. I acknowledge it, but cannot bear the exclusion from any pretence of speaking agreeably to a fine woman, or from any degree of generosity that way. You have among us citizens many well-wishers, but it is for the justice of your representations, which we, perhaps, are better judges of than you (by the account you give of your nephew) seem to allow.

"To give you an opportunity of making us some reparation, I desire you would tell your own way the following instance of heroic love in the city. You are to remember, that somewhere in your writings, for enlarging the territories of virtue and honour, you have multiplied the opportunities of attaining to heroic virtue, and have hinted, that in whatever state of life a man is, if he does things above what is ordinarily performed by men of his rank, he is in those instances a hero.[55]

"Tom Trueman, a young gentleman of eighteen years of age, fell passionately in love with the beauteous Almira, daughter to his master. Her regard for him was no less tender. Trueman was better acquainted with his master's affairs than his daughter, and secretly lamented that each day brought him by many miscarriages nearer bankruptcy than the former. This unhappy posture of their affairs the youth suspected was owing to the ill management of a factor, in whom his master had an entire confidence. Trueman took a proper occasion, when his master was ruminating on his decaying fortune, to address him for leave to spend the remainder of his time with his foreign correspondent. During three years' stay in that employment he became acquainted with all that concerned his master; and by his great address in the management of that knowledge, saved him ten thousand pounds. Soon after this accident, Trueman's uncle left him a considerable estate. Upon receiving that advice, he returned to England, and demanded Almira of her father. The father, overjoyed at the match, offered him the £10,000 he had saved him, with the further proposal of resigning to him all his business. Trueman refused both, and retired into the country with his bride, contented with his own fortune, though perfectly skilled in all the methods of improving it.

"It is to be noted, that Trueman refused twenty thousand pounds with another young lady; so that reckoning both his self-denials, he is to have in your court the merit of having given £30,000 for the woman he loved. This gentleman I claim your justice to; and hope you will be convinced, that some of us have larger views than only cash debtor, per contra creditor.

"Yours,
"Richard Traffic."

"N.B.—Mr. Thomas Trueman of Lime Street is entered among the heroes of domestic life.

"Charles Lillie."

[52] Bacon has an essay "Of Simulation and Dissimulation"; and Sallust, in his character of Catiline ("Bell. Cat." v.), says, "Animus, subdolus, varius, cujus rei libet simulator ac dissimulator."

[53] See No. 60.

[54] See No. 207.

[55] See the story of Sergeant Hall in No. 87.

No. 214. [ Steele. [56] From Saturday, Aug. 19 , to Tuesday, Aug. 22, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 21. — FOOTNOTES:

——Soles et aperta serena
Prospicere, et certis poteris cognoscere signis.

Virg., Georg. i. 393.

In every party there are two sorts of men, the rigid and the supple. The rigid are an intractable race of mortals, who act upon principle, and will not, forsooth, fall into any measures that are not consistent with their received notions of honour. These are persons of a stubborn, unpliant morality, that sullenly adhere to their friends when they are disgraced, and to their principles, though they are exploded. I shall therefore give up this stiff-necked generation to their own obstinacy, and turn my thoughts to the advantage of the supple, who pay their homage to places, and not persons; and without enslaving themselves to any particular scheme of opinions, are as ready to change their conduct in point of sentiment as of fashion. The well-disciplined part of a court are generally so perfect at their exercise, that you may see a whole assembly, from front to rear, face about at once to a new man of power, though at the same time they turn their backs upon him that brought them thither. The great hardship these complaisant members of society are under, seems to be the want of warning upon any approaching change or revolution; so that they are obliged in a hurry to tack about with every wind, and stop short in the midst of a full career, to the great surprise and derision of their beholders.

When a man foresees a decaying ministry, he has leisure to grow a malcontent, reflect upon the present conduct, and by gradual murmurs fall off from his friends into a new party, by just steps and measures. For want of such notices, I have formerly known a very well-bred person refuse to return a bow of a man whom he thought in disgrace, that was next day made Secretary of State; and another, who after a long neglect of a minister, came to his levee, and made professions of zeal for his service the very day before he was turned out.

This produces also unavoidable confusions and mistakes in the descriptions of great men's parts and merits. That ancient lyric, Mr. D'Urfey,[57] some years ago wrote a dedication to a certain lord, in which he celebrated him for the greatest poet and critic of that age, upon a misinformation in Dyer's Letter [58], that his noble patron was made Lord Chamberlain. In short, innumerable votes, speeches, and sermons have been thrown away, and turned to no account, merely for want of due and timely intelligence. Nay, it has been known, that a panegyric has been half printed off, when the poet, upon the removal of the minister, has been forced to alter it into a satire.

For the conduct therefore of such useful persons as are ready to do their country service upon all occasions, I have an engine in my study, which is a sort of a Political Barometer, or, to speak more intelligibly, a State Weather-Glass, that, by the rising and falling of a certain magical liquor, presages all changes and revolutions in government, as the common glass does those of the weather. This weather-glass is said to have been invented by Cardan,[59] and given by him as a present to his great countryman and contemporary Machiavel, which (by the way) may serve to rectify a received error in chronology, that places one of these some years after the other. How or when it came into my hands, I shall desire to be excused if I keep to myself; but so it is, that I have walked by it for the better part of a century, to my safety at least, if not to my advantage; and have among my papers, a register of all the changes that happened in it from the middle of Queen Elizabeth's reign.

In the time of that princess, it stood long at Settled Fair. At the latter end of King James the First, it fell to Cloudy. It held several years after at Stormy; insomuch that at last despairing of seeing any clear weather at home, I followed the royal exile, and some time after finding my glass rise, returned to my native country with the rest of the loyalists. I was then in hopes to pass the remainder of my days in Settled Fair: but alas! during the greatest part of that reign, the English nation lay in a Dead Calm, which, as it is usual, was followed by high winds and tempests till of late years: in which, with unspeakable joy and satisfaction, I have seen our political weather returned to Settled Fair. I must only observe, that for all this last summer my glass has pointed at Changeable. Upon the whole, I often apply to Fortune Æneas's speech to the sybil:

——Non ulla laborum,
O virgo, nova mi fades inopinave surgit:
Omnia præcepi, atque animo me cum ante peregi.[60]

The advantages which have accrued to those whom I have advised in their affairs, by virtue of this sort of prescience, have been very considerable. A nephew of mine, who has never put his money into the stocks, or taken it out, without my advice, has in a few years raised five hundred pounds to almost so many thousands. As for myself, who look upon riches to consist rather in content than possessions, and measure the greatness of the mind rather by its tranquillity than its ambition, I have seldom used my glass to make my way in the world, but often to retire from it. This is a by-path to happiness, which was first discovered to me by a most pleasing apothegm of Pythagoras: "When the winds," says he, "rise, worship the echo." That great philosopher (whether to make his doctrines the more venerable, or to gild his precepts with the beauty of imagination, or to awaken the curiosity of his disciples; for I will not suppose what is usually said, that he did it to conceal his wisdom from the vulgar) has couched several admirable precepts in remote allusions and mysterious sentences. By the winds in this apothegm, are meant State hurricanes and popular tumults. "When these arise," says he, "worship the echo;" that is, withdraw yourself from the multitude into deserts, woods, solitudes, or the like retirements, which are the usual habitations of the echo.

[56] It is not unlikely that the account of a State weather-glass in this paper is by Addison, who was the author of the description of an ecclesiastical thermometer in No. 220.

[57] See Nos. 1, 11, and 43. The dedication was to the Second Part of "Don Quixote," which D'Urfey addressed to Charles, Earl of Dorset, in these lines:

"You have, my Lord, a patent from above,
And can monopolise both wit and love,
Inspired and blest by Heaven's peculiar care,
Adored by all the wise and all the fair;
To whom the world united give this due,
Best judge of men, and best of poets too."

[58] See No. 18.

[59] Jerome Cardan (1501-1576), physician and astrologer (see Professor Henry Morley's "Life of Girolamo Cardano," 1854).

[60] Virgil, "Æneid," vi. 103.

No. 215. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 22 , to Thursday, Aug. 24, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 23. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. " The humble Petition of the Company of Linendrapers residing within the Liberty of Westminster; — FOOTNOTES:

Lysander has written to me out of the country, and tells me, after many other circumstances, that he had passed a great deal of time with much pleasure and tranquillity, till his happiness was interrupted by an indiscreet flatterer, who came down into those parts to visit a relation. With the circumstances in which he represents the matter, he had no small provocation to be offended, for he attacked him in so wrong a season, that he could not have any relish of pleasure in it; though, perhaps, at another time, it might have passed upon him without giving him much uneasiness. Lysander had, after a long satiety of the town, been so happy as to get to a solitude he extremely liked, and recovered a pleasure he had long discontinued, that of reading. He was got to the bank of a rivulet, covered by a pleasing shade, and fanned by a soft breeze, which threw his mind into that sort of composure and attention in which a man, though with indolence, enjoys the utmost liveliness of his spirits, and the greatest strength of his mind at the same time. In this state, Lysander represents that he was reading Virgil's "Georgics"; when on a sudden the gentleman above-mentioned surprised him, and, without any manner of preparation, falls upon him at once. "What! I have found you out at last, after searching all over the wood. We wanted you at cards after dinner, but you are much better employed. I have heard indeed that you are an excellent scholar: but at the same time, is it not a little unkind to rob the ladies, who like you so well, of the pleasure of your company? But that is indeed the misfortune of you great scholars, you are seldom so fit for the world as those who never trouble themselves with books. Well, I see you are taken up with your learning there, and I'll leave you." Lysander says, he made him no answer, but took a resolution to complain to me.

It is a substantial affliction, when men govern themselves by the rules of good-breeding, that by the very force of them they are subjected to the insolence of those who either never will, or never can, understand them. The superficial part of mankind form to themselves little measures of behaviour from the outside of things. By the force of these narrow conceptions, they act amongst themselves with applause, and do not apprehend they are contemptible to those of higher understanding, who are restrained by decencies above their knowledge from showing a dislike. Hence it is, that because complaisance is a good quality in conversation, one impertinent takes upon him on all occasions to commend; and because mirth is agreeable, another thinks fit eternally to jest. I have of late received many packets of letters complaining of these spreading evils. A lady who is lately arrived at the Bath acquaints me, there was in the stage-coach wherein she went down, a common flatterer, and a common jester. These gentlemen were (she tells me) rivals in her favour; and adds, if there ever happened a case wherein of two persons one was not liked more than another, it was in that journey. They differed only in proportion to the degree of dislike between the nauseous and the insipid. Both these characters of men are born out of a barrenness of imagination. They are never fools by nature, but become such out of an impotent ambition of being what she never intended them, men of wit and conversation. I therefore think fit to declare, that according to the known laws of this land, a man may be a very honest gentleman, and enjoy himself and his friend, without being a wit; and I absolve all men from taking pains to be such for the future. As the present case stands, is it not very unhappy that Lysander must be attacked and applauded in a wood, and Corinna jolted and commended in a stage-coach; and this for no manner of reason, but because other people have a mind to show their parts? I grant indeed, if these people (as they have understanding enough for it) would confine their accomplishments to those of their own degree of talents, it were to be tolerated; but when they are so insolent as to interrupt the meditations of the wife, the conversations of the agreeable, and the whole behaviour of the modest, it becomes a grievance naturally in my jurisdiction. Among themselves, I cannot only overlook, but approve it. I was present the other day at a conversation, where a man of this height of breeding and sense told a young woman of the same form, "To be sure, madam, everything must please that comes from a lady." She answered, "I know, sir, you are so much a gentleman that you think so." Why, this is very well on both sides; and it is impossible that such a gentleman and lady should do other than think well of one another. These are but loose hints of the disturbances in human society, of which there is yet no remedy; but I shall in a little time publish tables of respect and civility, by which persons may be instructed in the proper times and seasons, as well as at what degree of intimacy a man may be allowed to commend or rally his companions; the promiscuous licence of which is at present far from being among the small errors in conversation.

P.S.—The following letter was left, with a request to be immediately answered, lest the artifices used against a lady in distress may come into common practice:

"Sir,

"My elder sister buried her husband about six months ago; and at his funeral, a gentleman of more art than honesty, on the night of his interment, while she was not herself, but in the utmost agony of her grief, spoke to her of the subject of love. In that weakness and distraction which my sister was in (as one ready to fall is apt to lean on anybody), he obtained her promise of marriage, which was accordingly consummated eleven weeks after. There is no affliction comes alone, but one brings another. My sister is now ready to lie-in. She humbly asks of you, as you are a friend to the sex, to let her know who is the lawful father of this child, or whether she may not be relieved from this second marriage, considering it was promised under such circumstances as one may very well suppose she did not what she did voluntarily, but because she was helpless otherwise. She is advised something about engagements made in gaol, which she thinks the same as to the reason of the thing. But, dear sir, she relies upon your advice, and gives you her service; as does

"Your humble Servant,
"Rebecca Midriffe."

The case is very hard; and I fear, the plea she is advised to make, from the similitude of a man who is in duress, will not prevail. But though I despair of remedy as to the mother, the law gives the child his choice of his father where the birth is thus legally ambiguous.

"Showeth—That there has of late prevailed among the ladies so great an affectation of nakedness, that they have not only left the bosom wholly bare, but lowered their stays some inches below the former mode.[61]

"That in particular, Mrs. Arabella Overdo has not the least appearance of linen, and our best customers show but little above the small of their backs.

"That by this means, your petitioners are in danger of losing the advantage of covering a ninth part of every woman of quality in Great Britain.

"Your petitioners humbly offer the premises to your indulgence's consideration, and shall ever, &c."

Before I answer this petition, I am inclined to examine the offenders myself.

[61] This mode, which originated in the reign of King Charles II., is shown in Sir Peter Lely's ladies; but Walpole says that Vandyck's habits are those of the times, but Lely's are fantastic dresses. The prevalence and dislike of this fashion occasioned in 1678 the publication of a book translated from the French by Edward Cooke, under the following title, "A Just and Reasonable Reprehension of Naked Breasts and Shoulders, written by a grave and learned Papist."

Half a century after the Tatler, the "moulting of their clothes" by ladies was again the subject of comment by the moral essayist. There are several papers on the subject in the World (Nos. 6, 21, 169, &c.), in which it is remarked that it was the fashion to undress to go abroad, and to dress when at home and not seeing company.

No. 216. [ Addison. From Thursday, Aug. 24 , to Saturday, Aug. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 25. — The Will of a Virtuoso. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

—Nugis addere pondus.—Hor., 1 Ep. xix. 42.

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

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

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

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

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

I Nicholas Gimcrack being in sound health of mind, but in great weakness of body, do by this my last will and testament bestow my worldly goods and chattels in manner following:

Imprimis, to my dear wife,

One box of butterflies,
One drawer of shells,
A female skeleton,
A dried cockatrice.

Item, to my daughter Elizabeth,

My receipt for preserving dead caterpillars.
As also my preparations of winter May-dew, and embryo pickle.

Item, to my little daughter Fanny,

Three crocodile's eggs.

And upon the birth of her first child, if she marries with her mother's consent,

The nest of a humming-bird.

Item, to my eldest brother, as an acknowledgment for the lands he has vested in my son Charles, I bequeath

My last year's collection of grasshoppers.

Item, to his daughter Susanna, being his only child, I bequeath my

English weeds pasted on royal paper.
With my large folio of Indian cabbage.

Item, to my learned and worthy friend Dr. Johannes Elscrikius, Professor in Anatomy, and my associate in the studies of nature, as an eternal monument of my affection and friendship for him, I bequeath

My rat's testicles, and
Whale's pizzle,

to him and his issue male; and in default of such issue in the said Dr. Elscrikius, then to return to my executor and his heirs for ever.

Having fully provided for my nephew Isaac, by making over to him some years since

A horned scarabæus,
The skin of a rattlesnake, and
The mummy of an Egyptian king,

I make no further provision for him in this my will.

My eldest son John having spoken disrespectfully of his little sister, whom I keep by me in spirits of wine, and in many other instances behaved himself undutifully towards me, I do disinherit, and wholly cut off from any part of this my personal estate, by giving him a single cockle-shell.

To my second son Charles, I give and bequeath all my flowers, plants, minerals, mosses, shells, pebbles, fossils, beetles, butterflies, caterpillars, grasshoppers, and vermin, not above specified: as also all my monsters, both wet and dry, making the said Charles whole and sole executor of this my last will and testament; he paying, or causing to be paid, the aforesaid legacies within the space of six months after my decease. And I do hereby revoke all other wills whatsoever by me formerly made.[62]

Whereas an ignorant upstart in astrology has publicly endeavoured to persuade the world, that he is the late John Partridge, who died the 28th of March 1708; these are to certify all whom it may concern, that the true John Partridge was not only dead at that time, but continues so to this present day.

Beware of counterfeits, for such are abroad.

[62] See No. 221.

No. 217. [ Steele. From Saturday, Aug. 26 , to Tuesday, Aug. 29, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 28. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

Atque deos atque astra vocat crudelia mater.

Virg., Eclog. v. 23.

As I was passing by a neighbour's house this morning, I overheard the wife of the family speak things to her husband which gave me much disturbance, and put me in mind of a character which I wonder I have so long omitted, and that is, an outrageous species of the fair sex which is distinguished by the term Scolds. The generality of women are by nature loquacious: therefore mere volubility of speech is not to be imputed to them, but should be considered with pleasure when it is used to express such passions as tend to sweeten or adorn conversation: but when, through rage, females are vehement in their eloquence, nothing in the world has so ill an effect upon the features; for by the force of it, I have seen the most amiable become the most deformed, and she that appeared one of the Graces, immediately turned into one of the Furies. I humbly conceive, the great cause of this evil may proceed from a false notion the ladies have of what we call a modest woman. They have too narrow a conception of this lovely character, and believe they have not at all forfeited their pretensions to it, provided they have no imputations on their chastity. But alas! the young fellows know they pick out better women in the side-boxes [63] than many of those who pass upon the world and themselves for modest.

Modesty never rages, never murmurs, never pouts: when it is ill-treated, it pines, it beseeches, it languishes. The neighbour I mention is one of your common modest women, that is to say, those as are ordinarily reckoned such. Her husband knows every pain in life with her but jealousy. Now because she is clear in this particular, the man can't say his soul is his own, but she cries, "No modest woman is respected nowadays." What adds to the comedy in this case is, that it is very ordinary with this sort of women to talk in the language of distress: they will complain of the forlorn wretchedness of their condition, and then the poor helpless creatures shall throw the next thing they can lay their hands on at the person who offends them. Our neighbour was only saying to his wife, she went a little too fine, when she immediately pulled his periwig off, and stamping it under her feet, wrung her hands, and said, "Never modest woman was so used." These ladies of irresistible modesty are those who make virtue unamiable; not that they can be said to be virtuous, but as they live without scandal; and being under the common denomination of being such, men fear to meet their faults in those who are as agreeable as they are innocent.

I take the bully among men, and the scold among women, to draw the foundation of their actions from the same defect in the mind. A bully thinks honour consists wholly in being brave, and therefore has regard to no one rule of life, if he preserves himself from the accusation of cowardice. The froward woman knows chastity to be the first merit in a woman; and therefore, since no one can call her one ugly name, she calls all mankind all the rest.

These ladies, where their companions are so imprudent as to take their speeches for any other than exercises of their own lungs, and their husband's patience, gain by the force of being resisted, and flame with open fury, which is no way to be opposed but by being neglected: though at the same time human frailty makes it very hard to relish the philosophy of contemning even frivolous reproach. There is a very pretty instance of this infirmity in the man of the best sense that ever was, no less a person than Adam himself. According to Milton's description of the first couple, as soon as they had fallen, and the turbulent passions of anger, hatred, and jealousy first entered their breasts, Adam grew moody, and talked to his wife, as you may find it in the 359th page, and ninth book, of "Paradise Lost," in the octavo edition, which out of heroics, and put into domestic style, would run thus:

"Madam, if my advice had been of any authority with you when that strange desire of gadding possessed you this morning, we had still been happy: but your cursed vanity and opinion of your own conduct, which is certainly very wavering when it seeks occasions of being proved, has ruined both yourself, and me who trusted you."

Eve had no fan in her hand to ruffle, or tucker to pull down,[64] but with a reproachful air she answered:

"Sir, do you impute that to my desire of gadding, which might have happened to yourself with all your wisdom and gravity? The serpent spoke so excellently, and with so good a grace, that—Besides, what harm had I ever done him, that he should design me any? Was I to have been always at your side, I might as well have continued there, and been but your rib still: but if I was so weak a creature as you thought me, why did you not interpose your sage authority more absolutely? You denied me going as faintly, as you say I resisted the serpent. Had not you been too easy, neither you or I had now transgressed."

Adam replied, "Why, Eve, hast thou the impudence to upbraid me as the cause of thy transgression for my indulgence to thee? Thus it will ever be with him who trusts too much to woman: at the same time that she refuses to be governed, if she suffers by her obstinacy, she will accuse the man that shall leave her to herself."

Thus they in mutual accusation spent
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning:
And of their vain contest appeared no end.[65]

This to the modern will appear but a very faint piece of conjugal enmity; but you are to consider, that they were but just begun to be angry, and they wanted new words for expressing their new passions. But her accusing him of letting her go, and telling him how good a speaker and how fine a gentleman the devil was, we must reckon, allowing for the improvements of time, that she gave him the same provocation as if she had called him cuckold. The passionate and familiar terms with which the same case, repeated daily for so many thousand years, has furnished the present generation, were not then in use; but the foundation of debate has ever been the same, a contention about their merit and wisdom. Our general mother was a beauty, and hearing there was another now in the world, could not forbear (as Adam tells her) showing herself, though to the devil, by whom the same vanity made her liable to be betrayed.

I cannot, with all the help of science and astrology, find any other remedy for this evil, but what was the medicine in this first quarrel; which was, as appeared in the next book, that they were convinced of their being both weak, but one weaker than the other.

If it were possible that the beauteous could but rage a little before a glass, and see their pretty countenances grow wild, it is not to be doubted but it would have a very good effect; but that would require temper: for Lady Firebrand, upon observing her features swell when her maid vexed her the other day, stamped her dressing-glass under her feet. In this case, when one of this temper is moved, she is like a witch in an operation, and makes all things turn round with her. The very fabric is in a vertigo when she begins to charm. In an instant, whatever was the occasion that moved her blood, she has such intolerable servants, Betty is so awkward, Tom can't carry a message, and her husband has so little respect for her, that she, poor woman, is weary of this life, and was born to be unhappy.

Desunt multa.

The season now coming on in which the town will begin to fill, Mr. Bickerstaff gives notice, that from the 1st of October next, he will be much wittier than he has hitherto been.[66]

[63] See No. 50.

[64] The tucker "ran in a small kind of ruffle round the uppermost verge of the woman's stays, and by that means covered a great part of the shoulders and bosom" (Guardian, No. 100). A tendency to abandon the use of the tucker was the subject of Addison's satire (ibid., No. 109).

[65] "Paradise Lost," ix. 1187.

[66] "The Tatler, in his last, promises us that as the town fills he will be wittier. I am sorry, for his sake, it has been empty so long. I believe he will be shortly as good as his word, for his friends, I hear, are coming from Ireland. I expect, too, some of my friends from the same country; and as he is to be new-rigged out for a wit, so I don't question but that there will from thence, too, come fresh materials for an Examiner." (Examiner, No. 5.)

No. 218. [ Addison. From Tuesday, Aug. 29 , to Thursday, Aug. 31, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 30. — FOOTNOTES:

Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus et fugit urbes.

Hor., 2 Ep. ii. 77.

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

As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms
Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight:
The smell of grain, or tedded [67] grass, or kine,
Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound.[68]

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

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

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

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

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

I was very much pleased and astonished at the glorious show of these gay vegetables, that arose in great profusion on all the banks about us. Sometimes I considered them with the eye of an ordinary spectator as so many beautiful objects, varnished over with a natural gloss, and stained with such a variety of colours as are not to be equalled in any artificial dyes or tinctures. Sometimes I considered every leaf as an elaborate piece of tissue, in which the threads and fibres were woven together into different configurations, which gave a different colouring to the light as it glanced on the several parts of the surface. Sometimes I considered the whole bed of tulips, according to the notion of the greatest mathematician and philosopher that ever lived,[69] as a multitude of optic instruments, designed for the separating light into all those various colours of which it is composed.

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

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

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

[67] Grass mown and spread for drying.

[68] "Paradise Lost," ix. 445.

[69] Sir Isaac Newton.

No. 219. [ ? Steele. [70] From Thursday, Aug. 31 , to Saturday, Sept. 2, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 1. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. " The humble Petition of Joshua Fairlove of Stepney: — FOOTNOTES:

——Solutos
Qui captat risus hominum famamque dicacis,...
Affectat, niger est, hunc tu, Romane, caveto.

Hor., 1 Sat. iv. 82.

Never were men so perplexed as a select company of us were this evening with a couple of possessed wits, who through our ill fortune, and their own confidence, had thought fit to pin themselves upon a gentleman who had owned to them that he was going to meet such and such persons, and named us one by one. These pert puppies immediately resolved to come with him, and from the beginning to the end of the night entertained each other with impertinences, to which we were perfect strangers. I am come home very much tired; for the affliction was so irksome to me, that it surpasses all other I ever knew, insomuch that I cannot reflect upon this sorrow with pleasure, though it is past.

An easy manner of conversation is the most desirable quality a man can have; and for that reason coxcombs will take upon them to be familiar with people whom they never saw before. What adds to the vexation of it is, that they will act upon the foot of knowing you by fame, and rally with you, as they call it, by repeating what your enemies say of you; and court you, as they think, by uttering to your face at a wrong time all the kind things your friends speak of you in your absence.

These people are the more dreadful, the more they have of what is usually called wit: for a lively imagination, when it is not governed by a good understanding, makes such miserable havoc both in conversation and business, that it lays you defenceless, and fearful to throw the least word in its way that may give it new matter for its further errors.

Tom Mercett has as quick a fancy as any one living; but there is no reasonable man can bear him half-an-hour. His purpose is to entertain, and it is of no consequence to him what is said, so it be what is called well said; as if a man must bear a wound with patience, because he that pushed at you came up with a good air and mien. That part of life which we spend in company, is the most pleasing of all our moments; and therefore I think our behaviour in it should have its laws as well as the part of our being which is generally esteemed the more important. From hence it is, that from long experience I have made it a maxim, that however we may pretend to take satisfaction in sprightly mirth and high jollity, there is no great pleasure in any company where the basis of the society is not mutual good-will. When this is in the room, every trifling circumstance, the most minute accident, the absurdity of a servant, the repetition of an old story, the look of a man when he is telling it, the most indifferent and the most ordinary occurrences, are matters which produce mirth and good-humour. I went to spend an hour after this manner with some friends who enjoy it in perfection whenever they meet, when those destroyers above-mentioned came in upon us. There is not a man among them has any notion of distinction of superiority to one another, either in their fortunes or their talents, when they are in company. Or if any reflection to the contrary occurs in their thoughts, it only strikes a delight upon their minds, that so much wisdom and power is in possession of one whom they love and esteem.

In these my Lucubrations, I have frequently dwelt upon this one topic. It would make short work for us reformers, for it is only want of making this a position that renders some characters bad which would otherwise be good. Tom Mercett means no man ill, but does ill to everybody. His ambition is to be witty; and to carry on that design, he breaks through all things that other people hold sacred. If he thought wit was no way to be used but to the advantage of society, that sprightliness would have a new turn, and we should expect what he is going to say with satisfaction instead of fear. It is no excuse for being mischievous, that a man is mischievous without malice: nor will it be thought an atonement that the ill was done not to injure the party concerned, but to divert the indifferent.

It is, methinks, a very great error that we should not profess honesty in conversation as much as in commerce. If we consider that there is no greater misfortune than to be ill received where we love the turning a man to ridicule among his friends, we rob him of greater enjoyments than he could have purchased by his wealth; yet he that laughs at him, would perhaps be the last man who would hurt him in this case of less consequence. It has been said, the history of Don Quixote utterly destroyed the spirit of gallantry in the Spanish nation; and I believe we may say much more truly, that the humour of ridicule has done as much injury to the true relish of company in England.

Such satisfactions as arise from the secret comparison of ourselves to others, with relation to their inferior fortunes or merit, are mean and unworthy. The true and high state of conversation is when men communicate their thoughts to each other upon such subjects, and in such a manner, as would be pleasant if there were no such thing as folly in the world; for it is but a low condition of wit in one man which depends upon folly in another.

P.S.—I was here interrupted by the receipt of my letters, among which is one from a lady, who is not a little offended at my translation of the discourse between Adam and Eve.[71] She pretends to tell me my own, as she calls it, and quotes several passages in my works which tend to the utter disunion of man and wife. Her epistle will best express her. I have made an extract of it, and shall insert the most material passages:

"I suppose you know we women are not too apt to forgive: for which reason, before you concern yourself any further with our sex, I would advise you to answer what is said against you by those of your own. I enclose to you business enough till you are ready for your promise of being witty. You must not expect to say what you please without admitting others to take the same liberty. Marry come up! You a censor? Pray read over all these pamphlets, and these notes [72] upon your Lucubrations; by that time you shall hear further. It is, I suppose, from such as you that people learn to be censorious, for which I and all our sex have an utter aversion, when once people come to take the liberty to wound reputations——"

This is the main body of the letter; but she bids me turn over, and there I find:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"If you will draw Mrs. Sissy Trippit according to the enclosed description, I will forgive you all."

"Showeth—That your petitioner is a general lover, who for some months last past has made it his whole business to frequent the bypaths and roads near his dwelling, for no other purpose but to hand such of the fair sex as are obliged to pass through them.

"That he has been at great expense for clean gloves to offer his hand with.

"That towards the evening he approaches near London, and employs himself as a convoy towards home.

"Your petitioner, therefore, most humbly prays, that for such his humble services, he may be allowed the title of an esquire."

Mr. Morphew has orders to carry the proper instruments, and the petitioner is to be hereafter written to upon gilt paper, by the title of Joshua Fairlove, Esq.

[70] Nichols suggested that Addison was really the author of this paper. This theory is supported by the fact that in No. 221 an error in the motto of this paper was corrected, a matter with respect to which Addison was much more careful than Steele. The suggestion that Tickell was the original of Tom Mercett is untenable, especially if Addison was the writer.

[71] See No. 217.

[72] The "Annotations on the Tatler," &c. (see No. 5).

No. 220. [ Addison. From Saturday, Sept. 2 , to Tuesday, Sept. 5, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 4. — FOOTNOTES:

Insani sapiens nomen ferat, æquus iniqui,
Ultra quam satis est, virtutem si petat ipsam.

Hor., I Ep. vi. 15.

Having received many letters filled with compliments and acknowledgments for my late useful discovery of the Political Barometer,[73] I shall here communicate to the public an account of my Ecclesiastical Thermometer, the latter giving as manifest prognostications of the changes and revolutions in Church as the former does of those in State, and both of them being absolutely necessary for every prudent subject who is resolved to keep what he has, and get what he can.

The Church thermometer, which I am now to treat of, is supposed to have been invented in the reign of Henry the Eighth, about the time when that religious prince put some to death for owning the Pope's supremacy, and others for denying transubstantiation. I do not find, however, any great use made of this instrument till it fell into the hands of a learned and vigilant priest or minister (for he frequently wrote himself both one and the other), who was some time Vicar of Bray. This gentleman lived in his vicarage to a good old age; and after having seen several successions of his neighbouring clergy either burnt or banished, departed this life with the satisfaction of having never deserted his flock, and died Vicar of Bray. As this glass was first designed to calculate the different degrees of heat in religion, as it raged in Popery, or as it cooled and grew temperate in the Reformation, it was marked at several distances, after the manner our ordinary thermometer is to this day, viz., Extreme Hot, Sultry Hot, Very Hot, Hot, Warm, Temperate, Cold, Just Freezing, Frost, Hard Frost, Great Frost, Extreme Cold.

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

Ignorance.
Persecution.
Wrath.
Zeal.
Church.
Moderation.
Lukewarmness.
Infidelity.
Ignorance.

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

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

As soon as I had finished this my glass, and adjusted it to the above-mentioned scale of religion, that I might make proper experiments with it, I carried it under my cloak to several coffee-houses, and other places of resort about this great city. At St. James's Coffee-house, the liquor stood at Moderation; but at Will's, to my extreme surprise, it subsided to the very lowest mark on the glass. At the Grecian, it mounted but just one point higher; at the Rainbow,[74] it still ascended two degrees: Child's fetched it up to Zeal, and other adjacent coffee-houses to Wrath.

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

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

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

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

[73] See No. 214.

[74] The Rainbow Tavern, by the Inner Temple Gate, Fleet Street, was established as a coffee-house by James Farr, a barber, in or before 1657.

No. 221. [ ? Addison. [75] From Tuesday, Sept. 5 , to Thursday, Sept. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 6. — FOOTNOTES:

——Sicut meus est mos,
Nescio quid meditans nugarum; totus in illis.

Hor., 1 Sat. ix. 1.

As I was this morning going out of my house, a little boy in a black coat delivered to me the following letter. Upon asking who he was, he told me, that he belonged to my Lady Gimcrack. I did not at first recollect the name; but upon inquiry, found it to be the widow of Sir Nicholas, whose legacy I lately gave some account of to the world.[76] The letter ran thus:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I hope you will not be surprised to receive a letter from the Widow Gimcrack. You know, sir, that I have lately lost a very whimsical husband, who I find, by one of your last week's papers, was not altogether a stranger to you. When I married this gentleman, he had a very handsome estate; but upon buying a set of microscopes, he was chosen a Fellow of the Royal Society; from which time I do not remember ever to have heard him speak as other people did, or talk in a manner that any of his family could understand him. He used, however, to pass away his time very innocently in conversation with several members of that learned body; for which reason I never advised him against their company for several years, till at last I found his brain was quite turned with their discourses. The first symptom which he discovered of his being a virtuoso, as you call him, poor man! was about fifteen years ago, when he gave me positive orders to turn off an old weeding-woman that had been employed in the family for several years. He told me at the same time, that there was no such thing in nature as a weed, and that it was his design to let his garden produce what it pleased; so that you may be sure it makes a very pleasant show as it now lies. About the same time he took a humour to ramble up and down the country, and would often bring home with him his pockets full of moss and pebbles. This you may be sure gave me a heavy heart; though at the same time I must needs say, he had the character of a very honest man, notwithstanding he was reckoned a little weak, till he began to sell his estate, and buy those strange baubles that you have taken notice of. Upon Midsummer-day last, as he was walking with me in the fields, he saw a very odd-coloured butterfly just before us. I observed, that he immediately changed colour, like a man that is surprised with a piece of good luck, and telling me that it was what he had looked for above these twelve years, he threw off his coat, and followed it. I lost sight of them both in less than a quarter of an hour; but my husband continued the chase over hedge and ditch till about sunset; at which time, as I was afterwards told, he caught the butterfly, as she rested herself upon a cabbage, near five miles from the place where he first put her up. He was here lifted from the ground by some passengers in a very fainting condition, and brought home to me about midnight. His violent exercise threw him into a fever, which grew upon him by degrees, and at last carried him off. In one of the intervals of his distemper, he called to me, and after having excused himself for running out of his estate, he told me, that he had always been more industrious to improve his mind than his fortune; and that his family must rather value themselves upon his memory as he was a wise man, than a rich one. He then told me, that it was a custom among the Romans, for a man to give his slaves their liberty when he lay upon his death-bed. I could not imagine what this meant, till after having a little composed himself, he ordered me to bring him a flea which he had kept for several months in a chain, with a design, as he said, to give it its manumission. This was done accordingly. He then made the will, which I have since seen printed in your works word for word. Only I must take notice, that you have omitted the codicil, in which he left a large Concha Veneris, as it is there called, to a member of the Royal Society, who was often with him in his sickness, and assisted him in his will. And now, sir, I come to the chief business of my letter, which is, to desire your friendship and assistance in the disposal of those many rarities and curiosities which lie upon my hands. If you know any one that has an occasion for a parcel of dried spiders, I will sell them a pennyworth.[77] I could likewise let any one have a bargain of cockle-shells. I would also desire your advice, whether I had best sell my beetles in a lump, or by retail. The gentleman above mentioned, who was my husband's friend, would have me make an auction of all his goods, and is now drawing up a catalogue of every particular for that purpose, with the two following words in great letters over the head of them, Auctio Gimcrackiana. But upon talking with him, I begin to suspect he is as mad as poor Sir Nicholas was. Your advice in all these particulars will be a great piece of charity to,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"Elizabeth Gimcrack."

I shall answer the foregoing letter, and give the widow my best advice, as soon as I can find out chapmen for the wares which she has to put off. In the meantime, I shall give my reader the sight of a letter which I have received from another female correspondent by the same post.

"Good Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I am convinced by a late paper of yours,[78] that a passionate woman (which among the common people goes under the name of a scold) is one of the most insupportable creatures in the world. But alas! sir, what can we do? I have made a thousand vows and resolutions every morning to guard myself against this frailty, but have generally broken them before dinner, and could never in my life hold out till the second course was set upon the table. What most troubles me is, that my husband is as patient and good-natured as your own Worship, or any man living can be. Pray give me some directions, for I would observe the strictest and severest rules you can think of to cure myself of this distemper, which is apt to fall into my tongue every moment. I am,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant, &c."

In answer to this most unfortunate lady, I must acquaint her, that there is now in town an ingenious physician of my acquaintance, who undertakes to cure all the vices and defects of the mind by inward medicines, or outward applications. I shall give the world an account of his patients and his cures in other papers, when I shall be more at leisure to treat upon this subject. I shall only here inform my correspondent, that for the benefit of such ladies that are troubled with virulent tongues, he has prepared a cold bath, over which there is fastened, at the end of a long pole, a very convenient chair, curiously gilt and carved. When the patient is seated in this chair, the doctor lifts up the pole, and gives her two or three total immersions in the cold bath, till such time as she has quite lost the use of speech. This operation so effectually chills the tongue, and refrigerates the blood, that a woman, who at her entrance into the chair is extremely passionate and sonorous, will come out as silent and gentle as a lamb. The doctor told me, he would not practise this experiment upon women of fashion, had not he seen it made upon those of meaner condition with very good effect.

[75] This paper has been attributed to Addison, though not included in his works, because it is a sequel to No. 216, and because of the corrections in the following number of the folio issue. These corrections consist of "immersions" for "emersions," and instructions to omit "immediately" in a passage where the word occurred twice in a short space. Steele was not in the habit of noticing these small points.

[76] See No. 216.

[77] A bargain. Dryden (translation of Juvenal) wrote, "He had no mighty pennyworth of his prayer."

[78] No. 217

No. 222. [ ? Addison. [79] From Thursday, Sept. 7 , to Saturday, Sept. 9, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 8. — FOOTNOTES:

——Chrysidis udas
Ebrius ante fores extincta cum face cantat.

Persius, Sat. v. 165.

Whereas by letters from Nottingham we have advice, that the young ladies of that place complain for want of sleep, by reason of certain riotous lovers, who for this last summer have very much infested the streets of that eminent city with violins and bass-viols, between the hours of twelve and four in the morning, to the great disturbance of many of her Majesty's peaceable subjects. And whereas I have been importuned to publish some edict against these midnight alarms, which, under the name of serenades, do greatly annoy many well-disposed persons, not only in the place above mentioned, but also in most of the polite towns of this island.

I have taken that matter into my serious consideration, and do find, that this custom is by no means to be indulged in this country and climate.

It is indeed very unaccountable, that most of our British youth should take such great delight in these nocturnal expeditions. Your robust true-born Briton, that has not yet felt the force of flames and darts, has a natural inclination to break windows; while those whose natural ruggedness has been soothed and softened by gentle passion, have as strong a propensity to languish under them, especially if they have a fiddler behind them to utter their complaints: for as the custom prevails at present, there is scarce a young man of any fashion in a corporation who does not make love with the town music. The waits often help him through his courtship; and my friend Mr. Banister [80] has told me, he was proffered five hundred pounds by a young fellow to play but for one winter under the window of a lady that was a great fortune, but more cruel than ordinary. One would think they hoped to conquer their mistresses' hearts as people tame hawks and eagles, by keeping them awake, or breaking their sleep when they are fallen into it.

I have endeavoured to search into the original of this impertinent way of making love, which, according to some authors, is of great antiquity. If we may believe Monsieur Dacier and other critics, Horace's tenth ode of the third book was originally a serenade. And if I was disposed to show my learning, I could produce a line of him in another place, which seems to have been the burthen of an old heathen serenade.

----Audis minus et minus jam:
"Me tuo longas pereunte noctes,
Lydia, dormis?"[81]

But notwithstanding the opinions of many learned men upon this subject, I rather agree with them who look upon this custom, as now practised, to have been introduced by castrated musicians, who found out this way of applying themselves to their mistresses at these hours, when men of hoarser voices express their passions in a more vulgar method. It must be confessed, that your Italian eunuchs do practise this manner of courtship to this day.

But whoever were the persons that first thought of the serenade, the authors of all countries are unanimous in ascribing the invention to Italy.

There are two circumstances which qualified that country above all other for this midnight music.

The first I shall mention, was the softness of their climate.

This gave the lover opportunities of being abroad in the air, or of lying upon the earth whole hours together, without fear of damps or dews; but as for our tramontane lovers, when they begin their midnight complaint with,

My lodging it is on the cold ground,[82]

we are not to understand them in the rigour of the letter, since it would be impossible for a British swain to condole himself long in that situation without really dying for his mistress. A man might as well serenade in Greenland as in our region. Milton seems to have had in his thoughts the absurdity of these Northern serenades in the censure which he passes upon them:

——Or midnight ball,
Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain.[83]

The truth of it is, I have often pitied, in a winter night, a vocal musician, and have attributed many of his trills and quavers to the coldness of the weather.

The second circumstance which inclined the Italians to this custom, was that musical genius which is so universal among them. Nothing is more frequent in that country than to hear a cobbler working to an opera tune. You can scarce see a porter that has not one nail much longer than the rest, which you will find, upon inquiry, is cherished for some instrument. In short, there is not a labourer, or handicraft-man, that in the cool of the evening does not relieve himself with solos and sonatas.

The Italian soothes his mistress with a plaintive voice, and bewails himself in such melting music that the whole neighbourhood sympathises with him in his sorrow:

Qualis populea mœrens Philomela sub umbra ...
Flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen
Integrat, et mœstis late loca questibus implet.[84]

On the contrary, our honest countrymen have so little an inclination to music, that they seldom begin to sing till they are drunk, which also is usually the time when they are most disposed to serenade.

[79] This paper is ascribed to Addison by Nichols, because of the corrections—five in number—in the following number of the folio issue.

[80] John Banister (died 1735) was the son of a composer and violinist of the same name. He played in the royal band, and was first violin at Drury Lane Theatre when Italian operas were introduced into this country.

[81] Horace, 1 Od. xxv. 8.

[82] The first line in a song in a tragi-comedy, "The Rivals" (1668), attributed to Sir William Davenant. Mrs. Mary Davis, dancer and actress, who boarded with Sir William Davenant in his house, is stated to have sung this song in the character of Celania, a shepherdess mad for love, so much to the liking of Charles II. that he took her off the stage. Mary Tudor, their daughter, married Francis Lord Ratcliffe, afterwards Earl of Derwentwater, and was the mother of James, Earl of Derwentwater, beheaded in 1716.

[83] "Paradise Lost," iv. 760 (cf. Nos. 79 and 82).

[84] Virgil, "Georgics," iv. 511, 514-15.

No. 223. [ ? Steele. [85] From Saturday, Sept. 9 , to Tuesday, Sept. 12, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 11. — FOOTNOTES:

For when upon their ungot heirs,
Th' entail themselves and all that's theirs,
What blinder bargain e'er was driven,
Or wager laid at six and seven,
To pass themselves away, and turn
Their children's tenants ere they're born?—Hudibras.

I have been very much solicited by Clarinda, Flavia, and Lysetta, to reassume my discourse concerning the methods of disposing honourably the unmarried part of the world,[86] and taking off those bars to it, jointures and settlements, which are not only the greatest impediments towards entering into that state, but also the frequent causes of distrust and animosity in it after it is consummated. I have with very much attention considered the case; and among all the observations that I have made through a long course of years, I have thought the coldness of wives to their husbands, as well as disrespect from children to parents, to arise from this one source. This trade for minds and bodies in the lump, without regard to either, but as they are accompanied with such sums of money, and such parcels of land, cannot but produce a commerce between the parties concerned suitable to the mean motives upon which they at first came together. I have heretofore given an account that this method of making settlements was first invented by a griping lawyer, who made use of the covetous tempers of the parents of each side to force two young people into these vile measures of diffidence, for no other end but to increase the skins of parchment, by which they were put into each other's possession out of each other's power. The law of our country has given an ample and generous provision for the wife, even the third of the husband's estate, and left to her good-humour and his gratitude the expectation of further provision; but the fantastical method of going further, with relation to their heirs, has a foundation in nothing but pride and folly: for as all men wish their children as like themselves, and as much better as they can possibly, it seems monstrous that we should give out of ourselves the opportunities of rewarding and discouraging them according to their deserts. This wise institution has no more sense in it than if a man should begin a deed with, "Whereas no man living knows how long he shall continue to be a reasonable creature, or an honest man: and whereas I B. am going to enter in the state of matrimony with Mrs. D., therefore I shall from henceforth make it indifferent to me whether from this time forward I shall be a fool or a knave: and therefore in full and perfect health of body, and as sound mind, not knowing which of my children will prove better or worse, I give to my first-born, be he perverse, ungrateful, impious, or cruel, the lump and bulk of my estate, and leave one year's purchase only to each of my younger children, whether they shall be brave or beautiful, modest or honourable, from the time of the date hereof wherein I resign my senses, and hereby promise to employ my judgment no further in the distribution of my worldly goods from the day of the date hereof, hereby further confessing and covenanting, that I am from henceforth married and dead in law."

There is no man that is conversant in modern settlements, but knows this is an exact translation of what is inserted in these instruments. Men's passions could only make them submit to such terms; and therefore all unreasonable bargains in marriage ought to be set aside, as well as deeds extorted from men under force or in prison, who are altogether as much masters of their actions as he that is possessed with a violent passion.

How strangely men are sometimes partial to themselves appears by the rapine of him that has a daughter's beauty under his direction. He will make no scruple of using it to force from her lover as much of his estate as is worth £10,000, and at the same time, as a Justice on the Bench, will spare no pains to get a man hanged that has taken but a horse from him.

It is to be hoped the Legislature will in due time take this kind of robbery into consideration, and not suffer men to prey upon each other when they are about making the most solemn league, and entering into the strictest bonds. The only sure remedy is to fix a certain rate on every woman's fortune; one price for that of a maid, and another for a widow: for it is of infinite advantage, that there should be no frauds or uncertainties in the sale of our women.

If any man should exceed the settled rate, he ought to be at liberty after seven years are over (by which time his love may be supposed to abate a little, if it is not founded upon reason) to renounce the bargain, and be freed from the settlement upon restoring the portion; as a youth married under fourteen years old may be off if he pleases when he comes to that age, and as a man is discharged from all bargains but that of marriage made when he is under twenty-one.

It grieves me when I consider, that these restraints upon matrimony take away the advantage we should otherwise have over other countries, which are sunk much by those great checks upon propagation, the convents. It is thought chiefly owing to these that Italy and Spain want above half their complement of people. Were the price of wives always fixed and settled, it would contribute to filling the nation more than all the encouragements that can possibly be given to foreigners to transplant themselves hither.

I therefore, as censor of Britain, till a law is made, will lay down rules which shall be observed with penalty of degrading all that break them into Pretty Fellows, Smarts, Squibs, Hunting-Horns, Drums, and Bagpipes.

The females that are guilty of breaking my orders I shall respectively pronounce to be Kits, Hornpipes, Dulcimers, and Kettle-drums. Such widows as wear the spoils of one husband I will bury if they attempt to rob another.

I ordain, that no woman ever demand one shilling to be paid after her husband's death, more than the very sum she brings him, or an equivalent for it in land.

That no settlement be made, in which the man settles on his children more than the reversion of the jointure, or the value of it in money; so that at his death he may in the whole be bound to pay his family but double to what he has received. I would have the eldest, as well as the rest, have his provision out of this.

When men are not able to come up to those settlements I have proposed, I would have them receive so much of the portion only as they can come up to, and the rest to go to the woman by way of pin-money, or separate maintenance. In this, I think, I determined equally between the two sexes.

If any lawyer varies from these rules, or is above two days in drawing a marriage settlement, or uses more words in it than one skin of parchment will contain, or takes above five pounds for drawing it, I would have him thrown over the bar.

Were these rules observed, a woman with a small fortune, and a great deal of worth, would be sure to marry according to her deserts, if the man's estate were to be less encumbered in proportion as her fortune is less than he might have with others.

A man of a great deal of merit, and not much estate, might be chosen for his worth; because it would not be difficult for him to make a settlement.

The man that loves a woman best, would not lose her for not being able to bid so much as another, or for not complying with an extravagant demand.

A fine woman would no more be set up to auction as she is now. When a man puts in for her, her friends or herself take care to publish it; and the man that was the first bidder is made no other use of but to raise the price. He that loves her, will continue in waiting as long as she pleases (if her fortune be thought equal to his), and under pretence of some failure in the rent-roll, or difficulties in drawing the settlement, he is put off till a better bargain is made with another.

All the rest of the sex that are not rich or beautiful to the highest degree are plainly gainers, and would be married so fast, that the least charming of them would soon grow beauties to the bachelors.

Widows might be easily married, if they would not, as they do now, set up for discreet, only by being mercenary.

The making matrimony cheap and easy, would be the greatest discouragement to vice: the limiting the expense of children would not make men ill inclined, or afraid of having them in a regular way; and the men of merit would not live unmarried, as they often do now, because the goodness of a wife cannot be insured to them; but the loss of an estate is certain, and a man would never have the affliction of a worthless heir added to that of a bad wife.

I am the more serious, large, and particular on this subject, because my Lucubrations designed for the encouragement of virtue cannot have the desired success as long as this encumbrance of settlements continues upon matrimony.

[85] Steele (or Addison) edited this paper, but the real author was their friend Edward Wortley Montagu, to whom the second volume of the Tatler was dedicated. Mr. Moy Thomas says that Addison and Steele "were in the habit of asking him for hints and heads for papers; and there are among the Wortley Manuscripts original sketches of essays which may be found in the Tatler." This essay on marriage settlements "was entirely founded on Mr. Wortley's notes, and is frequently in his own words." He quarrelled with his future father-in-law because he objected to settle his property upon a future son, and he eloped with Lady Mary Pierrepont in August 1712. In a letter to Addison which accompanied the "loose hints" for this number, he says, "What made me think so much of it was a discourse with Sir P. King, who says that a man that settles his estate does not know that two and two make four" ("Letters of Lady M. W. Montagu," ed. Moy Thomas, i. 5, 10, 62). No doubt Wortley Montagu's notes furnished the materials for No. 199, and perhaps for No. 198 also.

[86] See No. 199.

No. 224. [ Addison. From Tuesday, Sept. 12 , to Thursday, Sept. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

Materiam superabat opus.—Ovid, Met. ii. 5.

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.[87] 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 his capital city, in the other we hear of a tradesman who hath shut up his shop, and run away. If in one we find the victory of a general, in the other we see the desertion of a private soldier. I must confess, I have a certain weakness in my temper that is often very much affected by these little domestic occurrences, and have frequently been caught with tears in my eyes over a melancholy advertisement.

But to consider this subject in its most ridiculous lights, advertisements are of great use to the vulgar: first of all, as they are instruments of ambition. A man that is by no means big enough for the Gazette, may easily creep into the advertisements; by which means we often see an apothecary in the same paper of news with a plenipotentiary, or a running-footman with an ambassador. An advertisement from Piccadilly [88] goes down to posterity with an article from Madrid; and John Bartlet [89] 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 his back.

A second use which this sort of writings have been turned to of late years, has been the management of controversy, insomuch that above half the advertisements one meets with nowadays are purely polemical. The inventors of Strops for Razors [90] have written against one another this way for several years, and that with great bitterness; as the whole argument pro and con in the case of the Morning-gowns [91] is still carried on after the same manner. I need not mention the several proprietors of Dr. Anderson's pills;[92] nor take notice of the many satirical works of this nature so frequently published by Dr. Clark,[93] who has had the confidence to advertise upon that learned knight, my very worthy friend, Sir William Read.[94] 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 everything that is necessary for life. If a man has pains in his head, colics in his bowels, or spots in his clothes, he may here meet with proper cures and remedies. If a man would recover a wife or a horse that is stolen or strayed; if he wants new sermons, electuaries,[95] ass's milk,[96] 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 bankrupt. Asterisks and hands were formerly of great use for this purpose. Of late years, the N.B. has been much in fashion; as also little cuts and figures, the invention of which we must ascribe to the author of Spring Trusses. I must not here omit the blind Italian character, which being scarce legible, always fixes and detains the eye, and gives the curious reader something like the satisfaction of prying into a secret.

But the great skill in an advertiser is chiefly seen in the 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 anybody 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 gaining among all a more than common esteem. It is sold (in neat flint bottles fit for the pocket) only at the Golden Key, in Warton's Court, near Holborn Bars, for 3s. 6d. 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 Carminative Wind-expelling Pills.[97] 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,[98] that he do not presume any more to mention a certain worm he knows of, which, by the way, has grown seven foot in my memory; for, if I am not much mistaken, it is the same that was but nine foot long about six months ago.

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

The True Spanish Blacking for Shoes, &c.[99]
The Beautifying Cream for the Face, &c.[100]
Pease and Plaisters, &c.
Nectar and Ambrosia, &c.[101]
Four Freehold Tenements of £15 per Annum, &c.[102]
⁂ "The Present State of England," &c.[103]
†‡† "Annotations upon the Tatler," &c.[104]

A Commission of Bankrupt being awarded against B. L., Bookseller, &c.[105]

[87] Addison wrote again on advertisements, in the Spectator (No. 547).

[88] "At the Golden Cupid, in Piccadilly, lives the widow Varick, who is leaving off her trade, hath some statues and boys, and a considerable parcel of flower-pots and vases second-hand, to be sold a great pennyworth" (Post-Man, September 16-19, 1710).

[89] Bartlet, "at the Golden Ball, by the Ship Tavern, in Prescot Street, in Goodman's Fields," advertised inventions for the cure of ruptures; "also divers instruments to help the weak and crooked." "His mother, the wife of the late Mr. Christopher Bartlet, lives at the place above mentioned, who is very skilful in the business to those of her own sex" (Tatler, No. 70). There was also an S. Bartlet, at the Naked Boy, in Dean Street, Red Lion Square, who carried on a similar business (Post-Man, September 2-5, 1710).

[90] "The so much-famed strops for setting razors, &c., are only to be had at Jacob's Coffee-house, in Threadneedle Street, with directions. Price 1s. each. Beware of counterfeits, for such are abroad. The trues ones, which deservedly have gained so much commendation, are only to be had as above. Golden snuff still to be had there, 6d. per paper" (Post-Man, March 23, 1703). Steele alluded twice to the author of "strops for razors" in the Spectator (Nos. 428 and 509). In No. 423 of the Spectator there was an advertisement of "the famous original Venetian strops." Swift, referring to rival imitations of the Tatler published in January 1711, says, "So there must be disputes which are genuine, like the strops for razors."

[91] "Morning gowns of men and women, of silks, stuffs, and calicoes (being the goods of persons that failed), which were to be disposed of at the Olive Tree and Still, are now to be sold at the Golden Sugar Loaf, up one pair of stairs, over against the Horse, at Charing Cross; with a fresh parcel at very low rates, the price being set on each gown" (Tatler, No. 222). A similar advertisement from "the Black Lion, over against Foster Lane, Cheapside" (Examiner, December 7-14, 1710).

[92] See No. 9. "The Scots Pills first made by Dr. Patrick Anderson, of the kingdom of Scotland, I John Gray do most faithfully and truly prepare, according to the doctor's method in his lifetime, and sell them as he sold them, that is, 5s. the whole box, 2s. 6d. the half box, 15d. the quarter box. Take notice, my pill has not that griping quality that is in the pill of a perpetual vain-boaster, whose pretended authority can never better the doctor's receipt who first invented them; the true knowledge whereof is in myself, as by my receipt, and further testimony of many famous doctors in this kingdom, it most plainly appears.... These pills are sold at my house, the Golden Head, between the Little Turnstile and the Bull Inn, in High Holborn. Signed, John Gray"(Post-Boy, January 3, 1699). "Dr. Anderson's, or the famous Scots Pills, are (by his Majesty's authority) faithfully prepared only by J. Inglish, now living at the Golden Unicorn, over against the Maypole, in the Strand; and to prevent counterfeits from Scotland, as well as in and about London, you are desired to take notice, that the true pills have their boxes sealed on the top (in black wax), with a lion rampant and three mullets argent; Dr. Anderson's head betwixt J. J., with his name round it, and Isabella Inglish underneath it in a scroll" (Post-Man, January 9, 1700). "The right Scotch Pills, made by the heirs of Dr. Anderson in Scotland, are to be had of Mrs. Man, at Old Man's Coffee-house, Charing Cross" (Post-Man, October 23, 1703).

[93] Dr. Clark, "sworn physician and oculist to King Charles and King James II.," advertised that his "ophthalmic secret" could be had from his house in Old Southampton Buildings, Holborn (Post-Man, August 24-26, 1710).

[94] See No. 9.

[95] "A noble electuary, which ... makes the heart merry, restores, strengthens, and adds life, courage, and vigour to either men or women, to a miracle.... Is to be had only at Mr. Spooner's, at the Golden Half Moon, in Lemon Street, in Goodman's Fields, at 5s. a pot, with directions" (Daily Courant, September 15, 1710).

[96] "Ass's milk to be had at Richard Stout's, at the sign of the Ass, at Knightsbridge, for three shillings and sixpence per quart; the ass to be brought to the buyer's door" (Post-Boy, December 6, 1711).

[97] This and other similar advertisements appeared in the Daily Courant for September 6, 1710.

[98] "Whereas I, Michael Parrot, have had brought away a worm of sixteen feet long, by taking the medicines of J. Moore, apothecary, in Abchurch Lane, London; witness my hand, Michael Parrot. Witness, Anth. Spyer" (Post-Boy, April 27-29, 1710).

[99] The True Spanish Blacking was advertised in opposition to "London Fucus for Shoes."

[100] "An incomparable beautifying cream for the face, neck, and hands; takes away all freckles, spots, pimples, wrinkles, roughness, scurf, yellowness, sun-burning; renders the skin admirably clear, fair, and beautiful; has an excellent pretty scent; is very safe and harmless, and vastly transcends all other things; for it truly nourishes the skin, making it instantly look plump, fresh, smooth, and delicately fair, though before wrinkled and discoloured. Sold only at Mr. Lawrence's Toy Shop at the Griffin, the corner of the Poultry near Cheapside, at 2s. 6d. a gallipot, with directions" (Tatler, No. 140).

[101] "Nectar and Ambrosia, the highest cordial in the world, being prepared from the richest spices, herbs, and flowers, and drawn from right brandy, comforting the stomach, immediately digesting anything that offends, cherishing the heart, fortifying the brain, and so cheers the spirits, that it makes the whole body lively, brisk, and vigorous. This is the cordial dram that the Czar of Muscovy so highly approved of. Sold in 1s. and 2s. bottles by some one person in many cities and county towns; and by wholesale by J. Hows, in Ram-head Innyard, Fenchurch Street, London" (Merlinus Liberatus; Partridge's Almanac for 1699).

[102] "Twenty freehold tenements to be sold, lying in Wapping.... Inquire at the Union Coffee-house, at King Edward's Stairs, in Wapping" (Tatler, No. 215).

[103] "Anglia Notitia; or, The Present State of England," was begun by Edward Chamberlayn in 1669, and was continued for a number of years by his son, John Chamberlayn, who died in 1724.

[104] "This day is published, 'Learned Annotations on the Tatler,' Part I. Printed for B. Lintott" (Daily Courant, August 31, 1710).

[105] I cannot find any notice in the London Gazette or elsewhere of the bankruptcy of Bernard Lintott, who is no doubt here referred to. It almost seems as if Addison inserted the initials of the flourishing bookseller in retaliation for the publication by Lintott of the satirical "Annotations on the Tatler."

No. 225. [ Steele. From Thursday, Sept. 14 , to Saturday, Sept. 16, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 15. — St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 15. — FOOTNOTES:

——Si quid novisti rectius istis,
Candidus imperti; si non, his utere mecum.

Hor., 1 Ep. vi. 67.

The hours which we spend in conversation are the most pleasing of any which we enjoy; yet, methinks, there is very little care taken to improve ourselves for the frequent repetition of them. The common fault in this case, is that of growing too intimate, and falling into displeasing familiarities: for it is a very ordinary thing for men to make no other use of a close acquaintance with each other's affairs, but to tease one another with unacceptable allusions. One would pass over patiently such as converse like animals, and salute each other with bangs on the shoulder, sly raps with canes, or other robust pleasantries practised by the rural gentry of this nation: but even among those who should have more polite ideas of things, you see a set of people who invert the design of conversation, and make frequent mention of ungrateful subjects; nay, mention them because they are ungrateful; as if the perfection of society were in knowing how to offend on the one part, and how to bear an offence on the other. In all parts of this populous town you find the merry world made up of an active and a passive companion; one who has good-nature enough to suffer all his friend shall think fit to say, and one who is resolved to make the most of his good-humour to show his parts. In the trading part of mankind, I have ever observed the jest went by the weight of purses, and the ridicule is made up by the gains which arise from it. Thus the packer allows the clothier to say what he pleases, and the broker has his countenance ready to laugh with the merchant, though the abuse is to fall on himself, because he knows that, as a go-between, he shall find his account in being in the good graces of a man of wealth. Among these just and punctual people, the richest man is ever the better jester; and they know no such thing as a person who shall pretend to a superior laugh at a man, who does not make him amends by opportunities of advantage in another kind: but among people of a different way, where the pretended distinction in company is only what is raised from sense and understanding, it is very absurd to carry on a rough raillery so far, as that the whole discourse should turn upon each other's infirmities, follies, or misfortunes.

I was this evening with a set of wags of this class. They appear generally by two and two; and what is most extraordinary, is, that those very persons who are most together, appear least of a mind when joined by other company. This evil proceeds from an indiscreet familiarity, whereby a man is allowed to say the most grating thing imaginable to another, and it shall be accounted weakness to show an impatience for the unkindness. But this and all other deviations from the design of pleasing each other when we meet, are derived from interlopers in society, who want capacity to put in a stock among regular companions, and therefore supply their wants by stale histories, sly observations, and rude hints, which relate to the conduct of others. All cohabitants in general run into this unhappy fault; men and their wives break into reflections which are like so much Arabic to the rest of the company; sisters and brothers often make the like figure from the same unjust sense of the art of being intimate and familiar. It is often said, such a one cannot stand the mention of such a circumstance: if he cannot, I am sure it is for want of discourse, or a worse reason, that any companion of his touches upon it.

Familiarity, among the truly well-bred, never gives authority to trespass upon one another in the most minute circumstance, but it allows to be kinder than we ought otherwise presume to be. Eusebius has wit, humour, and spirit; but there never was a man in his company who wished he had less, for he understands familiarity so well, that he knows how to make use of it in a way that neither makes himself or his friend contemptible; but if any one is lessened by his freedom, it is he himself, who always likes the place, the diet, and the reception, when he is in the company of his friends. Equality is the life of conversation; and he is as much out who assumes to himself any part above another, as he who considers himself below the rest of the society. Familiarity in inferiors is sauciness; in superiors, condescension; neither of which are to have being among companions, the very word implying that they are to be equal. When therefore we have abstracted the company from all considerations of their quality or fortune, it will immediately appear, that to make it happy and polite, there must nothing be started which shall discover that our thoughts run upon any such distinctions. Hence it will arise, that benevolence must become the rule of society, and he that is most obliging must be most diverting.

This way of talking I am fallen into from the reflection that I am wherever I go entertained with some absurdity, mistake, weakness, or ill luck of some man or other, whom not only I, but the person who makes me those relations has a value for. It would therefore be a great benefit to the world, if it could be brought to pass that no story should be a taking one, but what was to the advantage of the person of whom it is related. By this means, he that is now a wit in conversation, would be considered as a spreader of false news is in business.

But above all, to make a familiar fit for a bosom friend, it is absolutely necessary that we should always be inclined rather to hide than rally each other's infirmities. To suffer for a fault is a sort of atonement; and nobody is concerned for the offence for which he has made reparation.

P.S.—I have received the following letter, which rallies me for being witty sooner than I designed; but I have now altered my resolution, and intend to be facetious till the day in October heretofore mentioned, instead of beginning for that day.[106]

Sept. 6, 1710.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"By your own reckoning, you came yesterday about a month before the time you looked yourself, much to the satisfaction of

"Your most obliged
"Humble Servant,
"Plain English."

Advices from Madrid of the 8th say, the Duke of Anjou, with his Court, and all the Councils, were preparing to leave that place in a day or two, in order to remove to Valladolid. They add, that the palace was already unfurnished, and a declaration had been published, importing, that it was absolutely necessary, in the present conjuncture of affairs, that the Court were absent for some time from Madrid, but would return thither in six weeks. This sudden departure is attributed to the advice that the Portuguese army was in motion to enter Spain by Braganza, and that his Catholic Majesty was on the march with a strong detachment towards Castille. Two thousand horse were arrived at Agreda, and it is reported they were to join the rest of the body, with the King, and advance to Calatayud, on their way to Madrid, whilst General Staremberg observed the enemy on the frontier of Navarre. They write from Bayonne, that the Duke of Vendôme set forwards to Spain on the 14th.

[106] See No. 217.

No. 226. [ Addison. From Saturday, Sept. 16 , to Tuesday, Sept. 19, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 18. — FOOTNOTES:

----Juvenis quondam, nunc femina, Cænis,
Rursus et in veterem fato revoluta figuram.

Virg., Æn. vi. 448.

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

"Sir,

"I here make bold to trouble you with a short account of the famous Dr. Young's life, which you may call (if you please) a second part of the farce of the 'Sham Doctor.' This perhaps will not seem so strange to you, who (if I am not mistaken) have somewhere mentioned with honour your sister Kirleus [107] as a practitioner both in physic and astrology: but in the common opinion of mankind, a she-quack is altogether as strange and astonishing a creature as the centaur that practised physic in the days of Achilles, or as King Phys in 'The Rehearsal.'[108] Æsculapius, the great founder of your art, was particularly famous for his beard, as we may conclude from the behaviour of a tyrant who is branded by heathen historians as guilty both of sacrilege and blasphemy, having robbed the statue of Æsculapius of a thick bushy golden beard, and then alleged for his excuse, that it was a shame the son should have a beard when his father Apollo had none. This latter instance indeed seems something to favour a female professor, since (as I have been told) the ancient statues of Apollo are generally made with the head and face of a woman: nay, I have been credibly informed by those who have seen them both, that the famous Apollo in the Belvedere did very much resemble Dr. Young. Let that be as it will, the doctor was a kind of Amazon in physic, that made as great devastations and slaughters as any of our chief heroes in the art, and was as fatal to the English in these our days, as the famous Joan d'Arc was in those of our forefathers.

"I do not find anything remarkable in the Life I am about to write till the year 1695, at which time the doctor, being about twenty-three years old, was brought to bed of a bastard child. The scandal of such a misfortune gave so great uneasiness to pretty Mrs. Peggy (for that was the name by which the doctor was then called), that she left her family, and followed her lover to London, with a fixed resolution some way or other to recover her lost reputation: but instead of changing her life, which one would have expected from so good a disposition of mind, she took it in her head to change her sex. This was soon done by the help of a sword and a pair of breeches. I have reason to believe, that her first design was to turn man-midwife, having herself had some experience in those affairs: but thinking this too narrow a foundation for her future fortune, she at length bought her a gold button coat, and set up for a physician. Thus we see the same fatal miscarriage in her youth made Mrs. Young a doctor, that formerly made one of the same sex a Pope.

"The doctor succeeded very well in his business at first, but very often met with accidents that disquieted him. As he wanted that deep magisterial voice which gives authority to a prescription, and is absolutely necessary for the right pronouncing of those words, 'Take these pills,' he unfortunately got the nickname of the Squeaking Doctor. If this circumstance alarmed the doctor, there was another that gave him no small disquiet, and very much diminished his gains. In short, he found himself run down as a superficial prating quack in all families that had at the head of them a cautious father or a jealous husband. These would often complain among one another, that they did not like such a smock-faced physician; though in truth had they known how justly he deserved that name, they would rather have favoured his practice than have apprehended anything from it.

"Such were the motives that determined Mrs. Young to change her condition, and take in marriage a virtuous young woman, who lived with her in good reputation, and made her the father of a very pretty girl. But this part of her happiness was soon after destroyed by a distemper which was too hard for our physician, and carried off his first wife. The doctor had not been a widow long before he married his second lady, with whom also he lived in very good understanding. It so happened that the doctor was with child at the same time that his lady was; but the little ones coming both together, they passed for twins. The doctor having entirely established the reputation of his manhood, especially by the birth of the boy of whom he had been lately delivered, and who very much resembles him, grew into good business, and was particularly famous for the cure of venereal distempers; but would have had much more practice among his own sex, had not some of them been so unreasonable as to demand certain proofs of their cure, which the doctor was not able to give them. The florid blooming look, which gave the doctor some uneasiness at first, instead of betraying his person, only recommended his physic. Upon this occasion I cannot forbear mentioning what I thought a very agreeable surprise in one of Molière's plays, where a young woman applies herself to a sick person in the habit of a quack, and speaks to her patient, who was something scandalised at the youth of his physician, to the following purpose: 'I began to practise in the reign of Francis I., and am now in the hundred-and-fiftieth year of my age; but, by the virtue of my medicaments, have maintained myself in the same beauty and freshness I had at fifteen.' For this reason Hippocrates lays it down as a rule, that a student in physic should have a sound constitution and a healthy look, which indeed seem as necessary qualifications for a physician as a good life and virtuous behaviour for a divine. But to return to our subject. About two years ago the doctor was very much afflicted with the vapours, which grew upon him to such a degree, that about six weeks since they made an end of him. His death discovered the disguise he had acted under, and brought him back again to his former sex. 'Tis said, that at his burial the pall was held up by six women of some fashion. The doctor left behind him a widow and two fatherless children, if they may be called so, besides the little boy before mentioned; in relation to whom we may say of the doctor, as the good old ballad about the 'Children in the Wood' says of the unnatural uncle, that he was father and mother both in one. These are all the circumstances that I could learn of Dr. Young's life, which might have given occasion to many obscene fictions: but as I know those would never have gained a place in your paper, I have not troubled you with any impertinence of that nature; having stuck to the truth very scrupulously, as I always do when I subscribe myself,

"Sir,
"Your, &c.

"I shall add, as a postscript to this letter, that I am informed, the famous Saltero,[109] who sells coffee in his museum at Chelsea, has by him a curiosity which helped the doctor to carry on his imposture, and will give great satisfaction to the curious inquirer."

[107] See No. 14.

[108] The Physician was one of the usurping Kings of Brentford.

[109] See No. 34

No. 227. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Sept. 19 , to Thursday, Sept. 21, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 20. — FOOTNOTES:

Omnibus invideas, Zoile,[110] nemo tibi.—Martial, Epig. i. 40.

It is the business of reason and philosophy to soothe and allay the passions of the mind, or turn them to a vigorous prosecution of what is dictated by the understanding. In order to this good end, I would keep a watchful eye upon the growing inclinations of youth, and be particularly careful to prevent their indulging themselves in such sentiments as may embitter their more advanced age. I have now under cure a young gentleman, who lately communicated to me, that he was of all men living the most miserably envious. I desired the circumstances of his distemper; upon which, with a sigh that would have moved the most inhuman breast: "Mr. Bickerstaff," said he, "I am nephew to a gentleman of a very great estate, to whose favour I have a cousin that has equal pretensions with myself. This kinsman of mine is a young man of the highest merit imaginable, and has a mind so tender and so generous, that I can observe he returns my envy with pity. He makes me upon all occasions the most obliging condescensions: and I cannot but take notice of the concern he is in to see my life blasted with this racking passion, though it is against himself. In the presence of my uncle, when I am in the room, he never speaks so well as he is capable of, but always lowers his talents and accomplishments out of regard to me. What I beg of you, dear sir, is to instruct me how to love him, as I know he does me; and I beseech you, if possible, to set my heart right, that it may no longer be tormented where it should be pleased, or hate a man whom I cannot but approve."

The patient gave me this account with such candour and openness, that I conceived immediate hopes of his cure; because in diseases of the mind the person affected is half recovered when he is sensible of his distemper. "Sir," said I, "the acknowledgment of your kinsman's merit is a very hopeful symptom; for it is the nature of persons afflicted with this evil, when they are incurable, to pretend a contempt of the person envied, if they are taxed with that weakness. A man who is really envious will not allow he is so; but upon such an accusation is tormented with the reflection, that to envy a man is to allow him your superior. But in your case, when you examine the bottom of your heart, I am apt to think it is avarice which you mistake for envy. Were it not that you have both expectations from the same man, you would look upon your cousin's accomplishments with pleasure. You that now consider him as an obstacle to your interest, would then behold him as an ornament to your family." I observed my patient upon this occasion recover himself in some measure; and he owned to me, that he hoped it was as I imagined; for that in all places but where he was his rival, he had pleasure in his company. This was the first discourse we had upon this malady; and I do not doubt but, after two or three more, I shall by just degrees soften his envy into emulation.

Such an envy as I have here described may possibly creep into an ingenuous mind; but the envy which makes a man uneasy to himself and others, is a certain distortion and perverseness of temper, that renders him unwilling to be pleased with anything without him that has either beauty or perfection in it. I look upon it as a distemper in the mind (which I know no moralist that has described in this light), when a man cannot discern anything which another is master of that is agreeable. For which reason I look upon the good-natured man to be endowed with a certain discerning faculty which the envious are altogether deprived of. Shallow wits, superficial critics, and conceited fops are with me so many blind men in respect of excellences. They can behold nothing but faults and blemishes, and indeed see nothing that is worth seeing. Show them a poem, it is stuff; a picture, it is daubing. They find nothing in architecture that is not irregular, or in music that is not out of tune. These men should consider, that it is their envy which deforms everything, and that the ugliness is not in the object, but in the eye. And as for nobler minds, whose merits are either not discovered, or are misrepresented by the envious part of mankind, they should rather consider their defamers with pity than indignation. A man cannot have an idea of perfection in another which he was never sensible of in himself. Mr. Locke tells us, that upon asking a blind man, what he thought scarlet was, he answered, that he believed it was like the sound of a trumpet. He was forced to form his conceptions of ideas which he had not by those which he had. In the same manner, ask an envious man, what he thinks of virtue? he will call it design: what of good-nature? and he will term it dulness. The difference is, that as the person before mentioned was born blind, your envious men have contracted the distemper themselves, and are troubled with a sort of an acquired blindness. Thus the devil in Milton, though made an angel of light, could see nothing to please him even in Paradise, and hated our first parents, though in their state of innocence.[111]

[110] "Livide" (Martial).

[111] "Paradise Lost," iv. 358 seq.

No. 228. [ Steele. From Thursday, Sept. 21 , to Saturday, Sept. 23, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 22. — FOOTNOTES:

----Veniet manus, auxilio quæ
Sit mihi——

Hor., 1 Sat. iv. 141.

A man of business who makes a public entertainment, may sometimes leave his guests, and beg them to divert themselves as well as they can till his return. I shall here make use of the same privilege (being engaged in matters of some importance relating to the family of the Bickerstaffs), and must desire my readers to entertain one another till I can have leisure to attend them. I have therefore furnished out this paper, as I have done some few others, with letters of my ingenious correspondents, which I have reason to believe will please the public as much as my own more elaborate lucubrations.

Lincoln, Sept. 9.

"Sir,

"I have long been of the number of your admirers, and take this opportunity of telling you so. I know not why a man so famed for astrological observations may not be also a good casuist, upon which presumption 'tis I ask your advice in an affair that at present puzzles quite that slender stock of divinity I am master of. I have now been some time in holy orders, and fellow of a certain college in one of the universities; but weary of that inactive life, I resolve to be doing good in my generation. A worthy gentleman has lately offered me a fat rectory, but means, I perceive, his kinswoman should have the benefit of the clergy. I am a novice in the world, and confess, it startles me how the body of Mrs. Abigail can be annexed to cure of souls. Sir, would you give us in one of your Tatlers the original and progress of smock-simony, and show us, that where the laws are silent, men's consciences ought to be so too; you could not more oblige our fraternity of young divines, and among the rest,

"Your humble Servant,
"High Church."

I am very proud of having a gentleman of this name for my admirer, and may some time or other write such a treatise as he mentions. In the meantime I do not see why our clergy, who are very frequently men of good families, should be reproached if any of them chance to espouse a handmaid with a rectory in commendam, since the best of our peers have often joined themselves to the daughters of very ordinary tradesmen upon the same valuable considerations.

"Globe in Moorfields,
Sept. 16.

"Honoured Son,

"I have now finished my almanac for the next year, in all the parts of it except that which concerns the weather; and you having shown yourself, by some of your late works,[112] more weather-wise than any of our modern astrologers, I most humbly presume to trouble you upon this head. You know very well, that in our ordinary almanacs, the wind and rain, snow and hail, clouds and sunshine, have their proper seasons, and come up as regularly in their several months as the fruits and plants of the earth.[113] As for my own part, I freely own to you that I generally steal my weather out of some antiquated almanac that foretold it several years ago. Now, sir, what I humbly beg of you is, that you would lend me your State weather-glass, in order to fill up this vacant column in my works. This, I know, would sell my almanac beyond any other, and make me a richer man than Poor Robin.[114] If you will not grant me this favour, I must have recourse to my old method, and will copy after an almanac which I have by me, and which I think was made for the year when the great storm was. I am,

"Sir,
"The most humble of
"Your Admirers,
"T. Philomath."

This gentleman does not consider, what a strange appearance his almanac would make to the ignorant, should he transpose his weather, as he must do, did he follow the dictates of my glass. What would the world say to see summers filled with clouds and storms, and winters with calms and sunshine, according to the variations of the weather, as they might accidentally appear in a State barometer? But let that be as it will, I shall apply my own invention to my own use; and if I do not make my fortune by it, it will be my own fault.

The next letter comes to me from another self-interested solicitor.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I am going to set up for a scrivener, and have thought of a project which may turn both to your account and mine. It came into my head upon reading that learned and useful paper of yours concerning advertisements.[115] You must understand, I have made myself master in the whole art of advertising, both as to the style and the letter. Now if you and I could so manage it, that nobody should write advertisements besides myself, or print them anywhere but in your paper, we might both of us get estates in a little time. For this end I would likewise propose, that you should enlarge the design of advertisements, and have sent you two or three samples of my work in this kind, which I have made for particular friends, and intend to open shop with. The first is for a gentleman, who would willingly marry, if he could find a wife to his liking; the second is for a poor Whig, who is lately turned out of his post; and the third for a person of a contrary party, who is willing to get into one.

"'Whereas A. B., next door to the "Pestle and Mortar," being about thirty years old, of a spare make, with dark-coloured hair, bright eyes, and a long nose, has occasion for a good-humoured, tall, fair, young woman, of about £3000 fortune: these are to give notice, that if any such young woman has a mind to dispose of herself in marriage to such a person as the above-mentioned, she may be provided with a husband, a coach and horses, and a proportionable settlement.'

"'C. D., designing to quit his place, has great quantities of paper, parchment, ink, wax, and wafers to dispose of, which will be sold at very reasonable rates.'

"'E. F., a person of good behaviour, six foot high, of a black complexion and sound principles, wants an employ. He is an excellent penman and accountant, and speaks French.'"

[112] Nos. 214 and 220.

[113] "Next Tuesday morning will be published the account of the alterations of wind and weather, by the discoveries of the portable barometer; from what quarter the wind will blow, clouds or rain, wind and weather, clear and cloudy, wet and dry, come every day and night for the month of October, all over England, and also when the quicksilver weather-glasses will rise in wet, and sink in fair weather, and rise and sink without any alteration at all. Whereas there was a false impression of the last month, to the great damage of the author, who has been at vast charge and expense to being so useful an invention to perfection, and to prevent the like for the future, it is hoped that those ingenious persons who are lovers of so useful a discovery will not encourage the false one, the true one being only to be had at W. Hawes, at the Rose in Ludgate Street, and A. Baldwin in Warwick Lane, where they shall be sent to any gentleman, if desired, monthly" (Post-Man, September 26, 1700). These "barometer papers" are ridiculed in The Infallible Astrologer, a paper published in 1700.

[114] This almanac was first published in 1663. The title of it was assumed in ridicule of Dr. Robert Pory, a pluralist of the last century, who, amongst other preferments (such as the archdeaconry of Middlesex, a residentiaryship of St. Paul's, &c.), enjoyed the rectory of Lambeth. Pory died in 1669, and "Poor Robin's Almanac" professed to bear his imprimatur (see Wood's "Fasti," Part II., col. 267).

[115] No. 224.

No. 229. [ Addison. From Saturday, Sept. 23 , to Tuesday, Sept. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 25. — FOOTNOTES:

——Sume superbiam
Quæsitam meritis——

Hor., 3 Od. xxx. 14.

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

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

They say, when a fox is very much troubled with fleas, he goes into the next pool with a little lock of wool in his mouth, and keeps his body under water till the vermin get into it, after which he quits the wool, and diving, leaves his tormentors to shift for themselves, and get their livelihood where they can. I would have these gentlemen take care that I do not serve them after the same manner; for though I have hitherto kept my temper pretty well, it is not impossible but I may some time or other disappear; and what will then become of them? Should I lay down my paper, what a famine would there be among the hawkers, printers, booksellers, and authors? It would be like Dr. B——'s [116] dropping his cloak, with the whole congregation hanging upon the skirts of it. To enumerate some of these my doughty antagonists, I was threatened to be answered weekly Tit for Tat: I was undermined by the Whisperer, haunted by Tom Brown's Ghost, scolded at by a Female Tatler, and slandered by another of the same character, under the title of Atalantis. I have been annotated, re-tattled, examined, and condoled;[117] but it being my standing maxim never to speak ill of the dead, I shall let these authors rest in peace, and take great pleasure in thinking that I have sometimes been the means of their getting a bellyful. When I see myself thus surrounded by such formidable enemies, I often think of the Knight of the Red Cross in Spenser's "Den of Error," who after he has cut off the dragon's head, and left it wallowing in a flood of ink, sees a thousand monstrous reptiles making their attempts upon him, one with many heads, another with none, and all of them without eyes.

The same so sore annoyèd has the knight,
That well-nigh chokèd with the deadly stink,
His forces fail, he can no longer fight;
Whose courage when the fiend perceived to shrink,
She pourèd forth out of her hellish sink
Her fruitful cursèd spawn of serpents small,
Deformèd monsters, foul, and black as ink;
Which swarming all about his legs did crawl,
And him encumbered sore, but could not hurt at all.

As gentle shepherd in sweet eventide,
When ruddy Phœbus 'gins to welk in West,
High on an hill, his flock to viewen wide,
Marks which do bite their hasty supper best;
A cloud of cumbrous gnats do him molest,
All striving to infix their feeble stings,
That from their 'noyance he nowhere can rest;
But with his clownish hands their tender wings
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.[118]

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

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

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

The owls, bats, and several other birds of night, were one day got together in a thick shade, where they abused their neighbours in a very sociable manner. Their satire at last fell upon the sun, whom they all agreed to be very troublesome, impertinent, and inquisitive. Upon which the sun, who overheard them, spoke to them after this manner: "Gentlemen, I wonder how you dare abuse one that you know could in an instant scorch you up, and burn every mother's son of you: but the only answer I shall give you, or the revenge I shall take of you, is, to shine on."[119]

[116] Daniel Burgess (see No. 66).

[117] The first number of Tit for Tat appeared under the name of Jo. Partridge, Esq., on March 2, 1710, with an announcement of Bickerstaff's death; probably it reached only to five numbers. Of the Whisperer (October 11, 1709), and the Gazette à-la-Mode, or Tom Brown's Ghost (May 12, 1709), only single numbers are known. The Female Tatler, issued by Thomas Baker, lasted from July 8, 1709, to March 31, 1710; and there was a rival paper, with the same title, printed for A Baldwin. The "New Atalantis," Mrs. Manley's well-known book, contained more than one attack on Steele. "Annotated" refers to the satirical "Annotations upon the Tatler," 1710 (see No. 224); and "condoled," to a pamphlet, "A Condoling Letter to the Tatler; on account of the misfortunes of Isaac Bickerstaff, a prisoner in the —— on suspicion of debt" (September 19, 1710). The Tory Examiner had much to say about the Tatler and Steele's subsequent writings. Nothing is known of a Re-Tatler.

"For my part," wrote Defoe, "I have always thought that the weakest step the Tatler ever took, if that complete author can be said to have done anything weak, was to stoop to take the least notice of the barkings of the animals that have condoled him, examined him, &c. He should have let every bark and fool rail, and, according to his own observation of the fable of the sun, continued to shine on. This I have found to be agreeable to the true notion of contempt. Silence is the utmost slight nature can dictate to a man, and the most insupportable for a vain man to bear."

[118] "Faërie Queene," 1. i. 22, 23.

[119] See No. 239.

No. 230. [ Steele and Swift . From Tuesday, Sept. 26 , to Thursday, Sept. 28, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 27. — FOOTNOTES:

The following letter has laid before me many great and manifest evils in the world of letters which I had overlooked; but they open to me a very busy scene, and it will require no small care and application to amend errors which are become so universal. The affectation of politeness is exposed in this epistle with a great deal of wit and discernment; so that whatever discourses I may fall into hereafter upon the subjects the writer treats of, I shall at present lay the matter before the world without the least alteration from the words of my correspondent.[120]

To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.

"Sir,

"There are some abuses among us of great consequence, the reformation of which is properly your province; though as far as I have been conversant in your papers, you have not yet considered them. These are the deplorable ignorance that for some years hath reigned among our English writers, the great depravity of our taste, and the continual corruption of our style. I say nothing here of those who handle particular sciences, divinity, law, physic, and the like; I mean the traders in history and politics, and the belles lettres; together with those by whom books are not translated, but (as the common expressions are) done out of French, Latin, or other language, and made English. I cannot but observe to you, that till of late years a Grub Street book was always bound in sheepskin, with suitable print and paper, the price never above a shilling, and taken off wholly by common tradesmen or country pedlars; but now they appear in all sizes and shapes, and in all places. They are handed about from lapfuls in every coffee-house to persons of quality; are shown in Westminster Hall and the Court of Requests. You may see them gilt and in royal paper of five or six hundred pages, and rated accordingly. I would engage to furnish you with a catalogue of English books published within the compass of seven years past, which at the first hand would cost you a hundred pounds, wherein you shall not be able to find ten lines together of common grammar or common sense.

"These two evils, ignorance and want of taste, have produced a third; I mean the continual corruption of our English tongue, which, without some timely remedy, will suffer more by the false refinements of twenty years past than it hath been improved in the foregoing hundred. And this is what I design chiefly to enlarge upon, leaving the former evils to your animadversion.

"But instead of giving you a list of the late refinements crept into our language, I here send you the copy of a letter I received some time ago from a most accomplished person in this way of writing; upon which I shall make some remarks. It is in these terms:

"'Sir,

"'I cou'dn't get the things you sent for all about town. I thôt to ha' come down myself, and then I'd h' bôt 'um; but I ha'n't don't, and I believe I can't d't, that's pozz. Tom [121] begins to gi'mself airs, because he's going with the plenipo's. 'Tis said the French King will bamboozl' us agen, which causes many speculations. The Jacks and others of that kidney are very uppish, and alert upon't, as you may see by their phizz's. Will Hazzard has got the hipps, having lost to the tune of five hundr'd pound, thô he understands play very well, nobody better. He has promis't me upon rep, to leave off play; but you know 'tis a weakness he's too apt to give into, thô he has as much wit as any man, nobody more. He has lain incog. ever since. The mobb's very quiet with us now. I believe you thôt I bantr'd you in my last like a country put. I shan't leave town this month,' &c.

"This letter is in every point an admirable pattern of the present polite way of writing, nor is it of less authority for being an epistle: you may gather every flower in it, with a thousand more of equal sweetness, from the books, pamphlets, and single papers, offered us every day in the coffee-houses: and these are the beauties introduced to supply the want of wit, sense, humour, and learning, which formerly were looked upon as qualifications for a writer. If a man of wit, who died forty years ago, were to rise from the grave on purpose, how would he be able to read this letter? And after he had got through that difficulty, how would he be able to understand it? The first thing that strikes your eye is the breaks at the end of almost every sentence, of which I know not the use, only that it is a refinement, and very frequently practised. Then you will observe the abbreviations and elisions, by which consonants of most obdurate sound are joined together, without one softening vowel to intervene; and all this only to make one syllable of two, directly contrary to the example of the Greeks and Romans, altogether of the Gothic strain, and a natural tendency towards relapsing into barbarity, which delights in monosyllables, and uniting of mute consonants, as it is observable in all the Northern languages. And this is still more visible in the next refinement, which consists in pronouncing the first syllable in a word that has many, and dismissing the rest; such as phizz, hipps, mobb, pozz, rep, and many more, when we are already overloaded with monosyllables, which are the disgrace of our language. Thus we cram one syllable, and cut off the rest, as the owl fattened her mice after she had bit off their legs, to prevent them from running away; and if ours be the same reason for maiming our words, it will certainly answer the end, for I am sure no other nation will desire to borrow them. Some words are hitherto but fairly split, and therefore only in their way to perfection, as incog. and plenipo; but in a short time, 'tis to be hoped, they will be further docked to inc. and plen. This reflection has made me of late years very impatient for a peace, which I believe would save the lives of many brave words, as well as men. The war has introduced abundance of polysyllables, which will never be able to live many more campaigns. Speculations, operations, preliminaries, ambassadors, palisadoes, communication, circumvallation, battalions, as numerous as they are, if they attack us too frequently in our coffee-houses, we shall certainly put them to flight, and cut off the rear.

"The third refinement observable in the letter I send you, consists in the choice of certain words invented by some pretty fellows, such as banter, bamboozle, country put, and kidney, as it is there applied, some of which are now struggling for the vogue, and others are in possession of it. I have done my utmost for some years past to stop the progress of mobb and banter, but have been plainly borne down by numbers, and betrayed by those who promised to assist me.

"In the last place, you are to take notice of certain choice phrases scattered through the letter, some of them tolerable enough, till they were worn to rags by servile imitators. You might easily find them, though they were not in a different print, and therefore I need not disturb them.

"These are the false refinements in our style which you ought to correct: first, by argument and fair means; but if those fail, I think you are to make use of your authority as censor, and by an annual 'Index Expurgatorius' expunge all words and phrases that are offensive to good sense, and condemn those barbarous mutilations of vowels and syllables. In this last point the usual pretence is, that they spell as they speak: a noble standard for language! To depend upon the caprice of every coxcomb, who, because words are the clothing of our thoughts, cuts them out and shapes them as he pleases, and changes them oftener than his dress. I believe all reasonable people would be content that such refiners were more sparing in their words and liberal in their syllables: and upon this head I should be glad you would bestow some advice upon several young readers in our churches, who coming up from the university full fraught with admiration of our town politeness, will needs correct the style of their prayer-books. In reading the Absolution, they are very careful to say 'pardons' and 'absolves'; and in the prayer for the royal family it must be 'endue 'um, enrich 'um, prosper 'um, and bring 'um.' Then in their sermons they use all the modern terms of art: sham, banter, mob, bubble, bully, cutting, shuffling, and palming; all which, and many more of the like stamp, as I have heard them often in the pulpit from such young sophisters, so I have read them in some of those sermons that have made most noise of late. The design, it seems, is to avoid the dreadful imputation of pedantry; to show us that they know the town, understand men and manners, and have not been poring upon old unfashionable books in the university.

"I should be glad to see you the instrument of introducing into our style that simplicity which is the best and truest ornament of most things in life, which the politer ages always aimed at in their building and dress (simplex munditiis), as well as their productions of wit. It is manifest, that all new affected modes of speech, whether borrowed from the court, the town, or the theatre, are the first perishing parts in any language; and, as I could prove by many hundred instances, have been so in ours. The writings of Hooker, who was a country clergyman, and of Parsons the Jesuit, both in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, are in a style that, with very few allowances, would not offend any present reader; much more clear and intelligible than those of Sir H. Wootton, Sir Rob. Naunton, Osborn, Daniel the historian, and several others who wrote later; but being men of the court, and affecting the phrases then in fashion, they are often either not to be understood, or appear perfectly ridiculous.

"What remedies are to be applied to these evils, I have not room to consider, having, I fear, already taken up most of your paper. Besides, I think it is our office only to represent abuses, and yours to redress them. I am with great respect,

"Sir,
"Your, &c."

[120] Swift was author of the letter which fills the remainder of this paper. See his "Journal to Stella," Sept. 18, 1710: "Got home early, and began a letter to the Tatler about the corruptions of style and writing, &c." Sept. 23, 1710: "I have sent a long letter to Bickerstaff, let the Bishop of Clogher smoke it if he can." Sept. 29, 1710: "I made a Tatler since I came; guess which it is, and whether the Bishop of Clogher smokes it." Oct. 1, 1710: "Have you smoked the Tatler that I wrote? It is much liked here, and I think it a pure one."

[121] Thomas Harley, minister at the Court of Hanover, and cousin of Robert Harley, afterwards Earl of Oxford. He died in 1737.

No. 231. [ Steele. — From my own Apartment, Sept. 29. — FOOTNOTES:

Principiis obsta——

Ovid, Rem. Amor. 91.

From Thursday, Sept. 28, to Saturday, Sept. 30, 1710.

There are very many ill habits that might with much ease have been prevented, which, after we have indulged ourselves in them, become incorrigible. We have a sort of proverbial expression, of taking a woman down in her wedding shoes, if you would bring her to reason. An early behaviour of this sort had a very remarkable good effect in a family wherein I was several years an intimate acquaintance.

A gentleman in Lincolnshire [122] had four daughters, three of which were early married very happily; but the fourth, though no way inferior to any of her sisters, either in person or accomplishments, had from her infancy discovered so imperious a temper (usually called a high spirit), that it continually made great uneasiness in the family, became her known character in the neighbourhood, and deterred all her lovers from declaring themselves. However, in process of time, a gentleman of a plentiful fortune and long acquaintance, having observed that quickness of spirit to be her only fault, made his addresses, and obtained her consent in due form. The lawyers finished the writings (in which, by the way, there was no pin-money), and they were married. After a decent time spent in the father's house, the bridegroom went to prepare his seat for her reception. During the whole course of his courtship, though a man of the most equal temper, he had artificially lamented to her, that he was the most passionate creature breathing. By this one intimation, he at once made her understand warmth of temper to be what he ought to pardon in her, as well as that he alarmed her against that constitution in himself. She at the same time thought herself highly obliged by the composed behaviour which he maintained in her presence. Thus far he with great success soothed her from being guilty of violences, and still resolved to give her such a terrible apprehension of his fiery spirit, that she should never dream of giving way to her own. He returned on the day appointed for carrying her home; but instead of a coach and six horses, together with the gay equipage suitable to the occasion, he appeared without a servant, mounted on the skeleton of a horse which his huntsman had the day before brought in to feast his dogs on the arrival of their new mistress, with a pillion fixed behind, and a case of pistols before him, attended only by a favourite hound. Thus equipped, he in a very obliging (but somewhat positive) manner desired his lady to seat herself on the cushion; which done, away they crawled. The road being obstructed by a gate, the dog was commanded to open it: the poor cur looked up and wagged his tail; but the master, to show the impatience of his temper, drew a pistol and shot him dead. He had no sooner done it, but he fell into a thousand apologies for his unhappy rashness, and begged as many pardons for his excesses before one for whom he had so profound a respect. Soon after their steed stumbled, but with some difficulty recovered: however, the bridegroom took occasion to swear, if he frightened his wife so again, he would run him through: and alas! the poor animal being now almost tired, made a second trip; immediately on which the careful husband alights, and with great ceremony first takes off his lady, then the accoutrements, draws his sword, and saves the huntsman the trouble of killing him: then says to his wife, "Child, prithee take up the saddle;" which she readily did, and tugged it home, where they found all things in the greatest order, suitable to their fortune and the present occasion. Some time after the father of the lady gave an entertainment to all his daughters and their husbands, where, when the wives were retired, and the gentlemen passing a toast about, our last married man took occasion to observe to the rest of his brethren, how much, to his great satisfaction, he found the world mistaken as to the temper of his lady, for that she was the most meek and humble woman breathing. The applause was received with a loud laugh: but as a trial which of them would appear the most master at home, he proposed they should all by turns send for their wives down to them. A servant was despatched, and answer was made by one, "Tell him I will come by-and-by;" another, that she would come when the cards were out of her hand; and so on. But no sooner was her husband's desire whispered in the ear of our last married lady, but the cards were clapped on the table, and down she comes with, "My dear, would you speak with me?" He receives her in his arms, and after repeated caresses, tells her the experiment, confesses his good-nature, and assures her, that since she could now command her temper, he would no longer disguise his own.

I received the following letter, with a dozen of wine, and cannot but do justice to the liquor, and give my testimony, that I have tried it upon several of my acquaintances, who were given to impertinent abbreviations,[123] with great success:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I send you by this bearer, and not per bearer, a dozen of that claret which is to be sold at Garraway's Coffee-house on Thursday the fifth of October next. I can assure you, I have found by experience the efficacy of it in amending a fault you complain of in your last. The very first draught of it has some effect upon the speech of the drinker, and restores all the letters taken away by the elisions so justly complained of. Will Hazzard was cured of his hypochondria by three glasses; and the gentleman who gave you an account of his late indisposition, has in public company, after the first quart, spoke every syllable of the word plenipotentiary.

"Your, &c."

[122] This story is simply that of Katherine and Petruchio, in "The Taming of the Shrew," retold. It would seem that Steele was able to count upon his readers having very little knowledge of Shakespeare.

[123] See No. 230.

No. 232. [ Steele. From Saturday Sept. 30 , to Tuesday, Oct. 3, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 2. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

I have received the following letter from my unfortunate old acquaintance the upholsterer,[124] who, I observed, had long absented himself from the bench at the upper end of the Mall. Having not seen him for some time, I was in fear I should soon hear of his death, especially since he never appeared, though the noons have been of late pretty warm, and the councils at that place very full from the hour of twelve to three, which the sages of that board employ in conference, while the unthinking part of mankind are eating and drinking for the support of their own private persons, without any regard to the public.

"Sir,

"I should have waited on you very frequently to have discoursed you upon some matters of moment, but that I love to be well informed in the subject upon which I consult my friends before I enter into debate with them. I have therefore with the utmost care and pains applied myself to the reading all the writings and pamphlets which have come out since the trial,[125] and have studied night and day in order to be master of the whole controversy; but the authors are so numerous, and the state of affairs alters so very fast, that I am now a fortnight behindhand in my reading, and know only how things stood twelve days ago. I wish you would enter into those useful subjects; for, if I may be allowed to say so, these are not times to jest in. As for my own part, you know very well, that I am of a public spirit, and never regarded my own interest, but looked further; and let me tell you, that while some people are minding only themselves and families, and others are thinking only of their own country, things go on strangely in the North. I foresee very great evils arising from the neglect of transactions at a distance; for which reason I am now writing a letter to a friend in the country, which I design as an answer to the Czar of Muscovy's letter to the Grand Signior concerning his Majesty of Sweden. I have endeavoured to prove that it is not reasonable to expect that his Swedish Majesty should leave Bender without forty thousand men; and I have added to this an apology for the Cossacks. But the matter multiplies upon me, and I grow dim with much writing; therefore desire, if you have an old green pair of spectacles, such as you used about your fiftieth year, that you send them to me; as also, that you would please to desire Mr. Morphew to send me in a bushel of coals on the credit of my answer to his Czarian Majesty; for I design it shall be printed for Morphew, and the weather grows sharp. I shall take it kindly if you would order him also to send me the papers as they come out. If there are no fresh pamphlets published, I compute that I shall know before the end of next month what has been done in town to this day. If it were not for an ill custom lately introduced by a certain author, of talking Latin at the beginning of papers, matters would be in a much clearer light than they are; but to our comfort, there are solid writers who are not guilty of this pedantry. The Post-Man writes like an angel: the Moderator [126] is fine reading! It would do you no harm to read the Post-Boy with attention; he is very deep of late. He is instructive; but I confess a little satirical: a sharp pen! He cares not what he says. The Examiner is admirable, and is become a grave and substantial author. But above all, I am at a loss how to govern myself in my judgment of those whose whole writings consist in interrogatories: and then the way of answering, by proposing questions as hard to them, is quite as extraordinary. As for my part, I tremble at these novelties; we expose, in my opinion, our affairs too much by it. You may be sure the French King will spare no cost to come at the reading of them. I dread to think if the fable of the Blackbirds should fall into his hands. But I shall not venture to say more till I see you. In the meantime,

"I am, &c.

"P.S.—I take the Bender letter in the Examiner to be spurious."[127]

This unhappy correspondent, whose fantastical loyalty to the King of Sweden has reduced him to this low condition of reason and fortune, would appear much more monstrous in his madness, did we not see crowds very little above his circumstances from the same cause, a passion to politics.

It is no unpleasant entertainment to consider the commerce even of the sexes interrupted by difference in State affairs. A wench and her gallant parted last week upon the words "unlimited" and "passive": and there is such a jargon of terms got into the mouths of the very silliest of the women, that you cannot come into a room even among them, but you find them divided into Whig and Tory. What heightens the humour is, that all the hard words they know they certainly suppose to be terms useful in the disputes of the parties. I came in this day where two were in very hot debate, and one of them proposed to me to explain to them what was the difference between circumcision and predestination. You may be sure I was at a loss; but they were too angry at each other to wait for my explanation, but proceeded to lay open the whole state of affairs, instead of the usual topics of dress, gallantry, and scandal.

I have often wondered how it should be possible that this turn to politics should so universally prevail, to the exclusion of every other subject out of conversation; and upon mature consideration, find it is for want of discourse. Look round you among all the young fellows you meet, and you see those who have least relish for books, company, or pleasure, though they have no manner of qualities to make them succeed in those pursuits, shall make very passable politicians. Thus the most barren invention shall find enough to say to make one appear an able man in the top coffee-houses. It is but adding a certain vehemence in uttering yourself, let the thing you say be never so flat, and you shall be thought a very sensible man, if you were not too hot. As love and honour are the noblest motives of life; so the pretenders to them, without being animated by them, are the most contemptible of all sorts of pretenders. The unjust affectation of anything that is laudable, is ignominious in proportion to the worth of the thing we affect: thus, as love of one's country is the most glorious of all passions, to see the most ordinary tools in a nation give themselves airs that way, without any one good quality in their own life, has something in it romantic, yet not so ridiculous as odious.

Mr. Bickerstaff has received Silvia's letter from the Bath, and his sister is set out thither. Tom Frontley, who is one of the guides for the town, is desired to bring her into company, and oblige her with a mention in his next lampoon.

[124] See Nos. 155, 160, and 178.

[125] Sacheverell's.

[126] The Moderator, which professed to discuss the arguments of both parties impartially, lasted from May to November 1710.

[127] No. 7 of the Examiner contained what purported to be a letter from a Swedish officer at Bender to his friend at Stockholm.

No. 233. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Oct. 3 , to Thursday, Oct. 5, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 4.

----Sunt certa piacula, quæ te
Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello.

Hor., 1 Ep. i. 36.

When the mind has been perplexed with anxious cares and passions, the best method of bringing it to its usual state of tranquillity, is, as much as we possibly can, to turn our thoughts to the adversities of persons of higher consideration in virtue and merit than ourselves. By this means all the little incidents of our own lives, if they are unfortunate, seem to be the effect of justice upon our faults and indiscretions. When those whom we know to be excellent and deserving of a better fate are wretched, we cannot but resign ourselves, whom most of us know to merit a much worse state than that we are placed in. For such and many other occasions, there is one admirable relation which one might recommend for certain periods of one's life, to touch, comfort, and improve the heart of man. Tully says, somewhere, the pleasures of a husbandman are next to those of a philosopher. In like manner one may say (for methinks they bear the same proportion one to another), the pleasures of humanity are next to those of devotion. In both these latter satisfactions, there is a certain humiliation which exalts the soul above its ordinary state. At the same time that it lessens our value of ourselves, it enlarges our estimation of others. The history I am going to speak of, is that of Joseph in Holy Writ, which is related with such majestic simplicity, that all the parts of it strike us with strong touches of nature and compassion, and he must be a stranger to both who can read it with attention, and not be overwhelmed with the vicissitudes of joy and sorrow. I hope it will not be a profanation to tell it one's own way here, that they who may be unthinking enough to be more frequently readers of such papers as this than of Sacred Writ, may be advertised, that the greatest pleasures the imagination can be entertained with are to be found there, and that even the style of the Scriptures is more than human.

Joseph, a beloved child of Israel, became invidious to his elder brethren, for no other reason but his superior beauty and excellence of body and mind, insomuch that they could not bear his growing virtue, and let him live. They therefore conspire his death; but nature pleaded so strongly for him in the heart of one of them, that by his persuasion they determined rather to bury him in a pit, than be his immediate executioners with their own hands. When thus much was obtained for him, their minds still softened towards him, and they took the opportunity of some passengers to sell him into Egypt. Israel was persuaded by the artifice of his sons, that the youth was torn to pieces by wild beasts: but Joseph was sold to slavery, and still exposed to new misfortunes, from the same cause as before, his beauty and his virtue. By a false accusation he was committed to prison, but in process of time delivered from it, in consideration of his wisdom and knowledge, and made the governor of Pharaoh's house. In this elevation of his fortune, his brothers were sent into Egypt to buy necessaries of life in a famine. As soon as they are brought into his presence, he beholds, but he beholds with compassion, the men who had sold him to slavery approaching him with awe and reverence. While he was looking over his brethren, he takes a resolution to indulge himself in the pleasure of stirring their and his own affections, by keeping himself concealed, and examining into the circumstances of their family. For this end, with an air of severity, as a watchful minister to Pharaoh, he accuses them as spies, who are come into Egypt with designs against the State. This led them into the account which he wanted of them, the condition of their ancient father and little brother, whom they had left behind them. When he had learned that his brother was living, he demands the bringing him to Egypt, as a proof of their veracity.

But it would be a vain and empty endeavour to attempt laying this excellent representation of the passions of man in the same colours as they appear in the Sacred Writ in any other manner, or almost any other words, than those made use of in the page itself. I am obliged therefore to turn my designed narration rather into a comment upon the several parts of that beautiful and passionate scene. When Joseph expects to see Benjamin, how natural and how forcible is the reflection, "This affliction is come upon us in that we saw the anguish of our brother's soul without pity!" How moving must it be to Joseph to hear Reuben accuse the rest, that they would not hear what he pleaded in behalf of his innocence and distress! He turns from them and weeps, but commands his passion so far as to give orders for binding one of them in the presence of the rest, while he at leisure observed their different sentiments and concern in their gesture and countenance. When Benjamin is demanded in bondage for stealing the cup, with what force and what resignation does Judah address his brother!

"In what words shall I speak to my lord; with what confidence can I say anything? Our guilt is but too apparent; we submit to our fate. We are my lord's servants, both we and he also with whom the cup is found." When that is not accepted, how pathetically does he recapitulate the whole story! And approaching nearer to Joseph, delivers himself as follows; which, if we fix our thoughts upon the relation between the pleader and the judge, it is impossible to read without tears:

"Sir, let me intrude so far upon you, even in the high condition in which you are, and the miserable one in which you see me and my brethren, to inform you of the circumstances of us unhappy men that prostrate ourselves before you. When we were first examined by you, you inquired (for what reason my lord inquired we know not), but you inquired whether we had not a father or a brother? We then acquainted you, that we had a father, an old man, who had a child of his old age, and had buried another son whom he had by the same woman. You were pleased to command us to bring the child he had remaining down to us: we did so, and he has forfeited his liberty. But my father said to us, 'You know that my wife bore me two sons: one of them was torn in pieces: if mischief befall this also, it will bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. Accept, therefore, oh my lord! me for your bondman, and let the lad return with his brethren, that I may not see the evil that shall come on my father.' Here Joseph's passion grew too great for further disguise, and he reveals himself with exclamations of transport and tenderness.

"After their recovery from their first astonishment, his brethren were seized with fear for the injuries they had done him; but how generously does he keep them in countenance, and make an apology for them: 'Be not angry with yourselves for selling me hither; call it not so, but think Providence sent me before you to preserve life.'"

It would be endless to go through all the beauties of this sacred narrative; but any who shall read it, at an hour when he is disengaged from all other regard or interests than what arise from it, will feel the alternate passion of a father, a brother, and a son, so warm in him, that they will incline him to exert himself (in such of those characters as happen to be his) much above the ordinary course of his life.

No. 234. [ Steele. From Thursday, Oct. 5 , to Saturday, Oct. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 6. — FOOTNOTES:

I have reason to believe that certain of my contemporaries have made use of an art I some time ago professed, of being often designedly dull;[128] and for that reason shall not exert myself when I see them lazy. He that has so much to struggle with as the man who pretends to censure others, must keep up his fire for an onset, and may be allowed to carry his arms a little carelessly upon an ordinary march. This paper therefore shall be taken up by my correspondents, two of which have sent me the two following plain, but sensible and honest letters, upon subjects no less important than those of education and devotion:

"Sir,[129]

"I am an old man, retired from all acquaintance with the town, but what I have from your papers (not the worst entertainment of my solitude); yet being still a well-wisher to my country and the commonwealth of learning (a qua, confiteor, nullam ætatis meæ partem abhorruisse), and hoping the plain phrase in writing that was current in my younger days would have lasted for my time, I was startled at the picture of modern politeness transmitted by your ingenious correspondent, and grieved to see our sterling English language fallen into the hands of clippers and coiners. That mutilated epistle, consisting of hipps, reps, and such-like enormous curtailings, was a mortifying spectacle, but with the reserve of comfort to find this, and other abuses of our mother-tongue, so pathetically complained of, and to the proper person for redressing them, the Censor of Great Britain.

"He had before represented the deplorable ignorance that for several years past has reigned amongst our English writers, the great depravity of our taste, and continual corruption of our style: but, sir, before you give yourself the trouble of prescribing remedies for these distempers (which you own will require the greatest care and application), give me leave (having long had my eye upon these mischiefs, and thoughts exercised about them) to mention what I humbly conceive to be the cause of them, and in your friend Horace's words, "Quo fonte derivata clades In patriam populumque fluxit."[130]

"I take our corrupt ways of writing to proceed from the mistakes and wrong measures in our common methods of education, which I always looked upon as one of our national grievances, and a singularity that renders us no less than our situation,

——Penitus toto divisos orbe Britannos.[131]

This puts me upon consulting the most celebrated critics on that subject, to compare our practice with their precepts, and find where it was that we came short or went wide.

"But after all, I found our case required something more than these doctors had directed, and the principal defect of our English discipline to lie in the initiatory part, which, although it needs the greatest care and skill, is usually left to the conduct of those blind guides, viz., Chance and Ignorance.

"I shall trouble you with but a single instance, pursuant to what your sagacious friend has said, that he could furnish you with a catalogue of English books, that would cost you a hundred pounds at first hand, wherein you could not find ten lines together of common grammar; which is a necessary consequence of our mismanagement in that province.

"For can anything be more absurd than our way of proceeding in this part of literature? To push tender wits into the intricate mazes of grammar, and a Latin grammar? To learn an unknown art by an unknown tongue? To carry them a dark roundabout way to let them in at a back-door? Whereas by teaching them first the grammar of their mother-tongue (so easy to be learned), their advance to the grammars of Latin and Greek would be gradual and easy; but our precipitate way of hurrying them over such a gulf, before we have built them a bridge to it, is a shock to their weak understandings, which they seldom, or very late, recover. In the meantime we wrong nature, and slander infants, who want neither capacity nor will to learn, till we put them upon service beyond their strength, and then indeed we baulk them.

"The liberal arts and sciences are all beautiful as the Graces, nor has Grammar (the severe mother of all) so frightful a face of her own; it is the vizard put upon it that scares children. She is made to speak hard words that to them sound like conjuring. Let her talk intelligibly, and they will listen to her.

"In this, I think, as on other accounts, we show ourselves true Britons, always overlooking our natural advantages. It has been the practice of wisest nations to learn their own language by stated rules, to avoid the confusion that would follow from leaving it to vulgar use. Our English tongue, says a learned man, is the most determinate in its construction, and reducible to the fewest rules: whatever language has less grammar in it, is not intelligible; and whatever has more, all that it has more is superfluous; for which reasons he would have it made the foundation of learning Latin, and all other languages.

"To speak and write without absurdity the language of one's country, is commendable in persons of all stations, and to some indispensably necessary; and to this purpose, I would recommend above all things the having a grammar of our mother-tongue first taught in our schools, which would facilitate our youths learning their Latin and Greek grammars, with spare time for arithmetic, astronomy, cosmography, history, &c., that would make them pass the spring of their life with profit and pleasure, that is now miserably spent in grammatical perplexities.

"But here, methinks, I see the reader smile, and ready to ask me (as the lawyer did sexton Diego on his bequeathing rich legacies to the poor of the parish,[132] Where are these mighty sums to be raised?), Where is there such a grammar to be had? I will not answer, as he did, Even where your Worship pleases. No, it is our good fortune to have such a grammar, with notes, now in the press, and to be published next term.

"I hear it is a chargeable work, and wish the publisher to have customers of all that have need of such a book; yet fancy that he cannot be much a sufferer, if it is only bought by all that have more need for it than they think they have.

"A certain author brought a poem to Mr. Cowley, for his perusal and judgment of the performance, which he demanded at the next visit with a poetaster's assurance; and Mr. Cowley, with his usual modesty, desired that he would be pleased to look a little to the grammar of it. 'To the grammar of it! What do you mean, sir? Would you send me to school again?' 'Why, Mr. H——, would it do you any harm?'

"This put me on considering how this voyage of literature may be made with more safety and profit, expedition and delight; and at last, for completing so good a service, to request your directions in so deplorable a case; hoping that, as you have had compassion on our overgrown coxcombs in concerns of less consequence, you will exert your charity towards innocents, and vouchsafe to be guardian to the children and youth of Great Britain in this important affair of education, wherein mistakes and wrong measures have so often occasioned their aversion to books, that had otherwise proved the chief ornament and pleasure of their life. I am with sincerest respect,

"Sir,
"Your, &c."

St. Cl[eme]nts, Oct. 5.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I observe, as the season begins to grow cold, so does people's devotion; insomuch that, instead of filling the churches, that united zeal might keep one warm there, one is left to freeze in almost bare walls, by those who in hot weather are troublesome the contrary way. This, sir, needs a regulation that none but you can give to it, by causing those who absent themselves on account of weather only this winter time, to pay the apothecary's bills occasioned by coughs, catarrhs, and other distempers contracted by sitting in empty seats. Therefore to you I apply myself for redress, having gotten such a cold on Sunday was sevennight, that has brought me almost to your worship's age from sixty within less than a fortnight. I am,

"Your Worship's in all obedience,
"W. E."

[128] See Nos. 38 and 230.

[129] This letter refers to the one by Swift in No. 230, on the corruptions of the English language in ordinary writings. The present letter, which is supposed to be by James Greenwood, closes with the statement that an English grammar, with notes, would be published next term. Soon afterwards there appeared, with the date 1711, "A Grammar of the English Tongue, with Notes.... Printed for John Brightland," &c. This book was noticed in the Works of the Learned for November 1710. Facing the title is a page bearing the head of Cato the Censor, and the following lines: "The Approbation of Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.: 'The following treatise being submitted to my censure, that I may pass it with integrity, I must declare, that as grammar in general is on all hands allowed to be the foundation of all arts and sciences, so it appears to me that this Grammar of the English Tongue has done that justice to our language which, till now, it never obtained. The text will improve the most ignorant, and the notes will employ the most learned. I therefore enjoin all my female correspondents to buy, read, and study this grammar, that their letters may be something less enigmatic; and on all my male correspondents likewise, who make no conscience of false spelling and false English, I lay the same injunction, on pain of having their epistles exposed in their own proper dress in my Lucubrations.—Isaac Bickerstaff, Censor.'" There is a Dedication to the Queen, and a Preface in which "the Authors" explain how they have come to undertake a much-needed work at the request of Mr. Brightland.

This book was followed by a pamphlet of six pages, "Reasons for an English Education, by teaching the Youth of both Sexes the Arts of Grammar, Rhetoric, Poetry, and Logic, in their own Mother-Tongue, 1711." On p. 5 the writer asks, "Has our Censor complained without cause, and given a false alarm of danger to the language of our country? (Lucubrat., Sept. 28, 1710);" and on the next page we are told that I. B., encouraged by the success of his book, was industriously correcting it for a second edition. This appeared in 1712, with an increase in the number of pages from 180 to 264. Other editions appeared in 1714 and 1720. The fifth is dated 1729, and is advertised in the Craftsman for July 5, 1729, as "recommended by Sir Richard Steele, for the use of the schools of Great Britain;" but according to the Monthly Chronicle, it really appeared on August 8, 1728, being called in the Index, "Bickerstaffe's Grammar." The seventh and eighth editions were published in 1746 and 1759.

In Nos. 254 and 255 of the Tatler there was advertised, as shortly to be published, "An Essay towards a Practical English Grammar, by James Greenwood.... Particular care has been taken to render this book useful and agreeable to the Fair Sex." This book is dated 1711, and is noticed in the Works of the Learned for July. The Preface gives "part of a letter which I wrote about a twelvemonth ago to the ingenious author of the Tatler upon this head" (i.e. knowledge of grammar among the fair sex). Greenwood's remarks on female education were not printed in the Tatler; but they may have formed part of the letter in this number (234), if this letter is by Greenwood. The third edition, enlarged, of Greenwood's "Essay" appeared on May 24, 1729. Greenwood was sub-master at St. Paul's School, and afterwards kept a boarding-school at Woodford, in Essex. He published "The London Vocabulary, English and Latin," of which there was a third edition in 1713, with curious illustrations. By 1817 this book had passed through twenty six-editions in England, besides several in America. Greenwood also published in 1713 "The Virgin Muse," a collection of poetry for "young gentlemen and ladies at school." Second and third editions appeared in 1722 and 1731.

Michael Maittaire also issued, in 1712, "An English Grammar; or, an Essay on the Art of Grammar, applied to and exemplified in the English Tongue." In the same year a pamphlet appeared with the title, "Bellum Grammatical, or the Grammatical Battle-Royal. In Reflections on the three English Grammars published in about a year last past." It consists chiefly of an attack on Greenwood's "Essay," and praise of Brightland's "Grammar," which "merits what the Censor said of it." In a postscript Maittaire's "Grammar" is described as the worst of all. Brightland and Greenwood deserve to be remembered for their efforts to spread abroad a knowledge of "the genius and nature of the English tongue." (The facts in this note are taken from a paper by the present writer in Watford's Antiquarian for October 1885.)

[130] Horace, 3 Od. iv. 19.

[131] Virgil, "Eclog." i. 67.

[132]

"Bartolus (a covetous lawyer). Where shall I find these sums?
Diego (sexton to Lopez). Even where you please, sir."

—Beaumont and Fletcher's "Spanish Curate," Act. iv. sc. i.

No. 235. [ Steele. [133] From Saturday, Oct. 7 , to Tuesday, Oct. 10, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 9. — FOOTNOTES:

Scit Genius, natale comes qui temperat astrum.

Hor., 2 Ep. ii. 187.

Among those inclinations which are common to all men, there is none more unaccountable than that unequal love by which parents distinguish their children from each other. Sometimes vanity and self-love appear to have a share towards this effect; and in other instances I have been apt to attribute it to mere instinct: but however that is, we frequently see the child that has been beholden to neither of these impulses in their parents, in spite of being neglected, snubbed, and thwarted at home, acquire a behaviour which makes it as agreeable to all the rest of the world, as that of every one else of their family is to each other. I fell into this way of thinking from an intimacy which I have with a very good house in our neighbourhood, where there are three daughters of a very different character and genius. The eldest has a great deal of wit and cunning; the second has good sense, but no artifice; the third has much vivacity, but little understanding. The first is a fine, but scornful woman; the second is not charming, but very winning; the third no way commendable, but very desirable. The father of these young creatures was ever a great pretender to wit, the mother a woman of as much coquetry. This turn in the parents has biassed their affections towards their children. The old man supposes the eldest of his own genius, and the mother looks upon the youngest as herself renewed. By this means, all the lovers that approach the house are discarded by the father for not observing Mrs. Mary's wit and beauty, and by the mother for being blind to the mien and air of Mrs. Biddy. Come never so many pretenders, they are not suspected to have the least thoughts of Mrs. Betty, the middle daughter. Betty therefore is mortified into a woman of a great deal of merit, and knows she must depend on that only for her advancement. The middlemost is thus the favourite of all her acquaintance as well as mine, while the other two carry a certain insolence about them in all conversations, and expect the partiality which they meet with at home to attend them wherever they appear. So little do parents understand that they are of all people the least judges of their children's merit, that what they reckon such, is seldom anything else but a repetition of their own faults and infirmities.

There is, methinks, some excuse for being particular when one of the offspring has any defect in nature. In this case, the child, if we may so speak, is so much the longer the child of its parents, and calls for the continuance of their care and indulgence from the slowness of its capacity, or the weakness of its body. But there is no enduring to see men enamoured only at the sight of their own impertinences repeated, and to observe, as we may sometimes, that they have a secret dislike of their children for a degeneracy from their very crimes. Commend me to Lady Goodly; she is equal to all her own children, but prefers them to those of all the world beside. My lady is a perfect hen in the care of her brood; she fights and squabbles with all that appear where they come, but is wholly unbiassed in dispensing her favours among them. It is no small pains she is at to defame all the young women in her neighbourhood by visits, whispers, intimations, and hearsays; all which she ends with thanking Heaven, that no one living is so blessed with such obedient and well-inclined children as herself. Perhaps, says she, Betty cannot dance like Mrs. Frontinett, and it is no great matter whether she does or not; but she comes into a room with a good grace; though she says it that should not, she looks like a gentlewoman. Then if Mrs. Rebecca is not so talkative as the mighty wit Mrs. Clapper, yet she is discreet, she knows better what she says when she does speak. If her wit be slow, her tongue never runs before it. This kind parent lifts up her eyes and hands in congratulation of her own good fortune, and is maliciously thankful that none of her girls are like any of her neighbours: but this preference of her own to all others, is grounded upon an impulse of nature; while those who like one before another of their own, are so unpardonably unjust, that it could hardly be equalled in the children, though they preferred all the rest of the world to such parents. It is no unpleasant entertainment to see a ball at a dancing-school, and observe the joy of relations when the young ones, for whom they are concerned, are in motion. You need not be told whom the dancers belong to: at their first appearance the passion of their parents are in their faces, and there is always a nod of approbation stolen at a good step, or a graceful turn.

I remember among all my acquaintance but one man whom I have thought to live with his children with equanimity and a good grace. He had three sons and one daughter, whom he bred with all the care imaginable in a liberal and ingenuous way.[134] I have often heard him say, he had the weakness to love one much better than the other, but that he took as much pains to correct that as any other criminal passion that could arise in his mind. His method was, to make it the only pretension in his children to his favour to be kind to each other; and he would tell them, that he who was the best brother, he would reckon the best son. This turned their thoughts into an emulation for the superiority in kind and tender affection towards each other. The boys behaved themselves very early with a manly friendship; and their sister, instead of the gross familiarities and impertinent freedoms in behaviour, usual in other houses, was always treated by them with as much complaisance as any other young lady of their acquaintance. It was an unspeakable pleasure to visit or sit at meal in that family. I have often seen the old man's heart flow at his eyes with joy upon occasions which would appear indifferent to such as were strangers to the turn of his mind; but a very slight accident, wherein he saw his children's good-will to one another, created in him the God-like pleasure of loving them, because they loved each other.[135] This great command of himself, in hiding his first impulse to partiality, at last improved to a steady justice towards them; and that which at first was but an expedient to correct his weakness, was afterwards the measure of his virtue.

The truth of it is, those parents who are interested in the care of one child more than that of another, no longer deserve the name of parents, but are in effect as childish as their children, in having such unreasonable and ungovernable inclinations. A father of this sort has degraded himself into one of his own offspring; for none but a child would take part in the passions of children.

[133] Nichols thinks that Addison was probably the author of this paper, because of the allusion to Addison's family at the close. But Steele had visited Dr. Lancelot Addison's home when he was a boy at the Charterhouse. The paper is not printed in Addison's works.

[134] Addison's father, Dr. Lancelot Addison, Dean of Lichfield, had three sons: (1) Joseph; (2) Gulston, who died Governor of Fort-George in the East Indies; (3) Lancelot, who was entered in Queen's College, and afterwards became Master of Arts, and Fellow of Magdalen College in Oxford; and a daughter, Dorothy, first married to Dr. Sartre, formerly minister of Montpellier, and afterwards Prebendary of Westminster; and, secondly, to Daniel Combes, Esq. Swift wrote on October 25, 1710: "I dined to-day with Addison and Steele, and a sister of Mr. Addison, who is married to one Mons. Sartre, a Frenchman, prebendary of Westminster, who has a delicious house and garden; yet I thought it was a sort of monastic life in those cloisters, and I liked Laracor better. Addison's sister is a sort of a wit, very like him. I am not fond of her."

Addison had two other sisters, who died young. Of his brother Gulston we read thus in the "Wentworth Papers" (pp. 75-76): "Since I wrote this, I am told a great piece of news, that Mr. Addison is really a very great man with the juncto, and that he has got his elder brother, who has been a factor abroad in those parts, to be Governor of Fort St. George.... It seems Mr. Addison's friends can do what they please with the chief of the East India Company, who, I think, have the liberty of naming their Governor, and by management with them this place is got, which they say some years is worth £20,000" (Peter Wentworth to Lord Raby, January 28, 1709).

[135] In the Dedication to Congreve of Addison's "Drummer" (1722), Steele said, "Mr. Dean Addison, father of this memorable man, left behind him four children, each of whom, for excellent talents and singular perfections, was as much above the ordinary world as their brother Joseph was above them. Were things of this nature to be exposed to public view, I could show, under the Dean's own hand, in the warmest terms, his blessing on the friendship between his son and me; nor had he a child who did not prefer me in the first place of kindness and esteem, as their father loved me like one of them."

No. 236. [ Steele. [136] From Tuesday, Oct. 10 , to Thursday, Oct. 12, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 11. — To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., at his House in Great Britain. — FOOTNOTES:

Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine mentem
Tangit, et immemorem non sinit esse sui.

Ovid, Ep. ex Pont. 1. iii.

I find in the registers of my family, that the branch of the Bickerstaffs from which I am descended, came originally out of Ireland.[137] This has given me a kind of natural affection for that country. It is therefore with pleasure that I see not only some of the greatest warriors, but also of the greatest wits, to be natives of that kingdom. The gentleman who writes the following letter is one of these last. The matter of fact contained in it is literally true, though the diverting manner in which it is told may give it the colour of a fable.

Dublin.

"Sir,

"Finding by several passages of your Tatlers, that you are a person curious in natural knowledge, I thought it would not be unacceptable to you to give you the following history of the migration of frogs into this country. There is an ancient tradition among the wild philosophers of the kingdom, that this whole island was once as much infested by frogs, as that wherein Whittington made his fortune was by mice; insomuch that it is said, Macdonald the First could no more sleep by reason of these Dutch nightingales (as they are called at Paris), than Pharaoh could when they croaked in his bed-chamber. It was in the reign of this great monarch that St. Patrick arrived in Ireland, being as famous for destroying vermin as any rat-catcher of our times. If we may believe the tradition, he killed more in one day than a flock of storks could have done in a twelvemonth. From that time for about five hundred years, there was not a frog to be heard in Ireland, notwithstanding the bogs still remained, which in former ages had been so plentifully stocked with those inhabitants.

"When the arts began to flourish in the reign of King Charles the Second, and that great monarch had placed himself at the head of the Royal Society, to lead them forward into the discoveries of nature, it is said, that several proposals were laid before his Majesty for the importing of frogs into Ireland. In order to it, a virtuoso of known abilities was unanimously elected by the Society, and entrusted with the whole management of that affair. For this end he took along with him a sound, able-bodied frog, of a strong, hale constitution, that had given proof of his vigour by several leaps which he made before that learned body. They took ship, and sailed together till they came within sight of the Hill of Howth, before the frog discovered any symptoms of being indisposed by his voyage: but as the wind chopped about, and began to blow from the Irish coast, he grew sea-sick, or rather land-sick; for his learned companion ascribed it to the particles of the soil with which the wind was impregnated. He was confirmed in his conjecture, when, upon the wind's turning about, his fellow-traveller sensibly recovered, and continued in good health till his arrival upon the shore, where he suddenly relapsed, and expired upon a Ring's End car [138] on his way to Dublin. The same experiment was repeated several times in that reign, but to no purpose. A frog was never known to take three leaps upon Irish turf, before he stretched himself out and died.

"Whether it were that the philosophers on this side the water despaired of stocking the island with this useful animal, or whether in the following reign it was not thought proper to undo the miracle of a Popish saint, I do not hear of any further progress made in this affair till about two years after the battle of the Boyne.

"It was then that an ingenious physician,[139] to the honour as well as improvement of his native country, performed what the English had been so long attempting in vain. This learned man, with the hazard of his life, made a voyage to Liverpool, where he filled several barrels with the choicest spawn of frogs that could be found in those parts. This cargo he brought over very carefully, and afterwards disposed of it in several warm beds that he thought most capable of bringing it to life. The doctor was a very ingenious physician, and a very good Protestant; for which reason, to show his zeal against Popery, he placed some of the most promising spawn in the very fountain that is dedicated to the Saint, and known by the name of St. Patrick's Well, where these animals had the impudence to make their first appearance. They have since that time very much increased and multiplied in all the neighbourhood of this city. We have here some curious inquirers into natural history who observe their motions, with a design to compute in how many years they will be able to hop from Dublin to Wexford; though, as I am informed, not one of them has yet passed the mountains of Wicklow.

"I am further informed, that several graziers of the county of Cork have entered into a project of planting a colony in those parts, at the instance of the French Protestants: and I know not but the same design may be on foot in other parts of the kingdom, if the wisdom of the British nation do not think fit to prohibit the further importation of English frogs. I am,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"T. B."

There is no study more becoming a rational creature than that of natural philosophy; but as several of our modern virtuosos manage it, their speculations do not so much tend to open and enlarge the mind, as to contract and fix it upon trifles.

This in England is in a great measure owing to the worthy elections that are so frequently made in our Royal Society.[140] They seem to be in a confederacy against men of polite genius, noble thought, and diffusive learning; and choose into their assemblies such as have no pretence to wisdom, but want of wit; or to natural knowledge, but ignorance of everything else. I have made observations in this matter so long, that when I meet with a young fellow that is a humble admirer of the sciences, but more dull than the rest of the company, I conclude him to be a Fellow of the Royal Society.

[136] The authorship of the letter which forms the principal part of this number is unknown. Goldsmith was told that a Dean of Killaloe was the author of a paper in the Tatler or Spectator, but there is nothing to connect the Dean (Jerome Ryves) with this particular number.

[137] This may apply either to Swift, from whom Steele borrowed the name of Bickerstaff, or to Steele himself.

[138] "Our one horse vehicles have always been peculiar to ourselves, and were in use long before anything of a similar kind was introduced into England. The earliest and rudest of these were the Ring's End cars, so called from their plying principally to that place and Irishtown, then the resort of the beau monde for the benefit of sea-bathing. This car consisted of a seat suspended in a strap of leather between shafts, and without springs. The noise made by the creaking of the strap, which supported the whole weight of the company, particularly distinguished this mode of conveyance" ("Sketches of Ireland Sixty Years Ago," p. 77, quoted in Notes and Queries, 7th Series, iv. 178-179). Ring's End is a fishing village near Dublin.

[139] Sir Hans Sloane. The hazardous voyage to Liverpool is, perhaps, an allusion to the doctor's voyage to Jamaica, ridiculed by Dr. William King, in "A Voyage to the Island of Cajamai."

[140] For previous attacks on the Royal Society by Addison, see Nos. 119, 216, and 221.

No. 237. [ ? Steele. [141] From Thursday, Oct. 12 , to Saturday, Oct. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas
Corpora.——

Ovid, Met. i. 1.

Coming home last night before my usual hour, I took a book into my hand, in order to divert myself with it till bed-time. Milton chanced to be my author, whose admirable poem of "Paradise Lost" serves, at once, to fill the mind with pleasing ideas, and with good thoughts, and was therefore the most proper book for my purpose. I was amusing myself with that beautiful passage in which the poet represents Eve sleeping by Adam's side, with the devil sitting at her ear, and inspiring evil thoughts under the shape of a toad. Ithuriel, one of the guardian angels of the place, walking his nightly rounds, saw the great enemy of mankind hid in this loathsome animal, which he touched with his spear. This spear being of a celestial temper, had such a secret virtue in it, that whatever it was applied to, immediately flung off all disguise, and appeared in its natural figure. I am afraid the reader will not pardon me if I content myself with explaining the passage in prose, without giving it in the author's own inimitable words:

——On he led his radiant files,
Dazzling the morn: these to the bower direct,
In search of whom they sought. Him there they found,
Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve;
Essaying by his devilish art to reach
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams;
Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint
The animal spirits (that from pure blood arise
Like gentle breaths from rivers pure), thence raise
At least distempered, discontented thoughts,
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires,
Blown up with high conceits, engendering pride.
Him thus intent, Ithuriel with his spear
Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure
Touch of celestial temper, but returns
Of force to his own likeness. Up he starts,
Discovered and surprised. As when a spark
Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid
Fit for the tun, some magazine to store
Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain,
With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air;
So started up in his own shape the fiend.[142]

I could not forbear thinking how happy a man would be in the possession of this spear; or what an advantage it would be to a Minister of State, were he master of such a white staff. It would let him discover his friends from his enemies, men of abilities from pretenders: it would hinder him from being imposed upon by appearances and professions, and might be made use of as a kind of State test, which no artifice could elude.

These thoughts made very lively impressions on my imagination, which were improved, instead of being defaced by sleep, and produced in me the following dream: I was no sooner fallen asleep, but, methought, the angel Ithuriel appeared to me, and with a smile that still added to his celestial beauty, made me a present of the spear which he held in his hand, and disappeared. To make trials of it, I went into a place of public resort.

The first person that passed by me, was a lady that had a particular shyness in the cast of her eye, and a more than ordinary reservedness in all the parts of her behaviour. She seemed to look upon man as an obscene creature, with a certain scorn and fear of him. In the height of her airs I touched her gently with my wand, when, to my unspeakable surprise, she fell upon her back, and kicked up her heels in such a manner as made me blush in my sleep. As I was hasting away from this undisguised prude, I saw a lady in earnest discourse with another, and overheard her say with some vehemence, "Never tell me of him, for I am resolved to die a virgin!" I had a curiosity to try her; but as soon as I laid my wand upon her head, she immediately fell in labour. My eyes were diverted from her by a man and his wife, who walked near me hand-in-hand after a very loving manner. I gave each of them a gentle tap, and the next instant saw the woman in breeches, and the man with a fan in his hand. It would be tedious to describe the long series of metamorphoses that I entertained myself with in my night's adventure, of Whigs disguised in Tories, and Tories in Whigs; men in red coats that denounced terror in their countenances, trembling at the touch of my spear; others in black with peace in their mouths, but swords in their hands. I could tell stories of noblemen changed into usurers, and magistrates into beadles; of free-thinkers into penitents, and reformers into whoremasters. I must not, however, omit the mention of a grave citizen that passed by me with a huge clasped Bible under his arm, and a band of most immoderate breadth; but upon a touch on the shoulder, he let drop his book, and fell a-picking my pocket.

In the general I observed, that those who appeared good, often disappointed my expectation; but that, on the contrary, those who appeared very bad, still grew worse upon the experiment; as the toad in Milton, which one would have thought the most deformed part of the creation, at Ithuriel's stroke, became more deformed, and started up into a devil.

Among all the persons that I touched, there was but one who stood the test of my wand; and after many repetitions of the stroke, stuck to his form, and remained steady and fixed in his first appearance. This was a young man who boasted of foul distempers, wild debauches, insults upon holy men, and affronts to religion.

My heart was extremely troubled at this vision: the contemplation of the whole species, so entirely sunk in corruption, filled my mind with a melancholy that is inexpressible, and my discoveries still added to my affliction.

In the midst of these sorrows which I had in my heart, methought there passed by me a couple of coaches with purple liveries. There sat in each of them a person with a very venerable aspect. At the appearance of them, the people who were gathered round me in great multitudes divided into parties, as they were disposed to favour either of those reverend persons. The enemies of one of them begged me to touch him with my wand, and assured me, I should see his lawn converted into a cloak. The opposite party told me with as much assurance, that if I laid my wand upon the other, I should see his garments embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, and his head covered with a cardinal's cap. I made the experiment, and, to my great joy, saw them both, without any change, distributing their blessings to the people, and praying for those who had reviled them. Is it possible, thought I, that good men, who are so few in number, should be divided among themselves, and give better quarter to the vicious that are in their party, than the most strictly virtuous who are out of it? Are the ties of faction above those of religion?—I was going on in my soliloquies, but some sudden accident awakened me, when I found my hand grasped, but my spear gone. The reflection on so very odd a dream made me figure to myself, what a strange face the world would bear, should all mankind appear in their proper shapes and characters, without hypocrisy and disguise? I am afraid the earth we live upon would appear to other intellectual beings no better than a planet peopled with monsters. This should, methinks, inspire us with an honest ambition of recommending ourselves to those invisible spies, and of being what we would appear. There was one circumstance in my foregoing dream which I at first intended to conceal; but upon second thoughts, I cannot look upon myself as a candid and impartial historian, if I do not acquaint my reader, that upon taking Ithuriel's spear into my hand, though I was before an old decrepid fellow, I appeared a very handsome, jolly, black man. But I know my enemies will say, this is praising my own beauty, for which reason I will speak no more of it.

[141] Nichols thought this paper was written by Addison, or with his assistance. "The Tatler upon Milton's 'spear' is not mine, madam. What a puzzle there was between you and your judgment! In general you may sometimes be sure of things, as that about Style [Tatler, No. 230], because it is what I have frequently spoken of; but guessing is mine;—and I defy mankind if I please" (Swift's "Journal to Stella," Nov. 8, 1710).

[142] "Paradise Lost," iv. 797-819.

No. 238. [ Steele and Swift . [143] From Saturday, Oct. 14 , to Tuesday, Oct. 17, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 16. — FOOTNOTES:

——Poetica surgit
Tempestas——

Juv., Sat. xii. 23.

Storms at sea are so frequently described by the ancient poets, and copied by the moderns, that whenever I find the winds begin to rise in a new heroic poem, I generally skip a leaf or two till I come into fair weather. Virgil's Tempest is a masterpiece in this kind, and is indeed so naturally drawn, that one who has made a voyage can scarce read it without being sea-sick.

Land showers are no less frequent among the poets than the former, but I remember none of them which have not fallen in the country; for which reason they are generally filled with the lowings of oxen and the bleatings of sheep, and very often embellished with a rainbow.

Virgil's Land Shower is likewise the best in its kind: it is indeed a shower of consequence, and contributes to the main design of the poem, by cutting off a tedious ceremonial, and bringing matters to a speedy conclusion between two potentates of different sexes. My ingenious kinsman, Mr. Humphrey Wagstaff, who treats of every subject after a manner that no other author has done, and better than any other can do, has sent me the description of a City Shower. I do not question but the reader remembers my cousin's description of the Morning as it breaks in town, which is printed in the ninth Tatler, and is another exquisite piece of this local poetry:

Careful observers may foretell the hour
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower:
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you'll find the sink
Strike your offended sense with double stink.
If you be wise, then go not far to dine,
You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.
A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old aches throb,[144] your hollow tooth will rage.
Saunt'ring in coffee-house is Dulman seen;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.

Meanwhile the south rising with dabbled wings,
A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That swilled more liquor than it could contain,
And like a drunkard gives it up again.
Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope.
Such is that sprinkling which some careless quean
Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean.
You fly, invoke the gods; then turning, stop
To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop.
Not yet the dust had shunned th'unequal strife,
But aided by the wind, fought still for life;
And wafted with its foe by violent gust,
'Twas doubtful which was rain and which was dust.
Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid,
When dust and rain at once his coat invade;
His only coat, where dust confused with rain
Roughen the nap, and leave a mingled stain.

Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To shops in crowds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.
The tucked-up sempstress walks with hasty strides,
While streams run down her oiled umbrella's sides.
Here various kinds by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.
Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.
Boxed in a chair the beau impatient sits,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits;
And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather sounds, he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed,
Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed.
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Instead of paying chairmen, run them through.)
Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,
And each imprisoned hero quaked for fear.

Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go:
Filth of all hues and odours seem to tell
What street they sailed from, by their sight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,
From Smithfield or St. Pulchre's shape their course,
And in huge confluent joined at Snow Hill ridge,
Fall from the Conduit, prone to Holborn Bridge.
Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood,
Drowned puppies, stinking sprats, all drenched in mud,
Dead cats and turnip-tops come tumbling down the flood.

[143] "I am going to work at another Tatler" (Swift's "Journal," Oct. 4, 1710). "And now I am going in charity to send Steele another Tatler, who is very low of late" (Ib., Oct. 7, 1710). "I am now writing my poetical description of a 'Shower in London,' and will send it to the Tatler" (Ib., Oct. 10, 1710). "I have finished my poem on the 'Shower,' all but the beginning; and am going on with my Tatler" (Ib., Oct. 12, 1710). "This day came out the Tatler, made up wholly of my 'Shower,' and a preface to it. They say it is the best thing I ever wrote, and I think so too. I suppose the Bishop of Clogher will show it you. Pray tell me how you like it" (Ib., Oct. 17, 1710). "They both [Rowe and Prior] fell commending my 'Shower' beyond anything that has been written of the kind; there never was such a 'Shower' since Danae's," &c. "You must tell me how it is liked among you" (Ib., Oct. 27, 1710). "The Bishop of Clogher says, I bid him read the London 'Shaver,' and that you both swore it was 'Shaver,' and not 'Shower.' You all lie, and you are puppies, and can't read Presto's hand" (Ib., Nov. 28, 1710). "My 'Shower' admired with you; why the Bishop of Clogher says, he has seen something of mine of the same sort, better than the 'Shower.' I suppose he means 'The Morning'; but it is not half so good" (Ib., Nov. 30, 1710).

[144] Altered in Johnson's "Poets," and other editions, to "old aches will throb"; otherwise "aches" must be pronounced as a dissyllable.

No. 239. [ Addison. From Tuesday, Oct. 17 , to Thursday, Oct. 19, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 18. — FOOTNOTES:

----Mecum certasse feretur.—Ovid, Met. xiii. 20.

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

A modern, whose name I shall not mention,[145] because I would not make a silly paper sell, was born a critic and an Examiner, and, like one of the race of the serpent's teeth, came into the world with a sword in his hand. His works put me in mind of the story that is told of a German monk, who was taking a catalogue of a friend's library, and meeting with a Hebrew book in it, entered it under the title of "A book that has the beginning where the end should be." This author, in the last of his crudities, has amassed together a heap of quotations, to prove that Horace and Virgil were both of them modester men than myself, and if his works were to live as long as mine, they might possibly give posterity a notion, that Isaac Bickerstaff was a very conceited old fellow, and as vain a man as either Tully or Sir Francis Bacon. Had this serious writer fallen upon me only, I could have overlooked it; but to see Cicero abused, is, I must confess, what I cannot bear. The censure he passes upon this great man runs thus: "The itch of being very abusive, is almost inseparable from vainglory. Tully has these two faults in so high a degree, that nothing but his being the best writer in the world can make amends for them." The scurrilous wretch goes on to say I am as bad as Tully. His words are these: "And yet the Tatler, in his paper of September 26, has outdone him in both. He speaks of himself with more arrogance, and with more insolence of others." I am afraid by his discourse, this gentleman has no more read Plutarch than he has Tully. If he had, he would have observed a passage in that historian, wherein he has with great delicacy distinguished between two passions which are usually complicated in human nature, and which an ordinary writer would not have thought of separating. Not having my Greek spectacles by me, I shall quote the passage word for word as I find it translated to my hand. "Nevertheless, though he was intemperately fond of his own praise, yet he was very free from envying others, and most liberally profuse in commending both the ancients and his contemporaries, as is to be understood by his writings; and many of those sayings are still recorded, as that concerning Aristotle, that he was a river of flowing gold: of Plato's 'Dialogue,' that if Jupiter were to speak, he would discourse as he did. Theophrastus he was wont to call his peculiar delight; and being asked, which of Demosthenes his orations he liked best? he answered, the longest.

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

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

After this he complains to the world, that I call him names; and that in my passion I said, he was "a flea, a louse, an owl, a bat, a small wit, a scribbler, and a nibbler." When he has thus bespoken his reader's pity, he falls into that admirable vein of mirth, which I shall set down at length, it being an exquisite piece of raillery, and written in great gaiety of heart. "After this list of names (viz., flea, louse, owl, bat, &c.), I was surprised to hear him say, that he has hitherto kept his temper pretty well; I wonder how he will write when he has lost his temper? I suppose, as he now is very angry and unmannerly, he will then be exceeding courteous and good-humoured." If I can outlive this raillery, I shall be able to bear anything.

There is a method of criticism made use of by this author (for I shall take care how I call him a scribbler again), which may turn into ridicule any work that was ever written, wherein there is a variety of thoughts: this the reader will observe in the following words: "He (meaning me) is so intent upon being something extraordinary, that he scarce knows what he would be; and is as fruitful in his similes, as a brother of his [146] whom I lately took notice of. In the compass of a few lines he compares himself to a fox, to Daniel Burgess, to the Knight of the Red Cross, to an oak with ivy about it, and to a great man with an equipage." I think myself as much honoured by being joined in this part of his paper with the gentleman whom he here calls my brother, as I am in the beginning of it, by being mentioned with Horace and Virgil.

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

"In thirty lines his patron is a river, the primum mobile, a pilot, a victim, the sun, anything, and nothing. He bestows increase, conceals his source, makes the machine move, teaches to steer, expiates our offences, raises vapours, and looks larger as he sets."

What poem can be safe from this sort of criticism? I think I was never in my life so much offended as at a wag whom I once met with in a coffee-house: he had in his hand one of the Miscellanies, and was reading the following short copy of verses, which, without flattery to the author,[147] is, I think, as beautiful in its kind as any one in the English tongue:

Flavia the least and slightest toy
Can with resistless art employ.
This fan in meaner hands would prove
An engine of small force in love;
But she with such an air and mien,
Not to be told, or safely seen,
Directs its wanton motions so,
That it wounds more than Cupid's bow;
Gives coolness to the matchless dame,
To every other breast a flame.

When this coxcomb had done reading them, "Heyday!" says he, "what instrument is this that Flavia employs in such a manner as is not to be told, nor safely seen? In ten lines it is a toy, a Cupid's bow, a fan, and an engine in love. It has wanton motions, it wounds, it cools, and inflames."

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

The next paragraph of the paper we are talking of falls upon somebody whom I am at a loss to guess at:[148] but I find the whole invective turns upon a man who (it seems) has been imprisoned for debt. Whoever he was, I most heartily pity him; but at the same time must put the Examiner in mind, that notwithstanding he is a critic, he still ought to remember he is a Christian. Poverty was never thought a proper subject for ridicule; and I do not remember that I ever met with a satire upon a beggar.

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

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

----Quæ nec reticere loquenti,
Nec prior ipsa loqui didicit.[149]

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

[145] The Examiner, the eleventh number of which consisted of jibes against No. 229 of the Tatler, by Addison.

[146] Sir Samuel Garth, who has attacked in the sixth number of the Examiner.

[147] Bishop Atterbury. The verses were written "on a white fan borrowed from Miss Osborne, afterwards his wife."

[148] The attack was, of course, on Steele, and consisted of allusions to sponging-houses and fears of arrest for debt. It will be remarked that No. 229 was really by Addison, who here nobly defends his friend.

[149] Ovid, "Met." iii, 357.

No. 240. [ Addison. From Thursday, Oct. 19 , to Saturday, Oct. 21, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 20. — FOOTNOTES:

Ad populum phaleras.—Pers., Sat. iii. 30.

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

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

Scribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons.[150]

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

Ordinary quacks and charlatans are thoroughly sensible how necessary it is to support themselves by these collateral assistances, and therefore always lay their claim to some supernumerary accomplishments which are wholly foreign to their profession.

About twenty years ago it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement thrust into your hand of a doctor who was arrived at the knowledge of the green and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern seed. Nobody ever knew what this meant; but the green and red dragon so amused the people, that the doctor lived very comfortably upon them. About the same time there was pasted a very hard word upon every corner of the streets. This, to the best of my remembrance, was

TETRACHYMAGOGON,

which drew great shoals of spectators about it, who read the bill that it introduced with unspeakable curiosity; and when they were sick, would have nobody but this learned man for their physician.

I once received an advertisement of one who had studied thirty years by candle-light for the good of his countrymen. He might have studied twice as long by daylight, and never have been taken notice of: but lucubrations cannot be overvalued. There are some who have gained themselves great reputation for physic by their birth, as the seventh son of a seventh son; and others by not being born at all, as the Unborn Doctor,[151] who, I hear, is lately gone the way of his patients, having died worth five hundred pounds per annum, though he was not born to a halfpenny.

My ingenious friend Dr. Saffold [152] succeeded my old contemporary Dr. Lilly [153] in the studies both of physic and astrology, to which he added that of poetry, as was to be seen both upon the sign where he lived, and in the bills which he distributed. He was succeeded by Dr. Case,[154] who erased the verses of his predecessor out of the sign-post, and substituted in their stead two of his own, which were as follows:

Within this place
Lives Doctor Case.

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

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

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

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

Were the body politic to be physicked like particular persons, I should venture to prescribe to it after the same manner. I remember when our whole island was shaken with an earthquake some years ago, there was an impudent mountebank who sold pills which (as he told the country people) were very good against an earthquake. It may perhaps be thought as absurd to prescribe a diet for the allaying popular commotions, and national ferments. But I am verily persuaded, that if in such a case a whole people were to enter into a course of abstinence, and eat nothing but water-gruel for a fortnight, it would abate the rage and animosity of parties, and not a little contribute to the cure of a distracted nation. Such a fast would have a natural tendency to the procuring of those ends for which a fast is usually proclaimed. If any man has a mind to enter on such a voluntary abstinence, it might not be improper to give him the caution of Pythagoras in particular:[155]

Abstine a fabis.
"Abstain from beans."

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

[150] Ars Poet. 309

[151] Kirleus (see No. 14).

[152] Saffold (see No. 20, note) is said to have been originally a weaver. Afterwards he told fortunes, and practised as a quack doctor. A satirical "Elegy on the Death of Thomas Saffold, who departed this life, May 12, 1691," was published after his death.

[153] William Lilly, astrologer, died in 1681, aged seventy-nine. He published thirty-six almanacs, and a large number of pamphlets about his predictions. In 1715 appeared the "History of Lilly's Life and Times," written by himself.

[154] See No. 20.

[155] See Cicero, Div. i. 30, 62; ii. 58, 119; and Horace, 2 Sat. vi. 63.

No. 241. [ Steele. From Saturday, Oct. 21 , to Tuesday, Oct. 24, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 23. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

A method of spending one's time agreeably is a thing so little studied, that the common amusement of our young gentlemen (especially of such as are at a distance from those of the first breeding) is drinking. This way of entertainment has custom of its side; but as much as it has prevailed, I believe there have been very few companies that have been guilty of excess this way, where there have not happened more accidents which make against than for the continuance of it. It is very common that events arise from a debauch which are fatal, and always such as are disagreeable. With all a man's reason and good sense about him, his tongue is apt to utter things out of mere gaiety of heart which may displease his best friends. Who then would trust himself to the power of wine, without saying more against it, than that it raises the imagination, and depresses the judgment. Were there only this single consideration, that we are less masters of ourselves when we drink in the least proportion above the exigencies of thirst; I say, were this all that could be objected, it were sufficient to make us abhor this vice. But we may go on to say, that as he who drinks but a little is not master of himself, so he who drinks much is a slave to himself. As for my part, I ever esteemed a drunkard of all vicious persons the most vicious: for if our actions are to be weighed and considered according to the intention of them, what can we think of him who puts himself into a circumstance wherein he can have no intention at all, but incapacitates himself for the duties and offices of life, by a suspension of all his faculties. If a man considered, that he cannot under the oppression of drink be a friend, a gentleman, a master, or a subject; that he has so long banished himself from all that is dear, and given up all that is sacred to him, he would even then think of a debauch with horror: but when he looks still further, and acknowledges, that he is not only expelled out of all the relations of life, but also liable to offend against them all, what words can express the terror and detestation he would have of such a condition? And yet he owns all this of himself who says he was drunk last night.

As I have all along persisted in it, that all the vicious in general are in a state of death, so I think I may add to the non-existence of drunkards, that they died by their own hands. He is certainly as guilty of suicide who perishes by a slow, as he that is despatched by an immediate poison. In my last Lucubration I proposed the general use of water-gruel, and hinted that it might not be amiss at this very season: but as there are some whose cases, in regard to their families, will not admit of delay, I have used my interest in several wards of the city, that the wholesome restorative above mentioned may be given in tavern kitchens to all the morning's draught-men within the walls when they call for wine before noon. For a further restraint and mark upon such persons, I have given orders, that in all the offices where policies are drawn upon lives, it shall be added to the article which prohibits that the nominee should cross the sea, the words, "Provided also, that the above-mentioned A. B. shall not drink before dinner during the term mentioned in this indenture."

I am not without hopes but by this method I shall bring some unsizable friends of mine into shape and breath, as well as others who are languid and consumptive into health and vigour. Most of the self-murderers whom I yet hinted at, are such as preserve a certain regularity in taking their poison, and make it mix pretty well with their food: but the most conspicuous of those who destroy themselves, are such as in their youth fall into this sort of debauchery, and contract a certain uneasiness of spirit, which is not to be diverted but by tippling as often as they can fall into company in the day, and conclude with downright drunkenness at night. These gentlemen never know the satisfaction of youth, but skip the years of manhood, and are decrepid soon after they are of age. I was god-father to one of these old fellows. He is now three-and-thirty, which is the grand climacteric of a young drunkard. I went to visit the crazy wretch this morning, with no other purpose but to rally him under the pain and uneasiness of being sober.

But as our faults are double when they affect others besides ourselves, so this vice is still more odious in a married than a single man. He that is the husband of a woman of honour, and comes home overloaded with wine, is still more contemptible in proportion to the regard we have to the unhappy consort of his bestiality. The imagination cannot shape to itself anything more monstrous and unnatural than the familiarities between drunkenness and chastity. The wretched Astrea, who is the perfection of beauty and innocence, has long been thus condemned for life. The romantic tales of virgins devoted to the jaws of monsters, have nothing in them so terrible as the gift of Astrea to that bacchanal.

The reflection of such a match as spotless innocence with abandoned lewdness, is what puts this vice in the worst figure it can bear with regard to others; but when it is looked upon with respect only to the drunkard himself, it has deformities enough to make it disagreeable, which may be summed up in a word, by allowing, that he who resigns his reason, is actually guilty of all that he is liable to from the want of reason.

P.S.—Among many other enormities, there are two in the following letters which I think should be suddenly amended; but since they are sins of omission only, I shall not make remarks upon them till I find the delinquents persist in their errors; and the inserting the letters themselves shall be all their present admonition.

October 16.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Several that frequent divine service at St. Paul's, as well as myself, having with great satisfaction observed the good effect which your animadversion had on an excess in performance there;[156] it is requested, that you will take notice of a contrary fault, which is the unconcerned silence and the motionless postures of others who come thither. If this custom prevails, the congregation will resemble an audience at a play-house, or rather a dumb meeting of Quakers. Your censuring such church-mutes in the manner you think fit, may make these dissenters join with us, out of fear lest you should further animadvert upon their non-conformity. According as this succeeds, you shall hear from,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"B. B."

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I was the other day in company with a gentleman, who, in reciting his own qualifications, concluded every period with these words, 'the best of any man in England.' Thus for example: he kept the best house of any man in England; he understood this, and that, and the other, the best of any man in England. How harsh and ungrateful soever this expression might sound to one of my nation, yet the gentleman was one whom it no ways became me to interrupt; but perhaps a new term put into his by-words (as they call a sentence a man particularly affects) may cure him. I therefore took a resolution to apply to you, who, I dare say, can easily persuade this gentleman (whom I cannot believe an enemy to the Union) to mend his phrase, and be hereafter the wisest of any man in Great Britain. I am,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"Scoto-Britannus."

Whereas Mr. Humphrey Trelooby, wearing his own hair, a pair of buck-skin breeches, a hunting-whip, with a new pair of spurs, has complained to the Censor, that on Thursday last he was defrauded of half-a-crown, under pretence of a duty to the sexton for seeing the Cathedral of St. Paul, London: it is hereby ordered, that none hereafter require above sixpence of any country gentleman under the age of twenty-five for that liberty; and that all which shall be received above the said sum of any person for beholding the inside of that sacred edifice, be forthwith paid to Mr. John Morphew for the use of Mr. Bickerstaff, under pain of further censure on the above-mentioned extortion.

[156] See Nos. 56, 61, 67, and 70.

No. 242. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Oct. 24 , to Thursday, Oct. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 25. — FOOTNOTES:

——Quis iniquæ
Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se?

Juv., Sat. i. 30.

It was with very great displeasure I heard this day a man say of a companion of his with an air of approbation, "You know Tom never fails of saying a spiteful thing. He has a great deal of wit, but satire is his particular talent. Did you mind how he put the young fellow out of countenance that pretended to talk to him?" Such impertinent applauses, which one meets with every day, put me upon considering what true raillery and satire were in themselves; and this, methought, occurred to me from reflection upon the great and excellent persons that were admired for talents this way. When I had run over several such in my thoughts, I concluded (however unaccountable the assertion might appear at first sight) that good-nature was an essential quality in a satirist, and that all the sentiments which are beautiful in this way of writing must proceed from that quality in the author. Good-nature produces a disdain of all baseness, vice, and folly, which prompts them to express themselves with smartness against the errors of men, without bitterness towards their persons. This quality keeps the mind in equanimity, and never lets an offence unseasonably throw a man out of his character. When Virgil said, he that did not hate Bavius might love Mævius,[157] he was in perfect good-humour, and was not so much moved at their absurdities as passionately to call them sots or blockheads in a direct invective, but laughed at them with a delicacy of scorn, without any mixture of anger.

The best good man, with the worst-natured muse, was the character among us of a gentleman as famous for his humanity as his wit.[158]

The ordinary subjects for satire are such as incite the greatest indignation in the best tempers, and consequently men of such a make are the best qualified for speaking of the offences in human life. These men can behold vice and folly when they injure persons to whom they are wholly unacquainted, with the same severity as others resent the ills they do themselves. A good-natured man cannot see an overbearing fellow put a bashful man of merit out of countenance, or outstrip him in the pursuit of any advantage; but he is on fire to succour the oppressed, to produce the merit of the one, and confront the impudence of the other.

The men of the greatest character in this kind were Horace and Juvenal. There is not, that I remember, one ill-natured expression in all their writings, not one sentence of severity which does not apparently proceed from the contrary disposition. Whoever reads them, will, I believe, be of this mind; and if they were read with this view, it may possibly persuade our young fellows, that they may be very witty men without speaking ill of any but those who deserve it: but in the perusal of these writers it may not be unnecessary to consider, that they lived in very different times. Horace was intimate with a prince of the greatest goodness and humanity imaginable, and his court was formed after his example; therefore the faults that poet falls upon were little inconsistencies in behaviour, false pretences to politeness, or impertinent affectations of what men were not fit for. Vices of a coarser sort could not come under his consideration, or enter the palace of Augustus. Juvenal, on the other hand, lived under Domitian, in whose reign everything that was great and noble was banished the habitations of the men in power. Therefore he attacks vice as it passes by in triumph, not as it breaks into conversation. The fall of empire, contempt of glory, and a general degeneracy of manners, are before his eyes in all his writings. In the days of Augustus, to have talked like Juvenal had been madness, or in those of Domitian like Horace. Morality and virtue are everywhere recommended in Horace, as became a man in a polite court, from the beauty, the propriety, the convenience, of pursuing them. Vice and corruption are attacked by Juvenal in a style which denotes, he fears he shall not be heard without he calls to them in their own language, with a bare-faced mention of the villanies and obscenities of his contemporaries.

This accidental talk of these two great men runs me from my design, which was to tell some coxcombs that run about this town with the name of smart satirical fellows, that they are by no means qualified for the characters they pretend to, of being severe upon other men, for they want good-nature. There is no foundation in them for arriving at what they aim at; and they may as well pretend to flatter, as rail agreeably without being good-natured.

There is a certain impartiality necessary to make what a man says bear any weight with those he speaks to. This quality, with respect to men's errors and vices, is never seen but in good-natured men. They have ever such a frankness of mind, and benevolence to all men, that they cannot receive impressions of unkindness without mature deliberation; and writing or speaking ill of a man upon personal considerations, is so irreparable and mean an injury, that no one possessed of this quality is capable of doing it: but in all ages there have been interpreters to authors when living, of the same genius with the commentators, into whose hands they fall when dead. I dare say, it is impossible for any man of more wit than one of these to take any of the four-and-twenty letters, and form out of them a name to describe the character of a vicious man with greater life, but one of these would immediately cry, Mr. Such-a-one is meant in that place. But the truth of it is, satirists describe the age, and backbiters assign their descriptions to private men.

In all terms of reproof, when the sentence appears to arise from personal hatred or passion, it is not then made the cause of mankind, but a misunderstanding between two persons. For this reason, the representations of a good-natured man bear a pleasantry in them, which shows there is no malignity at heart, and by consequence are attended to by his hearers or readers because they are unprejudiced. This deference is only what is due to him; for no man thoroughly nettled can say a thing general enough to pass off with the air of an opinion declared, and not a passion gratified. I remember a humorous fellow at Oxford, when he heard any one had spoken ill of him, used to say, "I won't take my revenge of him till I have forgiven him." What he meant by this, was, that he would not enter upon this subject till it was grown as indifferent to him as any other; and I have, by this rule, seen him more than once triumph over his adversary with an inimitable spirit and humour; for he came to the assault against a man full of sore places, and he himself invulnerable.

There is no possibility of succeeding in a satirical way of writing or speaking, except a man throws himself quite out of the question. It is great vanity to think any one will attend a thing because it is your quarrel. You must make your satire the concern of society in general, if you would have it regarded. When it is so, the good-nature of a man of wit will prompt him to many brisk and disdainful sentiments and replies, to which all the malice in the world will not be able to repartee.

[157] Virgil, "Eclog." iii. 90.

[158] This was said of Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset, by the Earl of Rochester.

No. 243. [ Addison. From Thursday, Oct. 26 , to Saturday, Oct. 28, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 27. — FOOTNOTES:

Infert se septus nebula, mirabile dictu,
Per medios, miscetque viris; neque cernitur ulli.

Virg., Æn. i. 439.

I have somewhere made mention of Gyges's ring,[159] and intimated to my reader, that it was at present in my possession, though I have not since made any use of it. The tradition concerning this ring is very romantic, and taken notice of both by Plato and Tully, who each of them make an admirable use of it for the advancement of morality. This Gyges was the master shepherd to King Candaules. As he was wandering over the plains of Lydia, he saw a great chasm in the earth, and had the curiosity to enter it. After having descended pretty far into it, he found the statue of a horse in brass, with doors in the sides of it. Upon opening of them, he found the body of a dead man bigger than ordinary, with a ring upon his finger, which he took off, and put it upon his own. The virtues of it were much greater than he at first imagined; for upon his going into the assembly of shepherds, he observed, that he was invisible when he turned the stone of the ring within the palm of his hand, and visible when he turned it towards his company. Had Plato and Cicero been as well versed in the occult sciences as I am, they would have found a great deal of mystic learning in this tradition; but it is impossible for an adept to be understood by one who is not an adept.

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

About a week ago, not being able to sleep, I got up and put on my magical ring, and with a thought transported myself into a chamber where I saw a light. I found it inhabited by a celebrated beauty, though she is of that species of women which we call a slattern. Her head-dress and one of her shoes lay upon a chair, her petticoat in one corner of the room, and her girdle, that had a copy of verses made upon it but the day before, with her thread stockings, in the middle of the floor. I was so foolishly officious, that I could not forbear gathering up her clothes together to lay them upon the chair that stood by her bedside, when, to my great surprise, after a little muttering, she cried out, "What do you do? Let my petticoat alone." I was startled at first, but soon found that she was in a dream; being one of those who, to use Shakespeare's expression, are "so loose of thought,"[160] that they utter in their sleep everything that passes in their imagination. I left the apartment of this female rake, and went into her neighbour's, where there lay a male coquet. He had a bottle of salts hanging over his head, and upon the table, by his bedside, Suckling's Poems, with a little heap of black patches on it. His snuff-box was within reach on a chair: but while I was admiring the disposition which he made of the several parts of his dress, his slumber seemed interrupted by a pang, that was accompanied by a sudden oath, as he turned himself over hastily in his bed. I did not care for seeing him in his nocturnal pains, and left the room.

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

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

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

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

As I took a turn or two in my own lodging, I was thinking, that, old as I was, I need not go to bed alone, but that it was in my power to marry the finest lady in this kingdom, if I would wed her with this ring. For what a figure would she that should have it make at a visit, with so perfect a knowledge as this would give her of all the scandal in the town? But instead of endeavouring to dispose of myself and it in matrimony, I resolved to lend it to my loving friend the author of the "Atalantis,"[161] to furnish a new Secret History of Secret Memoirs.

[159] See No. 138.

[160] Iago's words ("Othello," act iii. sc. 3) are, "There are a kind of men so loose of soul that in their sleeps will mutter their affairs; one of this kind is Cassio."

[161] Mrs. Manley (see Nos. 35 and 63). In the dedication prefixed to her play of "Lucius" (1717), Mrs. Manley made public apology for the attacks upon Steele in her earlier writings: "I have not known a greater mortification than when I have reflected upon the severities which have flowed from a pen which is now, you see, disposed as much to celebrate and commend you."

No. 244. [ Steele. From Saturday, Oct. 28 , to Tuesday, Oct. 31, 1710 . — Will's Coffee-house, Oct. 30.

Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,
Qui sapere et fari possit quæ sentiat?——

Hor., I Ep. iv. 8.

It is no easy matter when people are advancing in anything, to prevent their going too fast for want of patience. This happens in nothing more frequently than in the prosecution of studies. Hence it is, that we meet crowds who attempt to be eloquent before they can speak. They affect the flowers of rhetoric before they understand the parts of speech. In the ordinary conversation of this town, there are so many who can, as they call it, talk well, that there is not one in twenty that talks to be understood. This proceeds from an ambition to excel, or, as the term is, to shine, in company. The matter is not to make themselves understood, but admired. They come together with a certain emulation, rather than benevolence. When you fall among such companions, the safe way is to give yourself up, and let the orators declaim for your esteem, and trouble yourself no further. It is said that a poet must be born so; but I think it may be much better said of an orator, especially when we talk of our town poets and orators; but the town poets are full of rules and laws, the town orators go through thick and thin, and are, forsooth, persons of such eminent natural parts and knowledge of the world, that they despise all men as inexperienced scholastics who wait for an occasion before they speak, or who speak no more than is necessary. They had half persuaded me to go to the tavern the other night, but that a gentleman whispered me, "Prithee, Isaac, go with us; there is Tom Varnish will be there, and he is a fellow that talks as well as any man in England."

I must confess, when a man expresses himself well upon any occasion, and his falling into an account of any subject arises from a desire to oblige the company, or from fulness of the circumstance itself, so that his speaking of it at large is occasioned only by the openness of a companion; I say, in such a case as this, it is not only pardonable, but agreeable, when a man takes the discourse to himself; but when you see a fellow watch for opportunities for being copious, it is excessively troublesome. A man that stammers, if he has understanding, is to be attended with patience and good-nature; but he that speaks more than he need, has no right to such an indulgence. The man who has a defect in his speech takes pains to come to you, while a man of a weak capacity with fluency of speech triumphs in outrunning you. The stammerer strives to be fit for your company; the loquacious man endeavours to show you, you are not fit for his.

With thoughts of this kind do I always enter into that man's company who is recommended as a person that talks well; but if I were to choose the people with whom I would spend my hours of conversation, they should be certainly such as laboured no further than to make themselves readily and clearly apprehended, and would have patience and curiosity to understand me. To have good sense, and ability to express it, are the most essential and necessary qualities in companions. When thoughts rise in us fit to utter, among familiar friends there needs but very little care in clothing them.

Urbanus is, I take it, a man one might live with whole years, and enjoy all the freedom and improvement imaginable, and yet be insensible of a contradiction to you in all the mistakes you can be guilty of. His great good-will to his friends has produced in him such a general deference in his discourse, that if he differs from you in his sense of anything, he introduces his own thoughts by some agreeable circumlocution, or he has often observed such and such a circumstance that made him of another opinion. Again, where another would be apt to say, "This I am confident of; I may pretend to judge of this matter as well as anybody;" Urbanus says, "I am verily persuaded; I believe one may conclude." In a word, there is no man more clear in his thoughts and expressions than he is, or speaks with greater diffidence. You shall hardly find one man of any consideration, but you shall observe one of less consequence form himself after him. This happens to Urbanus; but the man who steals from him almost every sentiment he utters in a whole week, disguises the theft, by carrying it with quite a different air. Umbratilis knows Urbanus's doubtful way of speaking proceeds from good-nature and good-breeding, and not from uncertainty in his opinions. Umbratilis therefore has no more to do but repeat the thoughts of Urbanus in a positive manner, and appear to the undiscerning a wiser man than the person from whom he borrows: but those who know him, can see the servant in his master's habit; and the more he struts, the less do his clothes appear his own.

In conversation, the medium is neither to affect silence or eloquence; not to value our approbation, and to endeavour to excel us who are of your company, are equal injuries. The great enemies therefore to good company, and those who transgress most against the laws of equality (which is the life of it), are, the clown, the wit, and the pedant. A clown, when he has sense, is conscious of his want of education, and with an awkward bluntness hopes to keep himself in countenance, by overthrowing the use of all polite behaviour. He takes advantage of the restraint good-breeding lays upon others not to offend him to trespass against them, and is under the man's own shelter while he intrudes upon him. The fellows of this class are very frequent in the repetition of the words "rough" and "manly." When these people happen to be by their fortunes of the rank of gentlemen, they defend their other absurdities by an impertinent courage; and to help out the defect of their behaviour, add their being dangerous to their being disagreeable. This gentleman (though he displeases, professes to do so, and knowing that, dares still go on to do so) is not so painful a companion as he who will please you against your will, and resolves to be a wit.

This man upon all occasions, and whoever he falls in company with, talks in the same circle, and in the same round of chat which he has learned at one of the tables of this coffee-house. As poetry is in itself an elevation above ordinary and common sentiments, so there is no fop is so very near a madman in indifferent company as a poetical one. He is not apprehensive that the generality of the world are intent upon the business of their own fortune and profession, and have as little capacity as curiosity to enter into matters of ornament or speculation. I remember at a full table in the city, one of these ubiquitary wits was entertaining the company with a soliloquy (for so I call it when a man talks to those who do not understand him) concerning wit and humour. An honest gentleman who sat next to me, and was worth half a plum, stared at him, and observing there was some sense, as he thought, mixed with his impertinence, whispered me, "Take my word for it, this fellow is more knave than fool." This was all my good friend's applause of the wittiest man of talk that I was ever present at, which wanted nothing to make it excellent but that there was no occasion for it.

The pedant is so obvious to ridicule, that it would be to be one to offer to explain him. He is a gentleman so well known, that there is none but those of his own class who do not laugh at and avoid him. Pedantry proceeds from much reading and little understanding. A pedant among men of learning and sense, is like an ignorant servant giving an account of a polite conversation. You may find he has brought with him more than could have entered into his head without being there, but still that he is not a bit wiser than if he had not been there at all.

No. 245. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Oct. 31 , to Thursday, Nov. 2, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 1. — Advertisement. — Postscript. — FOOTNOTES:

The lady hereafter mentioned having come to me in very great haste, and paid me much above the usual fee as a cunning man to find her stolen goods, and also having approved my late discourse of advertisements,[162] obliged me to draw up this, and insert it in the body of my paper:

Whereas Bridget Howd'ee,[163] late servant to the Lady Farthingale, a short, thick, lively, hard-favoured wench, of about twenty-nine years of age, her eyes small and bleared, her nose very broad at bottom, and turning up at the end, her mouth wide, and lips of an unusual thickness, two teeth out before, the rest black and uneven, the tip of her left ear being of a mouse-colour, her voice loud and shrill, quick of speech, and something of a Welsh accent; withdrew herself on Wednesday last from her ladyship's dwelling-house, and, with the help of her consorts, carried off the following goods of her said lady—viz., a thick wadded calico wrapper, a musk-coloured velvet mantle lined with squirrel-skins, eight night-shifts, four pair of silk stockings curiously darned, six pair of laced shoes, new and old, with the heels of half two inches higher than their fellows; a quilted petticoat of the largest size, and one of canvas with whalebone hoops; three pair of stays, bolstered below the left shoulder; two pair of hips of the newest fashion, six roundabout aprons with pockets, and four striped muslin night-rails very little frayed; a silver pot for coffee or chocolate, the lid much bruised; a broad-brimmed flat silver plate for sugar with Rhenish wine, a silver ladle for plum-porridge; a silver cheese-toaster with three tongues, an ebony handle, and silvering at the end; a silver posnet [164] to butter eggs; one caudle and two cordial-water cups, two cocoa cups, and an ostrich's egg, with rims and feet of silver; a marrow spoon, with a scoop at the other end; a silver orange-strainer, eight sweetmeat spoons made with forks at the end, an agate-handle knife and fork in a sheath, a silver tongue-scraper, a silver tobacco-box, with a tulip graved on the top; and a Bible bound in shagreen, with gilt leaves and clasps, never opened but once. Also a small cabinet, with six drawers inlaid with red tortoise-shell, and brass gilt ornaments at the four corners, in which were two leather forehead cloths, three pair of oiled dogskin gloves,[165] seven cakes of superfine Spanish wool, half-a-dozen of Portugal dishes, and a quire of paper from thence; two pair of brand-new plumpers, four black-lead combs, three pair of fashionable eyebrows,[166] two sets of ivory teeth, little the worse for wearing, and one pair of box for common use; Adam and Eve in bugle-work, without fig-leaves, upon canvas, curiously wrought with her ladyship's own hand; several filigrane curiosities; a crochet of 122 diamonds, set strong and deep in silver, with a rump jewel after the same fashion; bracelets of braided hair, pomander, and seed-pearl; a large old purple velvet purse, embroidered, and shutting with a spring, containing two pictures in miniature, the features visible; a broad thick gold ring with a hand in hand graved upon it, and within this posy, "While life does last, I'll hold thee fast;" another set round with small rubies and sparks, six wanting; another of Turkey stone [167] cracked through the middle; an Elizabeth and four Jacobus's, one guinea the first of the coin, an angel with a hole bored through, a broken half of a Spanish piece of gold, a crown piece with the breeches,[168] an old nine-pence bent both ways by Lilly,[169] the almanac maker, for luck at langteraloo,[170] and twelve of the shells called blackamoor's teeth; one small amber box with apoplectic balsam, and one silver gilt of a larger size for cashu [171] and caraway comfits, to be taken at long sermons, the lid enamelled, representing a Cupid fishing for hearts, with a piece of gold on his hook; over his head this rhyme, "Only with gold you me shall hold." In the lower drawer was a large new gold repeating watch, made by a Frenchman; a gold chain, and all the proper appurtenances hung upon steel swivels, to wit, lockets with the hair of dead and living lovers, seals with arms, emblems and devices cut in cornelian, agate, and onyx, with Cupids, hearts, darts, altars, flames, rocks, pick-axes, roses, thorns, and sun-flowers; as also variety of ingenious French mottoes; together with gold etuis for quills, scissors, needles, thimbles, and a sponge dipped in Hungary water, left but the night before by a young lady going upon a frolic incog. There was also a bundle of letters, dated between the years 1670 and 1682, most of them signed Philander, the rest Strephon, Amyntas, Corydon, and Adonis; together with a collection of receipts to make pastes for the hands, pomatums, lip-salves, white-pots,[172] beautifying creams, water of talc,[173] and frog spawn water; decoctions for clearing the complexion, and an approved medicine to procure abortion.

Whoever can discover the aforesaid goods, so that they may be had again, shall have fifty guineas for the whole, or proportionable for any part. N.B.—Her ladyship is pleased to promise ten pounds for the packet of letters over and above, or five for Philander's only, being her first love. My lady bestows those of Strephon to the finder, being so written, that they may serve to any woman who reads them.

As I am patron of persons who have no other friend to apply to, I cannot suppress the following complaint:

"Sir,

"I am a blackamoor boy, and have, by my lady's order, been christened by the chaplain. The good man has gone further with me, and told me a great deal of good news; as, that I am as good as my lady herself, as I am a Christian, and many other things: but, for all this, the parrot who came over with me from our country is as much esteemed by her as I am. Besides this, the shock-dog has a collar that cost almost as much as mine.[174] I desire also to know, whether now I am a Christian, I am obliged to dress like a Turk and wear a turban. I am,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"Pompey."

[162] See No. 224.

[163] See No. 109.

[164] A small basin. Bacon speaks of utensils which will endure fire, such as "chafing-dishes, posnets, and such other silver dishes."

[165] The cloths and gloves were to soften the skin; the Spanish wool and Portugal dishes for "complexions"; the plumpers for the cheeks. The black-lead combs were for darkening the hair. By ivory and box teeth, tooth-combs are probably intended (Dobson). Perhaps, however, the "teeth" are artificial teeth.

[166] Cf. Steele's "The Tender Husband," act iii. sc. I: "Prithee, wench, bring me my black eyebrows out of the next room." Prior often refers to this subject-thus:

"The slattern had left in the hurry and haste
Her lady's complexion and eyebrows at Calais;"

and when the kitten had stolen Helen's eyebrows, a trap was at once baited:

"If we don't catch a mouse to-night,
Alas! no eyebrows for to-morrow!"

[167] Turquoise.

[168] The two shields on Oliver Cromwell's coins were vulgarly called "breeches," because they somewhat resembled vast trunk-hose.

[169] See No. 240.

[170] Lanterloo, lantrillou, or lanctreloo, a game at cards in which the knave of clubs is the highest card. Cf. lanturloo (Fr.), nonsense. The game is mentioned, says Strutt, in the "Complete Gamester" (1734). In a letter in the Spectator, No. 245, we find the following: "I would have these sports and pastimes not only merry, but innocent, for which reason I have not mentioned either whisk or lanterloo, nor indeed so much as one-and-thirty."

[171] Cachou, for sweetening the breath.

[172] A spiced custard pudding formerly a favourite dish in Devonshire. See Spectator, No. 109, and Gay's "Shepherd's Week" (Monday):

"White-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare."

[173] A cosmetic.

[174] On the black marble bust of the favourite slave of William III., at Hampton Court, there is a white marble collar, with a padlock. Contemporary advertisements show that negro servants often wore a collar bearing the name of their master. In No. 132 of the original issue of the Tatler there was this advertisement: "A black Indian boy, twelve years of age, fit to wait on a gentleman, to be disposed of at Denis's Coffee-house, in Finch Lane, near the Royal Exchange." The reward offered for the recovery of a runaway black servant rarely exceeded a guinea.

No. 246. [ Steele. From Thursday, Nov. 2 , to Saturday, Nov. 4, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 3. — FOOTNOTES:

----Vitiis nemo sine nascitur, optimus ille est
Qui minimis urgetur.——

Hor., 1 Sat. iii. 68.

When one considers the turn which conversation takes in almost every set of acquaintance, club or assembly, in this town or kingdom, one cannot but observe, that in spite of what I am every day saying, and all the moral writers since the beginning of the world have said, the subject of discourse is generally upon one another's faults. This in a great measure proceeds from self-conceit, which were to be endured in one or other individual person; but the folly has spread itself almost over all the species; and one cannot only say, Tom, Jack, or Will, but in general, that man is a coxcomb. From this source it is that any excellence is faintly received, any imperfection unmercifully exposed. But if things were put in a true light, and we would take time to consider that man in his very nature is an imperfect being, our sense of this matter would be immediately altered, and the word "imperfection" would not carry an unkinder idea than the word "humanity." It is a pleasant story, that we, forsooth, who are the only imperfect creatures in the universe, are the only beings that will not allow of imperfection. Somebody has taken notice, that we stand in the middle of existences, and are by this one circumstance the most unhappy of all others. The brutes are guided by instinct, and know no sorrow; the angels have knowledge, and they are happy; but men are governed by opinion, which is I know not what mixture of instinct and knowledge, and are neither indolent nor happy. It is very observable, that critics are a people between the learned and the ignorant, and by that situation enjoy the tranquillity of neither. As critics stand among men, so do men in general between brutes and angels. Thus every man as he is a critic and a coxcomb, till improved by reason and speculation, is ever forgetting himself, and laying open the faults of others.

At the same time that I am talking of the cruelty of urging people's faults with severity, I cannot but bewail some which men are guilty of for want of admonition. These are such as they can easily mend, and nobody tells them of; for which reason I shall make use of the penny-post (as I have with success to several young ladies about turning their eyes, and holding up their heads) to certain gentlemen whom I remark habitually guilty of what they may reform in a moment. There is a fat fellow whom I have long remarked wearing his breast open in the midst of winter, out of an affectation of youth. I have therefore sent him just now the following letter in my physical capacity:

"Sir,

"From the twentieth instant to the first of May next, both days inclusive, I beg of you to button your waistcoat from your collar to your waistband. I am,

"Your most humble Servant,
"Isaac Bickerstaff, Philomath."[175]

There is a very handsome well-shaped youth that frequents the coffee-houses about Charing Cross, and ties a very pretty ribbon with a cross of jewels at his breast.[176] This being something new, and a thing in which the gentleman may offend the Heralds' Office, I have addressed myself to him as I am censor:

"Dear Countryman,

"Was that ensign of honour which you wear, given you by a prince or a lady that you have served? If you bear it as an absent lover, please to hang it on a black ribbon; if as a rewarded soldier, you may have my licence to continue the red.

"Your faithful Servant,
"Bickerstaff, Censor."

These little intimations do great service, and are very useful, not only to the persons themselves, but to inform others how to conduct themselves towards them.

Instead of this honest private method, or a friendly one face to face, of acquainting people with things in their power to explain or amend, the usual way among people is to take no notice of things you can help, and nevertheless expose you for those you cannot.

Plumbeus and Levis are constantly in each other's company: they would, if they took proper methods, be very agreeable companions; but they so extravagantly aim at what they are unfit for, and each of them rallies the other so much in the wrong place, that instead of doing each other the offices of friends, they do but instruct the rest of the world to laugh at them with more knowledge and skill. Plumbeus is of a saturnine and sullen complexion; Levis, of a mercurial and airy disposition. Both these gentlemen have but very slow parts, but would make a very good figure, did they pursue what they ought. If Plumbeus would take to business, he would in a few years know the forms of orders so well, as to direct and dictate with so much ease, as to be thought a solid, able, and at the same time a sure man of despatch. Levis, with a little reading and coming more into company, would soon be able to write a song, or lead up a country-dance. Instead of these proper pursuits, in obedience to their respective geniuses, Plumbeus endeavours to be the man of pleasure, and Levis the man of business. This appears in their speech, and in their dress: Plumbeus is ever egregiously fine, and talking something like wit; Levis is ever extremely grave, and with a silly face repeating maxims. These two pardon each other for affecting what each is incapable of, the one to be wise, and the other gay; but are extremely critical in their judgments of each other in their way towards what they pretend to. Plumbeus acknowledges Levis a man of a great reach, because it is what Plumbeus never cared for being thought himself; and Levis allows Plumbeus to be an agreeable rake for the same reason. Now were these dear friends to be free with each other as they ought to be, they would change characters, and be both as commendable, instead of being as ridiculous, as their capacities will admit of.

Were it not too grave, all that I would urge on this subject is, that men are bewildered when they consider themselves in any other view than that of strangers, who are in a place where it is no great matter whether they can, or unreasonable to expect they should, have everything about them as well as at their own home. This way of thinking is, perhaps, the only one that can put this being into a proper posture for the ease of society. It is certain, this would reduce all faults into those which proceed from malice or dishonesty: it would quite change our manner of beholding one another, and nothing that was not below a man's nature would be below his character. The arts of this life would be proper advances towards the next; and a very good man would be a very fine gentleman. As it now is, human life is inverted, and we have not learned half the knowledge of this world before we are dropping into another. Thus, instead of the raptures and contemplations which naturally attend a well-spent life from the approach of eternity, even we old fellows are afraid of the ridicule of those who are born since us, and ashamed not to understand, as well as peevish to resign, the mode, the fashion, the ladies, the fiddles, the balls, and what not. Dick Reptile, who does not want humour, is very pleasant at our club when he sees an old fellow touchy at being laughed at for anything that is not in the mode, and bawls in his ear, "Prithee don't mind him; tell him thou art mortal."

[175] See No. 95.

[176] Possibly Colonel Ambrose Edgworth, a great dandy, whom Swift calls "that prince of puppies" ("Journal to Stella," Oct. 17, 1710).

No. 247. [ Steele. By Jenny Distaff, Half-Sister to Mr. Bickerstaff . From Saturday, Nov. 4 , to Tuesday, Nov. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 6.

Ædepol, næ nos sumus ... æque omnes invisæ viris,
Propter paucas; quæ omnes faciunt dignæ ut videamur malo.

Ter., Hecyra, act ii. sc. 3.

My brother, having written the above piece of Latin, desired me to take care of the rest of the ensuing paper. Towards this he bid me answer the following letter, and said, nothing I could write properly on the subject of it would be disagreeable to the motto. It is the cause of my sex, and I therefore enter upon it with great alacrity. The epistle is literally thus:

Edinburgh, Oct. 23.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I presume to lay before you an affair of mine, and begs you'le be very sinceir in giving me your judgment and advice in this matter, which is as followes:

"A very agreeable young gentleman, who is endowed with all the good quallities that can make a man compleat, has this long time maid love to me in the most passionat manner that was posable. He has left nothing unsaid to make me belive his affections real; and in his letters expressed himself so hansomly, and so tenderly, that I had all the reason imaginable to belive him sinceir. In short, he positively has promised me he would marry me: but I find all he said nothing; for when the question was put to him, he wouldn't; but still would continue my humble servant, and would go on at the ould rate, repeating the assurences of his fidelity (and at the same time has none in him). He now writs to me in the same endearing style he ust to do, would have me spake to no man but himself. His estate is in his oune hand, his father being dead. My fortune at my oune disposal (mine being also dead), and to the full answers his estate. Pray, sir, be ingeinous, and tell me cordially, if you don't think I shall do myself an injurey if I keep company or a corospondance any longer with this gentleman. I hope you'le faver an honest North Briton (as I am) with your advice in this amoure; for I am resolved just to folow your directions. Sir, you'le do me a sensable pleasure, and very great honour, if you'le pleas to insirt this poor scrole, with your answer to it, in your Tatler. Pray fail not to give me your answer; for on it depends the happiness of

"Disconsolat Almeira."

"Madam,

"I have frequently read over your letter, and am of opinion, that as lamentable as it is, it is the most common of any evil that attends our sex. I am very much troubled for the tenderness you express towards your lover, but rejoice at the same time that you can so far surmount your inclination for him as to resolve to dismiss him when you have my brother's opinion for it. His sense of the matter he desired me to communicate to you. O Almeira! the common failing of our sex is to value the merit of our lovers rather from the grace of their address than the sincerity of their hearts. 'He has expressed himself so handsomely!' Can you say that after you have reason to doubt his truth? It is a very melancholy thing, that in this circumstance of love (which is the most important of all others in female life) we women, who are, they say, always weak, are still weakest. The true way of valuing a man, is to consider his reputation among the men: for want of this necessary rule towards our conduct, when it is too late we find ourselves married to the outcasts of that sex; and it is generally from being disagreeable among men, that fellows endeavour to make themselves pleasing to us. The little accomplishments of coming into a room with a good air, and telling while they are with us what we cannot hear among ourselves, usually make up the whole of a woman's man's merit. But if we, when we began to reflect upon our lovers, in the first place considered what figures they make in the camp, at the bar, on the 'Change, in their country, or at court, we should behold them in quite another view than at present.

"Were we to behave ourselves according to this rule, we should not have the just imputation of favouring the silliest of mortals, to the great scandal of the wisest, who value our favour as it advances their pleasure, not their reputation. In a word, madam, if you would judge aright in love, you must look upon it as in a case of friendship. Were this gentleman treating with you for anything but yourself, when you had consented to his offer, if he fell off, you would call him a cheat and an impostor. There is therefore nothing left for you to do, but to despise him and yourself for doing with regret.

"I am,
"Madam, &c."

I have heard it often argued in conversation, that this evil practice is owing to the perverted taste of the wits in the last generation. A libertine on the throne could very easily make the language and the fashion turn his own way. Hence it is, that woman is treated as a mistress, and not a wife. It is from the writings of those times, and the traditional accounts of the debauches of their men of pleasure, that the coxcombs nowadays take upon them, forsooth, to be false swains and perjured lovers. Methinks I feel all the woman rise in me, when I reflect upon the nauseous rogues that pretend to deceive us. Wretches, that can never have it in their power to overreach anything living but their mistresses! In the name of goodness, if we are designed by nature as suitable companions to the other sex, why are we not treated accordingly? If we have merit, as some allow, why is it not as base in men to injure us as one another? If we are the insignificants that others call us, where is the triumph in deceiving us? But when I look at the bottom of this disaster, and recollect the many of my acquaintance whom I have known in the same condition with the Northern lass that occasions this discourse, I must own I have ever found the perfidiousness of men has been generally owing to ourselves, and we have contributed to our own deceit. The truth is, we do not conduct ourselves as we are courted, but as we are inclined. When we let our imaginations take this unbridled swing, it is not he that acts best is most lovely, but he that is most lovely acts best. When our humble servants make their addresses, we do not keep ourselves enough disengaged to be judges of their merit; and we seldom give our judgment of our lover, till we have lost our judgment for him.

While Clarinda was passionately attended and addressed to by Strephon, who is a man of sense and knowledge in the world, and Cassio, who has a plentiful fortune and an excellent understanding, she fell in love with Damon at a ball: from that moment she that was before the most reasonable creature of all my acquaintance, cannot hear Strephon speak, but it is something "so out of the way of ladies' conversation;" and Cassio has never since opened his mouth before us, but she whispers me, "How seldom do riches and sense go together!" The issue of all this is, that for the love of Damon, who has neither experience, understanding, or wealth, she despises those advantages in the other two which she finds wanting in her lover; or else thinks he has them for no reason but because he is her lover. This and many other instances may be given in this town; but I hope thus much may suffice to prevent the growth of such evils at Edinburgh.

No. 248. [ Steele. By Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. From Tuesday, Nov. 7 , to Thursday, Nov. 9, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 8. — FOOTNOTES:

——Media sese tulit obvia silva,
Virginis os habitumque gerens——

Virg., Æn. i. 314.

It may perhaps appear ridiculous; but I must confess, this last summer as I was riding in Enfield Chase, I met a young lady whom I could hardly get out of my head, and for aught I know my heart, ever since.[177] She was mounted on a pad, with a very well-fancied furniture. She sat her horse with a very graceful air; and when I saluted her with my hat, she bowed to me so obligingly, that whether it was her civility or beauty that touched me so much, I know not, but I am sure I shall never forget her. She dwells in my imagination in a figure so much to her advantage, that if I were to draw a picture of youth, health, beauty, or modesty, I should represent any or all of them in the person of that young woman.

I do not find that there are any descriptions in the ancient poets so beautiful as those they draw of nymphs in their pastoral dresses and exercises. Virgil gives Venus the habit of a Spartan huntress when she is to put Æneas in his way, and relieve his cares with the most agreeable object imaginable.[178] Diana and her train are always described as inhabitants of the woods, and followers of the chase. To be well diverted, is the safest guard to innocence; and, methinks, it should be one of the first things to be regarded among people of condition to find out proper amusements for young ladies. I cannot but think this of riding might easily be revived among them, when they consider how much it must contribute to their beauty. This would lay up the best portion they could bring into a family, a good stock of health to transmit to their posterity. Such a charming bloom as this gives the countenance, is very much preferable to the real or affected feebleness or softness which appear in the faces of our modern beauties.

The comedy called "The Ladies' Cure,"[179] represents the affectation of wan looks and languid glances to a very entertaining extravagance. There is, as the lady in the play complains, something so robust in perfect health, that it is with her a point of breeding and delicacy to appear in public with a sickly air. But the natural gaiety and spirit which shine in the complexion of such as form to themselves a sort of diverting industry by choosing recreations that are exercises, surpass all the false ornaments and graces that can be put on by applying the whole dispensary of a toilet. A healthy body and a cheerful mind give charms as irresistible as inimitable. The beauteous Dyctinna, who came to town last week, has, from the constant prospect in a delicious country, and the moderate exercise and journeys in the visits she made round it, contracted a certain life in her countenance which will in vain employ both the painters and poets to represent. The becoming negligence in her dress, the severe sweetness of her looks, and a certain innocent boldness in all her behaviour, are the effect of the active recreations I am talking of.

But instead of such or any other as innocent and pleasing method of passing away their time with alacrity, we have many in town who spend their hours in an indolent state of body and mind, without either recreations or reflections. I am apt to believe, there are some parents imagine their daughters will be accomplished enough, if nothing interrupts their growth or their shape. According to this method of education, I could name you twenty families, where all the girls hear of in this life is, that it is time to rise and to come to dinner; as if they were so insignificant as to be wholly provided for when they are fed and clothed.

It is with great indignation that I see such crowds of the female world lost to human society, and condemned to a laziness which makes life pass away with less relish than in the hardest labour. Palestris, in her drawing-room, is supported by spirits to keep off the returns of spleen and melancholy, before she can get over half the day for want of something to do, while the wench in the kitchen sings and scours from morning to night.

The next disagreeable thing to a lazy lady is a very busy one. A man of business in good company, who gives an account of his abilities and despatches, is hardly more insupportable than her they call a notable woman and a manager. Lady Goodday, where I visited the other day at a very polite circle, entertained a great lady with a recipe for a poultice, and gave us to understand, that she had done extraordinary cures since she was last in town. It seems a countryman had wounded himself with his scythe as he was mowing; and we were obliged to hear of her charity, her medicine, and her humility, in the harshest tone and coarsest language imaginable.

What I would request in all this prattle is, that our females would either let us have their persons or their minds in such perfection as nature designed them.

The way to this is, that those who are in the quality of gentlewomen should propose to themselves some suitable method of passing away their time. This would furnish them with reflections and sentiments proper for the companions of reasonable men, and prevent the unnatural marriages which happen every day between the most accomplished women and the veriest oafs, the worthiest men and the most insignificant females. Were the general turn of women's education of another kind than it is at present, we should want one another for more reasons than we do as the world now goes. The common design of parents is to get their girls off as well as they can, and make no conscience of putting into our hands a bargain for our whole life which will make our hearts ache every day of it.

I shall therefore take this matter into serious consideration, and will propose, for the better improvement of the fair sex, a female library.[180] This collection of books shall consist of such authors as do not corrupt while they divert, but shall tend more immediately to improve them, as they are women. They shall be such as shall not hurt a feature by the austerity of their reflections, nor cause one impertinent glance by the wantonness of them. They shall all tend to advance the value of their innocence as virgins, improve their understanding as wives, and regulate their tenderness as parents. It has been very often said in these Lucubrations, that the ideas which most frequently pass through our imaginations, leave traces of themselves in our countenances. There shall be a strict regard had to this in my female library, which shall be furnished with nothing that shall give supplies to ostentation or impertinence; but the whole shall be so digested for the use of my students, that they shall not go out of character in their inquiries, but their knowledge appear only a cultivated innocence.

[177] This lady is believed to have been the unfortunate Elizabeth Malyn, whose third husband was Charles, eighth Lord Cathcart. Her fourth husband was Colonel Hugh Macguire, who kept her in confinement for more than twenty years at Tempo, in Enniskillen. (See Miss Edgeworth's "Castle Rackrent"; and a pamphlet entitled "Tewin-Water; or, the Story of Lady Cathcart," by Mr. Edward Ford, of Old Park, Enfield.)

[178] "Æneid," i. 315 seq.

[179] "The Double Gallant; or, the Sick Lady's Cure," by Colley Cibber (1707).

[180] Addison wrote on this subject in the Spectator (No. 37); and in 1714 Steele published "The Ladies' Library," in three volumes, a gathering from the most approved religious and moral writers.

No. 249. [ Addison. From Thursday, Nov. 9 , to Saturday, Nov. 11, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 10. — FOOTNOTES:

Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum,
Tendimus——

Virg., Æn. i. 204.

I was last night visited by a friend [181] of mine who has an inexhaustible 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 in complaisance to my way of living, or his real opinion, he advanced the following paradox, that it required much greater talents to fill up and become a retired life than a life of business. Upon this occasion he rallied very 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 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.

Methought 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, naturalised, 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 the parts of the new world into which I was brought. The people very much favoured my natural disposition, and shifted me so fast from hand to hand, that before I was five years old, I had travelled into almost every corner of the nation. But in the beginning of my sixth year, to my unspeakable grief, I fell into the hands of a 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 air 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 a 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 in 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 Hall.

"In the midst of this pleasant progress which I made from place to place, I was arrested by a superstitious old woman, who shut me up in a 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 mischief 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 milkmaid. This wench bent me, and gave me to her sweetheart, applying more properly than she intended the usual form of, 'To my love and from my love.' This ungenerous gallant marrying her within few days after, pawned me for a dram of brandy, and 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 extravagant, gave great demonstrations of joy at the receiving 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 [182] 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 retirement than I thought, having probably by that means escaped wearing a monstrous pair of breeches.[183]

"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 situation 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 the change of sex which you now see, I shall take some other opportunity to relate. In the meantime 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 burlesque poem in the British language, entitled from me, 'The Splendid Shilling.'[184] 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 pennyworth of farthings."

[181] Swift. This paper is mentioned twice in the "Journal to Stella," Nov. 30 and Dec. 14, 1710: "You are mistaken in all your conjectures about the Tatlers. I have given him one or two hints, and you have heard me talk about 'The Shilling.'" "No, the Tatler of 'The Shilling' was not mine, more than the hint, and two or three general heads for it. I have much more important business on my hands; and, besides, the ministry hate to think that I should help him, and have made reproaches on it; and I frankly told them I would do it no more. This is a secret, though, Madam Stella."

[182] Threw with a jerk. Cf. Spectator, No. 77, "I saw him squir away his watch a considerable way into the Thames."

[183] The two shields on Cromwell's shilling; see No. 245.

[184] By John Philips (1676-1709), the author of "Cyder." The "Splendid Shilling" was published in 1705, after two unauthorised versions had appeared. Written in imitation of Milton, it describes, in mock-heroic strains, the miseries of a debtor in want of a shilling to buy food, clothes, wine, or tobacco.

No. 250. [ Addison. From Saturday, Nov. 11 , to Tuesday, Nov. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

Scis etenim justum gemina suspendere lance
Ancipitis libræ.——

Pers., Sat. iv. 10.

I last winter erected a Court of Justice for the correcting of several enormities in dress and behaviour, which are not cognisable in any other courts of this realm. The vintner's case [185] which I there tried is still fresh in every man's memory. That of the petticoat [186] gave also a general satisfaction, not to mention the more important points of the cane and perspective;[187] in which, if I did not give judgments and decrees according to the strictest rules of equity and justice, I can safely say, I acted according to the best of my understanding. But as for the proceedings of that court, I shall refer my reader to an account of them, written by my secretary, which is now in the press, and will shortly be published under the title of "Lillie's [188] Reports."

As I last year presided over a Court of Justice, it is my intention this year to set myself at the head of a Court of Honour. There is no court of this nature anywhere at present, except in France, where, according to the best of my intelligence, it consists of such only as are marshals of that kingdom. I am likewise informed, that there is not one of that honourable board at present who has not been driven out of the field by the Duke of Marlborough; but whether this be only an accidental or a necessary qualification, I must confess I am not able to determine.

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

As for those who sit farther on my right hand, as it is usual in public courts, they are such as will fill up the number of faces upon the bench, and serve rather for ornament than use.[189]

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

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

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

Having thus furnished my bench, I shall establish correspondencies with the Horse Guards, and the veterans of Chelsea College; the former to furnish me with twelve men of honour as often as I shall have occasion for a grand jury, and the latter with as many good men and true for a petty jury.

As for the women of virtue, it will not be difficult for me to find them about midnight at crimp and basset.

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

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

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

The letter of the 7th instant, inquired for by another of the 11th, came to hand.

[185] See No. 132.

[186] See No. 116.

[187] See No. 103.

[188] Charles Lillie; see No. 110.

[189] The Masters in Chancery sat on the bench with the Lord Chancellor, but he was the sole judge of the court.

No. 251. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Nov. 14 , to Thursday, Nov. 16, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 15. — FOOTNOTES:

Quisnam igitur liber? Sapiens, sibi qui imperiosus,
Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula, terrent:
Responsare cupidinibus, contemnere honores
Fortis, et in se ipso totus, teres atque rotundus,
Externi ne quid valeat per leve morari;
In quem manca ruit semper fortuna.——

Hor., 2 Sat. vii. 83.

It is necessary to an easy and happy life, to possess our minds in such a manner as to be always well satisfied with our own reflections. The way to this state is to measure our actions by our own opinion, and not by that of the rest of the world. The sense of other men ought to prevail over us in things of less consideration, but not in concerns where truth and honour are engaged. When we look into the bottom of things, what at first appears a paradox is a plain truth; and those possessions which, for want of being duly weighed, seem to proceed from a sort of romantic philosophy, and ignorance of the world, after a little reflection are so reasonable, that it is direct madness to walk by any other rules. Thus to contradict our desires, and to conquer the impulses of our ambition, if they do not fall in with what we in our inward sentiments approve, is so much our interest, and so absolutely necessary to our real happiness, that to contemn all the wealth and power in the world, where they stand in competition with a man's honour, is rather good sense than greatness of mind.

Did we consider that the mind of a man is the man himself, we should think it the most unnatural sort of self-murder to sacrifice the sentiment of the soul to gratify the appetites of the body. Bless us! Is it possible, that when the necessities of life are supplied, a man would flatter to be rich, or circumvent to be powerful? When we meet a poor wretch urged with hunger and cold asking an alms, we are apt to think this a state we could rather starve than submit to: but yet how much more despicable is his condition who is above necessity, and yet shall resign his reason and his integrity to purchase superfluities? These are both abject and common beggars; but sure it is less despicable to beg a supply to a man's hunger than his vanity. But custom and general prepossessions have so far prevailed over an unthinking world, that those necessitous creatures who cannot relish life without applause, attendance, and equipage, are so far from making a contemptible figure, that distressed virtue is less esteemed than successful vice. But if a man's appeal in cases that regarded his honour were made to his own soul, there would be a basis and standing rule for our conduct, and we should always endeavour rather to be than appear honourable. Mr. Collier, in his essay on Fortitude,[190] has treated this subject with great wit and magnanimity. "What," says he, "can be more honourable than to have courage enough to execute the commands of reason and conscience; to maintain the dignity of our nature, and the station assigned us? To be proof against poverty, pain, and death itself? I mean so far as not to do anything that is scandalous or sinful to avoid them? To stand adversity under all shapes with decency and resolution? To do this, is to be great above title and fortune. This argues the soul of a heavenly extraction, and is worthy the offspring of the Deity."

What a generous ambition has this man pointed to us? When men have settled in themselves a conviction by such noble precepts, that there is nothing honourable that is not accompanied with innocence; nothing mean but what has guilt in it; I say, when they have attained thus much, though poverty, pain, and death may still retain their terrors, yet riches, pleasures, and honours will easily lose their charms, if they stand between us and our integrity.

What is here said with allusion to fortune and fame, may as justly be applied to wit and beauty; for these latter are as adventitious as the other, and as little concern the essence of the soul. They are all laudable in the man who possesses them only for the just application of them. A bright imagination, while it is subservient to an honest and noble soul, is a faculty which makes a man justly admired by mankind, and furnishes him with reflections upon his own actions, which add delicates to the feast of a good conscience: but when wit descends to wait upon sensual pleasures, or promote the base purposes of ambition, it is then to be contemned in proportion to its excellence. If a man will not resolve to place the foundation of his happiness in his own mind, life is a bewildered and unhappy state, incapable of rest or tranquillity: for to such a one the general applause of valour, wit, nay of honesty itself, can give him but a very feeble comfort, since it is capable of being interrupted by any one who wants either understanding or good-nature to see or acknowledge such excellences. This rule is so necessary, that one may very safely say, it is impossible to know any true relish of our being without it. Look about you in common life among the ordinary race of mankind, and you will find merit in every kind is allowed only to those who are in particular districts or sets of company: but since men can have little pleasure in these faculties which denominate them persons of distinction, let them give up such an empty pursuit, and think nothing essential to happiness but what is in their own power, the capacity of reflecting with pleasure on their own actions, however they are interpreted.

It is so evident a truth, that it is only in our own bosoms we are to search for anything to make us happy, that it is, methinks, a disgrace to our nature to talk of the taking our measures from thence only as a matter of fortitude. When all is well there, the vicissitudes and distinctions of life are the mere scenes of a drama, and he will never act his part well who has his thoughts more fixed upon the applause of the audience than the design of his part.

The life of a man who acts with a steady integrity, without valuing the interpretation of his actions, has but one uniform regular path to move in, where he cannot meet opposition, or fear ambuscade. On the other side, the least deviation from the rules of honour introduces a train of numberless evils, and involves him in inexplicable mazes. He that has entered into guilt has bid adieu to rest, and every criminal has his share of the misery expressed so emphatically in the tragedian:[191]

Macbeth shall sleep no more![192]

It was with detestation of any other grandeur but the calm command of his own passion, that the excellent Mr. Cowley cries out with so much justice:

If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat
With any thought so mean as to be great,
Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove
The humble blessings of that life I love.[193]

[190] See Jeremy Collier's "Essays upon Several Moral Subjects" (1709), Part iv. pp. 205-236.

[191] Here used for tragic writer.

[192] "Macbeth," act ii. sc. 2.

[193] "Essays," vi.: "Of Greatness."

No. 252. [ Steele. From Thursday, Nov. 16 to Saturday, Nov. 18, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 17. — FOOTNOTES:

Narratur et prisci Catonis
Sæpe mero caluisse virtus.

Hor., 3 Od. xxi. 11.

The following letter, and several others to the same purpose, accuse me of a rigour of which I am far from being guilty, to wit, the disallowing the cheerful use of wine.

"From my Country-house,
Oct. 25.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"Your discourse against drinking, in Tuesday's Tatler,[194] I like well enough in the main; but in my humble opinion, you are become too rigid where you say to this effect: 'Were there only this single consideration, that we are the less masters of ourselves if we drink the least proportion beyond the exigence of thirst.' I hope no one drinks wine to allay this appetite. This seems to be designed for a loftier indulgence of Nature; for it were hard to suppose, that the Author of Nature, who imposed upon her her necessities and pains, does not allow her her pleasures, and we may reckon among the latter the moderate use of the grape: and though I am as much against excess, or whatever approaches it, as yourself, yet I conceive one may safely go further than the bounds you there prescribe, not only without forfeiting the title of being one's own master, but also to possess it in a much greater degree. If a man's expressing himself upon any subject with more life and vivacity, more variety of ideas, more copiously, more fluently, and more to the purpose, argues it, he thinks clearer, speaks more ready, and with greater choice of comprehensive and significant terms. I have the good fortune now to be intimate with a gentleman remarkable for this temper, who has an inexhaustible source of wit to entertain the curious, the grave, the humorous, and the frolic. He can transform himself into different shapes, and adapt himself to every company; yet in a coffee-house, or in the ordinary course of affairs, appears rather dull than sprightly. You can seldom get him to the tavern, but when once he is arrived to his pint, and begins to look about and like his company, you admire a thousand things in him, which before lay buried. Then you discover the brightness of his mind and the strength of his judgment, accompanied with the most graceful mirth. In a word, by this enlivening aid, he is whatever is polite, instructive, and diverting. What makes him still more agreeable is, that he tells a story, serious or comical, with as much delicacy of humour as Cervantes himself. And for all this, at other times, even after a long knowledge of him, you shall scarce discern in this incomparable person a whit more than what might be expected from one of a common capacity. Doubtless there are men of great parts that are guilty of downright bashfulness, that by a strange hesitation and reluctance to speak, murder the finest and most elegant thoughts, and render the most lively conceptions flat and heavy.

"In this case, a certain quantity of my white or red cordial, which you will, is an easy, but an infallible remedy. It awakens the judgment, quickens memory, ripens understanding, disperses melancholy, cheers the heart; in a word, restores the whole man to himself and his friends without the least pain or indisposition to the patient. To be taken only in the evening in a reasonable quantity before going to bed. Note.—My bottles are sealed with three fleurs-de-lis and a bunch of grapes. Beware of counterfeits. I am,

"Your most humble Servant, &c."

Whatever has been said against the use of wine, upon the supposition that it enfeebles the mind, and renders it unfit for the duties of life, bears forcibly to the advantage of that delicious juice, in cases where it only heightens conversation, and brings to light agreeable talents, which otherwise would have lain concealed under the oppression of an unjust modesty. I must acknowledge I have seen many of the temper mentioned by this correspondent, and own, wine may very allowably be used in a degree above the supply of mere necessity by such as labour under melancholy, or are tongue-tied by modesty. It is certainly a very agreeable change, when we see a glass raise a lifeless conversation into all the pleasures of wit and good-humour. But when Caska adds to his natural impudence the fluster of a bottle, that which fools called fire when he was sober, all men abhor as outrage when he is drunk. Thus he that in the morning was only saucy, is in the evening tumultuous. It makes one sick to hear one of these fellows say, they love a friend and a bottle. Noisy mirth has something too rustic in it to be considered without terror by men of politeness: but while the discourse improves in a well-chosen company, from the addition of spirits which flow from moderate cups, it must be acknowledged, that leisure time cannot be more agreeably, or perhaps more usefully employed than at such meetings: but there is a certain prudence in this and all other circumstances which makes right or wrong in the conduct of ordinary life. Sir Geoffrey Wildacre has nothing so much at heart as that his son should know the world betimes: for this end he introduces him among the sots of his own age, where the boy learns to laugh at his father from the familiarity with which he sees him treated by his equals. This the old fellow calls living well with his heir, and teaching him to be too much his friend to be impatient for his estate. But for the more exact regulation of society in this and other matters, I shall publish tables of the characters and relations among men, and by them instruct the town in making sets and companies for a bottle. This humour of Sir Geoffrey shall be taken notice of in the first place; for there is, methinks, a sort of incest in drunkenness, and sons are not to behold fathers stripped of all reverence.

It is shocking in nature for the young to see those whom they should have an awe for in circumstances of contempt. I shall therefore utterly forbid, that those in whom nature should admonish to avoid too gross familiarities, shall be received in parties of pleasure where there is the least danger of excess. I should run through the whole doctrine of drinking, but that my thoughts are at present too much employed in the modelling my Court of Honour; and altering the seats, benches, bar, and canopy from that of the court wherein I last winter sat upon causes of less moment. By the way, I shall take an opportunity to examine, what method is to be taken to make joiners and other artificers get out of a house they have once entered, not forgetting to tie them under proper regulations. It is for want of such rules, that I have a day or two longer than I expected been tormented and deafened with hammers, insomuch that I neither can pursue this discourse, or answer the following and many other letters of the highest importance.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"We are man and wife, and have a boy and a girl: the lad seventeen, the maiden sixteen. We are quarrelling about some parts of their education. I, Ralph, cannot bear that I must pay for the girl's learning on the spinnet, when I know she has no ear. I, Bridget, have not patience to have my son whipped because he cannot make verses, when I know he is a blockhead. Pray, sir, inform us, is it absolutely necessary that all who wear breeches must be taught to rhyme, all in petticoats to touch an instrument? Please to interpose in this and the like cases, to end much solid distress which arises from trifling causes, as it is common in wedlock, and you will very much oblige us and ours.

"Ralph }
} Yokefellow."
"Bridget }

[194] No. 241.

No. 253. [ Addison and Steele . [195] From Saturday, Nov. 18 , to Tuesday, Nov. 21, 1710 . — FOOTNOTES:

----Pietate gravem ac meritis si forte virum quem
Conspexere, silent, arrectisque auribus adstant.

Virg., Æn. i. 151.

From my own Apartment, Nov. 20.

Extract of the Journal of the Court of Honour, 1710.[196]

Die lunae vicesimo Novembris, hora nona ante-meridiana.

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

Mr. Bickerstaff, after having received the compliments on his right hand, cast his eye upon the left, where the whole female jury paid their respects by a low courtesy, and by laying their hands upon their mouths. Their forewoman was a professed Platonist,[197] that had spent much of her time in exhorting the sex to set a just value upon their persons, and to make the men know themselves.

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

"The nature of my office, and the solemnity of this occasion, requiring that I should open my first session with a speech, I shall cast what I have to say under two principal heads.

"Under the first, I shall endeavour to show the necessity and usefulness of this new-erected court; and under the second, I shall give a word of advice and instruction to every constituent part of it.

"As for the first, it is well observed by Phædrus, a heathen poet:

Nisi utile est quod facimus, frustra est gloria.[198]

Which is the same, ladies, as if I should say, It would be of no reputation for me to be president of a court which is of no benefit to the public. Now the advantages that may arise to the weal-public from this institution will more plainly appear, if we consider what it suffers for the want of it. Are not our streets daily filled with wild pieces of justice and random penalties? Are not crimes undetermined, and reparations disproportioned? How often have we seen the lie punished by death, and the liar himself deciding his own cause? nay, not only acting the judge, but the executioner? Have we not known a box on the ear more severely accounted for than manslaughter? In these extra-judicial proceedings of mankind, an unmannerly jest is frequently as capital as a premeditated murder.

"But the most pernicious circumstance in this case is, that the man who suffers the injury must put himself upon the same foot of danger with him that gave it, before he can have his just revenge; so that the punishment is altogether accidental, and may fall as well upon the innocent as the guilty.

"I shall only mention a case which happens frequently among the more polite nations of the world, and which I the rather mention, because both sexes are concerned in it, and which therefore you gentlemen and you ladies of the jury will the rather take notice of; I mean that great and known case of cuckoldom. Supposing the person who has suffered insults in his dearer and better half; supposing, I say, this person should resent the injuries done to his tender wife, what is the reparation he may expect? Why, to be used worse than his poor lady, run through the body, and left breathless upon the bed of honour. What then will you on my right hand say must the man do that is affronted? Must our sides be elbowed, our shins broken? Must the wall, or perhaps our mistress, be taken from us? May a man knit his forehead into a frown, toss up his arm, or pish at what we say, and must the villain live after it? Is there no redress for injured honour? Yes, gentlemen, that is the design of the judicature we have here established.

"A Court of Conscience, we very well know, was first instituted for the determining of several points of property that were too little and trivial for the cognisance of higher courts of justice. In the same manner, our Court of Honour is appointed for the examination of several niceties and punctilios that do not pass for wrongs in the eye of our common laws. But notwithstanding no legislators of any nation have taken into consideration these little circumstances, they are such as often lead to crimes big enough for their inspection, though they come before them too late for their redress.

"Besides, I appeal to you, ladies [here Mr. Bickerstaff turned to his left hand], if these are not the little stings and thorns in life that make it more uneasy than its most substantial evils? Confess ingenuously, did you never lose a morning's devotions because you could not offer them up from the highest place of the pew? Have you not been in pain, even at a ball, because another has been taken out to dance before you? Do you love any of your friends so much as those that are below you? Or have you any favourites that walk on your right hand? You have answered me in your looks, I ask no more.

"I come now to the second part of my discourse, which obliges me to address myself in particular to the respective members of the court, in which I shall be very brief.

"As for you, gentlemen and ladies, my assistants and grand juries, I have made choice of you on my right hand, because I know you very jealous of your honour; and you on my left, because I know you very much concerned for the reputation of others; for which reason I expect great exactness and impartiality in your verdicts and judgments.

"I must in the next place address myself to you, gentlemen of the council: you all know, that I have not chosen you for your knowledge in the litigious parts of the law, but because you have all of you formerly fought duels, of which I have reason to think you have repented, as being now settled in the peaceable state of benchers. My advice to you is, only that in your pleadings you are short and expressive: to which end you are to banish out of your discourses all synonymous terms, and unnecessary multiplications of verbs and nouns. I do moreover forbid you the use of the words 'also' and 'likewise'; and must further declare, that if I catch any one among you, upon any pretence whatsoever, using the particle 'or,' I shall incessantly order him to be stripped of his gown, and thrown over the bar."

"This is a true copy.—Charles Lillie."

N.B.—The sequel of the proceedings of this day will be published on Tuesday next.[199]

[195] Tickell says that Steele assisted in this paper.

[196] See No. 250.

[197] Mary Astell (see Nos. 32 and 166).

[198] "Fables," iii. 17. 12. The correct reading is "stulta est gloria."

[199] See No. 256.

No. 254. [ Addison and Steele . [200] — From my own Apartment, Nov. 22. — FOOTNOTES:

Splendidè mendax.——

Hor., 3 Od. xi. 35.

From Tuesday, Nov. 21, to Thursday, Nov. 23, 1710.

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 showing his parts without incurring any danger of being examined or contradicted. Among all the authors of this kind, our renowned countryman Sir John Mandeville [201] has distinguished himself, by the copiousness of his invention, and greatness of his genius. The second to Sir John I take to have been Ferdinand Mendez Pinto,[202] 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, would appear altogether improbable. I am apt to think, the ingenious authors did not publish them with the rest of their works, lest they should pass for 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 further weight, I shall make the public a present of these curious pieces at such times as I shall find myself unprovided with other subjects.

The present paper I intend to fill with an extract of Sir John's journal, in which that learned and worthy knight gives an account of the freezing and thawing of several short speeches which he made in the territories of Nova Zembla.[203] I need not inform my reader, that the author of "Hudibras" alludes to this strange quality in that cold climate, when, speaking of abstracted notions clothed in a visible shape, he adds that apt simile:

Like words congealed in Northern air.[204]

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 73, insomuch that only the ship which I was in, with a Dutch and a French vessel, got safe into a creek of Nova Zembla. We landed, in order to 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 person 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 distance, beckoning with his hands, straining his lungs, and tearing his throat, but all in vain.

——Nec vox, nec verba, sequuntur.[205]

"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 afterwards 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 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 these words to me some days before, though I could not hear them before the present thaw. My reader will easily imagine how the whole crew was amazed, to hear every man talking, and see no man opening 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 hoarse voice, which I knew belonged to the boatswain, 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 his pious soliloquies when I got him on shipboard.

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

"When this confusion of voices was pretty well over, though I was afraid to offer at speaking, as fearing I should not be heard, I proposed a visit to the Dutch cabin, which lay about a mile farther up into 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.[206]

"At about half a mile's distance from our cabin, we heard the groanings of a bear, which at first startled us; but upon inquiry 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 fortnight before, in the time of the frost. Not far from the same place we were likewise entertained with some posthumous snarls and barkings of a fox.

"We at length arrived at the little Dutch settlement, and upon entering the room, found it filled with sighs that smelt of brandy, and several other unsavoury sounds that were altogether inarticulate. My valet, who was an Irishman, fell into so great a rage at what he heard, that he drew his sword; but not knowing where to lay the blame, he put it up again. We were stunned with these confused noises, but did not hear a single word till about half-an-hour after; which I ascribed to the harsh and 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 French cabin, who, to make amends for their three weeks' silence, were talking and disputing with greater rapidity and confusion than ever I 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, preserved 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 if the thaw continued; 'for,' says he, 'finding ourselves bereft of speech, we prevailed upon one of the company, who had this musical instrument about him, to play to us from morning to night; all which time we employed in dancing, in order to dissipate our chagrin, et tuer le temps.'"

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

[200] "Sir R. Steele assisted in this paper" (Tickell).

[201] Several popular editions of Mandeville's travels appeared in Queen Anne's reign.

[202] The account of the adventures of this Portuguese traveller was published at Lisbon in 1614. An English translation by Henry Coggan appeared in 1663.

[203] The germ of this paper on frozen voices may have been found in Rabelais (Book iv. chaps. lv. lvi.), or in Heylin's "Little Description of the Great World" (1629), p. 345.

[204] "Hudibras," Part i. canto i. 148.

[205] "Nec vox tentataque verba sequuntur" (Ovid, "Met." xi. 326).

[206] Ovid, "Met." i. 746.

No. 255. [ Addison. From Thursday, Nov. 23 , to Saturday, Nov. 25, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 24. — FOOTNOTES:

----Nec te tua plurima, Panthu,
Labentem pietas, nec Apollinis infula texit.

Virg., Æn. ii. 429.

"To the Censor of Great Britain.

"Sir,

"I am at present under very great difficulties, which it is not in the power of any one, besides yourself, to redress. Whether or no you shall think it a proper case to come before your Court of Honour, I cannot tell; but thus it is: I am chaplain to an honourable family, very regular at the hours of devotion, and I hope of an unblamable life; but for not offering to rise at a second course, I found my patron and his lady very sullen and out of humour, though at first I did not know the reason of it. At length, when I happened to help myself to a jelly, the lady of the house, otherwise a devout woman, told me, that it did not become a man of my cloth to delight in such frivolous food: but as I still continued to sit out the last course, I was yesterday informed by the butler, that his lordship had no further occasion for my service. All which is humbly submitted to your consideration by,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant, &c."[207]

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

And while the priest did eat, the people stared.

At present the custom is inverted; the laity feast, while the priest stands by as a humble spectator. This necessarily puts the good man upon making great ravages on all the dishes that stand near him, and distinguishing himself by voraciousness of appetite, as knowing that his time is short. I would fain ask these stiff-necked patrons, whether they would not take it ill of a chaplain that, in his grace after meat, should return thanks for the whole entertainment, with an exception to the dessert? And yet I cannot but think, that in such a proceeding he would but deal with them as they deserved. What would a Roman Catholic priest think, who is always helped first, and placed next the ladies, should he see a clergyman giving his company the slip at the first appearance of the tarts or sweetmeats? Would not he believe that he had the same antipathy to a candied orange, or a piece of puff-paste, as some have to a Cheshire cheese, or a breast of mutton? Yet to so ridiculous a height is this foolish custom grown, that even the Christmas pie, which in its very nature is a kind of consecrated cate, and a badge of distinction, is often forbidden to the Druid of the family. Strange! that a sirloin of beef, whether boiled or roasted, when entire, is exposed to his utmost depredations and incisions; but if minced into small pieces, and tossed up with plums and sugar, changes its property, and, forsooth, is meat for his master.

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

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

Some think themselves exalted to the sky
If they light in some noble family:
Diet, a horse, and thirty pounds a year,
Besides the advantage of his lordship's ear.
The credit of the business, and the state,
Are things that in a youngster's sense sound great.
Little the inexperienced wretch does know
What slavery he oft must undergo:
Who, though in silken scarf and cassock dressed,
Wears but a gayer livery at best.
When dinner calls, the implement must wait,
With holy words to consecrate the meat;
But hold it for a favour seldom known,
If he be deigned the honour to sit down.
Soon as the tarts appear, Sir Crape, withdraw,
Those dainties are not for a spiritual maw.
Observe your distance, and be sure to stand
Hard by the cistern with your cap in hand:
There for diversion you may pick your teeth,
Till the kind voider comes for your relief.
Let others who such meannesses can brook,
Strike countenance to every great man's look;
I rate my freedom higher.[208]

This author's raillery is the raillery of a friend, and does not turn the sacred order into ridicule, but is a just censure on such persons as take advantage from the necessities of a man of merit, to impose on him hardships that are by no means suitable to the dignity of his profession.[209]

[207] Mr. Overton, in his "Life in the English Church, 1660-1714," denies the truth of Macaulay's account of the condition of the clergy. He points out that the sons of many noble families were in the Church, and many clergymen of the highest standing were once domestic chaplains. But there was much "contempt of the clergy," as Eachard puts it, in his book published in 1670. Many enjoyed pluralities, which, of course, meant that a larger number than would otherwise have been the case were poor all their lives. Swift wrote: "I never dined with the chaplains till to-day; but my friend Gastrel and the Dean of Rochester had often invited me, and I happened to be disengaged: it is the worst provided table at court. We ate on pewter. Every chaplain, when he is made a dean, gives a piece of plate, and so they have got a little, some of it very old" ("Journal," October 6, 1711). See, too, Swift's "Project for the Advancement of Religion," and "Directions to the Waiting-Maid." Many private chaplains had salaries of £10 to £30 a year, with vales, and were called Mess Johns, trencher chaplains, and young Levites (Lecky's "History of England in the Eighteenth Century," i. 77, 78). Bishop Bramhall replied to Eachard in 1671, in "An Answer to a Letter of Inquiry," &c., and said that some gentlemen, at any rate, treated their chaplains with all proper respect. Edward Chamberlayne, on the other hand, in his "Angliæ Notitia" (1669), said that men thought it a stain to their blood to make their sons clergymen, and that women were ashamed to marry with any of them.

[208] Oldham's "Satire addressed to a Friend that is about to leave the University."

[209] "The last paper having been worked off in different presses, there are some errata in one set of them, which the reader is desired to correct," &c. (folio).

No. 256. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday, Nov. 25 , to Tuesday, Nov. 28, 1710 . — The Proceedings of the Court of Honour, held in Sheer Lane, on Monday, the 20th of November, 1710, before Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., Censor of Great Britain. [211] — FOOTNOTES:

—Nostrum est tantas componere lites.

Virg., Eclog. iii. 108.[210]

Peter Plumb, of London, merchant, was indicted by the Honourable Mr. Thomas Gules,[212] of Gule Hall, in the county of Salop, for that the said Peter Plumb did in Lombard Street, London, between the hours of two and three in the afternoon, meet the said Mr. Thomas Gules, and after a short salutation, put on his hat, value fivepence, while the Honourable Mr. Gules stood bareheaded for the space of two seconds. It was further urged against the criminal, that during his discourse with the prosecutor, he feloniously stole the wall of him, having clapped his back against it in such a manner that it was impossible for Mr. Gules to recover it again at his taking leave of him. The prosecutor alleged, that he was the cadet of a very ancient family; and that according to the principles of all the younger brothers of the said family, he had never sullied himself with business, but had chosen rather to starve like a man of honour than do anything beneath his quality. He produced several witnesses, that he had never employed himself beyond the twisting of a whip, or the making of a pair of nut-crackers, in which he only worked for his diversion, in order to make a present now and then to his friends. The prisoner being asked what he could say for himself, cast several reflections upon the Honourable Mr. Gules: as, that he was not worth a groat; that nobody in the city would trust him for a halfpenny; that he owed him money, which he had promised to pay him several times, but never kept his word; and in short, that he was an idle, beggarly fellow, and of no use to the public. This sort of language was very severely reprimanded by the Censor, who told the criminal, that he spoke in contempt of the court, and that he should be proceeded against for contumacy if he did not change his style. The prisoner therefore desired to be heard by his counsel, who urged in his defence, that he put on his hat through ignorance, and took the wall by accident. They likewise produced several witnesses, that he made several motions with his hat in his hand, which are generally understood as an invitation to the person we talk with to be covered; and that the gentleman not taking the hint, he was forced to put on his hat, as being troubled with a cold. There was likewise an Irishman who deposed, that he had heard him cough three and twenty times that morning. And as for the wall, it was alleged that he had taken it inadvertently to save himself from a shower of rain which was then falling. The Censor having consulted the men of honour who sat at his right hand on the bench, found they were all of opinion, that the defence made by the prisoner's counsel did rather aggravate than extenuate his crime; that the motions and intimations of the hat were a token of superiority in conversation, and therefore not to be used by the criminal to a man of the prosecutor's quality, who was likewise vested with a double title to the wall at the time of their conversation, both as it was the upper hand, and as it was a shelter from the weather. The evidence being very full and clear, the jury, without going out of court, declared their opinion unanimously by the mouth of their foreman, that the prosecutor was bound in honour to make the sun shine through the criminal, or, as they afterwards explained themselves, to whip him through the lungs.

The Censor knitting his brows into a frown, and looking very sternly upon the jury, after a little pause, gave them to know, that this court was erected for the finding out of penalties suitable to offences, and to restrain the outrages of private justice; and that he expected they should moderate their verdict. The jury therefore retired, and being willing to comply with the advices of the Censor, after an hour's consultation, declared their opinion as follows:

"That in consideration this was Peter Plumb's first offence, and that there did not appear any malice prepense in it, as also that he lived in good reputation among his neighbours, and that his taking the wall was only se defendendo, the prosecutor should let him escape with life, and content himself with the slitting of his nose, and the cutting off both his ears."

Mr. Bickerstaff smiling upon the court, told them, that he thought the punishment, even under its present mitigation, too severe; and that such penalties might be of ill consequence in a trading nation. He therefore pronounced sentence against the criminal in the following manner: that his hat, which was the instrument of offence, should be forfeited to the court; that the criminal should go to the warehouse from whence he came, and thence, as occasion should require, proceed to the Exchange, or Garraway's Coffee-house, in what manner he pleased; but that neither he nor any of the family of the Plumbs should hereafter appear in the streets of London out of their coaches, that so the footway might be left open and undisturbed for their betters.

Dathan, a peddling Jew, and T.R., a Welshman, were indicted by the keeper of an alehouse in Westminster, for breaking the peace and two earthen mugs, in a dispute about the antiquity of their families, to the great detriment of the house, and disturbance of the whole neighbourhood. Dathan said for himself, that he was provoked to it by the Welshman, who pretended that the Welsh were an ancienter people than the Jews; "whereas," says he, "I can show by this genealogy in my hand, that I am the son of Meshec, that was the son of Naboth, that was the son of Shalem, that was the son of——" The Welshman here interrupted him, and told him that he could produce shennalogy as well as himself; for that he was John ap Rice, ap Shenkin, ap Shones. He then turned himself to the Censor, and told him in the same broken accent, and with much warmth, that the Jew would needs uphold that King Cadwallader was younger than Issachar. Mr. Bickerstaff seemed very much inclined to give sentence against Dathan, as being a Jew, but finding reasons, by some expressions which the Welshman let fall in asserting the antiquity of his family, to suspect that the said Welshman was a Pre-Adamite,[213] he suffered the jury to go out without any previous admonition. After some time they returned, and gave their verdict, that it appearing the persons at the bar did neither of them wear a sword, and that consequently they had no right to quarrel upon a point of honour: to prevent such frivolous appeals for the future, they should both of them be tossed in the same blanket, and there adjust the superiority as they could agree it between themselves. The Censor confirmed the verdict.

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

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

"This is a true copy.—Charles Lillie."

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

N.B.—The case of the hassock will come on between the hours of nine and ten.[214]

[210] Virgil's words are, "Non nostrum inter vos tantas," &c.

[211] See No 253.

[212] Forster observed that Mr. Thomas Gules is the forerunner of Will Wimble, of the Spectator.

[213] See vol. ii. p. 150.

[214] See No. 259.

No. 257. [ Addison and Steele . From Tuesday, Nov. 28 , to Thursday, Nov. 30, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 29. — FOOTNOTES:

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas
Corpora: Di, cœptis (nam vos mutastis) et illac
Aspirate meis.——

Ovid, Met. i. 1.

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

"I have often," says he, "been present at a show of elephants, camels, dromedaries, and other strange creatures, but I never saw so great an assembly of spectators as were met together at the opening of this great piece of waxwork. We were all placed in a large hall, according to the price that we had paid for our seats. The curtain that hung before the show was made by a master of tapestry, who had woven it in the figure of a monstrous hydra that had several heads, which brandished out their tongues, and seemed to hiss at each other. Some of these heads were large and entire; and where any of them had been lopped away, there sprouted up several in the room of them; insomuch that for one head cut off, a man might see ten, twenty, or a hundred of a smaller size, creeping through the wound. In short, the whole picture was nothing but confusion and bloodshed. On a sudden," says my friend, "I was startled with a flourish of many musical instruments that I had never heard before, which was followed by a short tune (if it might be so called), wholly made up of jars and discords. Among the rest, there was an organ, a bagpipe, a groaning-board,[215] a stentorophonic-trumpet, with several wind instruments of a most disagreeable sound, which I do not so much as know the name of. After a short flourish, the curtain was drawn up, and we were presented with the most extraordinary assembly of figures that ever entered into a man's imagination. The design of the workman was so well expressed in the dumb show before us, that it was not hard for an Englishman to comprehend the meaning of it.

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

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

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

"I have now," continued my friend, "given you an account of those who were placed on the right hand of the matron, and who, according to the order in which they sat, were Deism, Judaism, and Popery. On the left hand, as I told you, appeared Presbytery. The next to her was a figure which somewhat puzzled me: it was that of a man looking, with horror in his eyes, upon a silver basin filled with water. Observing something in his countenance that looked like lunacy, I fancied at first that he was to express that kind of distraction which the physicians call the hydrophobia; but considering what the intention of the show was, I immediately recollected myself, and concluded it to be Anabaptism.

"The next figure was a man that sat under a most profound composure of mind: he wore a hat whose brims were exactly parallel with the horizon: his garment had neither sleeve nor skirt, nor so much as a superfluous button. What they called his cravat, was a little piece of white linen quilled with great exactness, and hanging below his chin about two inches. Seeing a book in his hand, I asked our artist what it was, who told me it was the Quaker's religion; upon which I desired a sight of it. Upon perusal, I found it to be nothing but a new-fashioned grammar, or an art of abridging ordinary discourse. The nouns were reduced to a very small number, as the 'light,' 'friend,' 'Babylon.' The principal of his pronouns was 'thou'; and as for 'you,' 'ye,' and 'yours,' I found they were not looked upon as parts of speech in this grammar. All the verbs wanted the second person plural; the participles ended all in 'ing' or 'ed,' which were marked with a particular accent. There were no adverbs besides 'yea' and 'nay.' The same thrift was observed in the prepositions. The conjunctions were only 'hem!' and 'ha!' and the interjections brought under the three heads of 'sighing,' 'sobbing,' and 'groaning.'

"There was at the end of the grammar a little nomenclature, called 'The Christian Man's Vocabulary,' which gave new appellations, or (if you will) Christian names, to almost everything in life. I replaced the book in the hand of the figure, not without admiring the simplicity of its garb, speech, and behaviour.

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

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

"In the opposite corner there sat another little congregation of strange figures, opening their mouths as wide as they could gape, and distinguished by the title of the Sweet Singers of Israel.

"I must not omit, that in this assembly of wax there were several pieces that moved by clockwork, and gave great satisfaction to the spectators. Behind the matron there stood one of these figures, and behind Popery another, which, as the artist told us, were each of them the genius of the person they attended. That behind Popery represented Persecution, and the other Moderation. The first of these moved by secret springs towards a great heap of dead bodies that lay piled upon one another at a considerable distance behind the principal figures. There were written on the foreheads of these dead men several hard words, as 'Pre-Adamites, 'Sabbatarians,' 'Cameronians,' 'Muggletonians,' 'Brownists,' 'Independents,' 'Masonites,' 'Camisards,' and the like. At the approach of Persecution, it was so contrived, that as she held up her bloody flag, the whole assembly of dead men, like those in the 'Rehearsal,'[216] started up and drew their swords. This was followed by great clashings and noise, when, in the midst of the tumult, the figure of Moderation moved gently towards this new army, which upon her holding up a paper in her hand, inscribed, 'Liberty of Conscience,' immediately fell into a heap of carcasses, remaining in the same quiet posture that they lay at first."

[215] "At the sign of the Woolsack in Newgate Market, is to be seen a strange and wonderful thing, which is, an elm-board; being touched with a hot iron, it doth express itself as if it were a man dying with groans and trembling, to the great admiration of all hearers. It hath been presented before the King and his nobles, and hath given great satisfaction" (Advertisement of 1682, in Sloane MSS., 958).

[216] In act ii. sc. 5, Bayes says, "Now here's an odd surprise: all these dead men you shall see rise up presently, at a certain note that I have made, in effaut flat, and fall a-dancing. Do you hear, dead men?"

No. 258. [ Steele. From Thursday, Nov. 30 , to Saturday, Dec. 2, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 1. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. [217] — FOOTNOTES:

Occidit miseros crambe repetita——

Juv., Sat. vii. 154.

When a man keeps a constant table, he may be allowed sometimes to serve up a cold dish of meat, or toss up the fragments of a feast into a ragout. I have sometimes, in a scarcity of provisions, been obliged to take the same kind of liberty, and to entertain my reader with the leavings of a former treat. I must this day have recourse to the same method, and beg my guests to sit down to a kind of Saturday's dinner. To let the metaphor rest, I intend to fill up this paper with a bundle of letters relating to subjects on which I have formerly treated, and have ordered my bookseller to print at the end of each letter the minutes with which I endorsed it, after the first perusal of it.

Nov, 22, 1710.

"Sir,

Dining yesterday with Mr. South British and Mr. William North Briton, two gentlemen who, before you ordered it otherwise,[218] were known by the names of Mr. English and Mr. William Scott. Among other things, the maid of the house (who in her time I believe may have been a North British warming-pan) brought us up a dish of North British collops. We liked our entertainment very well, only we observed the table-cloth, being not so fine as we could have wished, was North British cloth: but the worst of it was, we were disturbed all dinner-time by the noise of the children, who were playing in the paved court at North British hoppers; so we paid our North Briton sooner than we designed, and took coach to North Britain Yard, about which place most of us live. We had indeed gone afoot, only we were under some apprehensions lest a North British mist should wet a South British man to the skin.

"We think this matter properly expressed, according to the accuracy of the new style settled by you in one of your late papers. You will please to give your opinion upon it to,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servants,
"J. S.
"M. P.
"N. R."

See if this letter be conformable to the directions given in the Tatler above mentioned.

"To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.

Kent, Nov. 22, 1710.

"Sir,

"A gentleman in my neighbourhood, who happens to be brother to a lord, though neither his father nor grandfather were so, is perpetually making use of this phrase, 'a person of my quality.' He has it in his mouth fifty times a day, to his labourers, his servants, his children, his tenants, and his neighbours. Wet or dry, at home or abroad, drunk or sober, angry or pleased, it is the constant burden of his style. Sir, as you are Censor of Great Britain, as you value the repose of a loyal county, and the reputation of my neighbour, I beg you will take this cruel grievance into your consideration, else, for my own particular, I am resolved to give up my farm, sell my stock, and remove with my wife and seven children next spring to Falmouth or Berwick, if my strength will permit me, being brought into a very weak condition. I am (with great respect),

"Sir,
"Your most obedient and
"Languishing Servant, &c."

Let this be referred to the Court of Honour.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I am a young lady of a good fortune, and at present invested by several lovers who lay close siege to me, and carry on their attacks with all possible diligence. I know which of them has the first place in my own heart, but would freely cross my private inclinations to make choice of the man who loves me best, which it is impossible for me to know, all of them pretending to an equal passion for me. Let me therefore beg of you, dear Mr. Bickerstaff, to lend me your Ithuriel's spear,[219] in order to touch this troop of rivals; after which I will most faithfully return it to you again, with the greatest gratitude. I am,

Sir, &c."

Query 1. What figure this lady doth think her lover will appear in? Or what symptoms he will betray of his passion upon being touched?

2. Whether a touch of her fan may not have the same efficacy as a touch of Ithuriel's spear?

"Great Lincoln's Inn
Square, Nov 29.

"Honoured Sir,

"Gratitude obliges me to make this public acknowledgment of the eminent service you have done myself in particular, and the whole body of chaplains, I hope, in general.[220] Coming home on Sunday about dinner-time, I found things strangely altered for the better; the porter smiled in my face when he let me in, the footman bowed to me as I passed him, the steward shook me by the hand, and Mrs. Beatrice dropped me a curtsey as she went along. I was surprised at all this civility, and knew not to what I might ascribe it, except to my bright beaver and shining scarf that were new that day. But I was still more astonished to find such an agreeable change at the table: my lord helped me to a fat slice of venison with his own hand, and my lady did me the honour to drink to me. I offered to rise at my usual time, but was desired to sit still, with this kind expression, 'Come, doctor, a jelly or a conserve will do you no harm; don't be afraid of the dessert.' I was so confounded with the favour, that I returned my thanks in a most awkward manner, wondering what was the meaning of this total transformation: but my lord soon put an end to my admiration, by showing me a paper that challenged you, sir, for its author, and rallied me very agreeably on the subject, asking me, which was best handled, the lord or his chaplain? I owned myself to think the banter sharpest against ourselves, and that these were trifling matters, not fit for a philosopher to insist on. His lordship was in so good a humour, that he ordered me to return his thanks with my own, and my lady joins in the same, with this one exception to your paper, that the chaplain in her family was always allowed mince-pies from All-Hallows to Candlemas. I am,

"Sir,
"Your most obliged,
"Humble Servant,
"T.W."

Requires no answer.

Oxford, November 27.

"Mr. Censor,

"I have read your account of Nova Zembla [221] with great pleasure, and have ordered it to be transcribed in a little hand, and inserted in Mr. Tonson's late edition of "Hudibras." I could wish you would furnish us with more notes upon that author, to fill up the place of those dull annotations with which several editions of that book have been encumbered. I would particularly desire of you to give the world the story of Talicotius,[222] who makes a very eminent figure in the first canto, not having been able to meet with any account of the said Talicotius in the writings of any other author. I am (with the most profound respect),

"The most humble of your Admirers,
"Q. Z."

To be answered next Thursday, if nothing more material intervenes.

"Mr. Censor,

"In your survey of the people, you must have observed crowds of single persons that are qualified to increase the subjects of this glorious island, and yet neglect that duty to their country. In order to reclaim such persons, I lay before you this proposal.

"Your most obedient Servant,
"Th. Cl."[223]

This to be considered on Saturday next.

[217] "Steele, the rogue, has done the impudentest thing in the world: he said something in a Tatler, that we ought to use the word 'Great Britain,' and not 'England,' in common conversation; as, 'the finest lady in Great Britain,' &c. Upon this Rowe, Prior, and I sent him a letter, turning this into ridicule. He has to-day printed the letter, and signed it J. S., M. P., and N. R., the first letters of all our names. Congreve told me to-day, he smoked it immediately" (Swift's "Journal," December 2, 1710).

[218] See No. 241.

[219] See No. 237.

[220] See No. 255.

[221] See No. 254.

[222] See No. 260.

[223] Thomas Clement (see No. 261).

No. 259. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday, Dec. 2 , to Tuesday, Dec. 5, 1710 . — FOOTNOTES:

----Vexat censura columbas.—Juv., Sat. ii. 63.

A Continuation of the Journal of the Court of Honour, held in Sheer Lane, on Monday, the 27th of November, before Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., Censor of Great Britain.[224]

Elizabeth Makebate,[225] of the parish of St. Catherine's, spinster, was indicted for surreptitiously taking away the hassock from under the Lady Grave-Airs, between the hours of four and five, on Sunday the 26th of November. The prosecutor deposed, that as she stood up to make a curtsey to a person of quality in a neighbouring pew, the criminal conveyed away the hassock by stealth, insomuch that the prosecutor was obliged to sit all the while she was at church, or to say her prayers in a posture that did not become a woman of her quality. The prisoner pleaded inadvertency; and the jury were going to bring it in chance-medley, had not several witnesses been produced against the said Elizabeth Makebate, that she was an old offender, and a woman of a bad reputation. It appeared in particular, that on the Sunday before she had detracted from a new petticoat of Mrs. Mary Doelittle, having said in the hearing of several credible witnesses, that the said petticoat was scoured,[226] to the great grief and detriment of the said Mary Doelittle. There were likewise many evidences produced against the criminal, that though she never failed to come to church on Sunday, she was a most notorious Sabbath-breaker, and that she spent her whole time, during divine service, in disparaging other people's clothes, and whispering to those who sat next her. Upon the whole, she was found guilty of the indictment, and received sentence to ask pardon of the prosecutor upon her bare knees, without either cushion or hassock under her, in the face of the court.

N.B.—As soon as the sentence was executed on the criminal, which was done in open court with the utmost severity, the first lady of the bench on Mr. Bickerstaff's right hand stood up, and made a motion to the court, that whereas it was impossible for women of fashion to dress themselves before the church was half done, and whereas many confusions and inconveniences did arise thereupon, it might be lawful for them to send a footman, in order to keep their places, as was usual in other polite and well-regulated assemblies.[227] The motion was ordered to be entered in the books, and considered at a more convenient time.

Charles Cambric, linen-draper, in the city of Westminster, was indicted for speaking obscenely to the Lady Penelope Touchwood. It appeared, that the prosecutor and her woman going in a stage-coach from London to Brentford, where they were to be met by the lady's own chariot, the criminal and another of his acquaintance travelled with them in the same coach, at which time the prisoner talked bawdy for the space of three miles and a half. The prosecutor alleged that over against the Old Fox at Knightsbridge he mentioned the word "linen"; that at the farther end of Kensington he made use of the term "smock"; and that before he came to Hammersmith, he talked almost a quarter of an hour upon wedding-shifts. The prosecutor's woman confirmed what her lady had said, and added further, that she had never seen her lady in so great a confusion, and in such a taking, as she was during the whole discourse of the criminal. The prisoner had little to say for himself, but that he talked only in his own trade, and meant no hurt by what he said. The jury, however, found him guilty, and represented by their forewoman, that such discourses were apt to sully the imagination, and that by a concatenation of ideas, the word "linen" implied many things that were not proper to be stirred up in the mind of a woman who was of the prosecutor's quality, and therefore gave it as their verdict, that the linen-draper should lose his tongue. Mr. Bickerstaff said, he thought the prosecutor's ears were as much to blame as the prisoner's tongue, and therefore gave sentence as follows: that they should both be placed over against one another in the middle of the court, there to remain for the space of one quarter of an hour, during which time the linen-draper was to be gagged, and the lady to hold her hands close upon both her ears, which was executed accordingly.

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

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

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

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

The court then adjourned to Monday the 11th instant.

"Copia vera.—Charles Lillie."

[224] See Nos. 253, 256.

[225] A makebate is breeder of quarrels. Swift says, "Outrageous party writers are like a couple of makebates who inflame small quarrels by a thousand stories."

[226] In Defoe's "Apparition of Mrs. Veal," her deceased friend told Mrs. Bargrave that the dress she was wearing had been scoured.

[227] It was a common practice to send servants to the theatre to keep seats for their employers.

No. 260. [ Addison and Steele . From Tuesday, Dec. 5 , to Thursday, Dec. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 6. — FOOTNOTES:

Non cuicunque datum est habere nasum.

Mart., Epig. i. 41.

We have a very learned and elaborate dissertation upon thumbs in Montaigne's Essays,[228] and another upon ears in the "Tale of a Tub."[229] I am here going to write one upon noses,[230] having chosen for my text the following verses out of "Hudibras":

So learned Talicotius from
The brawny part of porter's bum
Cut supplemental noses, which
Lasted as long as parent breech:
But when the date of nock [231] was out,
Off dropped the sympathetic snout.[232]

Notwithstanding that there is nothing obscene in natural knowledge, and that I intend to give as little offence as may be to readers of a well-bred imagination, I must, for my own quiet, desire the critics (who in all times have been famous for good noses) to refrain from the lecture [233] of this curious tract. These gentlemen were formerly marked out and distinguished by the little rhinocerical nose, which was always looked upon as an instrument of derision, and which they were used to cock, toss, or draw up in a contemptuous manner, upon reading the works of their ingenious contemporaries. It is not therefore for this generation of men that I write the present transaction:

——Minus aptus acutis
Naribus horum hominum——

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

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

I need not tell my learned reader that Correggio has drawn a Cupid taking his lesson from Mercury, conformable to this poem; nor that the poem itself was designed as a burlesque upon Fracastorius.[234]

It was a little after this fatal siege of Naples that Talicotius [235] began to practise in a town of Germany. He was the first clap doctor that I meet with in history, and a greater man in his age than our celebrated Dr. Wall.[236] He saw this species extremely mutilated and disfigured by this new distemper that was crept into it; and therefore, in pursuance of a very seasonable invention, set up a manufacture of noses, having first got a patent that none should presume to make noses besides himself. His first patient was a great man of Portugal, who had done good services to his country, but in the midst of them unfortunately lost his nose. Talicotius grafted a new one on the remaining part of the gristle or cartilaginous substance, which would sneeze, smell, take snuff, pronounce the letters m or n, and, in short, do all the functions of a genuine and natural nose. There was, however, one misfortune in this experiment. The Portuguese's complexion was a little upon the subfusk, with very black eyes and dark eyebrows, and the nose being taken from a porter that had a white German skin, and cut out of those parts that are not exposed to the sun, it was very visible that the features of his face were not fellows. In a word, the Comdè resembled one of those maimed antique statues that has often a modern nose of fresh marble glued to a face of such a yellow ivory complexion as nothing can give but age. To remedy this particular for the future, the doctor got together a great collection of porters, men of all complexions, black, brown, fair, dark, sallow, pale, and ruddy; so that it was impossible for a patient of the most out-of-the-way colour not to find a nose to match it.

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

Militat omnis amans, habet et sua castra Cupido,
Pontice, crede mihi, militat omnis amans.[237]

It is reported, that Talicotius had at one time in his house twelve German counts, nineteen French marquises, and a hundred Spanish cavaliers, besides one solitary English esquire, of whom more hereafter. Though the doctor had the monopoly of noses in his own hands, he is said not to have been unreasonable. Indeed, if a man had occasion for a high Roman nose, he must go to the price of it. A carbuncle nose likewise bore an excessive rate: but for your ordinary short turned-up noses, of which there was the greatest consumption, they cost little or nothing; at least the purchasers thought so, who would have been content to have paid much dearer for them, rather than to have gone without them.

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

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

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

I shall close this paper with an admonition to the young men of this town, which I think the more necessary, because I see several new fresh-coloured faces, that have made their first appearance in it this winter. I must therefore assure them, that the art of making noses is entirely lost; and in the next place, beg them not to follow the example of our ordinary town rakes, who live as if there was a Talicotius to be met with at the corner of every street. Whatever young men may think, the nose is a very becoming part of the face, and a man makes but a very silly figure without it. But it is the nature of youth not to know the value of anything till they have lost it. The general precept, therefore, I shall leave with them is, to regard every town-woman as a particular kind of siren, that has a design upon their noses; and that, amidst her flatteries and allurements, they will fancy she speaks to them in that humorous phrase of old Plautus:

Ego tibi faciem denasabo mordicus.[238]

"Keep your face out of my way, or I'll bite off your nose."

[228] Book ii. chap. xxvi.

[229] Swift's "Tale of a Tub," sect. xi.

[230] "You are mistaken in your guesses about Tatlers; I did neither write that on noses nor religion [No. 257], nor do I send him of late any hints at all" (Swift's "Journal," Jan. 1, 1711).

[231] Notch or nick.

[232] "Hudibras," Part i. canto i. 281. For Talicotius see note below.

[233] Reading.

[234] Hieronymus Fracastorius, physician and poet, and much commended for his elegance as a Latin Writer, was born in Verona in 1483, and died in that neighborhood, of an apoplexy, in 1553, at the age of seventy-one. He was a man of blameless life and engaging manners, which so endeared him to his friends and countrymen, that they erected a statue to his memory six years after his death. His "Syphilis," the book here alluded to, was printed with his other works in two volumes, at Padua, in 1735. There is a separate edition of his poetical works, printed at the same place in 1718. Fracastorius was born, it is said, with his lips so grown together that it was necessary to call in the assistance of a surgeon to separate them.

[235] Gaspar Taliacotius (1546-1599) was a professor of physic and surgery at Bologna. In his "De Curtorum Chirurgia per Insitionem" he taught the art of grafting noses, lips, and ears, with the proper instruments and bandages. The only manner which he used and recommends for the reparation of maimed noses, &c., is skin.

[236] A quack doctor whose advertisements may be found in the newspapers of the day.

[237] Ovid, "Amor. El." ix. 1.

[238]

"Namque edepol si adbites proprius, os denasabit tibi
Mordicus."

—"Captivi," act iii. sc. 4, II. 72-73.

No. 261. [ Steele. From Thursday, Dec. 7 , to Saturday, Dec. 9, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 8. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

It is the duty of all who make philosophy the entertainment of their lives, to turn their thoughts to practical schemes for the good of society, and not pass away their time in fruitless searches, which tend rather to the ostentation of knowledge than the service of life. For this reason I cannot forbear reading even the common bills that are daily put into people's hands as they pass the streets, which give us notice of the present residence, the past travels, and infallible medicines of doctors, useful in their generation, though much below the character of the renowned Talicotius: but upon a nice calculation of the successes of such adepts, I find their labours tend mostly to the enriching only one sort of men, that is to say, the Society of Upholders. From this observation, and many other which occur to me when I am numbering the good people of Great Britain, I cannot but favour any proposal which tends to repairing the losses we sustain by eminent cures. The best I have met with in this kind, has been offered to my consideration, and recommended by a letter, subscribed Thomas Clement.[239] The title to his printed articles runs thus: "By the Profitable Society at the Wheat Sheaf, over against Tom's Coffee-house, in Russell Street, Covent Garden, new proposals for promoting a contribution towards raising two hundred and fifty pounds to be made on the baptizing of any infant born in wedlock." The plan is laid with such proper regulations, as serves (to such as fall in with it for the sake of their posterity) all the uses, without any of the inconveniences of settlements. By this means, such whose fortunes depend upon their own industry, or personal qualifications, need not be deterred by fear of poverty from that state which nature and reason prescribe to us as the fountain of the greatest happiness in human life. The censors of Rome had power vested in them to lay taxes on the unmarried; and I think I cannot show my impartiality better than in inquiring into the extravagant privileges my brother bachelors enjoy, and fine them accordingly. I shall not allow a single life in one sex to be reproached, and held in esteem in the other. It would not, methinks, be amiss, if an old bachelor, who lives in contempt of matrimony, were obliged to give a portion to an old maid who is willing to enter into it. At the same time I must allow, that those who can plead courtship, and were unjustly rejected, shall not be liable to the pains and penalties of celibacy. But such as pretend an aversion to the whole sex, because they were ill-treated by a particular female, and cover their sense of disappointment in women under a contempt of their favour, shall be proceeded against as bachelors convict. I am not without hopes, that from this slight warning, all the unmarried men of fortune, taste, and refinement, will, without further delay, become lovers and humble servants to such of their acquaintance as are most agreeable to them, under pain of my censures: and it is to be hoped, the rest of the world, who remain single for fear of the encumbrances of wedlock, will become subscribers to Mr. Clement's proposal. By these means we shall have a much more numerous account of births in the year 1711, than any ever before known in Great Britain, where merely to be born is a distinction of Providence, greater than being born to a fortune in another place.

As I was going on in the consideration of this good office which Mr. Clement proposes to do his country, I received the following letter, which seems to be dictated by a like modest and public spirit, that makes use of me also in its design of obliging mankind:

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"In the royal lottery for a million and a half, I had the good fortune of obtaining a prize. From before the drawing I had devoted a fifth of whatever should arise to me to charitable uses. Accordingly I lately troubled you with my request and commission for placing half-a-dozen youths with Mr. More,[240] writing-master in Castle Street, to whom, it is said, we owe all the fine devices, flourishes, and the composure of all the plates, for the drawing and paying the tickets. Be pleased therefore, good sir, to find or make leisure for complying therewith, for I would not appear concerned in this small matter. I am very much

"Your humble Servant, &c."

It is no small pleasure to observe, that in the midst of a very degenerate age, there are still spirits which retain their natural dignity, and pursue the good of their fellow-creatures: some in making themselves useful by professed service, some by secret generosity. Were I at liberty to discover even all the good I know of many men living at this time, there would want nothing but a suitable historian to make them appear as illustrious as any of the noblest of the old Greeks or Romans. The cunning some have used to do handsome and worthy actions, the address to do men services, and escape their notice, has produced so many surprising incidents (which have been laid before me during my censorship), as, in the opinion of posterity, would absolve this age of all its crimes and follies. I know no way to deal with such delicate minds as these, but by assuring them, that when they cease to do good, I shall tell all the good they have done already. Let therefore the benefactor to the youths above-mentioned continue such bounties, upon pain of being publicly praised. But there is no probability of his running into that hazard; for a strong habit of virtue can make men suspend the receiving acknowledgments due to their merit, till they are out of a capacity of receiving them. I am so very much charmed with accidents of this kind, that I have made a collection of all the memorable handsome things done by private men in my time. As a specimen of my manner of noting such actions, take the following fragment out of much more which is written in my Year-Book, on the remarkable will of a gentleman, whom I shall here call Celamico.

"This day died that plain and excellent man, my much honoured friend Celamico, who bequeathed his whole estate to a gentleman no way related to him, and to whom he had given no such expectation in his lifetime."

He was a person of a very enlarged soul, and thought the nearest relation among men to be the resemblance of their minds and sentiments. He was not mistaken in the worth of his successor, who received the news of this unexpected good fortune with an air that showed him less moved with the benefit than the loss of the benefactor.

"Notice is hereby given, that on Monday the 11th instant, the case of the visit comes on, between the hours of ten and eleven, at the Court of Honour; where both persons are to attend, the meeting there not being to be understood as a visit, and the right of the next visit being then to be wholly settled, according to the prayer of the plaintiff."

[239] See No. 258, ad fin. The following advertisement appeared in No. 252 of the Tatler: "Two hundred and fifty pounds to be paid on the baptizing of a child, being a new proposal by the Profitable Society; the payment of 2s. 6d. for a policy, and 2s. 6d. towards each claim, a title to the sum above-mentioned. Proposals of a 2d. society, where the contribution of 1s. entitled the contributor to £100, to be had gratis at the Wheat Sheaf, opposite to Tom's Coffee-house, Russell Street, Covent Garden."

[240] "This ingenious penman was the son of a writing-master in King Street, Westminster, and lived at the Golden Pen, in Castle Street, near the Mews, Charing Cross. He succeeded Colonel Ayres, to whom caligraphy is much indebted for its improvement, in his house and business in St. Paul's Churchyard, and in some respects enlarged its glory. He died on a journey in 1727" (Massey, "Origin and Progress of Letters," 1763; Part ii. 103).

No. 262. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday, Dec. 9, to Tuesday, Dec. 12, 1710 . — Journal of the Court of Honour, &c. [241] — FOOTNOTES:

Verba togæ sequeris juncturâ callidus acri,
Ore teres modico, pallentes radere mores
Doctus et ingenuo culpam defigere ludo.

Pers., Sat. v. 14.

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

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

William Trippitt, Esq., of the Middle Temple, brought his action against the Lady Elizabeth Prudely, for having refused him her hand as he offered to lead her to her coach from the opera. The plaintiff set forth, that he had entered himself into the list of those volunteers who officiate every night behind the boxes as gentlemen-ushers of the play-house; that he had been at a considerable charge in white gloves, periwigs, and snuff-boxes, in order to qualify himself for that employment, and in hopes of making his fortune by it. The counsel for the defendant replied, that the plaintiff had given out that he was within a month of wedding their client, and that she had refused her hand to him in ceremony, lest he should interpret it as a promise that she would give it him in marriage. As soon as their pleadings on both sides were finished, the Censor ordered the plaintiff to be cashiered from his office of gentleman-usher to the play-house, since it was too plain that he had undertaken it with an ill design; and at the same time ordered the defendant either to marry the said plaintiff, or to pay him half-a-crown for the new pair of gloves and coach-hire that he was at the expense of in her service.

The Lady Townly brought an action of debt against Mrs. Flambeau, for that the said Mrs. Flambeau had not been to see the said Lady Townly, and wish her joy, since her marriage with Sir Ralph, notwithstanding she, the said Lady Townly, had paid Mrs. Flambeau a visit upon her first coming to town. It was urged in the behalf of the defendant, that the plaintiff had never given her any regular notice of her being in town; that the visit she alleged had been made on a Monday, which she knew was a day on which Mrs. Flambeau was always abroad, having set aside that only day in the week to mind the affairs of her family; that the servant who inquired whether she was at home did not give the visiting knock; that it was not between the hours of five and eight in the evening; that there was no candles lighted up; that it was not on Mrs. Flambeau's day; and, in short, that there was not one of the essential points observed that constitute a visit. She further proved by her porter's book, which was produced in court, that she had paid the Lady Townly a visit on the twenty-fourth day of March,[242] just before her leaving the town, in the year 1709-10, for which she was still creditor to the said Lady Townly. To this the plaintiff only replied, that she was now under covert, and not liable to any debts contracted when she was a single woman. Mr. Bickerstaff finding the cause to be very intricate, and that several points of honour were likely to arise in it, he deferred giving judgment upon it till the next session day, at which time he ordered the ladies on his left hand to present to the court a table of all the laws relating to visits.

Winifred Lear brought her action against Richard Sly for having broken a marriage contract, and wedded another woman, after he had engaged himself to marry the said Winifred Lear. She alleged, that he had ogled her twice at an opera, thrice in St. James's Church, and once at Powell's Puppet-Show,[243] at which time he promised her marriage by a side glance, as her friend could testify that sat by her. Mr. Bickerstaff finding that the defendant had made no further overture of love or marriage, but by looks and ocular engagement; yet at the same time considering how very apt such impudent seducers are to lead the ladies' hearts astray, ordered the criminal to stand upon the stage in the Haymarket, between each act of the next opera, there to be exposed to public view as a false ogler.

Upon the rising of the court, Mr. Bickerstaff having taken one of these counterfeits in the very fact as he was ogling a lady of the grand jury, ordered him to be seized, and prosecuted upon the statute of ogling. He likewise directed the clerk of the court to draw up an edict against these common cheats, that make women believe they are distracted for them by staring them out of countenance, and often blast a lady's reputation whom they never spoke to, by saucy looks and distant familiarities.

[241] See Nos. 253, 256, and 259.

[242] Then the last day of the year.

[243] See Nos. 44, 45, 50, 115; and Spectator, Nos. 14, 372. Martin Powell (sometimes called Robert) was a cripple who came to London from Bath in 1710, and set up "Punch's Theatre" under the Piazza in Covent Garden. There he produced puppet plays, burlesquing the operas at the Haymarket. Defoe, or whoever was the author of the "Groans of Great Britain" (1711), lamented Powell's popularity, and said that he was rich enough to buy up all the poets of England. In 1715 Thomas Burnet wrote a satire on Robert Harley under the title of a "History of Robert Powell the Puppet-Showman."

No. 263. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Dec. 12 , to Thursday, Dec. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment Dec. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

----Minimâ contentos nocte Britannos.

Juv., Sat ii. 161.

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 inquiring after him, his servant told me he was just gone to bed. The next morning, as soon as I was up and dressed, and had despatched 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.[244]

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 curfew, or eight o'clock bell, was the signal throughout 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.[245] 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 business 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 in proportion to what it has done of late years, it is not impossible but our children may hear the bellman going about the streets at nine o'clock in the morning, and the watch making their rounds till eleven. This unaccountable disposition in mankind to continue awake in the night, and sleep in sunshine, has made me inquire, 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 the beasts of his neighbourhood keep the same hours that they have observed in the memory of man; and the same which, in all probability, they have kept for these five thousand years.

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 landmarks of our fathers (if I may so call them) are removed, and planted further 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.[246]

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 headquarters, 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,[247] will not, I believe, think such a memorial forced and unnatural. If dinner has been thus postponed, 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 [248] and candles to the sun, and exchange so many cheerful morning hours for the pleasures of midnight revels and debauches? If a man was only to consult his health, he would choose to live his whole time (if possible) in daylight, 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 control them. For my own part, I value an hour in the morning as much as 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 [249] 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, the 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 exquisite 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 himself into the ordinary cares or follies of the world.

I shall conclude this paper with Milton's inimitable description of Adam's awakening his Eve in Paradise, which indeed would have been a place as little delightful as a barren heath or desert to those who slept in it. The fondness of the posture in which Adam is represented, and the softness of his whisper, are passages in this divine poem that are above all commendation, and rather to be admired than praised.

Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep
Was airy-light from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which th' only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve,
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest: he on his side
Leaning half-raised, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamoured, and beheld
Beauty, which whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces. Then with voice
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: "Awake,
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight;
Awake, the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How Nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet."
Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake:
"O soul! in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection, glad I see
Thy face, and morn returned."——[250]

[244] Cf. Pope's "Epistle to Miss Blount, on her leaving the Town after the Coronation" (1715):

"She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashioned halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from opera, park, assembly, play,
To morning walks, and prayers three hours a day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,
To muse, and spill her solitary tea;
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire;
Up to her godly garret after seven,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to heaven."

[245] Games at cards. Pope wrote a poem called "The Basset Table."

[246] Four o'clock was soon the fashionable hour. Mr. Dobson quotes from Swift's "Journal of a Modern Lady" (1728):—

"This business of importance o'er,
And madam almost dressed by four,
The footman, in his usual phrase,
Comes up with 'Madam, dinner stays.'"

[247] See Lucian's "Judicium Vocalium." Such words as σήμερον and σὺκον afterwards came to be spelled τήμερον and τὺκον.

[248] Coal carried by sea from the colliery, as was then the case with all the coal used in London. In the country wood was burned; and Will Honeycomb, after his marriage to a farmer's daughter, said that had his steward not run away, he would still have been "immersed in sin and sea-coal" in London, with its smoke and gallantries (Spectator, No. 530).

[249] Implied.

[250] "Paradise Lost," v. 1.

No. 264. [ Steele. From Thursday, Dec. 14 , to Saturday Dec. 16, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 15. — FOOTNOTES:

Favete linguis.——Hor., 3 Od. i. 2.

Boccalini [251] 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 Guicciardin.[252] This Guicciardin is so very prolix and circumstantial in his writings, that I remember our countryman Dr. 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 Guicciardin 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."[253]

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 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"[254] 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 themselves? and whether they do not think they are invading another man's property, when they engross the time which should be divided equally amongst 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 anything 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. Humphry Wagstaff,[255] 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 postdiluvians, we ought to do everything in haste; and in our speeches, as well as actions, remember that our time is short. 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, supposing a man to be in 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.[256]

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 encumbrance, 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 their 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.

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,[257] 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.

[251] Trajan Boccalini, lawyer and satirical writer, was born in 1556 at Loreto, and died in 1613. He is best known by his "News from Parnassus," a translation of which was revised and reissued by John Hughes in 1706.

[252] Francis Guicciardini, politician and historian, was born at Florence in 1482. He died in 1540, and his lengthy "History of Italy" was published in 1561. An article on Guicciardini, by Mr. John Morley, appeared in the Nineteenth Century for November 1897.

[253] Donne's "Sermons," ii. 239.

[254] Sir Richard Baker's "Chronicle of the Kings of England" (1641) was a favourite authority with Sir Roger de Coverley (Spectator, No. 269).

[255] Probably Swift (See No. 9).

[256] "And spoke the hour-glass in her praise, quite out" (Gay, "Shepherd's Week," 1714).

[257] No. 268.

No. 265. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday Dec. 16 , to Tuesday, Dec. 19, 1710 . — Continuation of the Journal of the Court of Honour, &c. — FOOTNOTES:

Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite jocosâ.

Ovid, Met. iii. 332.

As soon as the court was sat, the ladies of the bench presented, according to order, a table of all the laws now in force relating to visits and visiting-days, methodically digested under their respective heads, which the Censor ordered to be laid upon the table, and afterwards proceeded upon the business of the day.

Henry Heedless, Esq., was indicted by Colonel Touchy, of her Majesty's trained-bands,[258] upon an action of assault and battery; for that he the said Mr. Heedless having espied a feather upon the shoulder of the said colonel, struck it off gently with the end of a walking-staff, value threepence. It appeared, that the prosecutor did not think himself injured till a few days after the aforesaid blow was given him; but that having ruminated with himself for several days, and conferred upon it with other officers of the militia, he concluded, that he had in effect been cudgelled by Mr. Heedless, and that he ought to resent it accordingly. The counsel for the prosecutor alleged, that the shoulder was the tenderest part in a man of honour; that it had a natural antipathy to a stick, and that every touch of it, with anything made in the fashion of a cane, was to be interpreted as a wound in that part, and a violation of the person's honour who received it. Mr. Heedless replied, that what he had done was out of kindness to the prosecutor, as not thinking it proper for him to appear at the head of the trained-bands with a feather upon his shoulder; and further added, that the stick he had made use of on this occasion was so very small, that the prosecutor could not have felt it, had he broken it on his shoulders. The Censor hereupon directed the jury to examine into the nature of the staff, for that a great deal would depend upon that particular. Upon which he explained to them the different degrees of offence that might be given by the touch of crab-tree from that of cane, and by the touch of cane from that of a plain hazel stick. The jury, after a short perusal of the staff, declared their opinion by the mouth of their foreman, that the substance of the staff was British oak. The Censor then observing that there was some dust on the skirts of the criminal's coat, ordered the prosecutor to beat it off with his aforesaid oaken plant; "and thus," said the Censor, "I shall decide this cause by the law of retaliation: if Mr. Heedless did the colonel a good office, the colonel will by this means return it in kind; but if Mr. Heedless should at any time boast that he had cudgelled the colonel, or laid his staff over his shoulders, the colonel might boast in his turn, that he has brushed Mr. Heedless's jacket, or (to use the phrase of an ingenious author) that he has rubbed him down with an oaken towel."

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

Sir Paul Swash, Kt., was indicted by Peter Double, Gent., for not returning the bow which he received of the said Peter Double, on Wednesday the 6th instant, at the play-house in the Haymarket. The prisoner denied the receipt of any such bow, and alleged in his defence, that the prosecutor would oftentimes look full in his face, but that when he bowed to the said prosecutor, he would take no notice of it, or bow to somebody else that sat quite on the other side of him. He likewise alleged, that several ladies had complained of the prosecutor, who, after ogling them a quarter of an hour, upon their making a curtsey to him, would not return the civility of a bow. The Censor observing several glances of the prosecutor's eye, and perceiving, that when he talked to the court, he looked upon the jury, found reason to suspect that there was a wrong cast in his sight, which upon examination proved true. The Censor therefore ordered the prisoner (that he might not produce any more confusions in public assemblies) never to bow to anybody whom he did not at the same time call to by his name.

Oliver Bluff, and Benjamin Browbeat, were indicted for going to fight a duel since the erection of the Court of Honour. It appeared, that they were both taken up in the street as they passed by the court, in their way to the fields behind Montague House.[259] The criminals would answer nothing for themselves, but that they were going to execute a challenge which had been made above a week before the Court of Honour was erected. The Censor finding some reasons to suspect (by the sturdiness of their behaviour) that they were not so very brave as they would have the court believe them, ordered them both to be searched by the grand jury, who found a breast-plate upon the one, and two quires of paper upon the other. The breast-plate was immediately ordered to be hung upon a peg over Mr. Bickerstaff's tribunal, and the paper to be laid upon the table for the use of his clerk. He then ordered the criminals to button up their bosoms, and, if they pleased, proceed to their duel. Upon which they both went very quietly out of the court, and retired to their respective lodgings.

The court then adjourned till after the holidays.

"Copia vera.—Charles Lillie."

[258] See Nos. 28, 41, 60, 61, and 79.

[259] A favourite place for duelling. See No. 31.

No. 266. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Dec. 19 , to Thursday, Dec. 21, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 20. — FOOTNOTES:

Rideat et pulset lasciva decentius ætas.

Hor., 2 Ep. ii. 216.

It would be a good appendix to the "Art of Living and Dying,"[260] 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 ambition 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 stroked my cat, but I heard somebody come rumbling upstairs. I saw my door opened, and a human figure advancing towards me, so fantastically put together, 'twas some minutes before I discovered it to be my old and intimate friend Sam Trusty.[261] Immediately 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 me 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 evening visited two widows, who are now in that state I have often heard you call an after-life:[262] 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, "till 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 transferred the amorous passions of her first years to the love of cronies, pets and favourites, with which she is always surrounded; but the genius of each of them will best appear by the account of what happened 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 [263] acquaint his lady, that I was 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 to my lady, an old schoolfellow and great crony of her ladyship's, and this the answer.' I inquired 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 anybody 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 interruption I beseech you. I got soon to Mrs. Feeble's, she that was formerly Betty Frisk; you must needs remember her, Tom Feeble of Brasenose fell in love with her for her fine dancing. Well, Mrs. Ursula, without further 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 [264] dog with one eye, a monkey chained to one side of the chimney, 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 observer, stood a pot of lambative electuary,[265] with a stick of liquorice, and near it a phial of rosewater and powder of tutty.[266] Upon the table lay a pipe filled with betony [267] and coltsfoot 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 awakened 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 clamorous 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 shears, in one of my heels, just above the shoe. I sprang from the place with 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.[268] I was nimble enough to save it from any further damage than singeing the foretop. I put it on, and composing myself as well as I could, I drew my chair towards the other side of the chimney. The good lady, as soon as she had recovered breath, employed it in making a thousand apologies, and with great eloquence, and a numerous train of words, lamented 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 inexpressible pain. The Hungary water [269] was immediately brought to bathe it, and gold-beaters' 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 countenance, 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."

[260] Jeremy Taylor's "Rule and Exercise of Holy Living and Dying" was published in 1650.

[261] Perhaps Jabez Hughes, brother of John Hughes. A letter by the latter in No. 73 is signed "Will Trusty."

[262] Cf. Spectator, No. 306, where a young lady who had been disfigured by smallpox, says, "I was taken off in the prime of youth, and according to the course of nature may have forty years' after-life to come."

[263] See No. 245.

[264] Rough-coated. In Pope's "Rape of the Lock" Belinda's dog is named Shock.

[265] A compound of sweet substances, in which medicines could be concealed and thus be licked up without being noticed.

[266] An impure oxide of zinc, used in soothing irritated surfaces on the flesh.

[267] Betony was smoked to cure headache, vertigo, and sore eyes; coltsfoot, for coughs and lung affections (Miller's "Herbal," 1722).

[268] See No. 263.

[269] See No. 126. Full directions for making Hungary water, of various qualities, are given in Lillie's "British Perfumer," pp. 142-145.

No. 267. [ Addison. From Thursday, Dec. 21 , to Saturday, Dec. 23, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 22. — A Prayer or Psalm made by my Lord Bacon, Chancellor of England. — FOOTNOTES:

Qui genus humanum ingenio superavit, et omnis
Restinxit, stellas exortus ut aetherius sol.

Lucr. iii. 1043.

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

I have hinted in some former papers, that the greatest and wisest of men in all ages and countries, particularly in Rome and Greece, were renowned for their piety and virtue. It is now my intention to show how those in our own nation, that have been unquestionably the most eminent for learning and knowledge, were likewise the most eminent for their adherence to the religion of their country.

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

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

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

I was infinitely pleased to find among the works of this extraordinary man a prayer of his own composing, which, for the elevation of thought, and greatness of expression, seems rather the devotion of an angel than a man. His principal fault seems to have been the excess of that virtue which covers a multitude of faults. This betrayed him to so great an indulgence towards his servants, who made a corrupt use of it, that it stripped him of all those riches and honours which a long series of merits had heaped upon him. But in this prayer, at the same time that we find him prostrating himself before the great mercy-seat, and humbled under afflictions which at that time lay heavy upon him, we see him supported by the sense of his integrity, his zeal, his devotion, and his love to mankind, which give him a much higher figure in the minds of thinking men, than that greatness had done from which he was fallen. I shall beg leave to write down the prayer itself, with the title to it, as it was found among his lordship's papers, written in his own hand; not being able to furnish my reader with an entertainment more suitable to this solemn time.[270]

"Most gracious Lord God, my merciful Father; from my youth up my Creator, my Redeemer, my Comforter. Thou, O Lord, soundest and searchest the depths and secrets of all hearts; Thou acknowledgest the upright of heart; Thou judgest the hypocrite; Thou ponderest men's thoughts and doings as in a balance; Thou measurest their intentions as with a line; vanity and crooked ways cannot be hid from Thee.

"Remember, O Lord! how Thy servant hath walked before Thee; remember what I have first sought, and what hath been principal in my intentions. I have loved Thy assemblies, I have mourned for the divisions of Thy Church, I have delighted in the brightness of Thy sanctuary. This vine which Thy right hand hath planted in this nation, I have ever prayed unto Thee, that it might have the first and the latter rain, and that it might stretch her branches to the seas, and to the floods. The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine eyes; I have hated all cruelty and hardness of heart; I have (though in a despised weed) procured the good of all men. If any have been my enemies, I thought not of them, neither hath the sun almost set upon my displeasure; but I have been as a dove, free from superfluity of maliciousness. Thy creatures have been my books, but Thy Scriptures much more. I have sought Thee in the courts, fields, and gardens, but I have found Thee in Thy temples.

"Thousands have been my sins, and ten thousands my transgressions, but Thy sanctifications have remained with me, and my heart (through Thy grace) hath been an unquenched coal upon Thine altar.

"O Lord, my strength! I have since my youth met with Thee in all my ways, by Thy fatherly compassions, by Thy comfortable chastisements, and by Thy most visible providence. As Thy favours have increased upon me, so have Thy corrections; so as Thou hast been always near me, O Lord! And ever as my worldly blessings were exalted, so secret darts from Thee have pierced me; and when I have ascended before men, I have descended in humiliation before Thee. And now when I thought most of peace and honour, Thy hand is heavy upon me, and hath humbled me according to Thy former loving-kindness, keeping me still in Thy fatherly school, not as a bastard, but as a child. Just are Thy judgments upon me for my sins, which are more in number than the sands of the sea, but have no proportion to Thy mercies; for what are the sands of the sea? Earth, heavens, and all these are nothing to Thy mercies. Besides my innumerable sins, I confess before Thee, that I am debtor to Thee for the gracious talent of Thy gifts and graces, which I have neither put into a napkin, nor put it (as I ought) to exchangers, where it might have made best profit, but misspent it in things for which I was least fit: so I may truly say, my soul hath been a stranger in the course of my pilgrimage. Be merciful unto me, O Lord, for my Saviour's sake, and receive me unto Thy bosom, or guide me in Thy ways."

[270] Christmas.

No. 268. [ Steele. From Saturday, Dec. 23 , to Tuesday, Dec. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., Censor of Great Britain. Lloyd's Coffee-house, Lombard Street, Dec. 23. — FOOTNOTES:

——"O te, Bolane, cerebri
Felicem!" Aiebam tacitus; quum quidlibet ille
Garriret.——

Hor., 1 Sat. ix. 11.

At my coming home last night, I found upon my table the following petition or project, sent me from Lloyd's Coffee-house [271] in the city, with a present of port wine, which had been bought at a late auction held in that place:

"We the customers of this coffee-house, observing that you have taken into your consideration the great mischiefs daily done in this city by coffee-house orators, do humbly beg leave to represent to you, that this coffee-house being provided with a pulpit for the benefit of such auctions that are frequently made in this place, it is our custom, upon the first coming in of the news, to order a youth, who officiates as the Kidney [272] of the coffee-house, to get into the pulpit, and read every paper with a loud and distinct voice, while the whole audience are sipping their respective liquors. We do therefore, sir, humbly propose, that there be a pulpit erected within every coffee-house of this city and the adjacent parts; that one of the waiters of the coffee-house be nominated as reader to the said pulpit; that after the news of the day has been published by the said lecturer, some politician of good note do ascend into the said pulpit; and after having chosen for his text any article of the said news, that he do establish the authority of such article, clear the doubts that may arise thereupon, compare it with parallel texts in other papers, advance upon it wholesome points of doctrine, and draw from it salutary conclusions for the benefit and edification of all that hear him. We do likewise humbly propose, that upon any such politician's quitting the pulpit, he shall be succeeded by any other orator that finds himself moved by the same public spirit, who shall be at full liberty either to enforce or overthrow what the other has said before him, and may in the same manner be succeeded by any other politician, who shall with the same liberty confirm or impugn his reasons, strengthen or invalidate his conjectures, enlarge upon his schemes, or erect new ones of his own. We do likewise further propose, that if any person, of what age or rank soever, do presume to cavil at any paper that has been read, or to hold forth upon it longer than the space of one minute, that he be immediately ordered up into the pulpit, there to make good anything that he has suggested upon the floor. We do likewise further propose, that if any one plays the orator in the ordinary coffee-house conversation, whether it be upon peace or war, on plays or sermons, business or poetry, that he be forthwith desired to take his place in the pulpit.

"This, sir, we humbly presume may in a great measure put a stop to those superficial statesmen who would not dare to stand up in this manner before a whole congregation of politicians, notwithstanding the long and tedious harangues and dissertations which they daily utter in private circles, to the breaking of many honest tradesmen, the seducing of several eminent citizens, the making of numberless malcontents, and to the great detriment and disquiet of her Majesty's subjects."

I do heartily concur with my ingenious friends of the above-mentioned coffee-house in these their proposals; and because I apprehend there may be reasons to put an immediate stop to the grievance complained of, it is my intention that, till such time as the aforesaid pulpits can be erected, every orator do place himself within the bar, and from thence dictate whatsoever he shall think necessary for the public good.

And further, because I am very desirous that proper ways and means should be found out for the suppressing of story-tellers and fine talkers [273] in all ordinary conversation whatsoever, I do insist, that in every private club, company, or meeting over a bottle, there be always an elbow-chair placed at the table, and that as soon as any one begins a long story, or extends his discourse beyond the space of one minute, he be forthwith thrust into the said elbow-chair, unless upon any of the company's calling out to the chair, he breaks off abruptly, and holds his tongue.

There are two species of men, notwithstanding anything that has been here said, whom I would exempt from the disgrace of the elbow-chair. The first are those buffoons that have a talent of mimicking the speech and behaviour of other persons, and turning all their patrons, friends and acquaintance, into ridicule. I look upon your pantomime as a legion in a man, or at least to be like Virgil's monster, with a hundred mouths and as many tongues:

----Linguæ centum sunt, oraque centum——

and therefore would give him as much time to talk in, as would be allowed to the whole body of persons he represents, were they actually in the company which they divert by proxy. Provided however, that the said pantomime do not, upon any pretence whatsoever, utter anything in his own particular opinion, language, or character.

I would likewise in the second place grant an exemption from the elbow-chair to any person who treats the company, and by that means may be supposed to pay for his audience. A guest cannot take it ill if he be not allowed to talk in his turn by a person who puts his mouth to a better employment, and stops it with good beef and mutton. In this case the guest is very agreeably silenced, and seems to hold his tongue under that kind of bribery which the ancients called bos in lingua.[274]

If I can once extirpate the race of solid and substantial humdrums, I hope, by my wholesome and repeated advices, quickly to reduce the insignificant tittle-tattles and matter-of-fact men that abound in every quarter of this great city.

Epictetus, in his little system of morality, prescribes the following rule with that beautiful simplicity which shines through all his precepts: "Beware that thou never tell thy dreams in company; for notwithstanding thou mayest take a pleasure in telling thy dreams, the company will take no pleasure in hearing them."

This rule is conformable to a maxim which I have laid down in a late paper,[275] and must always inculcate into those of my readers who find in themselves an inclination to be very talkative and impertinent, that they should not speak to please themselves, but those that hear them.

It has been often observed by witty essay writers, that the deepest waters are always the most silent; that empty vessels make the greatest sound, and tinkling cymbals the worst music. The Marquis of Halifax, in his admirable "Advice to a Daughter,"[276] tells her, that good sense has always something sullen in it: but as sullenness does not only imply silence, but an ill-natured silence, I wish his lordship had given a softer name to it. Since I am engaged unawares in quotations, I must not omit the satire which Horace has written against this impertinent talkative companion, and which, I think, is fuller of humour than any other satire he has written. This great author, who had the nicest taste of conversation, and was himself a most agreeable companion, had so strong an antipathy to a great talker, that he was afraid some time or other it would be mortal to him, as he has very humorously described it in his conversation with an impertinent fellow who had liked to have been the death of him:

Interpellandi locus hic erat: "Est tibi mater;
Cognati, quis te salvo est opus?" "Haud mihi quisquam.
Omnes composui." "Felices, nunc ego resto.
Confice, namque instat fatum mihi triste, Sabella
Quod puero cecinit divinâ mota anus urnâ:
'Hunc neque dira venena, nec hosticus auseret ensis,
Nec laterum dolor, aut tussis, nec tarda podagra.
Garrulus hunc quando consumet cunque: loquaces,
Si sapiat, vitet, simul atque adoleverit ætas.'"[277]

Thus translated by Mr. Oldham:

Here I got room to interrupt: "Have you
A mother, sir, or kindred living now?"
"Not one, they all are dead." "Troth, so I guessed;
The happier they," said I, "who are at rest.
Poor I am only left unmurdered yet:
Haste, I beseech you, and despatch me quite,
For I am well convinced my time is come;
When I was young, a gipsy told my doom.
'This lad,' said she, and looked upon my hand,
'Shall not by sword or poison come to's end,
Nor by the fever, dropsy, gout, or stone;
But he shall die by an eternal tongue:
Therefore, when he's grown up, if he be wise,
Let him avoid great talkers, I advise.'"

[271] Edward Lloyd's Coffee-house in Tower Street is first heard of in 1688; in 1692 Lloyd moved to Lombard Street, at the corner of Abchurch Lane. Periodical sales were held at his house, which was the resort of merchants and shipowners. The Society of Lloyd's was established in 1770.

[272] The waiter (See No. 1).

[273] See No. 264.

[274] An image of a bull or cow was often stamped on a coin, which was thence called "bos."

[275] No. 264.

[276] Several passages from the "Advice to a Daughter," by George Savile, Marquis of Halifax, were used in Steele's "Ladies' Library" (1714).

[277] Horace, I Sat. ix. 26.

No. 269. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Dec. 26 , to Thursday, Dec. 28, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 27. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

----Hæ nugæ seria ducent
In mala.——

Hor., Ars Poet. 451.

I find my correspondents are universally offended at me for taking notice so seldom of their letters, and fear people have taken the advantage of my silence to go on in their errors; for which reason I shall hereafter be more careful to answer all lawful questions and just complaints as soon as they come to my hands. The two following epistles relate to very great mischiefs in the most important articles of life, love, and friendship:

Dorsetshire, Dec. 20.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"'Tis my misfortune to be enamoured of a lady that is neither very beautiful, very witty, nor at all well-natured; but has the vanity to think she excels in all these qualifications, and therefore is cruel, insolent, and scornful. When I study to please her, she treats me with the utmost rudeness and ill manners: if I approach her person, she fights, she scratches me: if I offer a civil salute, she bites me; insomuch, that very lately, before a whole assembly of ladies and gentlemen, she ripped out a considerable part of my left cheek. This is no sooner done, but she begs my pardon in the most handsome and becoming terms imaginable, gives herself worse language than I could find in my heart to do, lets me embrace her to pacify her while she is railing at herself, protests she deserves the esteem of no one living, says I am too good to contradict her when she thus accuses herself. This atones for all, tempts me to renew my addresses, which are ever returned in the same obliging manner. Thus, without some speedy relief, I am in danger of losing my whole face. Notwithstanding all this, I dote upon her, and am satisfied she loves me, because she takes me for a man of sense, which I have been generally thought, except in this one instance. Your reflections upon this strange amour would be very useful in these parts, where we are overrun with wild beauties and romps. I earnestly beg your assistance, either to deliver me from the power of this unaccountable enchantment, or, by some proper animadversions, civilise the behaviour of this agreeable rustic. I am,

"Sir,
"Your most humble Servant,
"Ebenezer."[278]

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

"I now take leave to address you in your character of censor, and complain to you, that among the various errors in conversation which you have corrected, there is one which, though it has not escaped a general reproof, yet seems to deserve a more particular severity. 'Tis a humour of jesting on disagreeable subjects, and insisting on the jest the more it creates uneasiness; and this some men think they have a title to do as friends. Is the design of jesting to provoke? Or does friendship give a privilege to say things with a design to shock? How can that be called a jest which has nothing in it but bitterness? 'Tis generally allowed necessary, for the peace of company, that men should a little study the tempers of each other; but certainly that must be in order to shun what's offensive, not to make it a constant entertainment. The frequent repetition of what appears harsh, will unavoidably leave a rancour that's fatal to friendship; and I doubt much, whether it would be an argument of a man's good humour, if he should be roused, by perpetual teasing, to treat those that do it as his enemies. In a word, whereas 'tis a common practice to let a story die, merely because it does not touch, I think such as mention one they find does, are as troublesome to society, and as unfit for it, as wags, men of fire, good talkers, or any other apes in conversation; and therefore, for the public benefit, I hope you'll cause them to be branded with such a name as they deserve. I am,

"Sir, yours,
"Patient Friendly."

The case of Ebenezer is a very common one, and is always cured by neglect. These fantastical returns of affection proceed from a certain vanity in the other sex, supported by a perverted taste in ours. I must publish it as a rule, that no faults which proceed from the will, either in a mistress or a friend, are to be tolerated. But we should be so complaisant to ladies, to let them displease when they aim at doing it. Pluck up a spirit, Ebenezer, recover the use of your judgment, and her faults will appear, or her beauties vanish. "Her faults begin to please me as well as my own," is a sentence very prettily put into the mouth of a lover by the comic poet,[279] but he never designed it for a maxim of life, but the picture of an imperfection. If Ebenezer takes my advice, the same temper which made her insolent to his love, will make her submissive to his indifference.

I cannot wholly ascribe the faults mentioned in the second letter to the same vanity or pride in companions who secretly triumph over their friends, in being sharp upon them in things where they are most tender. But when this sort of behaviour does not proceed from that source, it does from barrenness of invention, and an inability to support a conversation in a way less offensive. It is the same poverty which makes men speak or write smuttily, that forces them to talk vexingly. As obscene language is an address to the lewd for applause, so are sharp allusions an appeal to the ill-natured. But mean and illiterate is that conversation where one man exercises his wit to make another exercise his patience.

Whereas Plagius has been told again and again, both in public and private, that he preaches excellently well, and still goes on to preach as well as ever, and all this to a polite and learned audience; this is to desire, that he would not hereafter be so eloquent, except to a country congregation, the proprietors of Tillotson's works having consulted the learned in the law, whether preaching a sermon they have purchased, is not to be construed publishing their copy.

Mr. Dogood is desired to consider, that his story is severe upon a weakness, and not a folly.

[278] There is a letter by Robin Harper on the same subject in Lillie's "Letters sent to the Tatler and Spectator," i. 326.

[279] Congreve, "The Way of the World," act i. sc. 3.

No. 270. [ Steele. From Thursday, Dec. 28 , to Saturday, Dec. 30, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 29. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., Censor of Great Britain. " The humble Petition of Ralph Nab, haberdasher of hats and many other poor sufferers of the same trade: — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., Censor of Great Britain. " The humble Petition of Elizabeth Slender, spinster: — "To the Rev. Mr. Ralph Incense , Chaplain to the Countess-Dowager of Brumpton. — Advertisements. — FOOTNOTES:

Cum pulchris tunicis sumet nova consilia et spes.

Hor., 1 Ep. xviii. 33.

According to my late resolution, I take the holidays to be no improper season to entertain the town with the addresses of my correspondents. In my walks every day there appear all round me very great offenders in the point of dress. An armed tailor had the impudence yesterday in the park to smile in my face, and pull off a laced hat to me, as it were in contempt of my authority and censure. However, it is a very great satisfaction, that other people as well as myself are offended with these improprieties. The following notices from persons of different sexes and qualities are a sufficient instance how useful my Lucubrations are to the public.

"Jack's Coffee-house, near
Guildhall, Dec. 27.

"Cousin Bickerstaff,

"It has been the peculiar blessing of our family to be always above the smiles or frowns of fortune, and by a certain greatness of mind to restrain all irregular fondnesses or passions. From hence it is, that though a long decay, and a numerous descent, have obliged many of our house to fall into the arts of trade and business, no one person of us has ever made an appearance that betrayed our being unsatisfied with our own station of life, or has ever affected a mien or gesture unsuitable to it.

"You have up and down in your writings very justly remarked, that it is not this or the other profession or quality among men that gives us honour and esteem, but the well or ill behaving ourselves in those characters. It is therefore with no small concern, that I behold in coffee houses and public places my brethren, the tradesmen of this city, put off the smooth, even, and ancient decorum of thriving citizens, for a fantastical dress and figure, improper for their persons and characters, to the utter destruction of that order and distinction which of right ought to be between St. James's and Milk Street, the Camp and Cheapside.

"I have given myself some time to find out, how distinguishing the frays in a lot of muslins, or drawing up a regiment of thread laces, or making a panegyric on pieces of sagathy [280] or Scotch plaid, should entitle a man to a laced hat or sword, a wig tied up with ribbons, or an embroidered coat. The College [281] say, this enormity proceeds from a sort of delirium in the brain, which makes it break out first about the head, and, for want of timely remedies, fall upon the left thigh, and from thence in little mazes and windings run over the whole body, as appears by pretty ornaments on the buttons, button-holes, garterings, sides of the breeches, and the like. I beg the favour of you to give us a discourse wholly upon the subject of habits, which will contribute to the better government of conversation amongst us and in particular oblige,

"Sir,
"Your affectionate Cousin,
"Felix Tranquillus."

"Showeth—That for some years last past the use of gold and silver galloon [282] upon hats has been almost universal, being undistinguishably worn by soldiers, squires, lords, footmen, beaus, sportsmen, traders, clerks, prigs, smarts, cullies, pretty fellows, and sharpers.

"That the said use and custom has been two ways very prejudicial to your petitioners: first, in that it has induced men, to the great damage of your petitioners, to wear their hats upon their heads, by which means the said hats last much longer whole than they would do if worn under their arms. Secondly, in that very often a new dressing and a new lace supply the place of a new hat, which grievance we are chiefly sensible of in the spring-time, when the company is leaving the town; it so happening commonly, that a hat shall frequent all winter the finest and best assemblies without any ornaments at all, and in May shall be tricked up with gold or silver to keep company with rustics, and ride in the rain.

"All which premises your petitioners humbly pray you to take into your consideration, and either to appoint a day in your Court of Honour, when all pretenders to the galloon may enter their claims, and have them approved or rejected, or to give us such other relief as to your great wisdom shall seem meet.

"And your petitioners, &c."

Order my friend near Temple Bar, the author of the "Hunting-Cock," to assist the court when this petition is read, of which Mr. Lillie to give him notice.

"Showeth—That on the 20th of this instant December, her friend Rebecca Hive and your petitioner walking in the Strand, saw a gentleman before us in a gown, whose periwig was so long and so much powdered, that your petitioner took notice of it, and said, she wondered that lawyer would so spoil a new gown with powder. To which it was answered, that he was no lawyer but a clergyman. Upon a wager of a pot of coffee we overtook him, and your petitioner was soon convinced she had lost.

"Your petitioner therefore desires your worship to cite the clergyman before you, and to settle and adjust the length of canonical periwigs, and the quantity of powder to be made use of in them, and to give such other directions as you shall think fit.[283]

"And your petitioner, &c."

Q. Whether this gentleman be not chaplain to a regiment, and in such case allow powder accordingly?

After all that can be thought on these subjects, I must confess, that the men who dress with a certain ambition to appear more than they are, are much more excusable than those who betray, in the adorning their persons, a secret vanity and inclination to shine in things, wherein if they did succeed, it would rather lessen than advance their character. For this reason, I am more provoked at the allegations relating to the clergyman, than any other hinted at in these complaints. I have indeed a long time with much concern observed abundance of pretty fellows in sacred orders, and shall in due time let them know, that I pretend to give ecclesiastical as well as civil censures. A man well bred and well dressed in that habit, adds to the sacredness of his function an agreeableness not to be met with among the laity. I own I have spent some evenings among the men of wit of that profession with an inexpressible delight. Their habitual care of their character gives such a chastisement to their fancy, that all which they utter in company is as much above what you meet with in other conversations, as the charms of a modest are superior to those of a light woman. I therefore earnestly desire our young missionaries from the Universities to consider where they are, and not dress, and look, and move like young officers. It is no disadvantage to have a very handsome white hand; but were I to preach repentance to a gallery of ladies, I would, methinks, keep my gloves on. I have an unfeigned affection to the class of mankind appointed to serve at the altar, therefore am in danger of running out of my way, and growing too serious on this occasion; for which reason I shall end with the following epistle, which, by my interest in Tom Trot the penny-post, I procured a copy of.

"Sir,

"I heard and saw you preach last Sunday. I am an ignorant young woman, and understood not half you said: but ah! your manner, when you held up both your hands toward our pew! Did you design to win me to heaven, or yourself?

"Your humble Servant,
"Penitence Gentle."

Mr. Proctorstaff, of Clare Hall, in Cambridge, is received as a kinsman, according to his request bearing date the 20th instant.

The distressed son of Æsculapius is desired to be more particular.

[280] A serge material.

[281] College of Physicians.

[282] Close lace made of gold, of silver, or silk.

[283] Anthony Wood says that Nathaniel Vincent, D.D., chaplain-in-ordinary to Charles II, preached before him at Newmarket in a long periwig, &c., according to the then fashion for gentlemen; and that his Majesty was so offended at it, that he commanded the Duke of Monmouth, Chancellor to the University of Cambridge, to see the statutes concerning decency of apparel put in execution; which was done accordingly. Thiers, in his treatise of perukes, says that no ecclesiastic wore a peruke before the Restoration.

No. 271. [ Steele. [284] From Saturday, Dec. 30, 1710 , to Tuesday, Jan. 2, 1710-1 . — FOOTNOTES:

The printer having informed me, that there are as many of these papers printed as will make four volumes, I am now come to the end of my ambition in this matter, and have nothing further to say to the world, under the character of Isaac Bickerstaff. This work has indeed for some time been disagreeable to me, and the purpose of it wholly lost by my being so long understood as the author. I never designed in it to give any man any secret wound by my concealment, but spoke in the character of an old man, a philosopher, a humourist, an astrologer, and a censor, to allure my reader with the variety of my subjects, and insinuate, if I could, the weight of reason with the agreeableness of wit. The general purpose of the whole has been to recommend truth, innocence, honour, and virtue, as the chief ornaments of life; but I considered, that severity of manners was absolutely necessary to him who would censure others, and for that reason, and that only, chose to talk in a mask. I shall not carry my humility so far as to call myself a vicious man; but at the same time must confess, my life is at best but pardonable. And with no greater character than this, a man would make but an indifferent progress in attacking prevailing and fashionable vices, which Mr. Bickerstaff has done with a freedom of spirit that would have lost both its beauty and efficacy, had it been pretended to by Mr. Steele.

As to the work itself, the acceptance it has met with is the best proof of its value; but I should err against that candour which an honest man should always carry about him, if I did not own, that the most approved pieces in it were written by others, and those which have been most excepted against by myself. The hand [285] that has assisted me in those noble discourses upon the immortality of the soul, the glorious prospects of another life, and the most sublime ideas of religion and virtue, is a person who is too fondly my friend ever to own them; but I should little deserve to be his, if I usurped the glory of them. I must acknowledge at the same time, that I think the finest strokes of wit and humour in all Mr. Bickerstaff's Lucubrations are those for which he is also beholden to him.

As for the satirical parts of these writings, those against the gentlemen who profess gaming [286] are the most licentious; but the main of them I take to come from losing gamesters, as invectives against the fortunate; for in very many of them, I was very little else but the transcriber. If any have been more particularly marked at, such persons may impute it to their own behaviour (before they were touched upon) in publicly speaking their resentment against the author, and professing they would support any man who should insult him. When I mention this subject, I hope Major-General Davenport,[287] Brigadier Bisset,[288] and my Lord Forbes,[289] will accept of my thanks for their frequent good offices,[290] in professing their readiness to partake any danger that should befall me in so just an undertaking, as the endeavour to banish fraud and cozenage from the presence and conversation of gentlemen.

But what I find is the least excusable part of all this work is, that I have, in some places in it, touched upon matters which concern both the Church and State. All I shall say for this is, that the points I alluded to are such as concerned every Christian and freeholder in England; and I could not be cold enough to conceal my opinion on subjects which related to either of those characters. But politics apart, I must confess, it has been a most exquisite pleasure to me to frame characters of domestic life, and put those parts of it which are least observed into an agreeable view; to inquire into the seeds of vanity and affectation, to lay before my readers the emptiness of ambition: in a word, to trace human life through all its mazes and recesses, and show much shorter methods than men ordinarily practise, to be happy, agreeable, and great.

But to inquire into men's faults and weaknesses has something in it so unwelcome, that I have often seen people in pain to act before me, whose modesty only make them think themselves liable to censure. This, and a thousand other nameless things, have made it an irksome task to me to personate Mr. Bickerstaff any longer; and I believe it does not often happen, that the reader is delighted where the author is displeased.

All I can now do for the further gratification of the town, is to give them a faithful index and explication of passages and allusions, and sometimes of persons intended in the several scattered parts of the work. At the same time, the succeeding volumes shall discover which of the whole have been written by me, and which by others, and by whom, as far as I am able, or permitted.[291]

Thus I have voluntarily done what I think all authors should do when called upon. I have published my name to my writings, and given myself up to the mercy of the town (as Shakespeare expresses it) with all my imperfections on my head.[292] The indulgent readers'

Most obliged,
Most obedient,
Humble Servant,
Richard Steele.

[284] "Steele's last Tatler came out to-day. You will see it before this comes to you, and how he takes leave of the world. He never told so much as Addison of it, who was surprised as much as I; but, to say the truth, it was time, for he grew cruel dull and dry. To my knowledge he had several good hints to go upon; but he was so lazy, and weary of the work, that he would not improve them" (Swift's "Journal," Jan. 2, 1711). A curious pamphlet, called "The Friendly Courier: By way of Letters from Persons in Town to their Acquaintance in the Country, containing whatever is Curious or Remarkable at Home or Abroad. Numb. I. To be continued" (London, 1711), opens with an account of the discontinuance of the Tatler: "What should this great matter be, but that the old man, the philosopher, the humourist, the astrologer, the censor, the undertaker, the constellation-monger, the Tatler, should be no longer Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.; that he should have neither maid, dog, cat, pipes, or tobacco-box, in Sheer Lane; but one Richard Steele: from whence arises many fatal mischiefs," &c.

[285] Addison.

[286] See No. 56, &c.

[287] Major-General Sherington Davenport, of Worfield, in Shropshire, was, at the time here spoken of, lieutenant-colonel of the first troop of Horse Guards; towards the end of April 1714, having fallen under the displeasure of the Court, he was ordered to sell his commission in favour of Brigadier Panton. Colonel Wood and Colonel Paget had orders at the same time to sell their companies in the Foot Guards ("Polit. State," vols. vii. and viii. p. 412). About a year after, in the end of February 1714-15, Major-General Davenport bought, it is said, the regiment of Colonel Jocelyn, in Ireland, for £4000 (Weekly Packet, February 26, 1714-15).—(Nichols.)

[288] Brigadier Andrew Bisset was a native of Aberdeenshire, in North Britain. On the 25th of August 1717, he was appointed by George I. to the command of a regiment of foot, now called the 30th Regiment.

[289] George, Lord Forbes, admiral and diplomatist, was born in 1685, and succeeded his father as third Earl of Granard in 1734. He died in 1765 (see No. 61, note). In 1710 Lord Forbes was a captain in the navy, and a brigadier in the 4th troop of Horse Guards. He was wounded at the battle of Villaviciosa on the 10th of December.

[290] The story of the defence against angry sharpers afforded to Steele by Lord Forbes and his friends, has been told in a note to No. 115.

[291] See the preface to the original collected edition, given in vol. i.

[292] "Hamlet," act i. sc. 5.

APPENDIX — ADVERTISEMENTS FROM THE ORIGINAL NUMBERS OF THE "TATLER" — FROM THE FOLIO EDINBURGH REPRINT OF THE "TATLER."

The most volatile Smelling-Bottle in the World; which smelled to, momentarily fetches the most dismal faintings, or swooning fits, and in a minute removes flushings, vapours, dulness, headache, megrims, &c. It takes off all heavy sleepiness, retards swoonings, keeps up the spirits to a miracle; and by its use admits of no faintings, but invigorates and enlivens the whole man, recreates and makes cheerful although never so sad, and in a moment raises all the sensitive faculties. It's also to be taken inwardly by drops, which effectually takes off and eradicates the very cause; for it potently relieves, comforts and strengthens the brain, creates and corroborates a stomach, removes sickness from it, helps digestion, cleanses the blood; and in a word, is the greatest cephalic, stomatic, hepatic, and powerful aromatic possible; therefore is extreme necessary for all Gentlemen, Ladies, &c., always to be carried in their pockets. Is only sold at Mr. King's, Picture-shop, in the Poultry, and at Mr. Overton's, at the Golden Buck, Picture-shop, against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleet Street, at 2s. and 6d. each, with printed directions. (No. 47.)

This is to certify that I, Anne Gimball, daughter of Ezekiel Gimball, in Christ Church parish in Southwark, was blind of cataracts from my birth, and continued so till I was sixteen years of age, when I applied myself to Sir William Read, Her Majesty's Oculist, in Durham Yard in the Strand, London; who couched, and brought me to sight of both my eyes in less than two minutes, and have now so perfect a sight, that I am capable of any business; as is attested for the benefit of the Public, this 4th of Nov. 1709.

Anne Gimball. Witness, Ezekiel Gimball. (No. 92.)

Just Published, an exact narrative of many surprising matters of fact, uncontestably wrought by an evil spirit or spirits, in the house of Master Jan Smagge, farmer, in Canvy Island, near Leigh in Essex, upon the 10th, 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th of September last, in the day time; in the presence of the Rev. Mr. Lord, curate to the said island, Jan Smagge, master of the house, and of several neighbours, servants, and strangers, who came at different times, as Mr. Lord's particular care to discharge his duty, and their curiosity, led them to this place of the wonders. Together with a short account of some of the extraordinary things credibly said to have formerly disturbed the house, both before and since Mr. Smagge came into it. The utmost caution being used not to exceed the truth in the minutest circumstance. In a letter from Malden in Essex, to a gentleman in London. Printed and sold by John Morphew, 1709, pr. 2d. (No. 95.)

The Queen's Bagnio, in Long Acre, is made very convenient for both sexes to sweat and bathe, privately every day, and to be cupped in the best perfection, there being the best and newest instrument for that purpose, pr. 5s. for one single person; but if 2 or more come together, 4s. each. There is no entertainment for women after 12 o'clock at night. But all gentlemen who desire beds may have them for 2s. per night.—Henry Ayme.

If any persons desire to be cupped at their own houses, he will wait on them himself.... The way of cupping is the very same as was used by the late Mr. Verdier deceased. (No. 95.)

Perfect cure for the Asthma by an Elixir (a pleasant and innocent medicine) to be taken in drops, which has done wonders in that case; but the author's saying so being not so convincing as trying it will be, he desires you would for your own sakes, when, if it does no good, can do no harm to the body, nor much to the purse in laying out 3s. 6d. which is the price of a bottle. To be had only at Mr. Lawrence's, a Toyshop at the Griffin, the corner of Bucklersbury, Poultry. (No. 98.)

The Perpetual Office of the Charitable Society of single persons in city or country, for raising and assuring money upon marriages; when they pay but sixpence entrance, and two shillings per quarter, till they marry; and whensoever that is, they are secured to receive all their money back, and 150 per cent. clear profit certain, whether full or not, and stand very fair to gain £40 or £50 when full, and may get 1, 2, 3, or £400. The entries daily increase, and the shares of the new married are risen from 48s. to above £7 since the last month. The sooner you enter, the more you are like to gain; all which doth more fully appear from the proposals, given gratis, at the said office, at London Stone, in Cannon Street. (No. 102.)

Any gentleman that wants a man for shooting, hunting, setting, or any manner of game, may hear of one well qualified at the Printing Press in Little Britain. He is a good scholar, and shaves well. (No. 116.)

Mr. Vickers, the clergyman, who cures the King's Evil, liveth in Sherburne Lane, near Lombard Street, who hath cured great numbers of people grievously afflicted therewith (as himself formerly was) in their eyes and joints. See the printed account of his specific Remedy.... 3rd edition. (No. 155.)

I, Ellin. Newcomb, living with my Lady Holt, in Bedford Row, London, having had the stone and cholic for four years last past; and tho' I made use of eminent advice, and took a great many medicines without the least advantage, I at last happily heard of Mr. J. Moore, apothecary, at the Pestle and Mortar in Abchurch Lane, near Lombard Street, London, and I have never been troubled with my former illness since the taking his medicines, but continue in perfect health; and for the good of the public I desire that this may be published. Witness my hand, April 14, 1710. Eleanor Newcomb. (No. 168.)

An excellent secret to prevent and take away all pits, scabs or marks of the Small-Pox; also all manner of scurf or redness occasioned by that distemper, rendering the skin smooth, soft and delicately fair; being speedily applied after the smallpox begins to die, it certainly prevents pitting, and assuredly takes away all settled humours, freckles or any defilement of the skin. Sold only at Mr. Stephens', the sign of the Golden Comb, Toyshop, under St. Dunstan's Church, Fleet Street, at 2s. 6d. a pot, with directions at large. (No. 175.)

Mr. Pory's sale of goods, to be disposed of by way of lots, is to be drawn on Saturday, the 16th instant, at the Blue Boar in Eagle Street, near Red Lion Square, being near full. (No. 222.)

These who design to make a collection of this paper, and will subscribe to take them for a year, shall be duly furnished by the printer, and their copies printed on a fine writing-paper, at the rate of 7s. sterl. for a whole year's papers, one half of which is to be paid at subscribing, and the other at the expiration of a year after their subscription. No more fine copies will be printed than what are subscribed for. Subscriptions will be taken in at the printer's shop, next door to the Red Lion, opposite to the Lucken-booths, Edinburgh.

The Isobel of Kinghorn, burden 50 tons, Robert Tod, Master, for present lying at Bruntisland, and from thence will come to Leith and take in goods and passengers, and will sail with the first convoy for London. The Master is to be spoke with when at Edinburgh at Andrew Turnbull's in Mary King's Closs; and when in Leith at Mrs. Baird's, and at his own house in Kinghorn. (No. 64.)

At Skinner's Hall, on Friday the 21st instant, will be a Consort of Music, for the benefit of Mr. Krumbein, being the last this session. Where will be sung some Songs of the Opera of Hiddaspes by Mr. Steill; as also Mr. Craig is to play a solo. The consort begins at six a clock. Tickets are to be had at the London Coffee-house, at half-a-crown each. The gentry are intreated to absent their servants from the Music-Hall. No plaids. (No. 67.)

The Private Gentleman's Collection of Books, lately mentioned in the Scots Courant, and consisting of about 130 Volumes in Folio, 100 Volumes in Quarto, and above 600 Volumes in Octavo et infra (beside a considerable collection of rare pamphlets of all sorts) are to be sold by auction at the house of Andrew Brown, Watchmaker, over against the Tron Church in Edinburgh; where printed Catalogues, with the Conditions of Sale, may be had, as also at James Watson the Printer's shop next door to the Red Lion; and Catalogues may likewise be seen at all the Coffee-Houses in Town. The auction will begin on Tuesday the 2d of January, 1711, by 2 a clock in the afternoon precisely, and will continue daily till all be sold. Note, there are several very choice and curiously bound books in this collection fit for Ladies' closets, both for private and public devotion, &c. (No. 140.)

CORRIGENDA

Vol. i. p. 74, note 2. Delete "and put to death."

Vol. i. p. 229, note. For "fair" read "fan."

Vol. i. p. 280, note. For "Harry" read "Hans."

Vol. ii. p. 420. For "petulantium" read "petulantiam."

Vol. iii. p. 266, l. 9. For "surpass" read "suppress."

Vol. iv. p. 154, note. For "Anglia" read "Angliæ."

Vol. iv. p. 294, note. For "Notitiæ" read "Notitia."

INDEX

Abchurch Lane, iii. 95 note; iv. 152 note, 360 note, 381
Abercorn, Earl of, ii. 20 note
Abigail, Mrs., i. 89 note; iv. 167
Abingdon, Countess of, i. 325 note
Absolute power satirised, i. 100 seq.
Abstinence the best physic, iv. 227 seq.
Ace, a sharper, ii. 177
Achilles, his shade rejoices in the virtue of his son, iii. 203, 204:
referred to, i. 57, 58, 59, 60, 256; ii. 129, 232; iii. 172; iv. 160
Acorn, an honest Englishman, i. 107
"Act, an," a meeting for conferring degrees, i. 366 and note
Acting, as taught by Hamlet, i. 288, 289
Actæon under enchantment of the sharpers, ii. 69:
fair prey to sharpers, ii. 195
Actors should not gag, ii. 280, 281:
advice to, iv. 42, 43
Adagia, the, of Erasmus, i. 360 note
Adam, puppet, i. 140; iii. 188, 189:
as a husband, iv. 116, 117, 126, 127:
referred to, i. 55, 56, 330, 381; ii. 358, 424; iv. 211, 249, 340
Addison, his age and position at starting of The Tatler, i. vii, viii:
his share in the work, i. xiii, xiv, xv:
called in and found indispensable, i. 4:
author of characters of men and women under names of musical instruments, the distress of the news-writers, the inventory of the play-house, description of thermometer, ibid.:
credited Steele with wit, i. 5:
against opera, i. 40 note:
on Dryden, i. 56 note:
his Remarks on several parts of Italy, and Dialogues on Medals, i. 152 note:
his The Drummer, i. 155 note, 158 note, 192 note; iii. 227 note:
on witches, i. 180 note:
plea for D'Urfey, i. 348 note:
his The Campaign, i. 353 and note:
on the fan, ii. 21 note:
on absurd fuss over dresses on stage, ii. 33 note:
account of Switzerland, ii. 299, 300:
his Rosamund, iii. 276 note:
his treatment of death, iii. 351 note:
a tribute to his assistance, iv. 376
Referred to, i. 22 note, 32 note, 36 note, 41 note, 49 note, 57 note, 112 note, 136 note, 155 note, 192 note, 217 note, 265 note, 291 note, 292 note, 350 note, 362 note, 371 note, 382 note; ii. 92 note, 146 note, 171 note, 201 note, 331 note, 349 note, 423 note; iii. 5 note, 44 note, 55 note, 111 note, 113 note, 178 note, 218 note, 227 note, 299 note, 332 note, 389 note; iv. 32 note, 93 note, 94 note, 116 note, 142 note, 154 note, 201 note, 210 note, 264 note, 374 note
Author of Tatler, Nos. 24, 96, 97, 100, 108, 116, 119-122, 129, 131, 133, 146, 148, 152-158, 161-163, 165, 192, 216, 218, 220, 221, 224, 226, 239, 240, 249, 250, 255, 267
Author (?) of Nos. 36, 37, 38, 50, 51, 77, 78, 118, 130, 136, 151, 219, 222, 237
with Steele, author of Nos. 42, 75, 81, 86, 93, 101, 103, 110, 111, 114, 147, 160, 253, 259, 260, 262, 265
(?) Editor of No. 223
Part author of Nos. 18 (?), 59 (?), 214
Articles by, i. 344; ii. 27, 35, 273, 282 seq.
Addison, Gulston, brother of Joseph, Governor of Fort George, iv. 204 note
---- Dorothy, wife of Dr. Sartre, and later of Daniel Combes, iv. 204 note
---- Lancelot, of Magdalen, iv. 204 note
---- Dr. Lancelot, a model father, iv. 204 and note:
referred to, iv. 201 note
"Address to the cock-killers," iii. 113 note
Admiralty, the, ii. 125 note
Adonis, ii. 5; iii. 341; iv. 250
Adroit, Major, a very topping fellow, i. 320
Advancement of Learning, by Bacon, quoted, i. 145; ii. 392, 393
Advertisements, in Tatler, increased, i. 182 note:
concerning, iv. 147 seq.:
a scheme for, iv. 170, 171:
from original edition of Tatler, iv. 379 seq.
Advice, the danger of giving, i. 210, 211
Advice to a Daughter, by Halifax, iv. 363 and note
Advice to a Painter, by Waller, i. 34 and note
Advice to the Poets, by Sir Richard Blackmore, i. 122 and note
Ælia, iii. 86
Æneas, marriage with Lavinia, ii. 281 note:
visits the shades, iii. 211 seq., 235:
referred to, i. 52, 57; ii. 129, 232; iii. 105; iv. 262
Æneid quoted, i. 215 and note, 257; ii. 142, 146, 308, 332, 405; iii. 22, 105, 330 and note; iv. 104:
a sequel to, ii. 281 and note:
referred to, iii. 263
Æschines, ii. 119; iii. 360
Æschylus, i. 367
Æsculapius (i.e. Dr. John Radcliffe), disappointed in love at the age of sixty, i. 355 note and seq., 376, 384; ii. 4, 128
---- iv. 160, 374
Æsop, his Fables imitated, ii. 68 seq., 315; iii. 11:
referred to, ii. 232
Æthiopians, i. 58
Affectation condemned, i. 8:
a budget of, ii. 202 seq.
Affection, the government of, ii. 35 seq.
Affliction, strange causes of, iii. 171
Africanus, i.e. Sir Scipio Hill, i. 296 seq.
Afterday, Will, a man of expectations, iv. 18, 19
"After-life," an, iv. 351 and note
Afterwit, Solomon, ii. 236 note:
letter from, ii. 243, 244
Agamemnon, i. 58, 59; iii. 202, 203
Age, old, the keenest pleasure of, iv. 69:
the follies of, iv. 350 seq.
Agesilaus, ii. 412 and note
Agincourt won on beef and mutton, iii. 179
Aglaura, destined for second wife of Duumvir, ii. 38
Agreda, iv. 158
Agrippa, ii. 286; iii. 137
Aisne, the, ii. 133
Aitken, G. A., on "Steele and some English Grammars," iv. 196 note
Ajax, i. 59, 60; iii. 104, 204, 205
Alba, Duke d', i. 97
Albemarle, Earl of, i. 399
Albergotti, iii. 333 and note
Alchemist, The, by Ben Jonson, i. 125, 126
Alcmena, iii. 202
Aldersgate Street, i. 334 seq.; iii. 234 note
Aldobrandini, iii. 364
Aldrich, Dr. Henry, Dean of Christchurch, i. 281 note; ii. 171
Aldus, ii. 218; iii. 234, 249
Alethes, the guardian spirit of conscience, i. 389 seq.
Aletheus, a gentleman of too much virtue for the age he lives in, ii. 50
Alexander the Great; or, The Rival Queens, by Lee, Mrs. Bracegirdle in, i. 17 note:
George Powell in, i. 36:
burlesque of, iii. 398 note and seq.:
referred to, i. 139, 140, 141
Alexander, set a fashion in wry necks, ii. 202:
at table of Fame, ii. 228:
and his physician, iv. 78 seq.:
his character, iv. 81:
referred to, i. 74 note, 257, 270; ii. 135 and note, 207, 297; iii. 299
Alexander and Cæsar compared to Prince Eugène and Marlborough, i. 62, 63
Alicante, i. 61, 72, 95, 184, 333
Alice, Mrs., a goddess to her lover, iii. 136 seq.
All for Love; or, The World Well Lost, Dryden's version of Antony and Cleopatra, i. 93 and note
Allestree, Richard, probably author of The Whole Duty of Man, ii. 184.
Alleyn, Edward, actor, founded Dulwich Hospital, i. 172 and note
Allies, the, i. 27, 28, 52, 61, 130, 151, 155, 164, 197, 204, 205, 213, 237, 291, 354; ii. 34, 97, 105, 107, 109; iii. 82, 316 note
Almanacs, Poor Robin's, i. 169
Almanza, iii. 141
Almanzor and Almahide, by Dryden, quoted, i. 114, 115:
prologue to, i. 311 note:
attacked and defended, i. 367 and note
Almeira, the disconsolate, iv. 257, 258
Alonzo, Don, his epitaph, ii. 256
Alost, i. 20, 43, 229
Alps, iii. 250, 251
Alsace, i. 51, 94
Alsatia, in Whitefriars, a refuge for debtors, ii. 126 and note
---- i. 174
Alva, Duke of, i. 156
Amanda, the wife of Florio, i. 396
---- a confidante, i. 186 seq.
---- of Kent, summoned for a toast, iv. 16
Amaraga, Don Joseph Hartado de, i. 106
Amazons, i. 257; ii. 103; iv. 160
Ambitions, fruitless, iv. 44 seq.
America, i. 44, 106, 174; ii. 91
Amherst, his Terræ-Filius; or, Secret History of the University of Oxford, i. 366 note
Aminadab (Swift?), a letter from, iii. 391, 392
Amoret, courted by Sir Scudamore, iv. 7
Amsterdam, account of a theatre in, i. 171, 172:
referred to, iii. 82
Amusements, Serious and Comical, by Tom Brown, ii. 348 and note; iii. 139 note
Amyntas, iv. 250
Anatomy of Melancholy, by Burton, i. 23 note; iii. 63 note
Ancaster, Duke of, i. 34 note
Anchises, i. 52; iii. 217
Anderson, Dr., inventor of famous "Scots Pills," i. 83 and note; iv. 149 and note, 150 note
Androgyne, too learned, ii. 245
Angelica, in Love for Love, played by Mrs. Bracegirdle, i. 17 note
Angelo, Michael, his "Last Judgment," iii. 223
Angliæ Notitia; or, The Present State of England, by Chamberlayn, iv. 154 and note, 294 note
Anjou, Duchess of, i. 332
---- Duke of, i. 60, 71, 73, 97, 106, 198, 237, 362; ii. 188; iii. 86; iv. 86, 87, 158
Annals of Queen Anne, ii. 106 note
Anne, Queen, her mourning for Prince George, i. 79:
referred to, i. 84 note, 188 note, 206, 305 note, 353; ii. 42 note; iii. 84 note, 91, 283 note, 299 note; iv. 288
Annotations on the "Tatler," by M. Bournelle (W. Wagstaff), i. 52 note; ii. 211 note; iii. 396 note; iv. 127 and note, 172, 173 note
Anticlea, mother of Ulysses, iii. 200 seq.
Anticyra, the Bedlam of the Roman Empire, iii. 63
Antilochus, iii. 202
Antiochus, the story of his love, iii. 369, 370
Antiope, iii. 203
Antony, Mark, i. 18, 70, 93; iii. 128
Antony and Cleopatra, Dryden's version of, i. 93 and note
Antwerp, i. 205, 354
"Any card-matches or save-alls," a London cry, i. 41 note
Ap Rice, iv. 301
Ap Shenkin, iv. 301
Ap Shones, iv. 301
Apes. To lead apes in hell, the curse of old maids, iv. 84 and note
Apollo, the great room at the Devil Tavern, ii. 215
Apollo, i. 58, 59; ii. 293; iii. 341; iv. 160, 224
Apologia, by Apuleius, i. 360 note
Apology by Cibber quoted, i. 110 note; ii. 413 note; iii. 1 note
Apology for himself and his writings, by Steele, i. 48 note; ii. 118 note
Apothecaries, great orators, iv. 227
Apparition of Mrs. Veal, iv. 316 note
Appearances, the love of, universal, iii. 371 seq.
Appetites, the two principal human, iv. 58 seq.
Appius and Virginia, by Dennis, i. 346 note
Apprentices, rising of the, iii. 99 and note
Apuleius' Apologia, i. 360 note
Araminta, will not see her husband without a hood, iv. 93
Arbeau, Thoinet, inventor of orchesography, ii. 275 note
Arbiter, Petronius, his Saturæ, ii. 14 note
Arcadia, Sir Philip Sidney's, ii. 313 note
Archias, the poet, iii. 142
Archibald (i.e. Lord Archibald Hamilton), ii. 20 and note
Archimedes in Chamber of Fame, ii. 231 and note
Arco, Marshal d', i. 269
Aremberg, Duke of, ii. 109
Argyle, John, Duke of, his character, i. 379:
referred to, i. 102 note, 291, 378 and note
Ariadne, iii. 202
Aristocritus, iii. 241
Aristotle, Problems of, ii. 136:
in chamber of Fame, ii. 229, 239:
referred to, ii. 187; iv. 221, 356
Armstrong, Tobias, i. 233
Arne, Edward (the Political Upholsterer?), iii. 218, 244 seq., 333 seq.
---- Thomas (of Covent Garden), host of Indian kings, iii. 218 note, 299 note
---- Dr. Thomas, musician, son of Thomas, iii. 299 note
Arria and Poetus, two notable lovers, ii. 168 seq.
Arrian, ii. 228
Ars Poetica of Horace quoted, ii. 141, 153, 154, 359
Arsinöe, by Mr. Clayton, iii. 276 and note
Art of Living and Dying, by Jeremy Taylor, iv. 350
Arthur, King, ii. 189: first who sat down to a whole roasted ox, iii. 180
---- Mr., Keeper of White's, i. 12 note
Artillery Company, i. 333 seq.; ii. 88:
satire on, ii. 79, 80
---- ground, i. 232 note, 355; ii. 80
Arundel Street, i. 161
As You Like It, quoted, i. 338, 339
Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, i. 282 note
Ashton, Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne, by, iii. 56 note
Aspasia (i.e. Lady Elizabeth Hastings), her character, i. 342 note and seq., 394
Astell, Mrs. Mary (Madonella), her Serious proposal to Ladies, &c., i. 265 note and seq.:
not at home, iii. 273 note, 274 note:
forewoman of jury of Court of Honour, iv. 284:
referred to, i. 343 note; ii. 103 seq.
Aston, Tony, on Mrs. Verbruggen, i. 31 note:
referred to, i. 15 note
Astrea, victim of drunken husband, iv. 231
Astrological speculation useful to a news-writer, i. 28
Asturias, Prince of, i. 51, 105
Atalantis, the New, by Mrs. Manley, ii. 104; iii. 330; iv. 172, 173 note, 242
Athenæ Oxonienses, by Wood, i. 87 note
Athenian Mercury, i. 127 note
Athenians, a story illustrating their character, iii. 46 seq.:
referred to, i. 100, 181; iii. 360
Athens, i. 220; ii. 24, 25, 119
Atterbury, Dr. Francis, the character of, i. 5:
controversy with Hoadley, i. 5 note:
an orator, ii. 120 note and seq.:
verses on a white fan borrowed from Miss Osborne, iv. 222 and note:
referred to, ii. 118 note and seq., 171 note; iv. 94 note
Audacity, the man of, iii. 284 seq.
Audley Inn, ii. 181 note
Augustan age, iii. 142
Augustus, King, i. 27, 51, 129, 204, 236, 304; ii. 133, 135 note, iii. 218, 219, 247; iv. 186, 187
Augustus Cæsar in chamber of Fame, ii. 230:
playing at marbles, ii. 412:
referred to, iii. 311, 312, 330; iv. 236
Aurengezebe (i.e. Tom Colson), his scimitar, i. 346:
referred to, i. 371 note and seq.; ii. 4
Austin, John, M.P., ii. 19 note
Author turned dealer, ii. 377 note and seq.
Autumn, Lady, of Epsom, i. 293 seq.; iii. 144; iv. 78
Avarice, the temple of, iii. 52: alluded to, iii. 54:
counteracted by I. B., iii. 60, 61
Avaro (Heathcote, of the City), character of, i. 211 seq.
Ayme, Henry, iv. 380
Ayres, writing-master, iv. 329 note
Babies, i.e. dolls, ii. 313 and note
Babylon, iii. 223, 392; iv. 308
Bacchus, i. 200, 352
Bachelor's scheme for governing his wife, i. 90 seq.
Bacon, Sir Francis, his Advancement of Learning, i. 145; ii. 392:
on marriage, iii. 186 and note:
his legacy, iii. 106, 107:
his agreeable talk on "Impudence," iii. 285:
his Of Simulation and Dissimulation, iv. 97 note:
a prayer by, iv. 356 seq.:
referred to, iv. 220
Badajos, i. 73, 106, 149, 253, 261
Baden, i. 70, 204; ii. 47
Baggs, Zachary, treasurer of Drury Lane, ii. 164 note
Bagshot Heath, a purse lost on, iii. 171
Baird, Mrs., iv. 382
Bajazet, i. 345
Baker, Sir James (Sir Hannibal), Knight of the Peak, iii. 9 note, 23
---- Admiral, i. 276
---- Honora, i. 38 note
---- John, Consul at Algiers, i. 38 note
---- Sir Richard, his Chronicle of the Kings of England, iv. 342 and note
---- Thomas, author of a Female Tatler, ii. 290 note, 387 note; iv. 172 note
Balagueir, ii. 200; iv. 85, 86
Baldwin, a bookseller, iv. 169 note:
printer of a Female Tatler, iv. 173 note
Ballance, Mr., a happy merchant, iii. 120
Ballard, his Memoirs of British Learned Ladies, iii. 274 note
Baltic, the, i. 205 note, 362; iii. 84 note
Bamburgh Castle Library, i. 147 note
"Band of Lovers, the," iii. 33
Banister, John, i. 301:
violinist of Drury Lane, iv. 139 and note
Bank, the, of England, iii. 55:
founding of, iv. 3 note, 132
Banks, John, his Earl of Essex, i. 125
Banquet of Trimalchio, by Petronius Arbiter, ii. 14 and note
Banqueting House at Whitehall, iii. 296
Barbadoes, the, i. 235 note
Barbers, their foolish desire to do everything, i. 282
Barbican, i. 334
Barcelona, i. 50, 72, 94, 95, 182, 213; ii. 19:
snuff, ii. 309, 352
---- the most esteemed of women, ii. 46
Barebones, Lovewell, his sorrows, ii. 196, 197
Barn Elms, i. 258 note
Barnard, Thomas, his Character of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, i. 343 note
Barnes, Joshua, Greek Professor at Cambridge, his edition of Homer, iii. 159 and note, 160 and note:
"Knew as much Greek as a Greek cobbler," iii. 160 note
Barry, Mrs., some notice of, i. 15 note, 16 note:
acts before the Queen, i. 16 note:
requested to act as I. B.'s widow, i. 67:
referred to, iii. 282 note
---- Edward, father to Mrs. Barry, i. 15 note
Barrymore, Earl of, i. 150
Bartholomew babies, ii. 313 note
Bartholomew Fair, by Ben Jonson, i. 280 note
Bartholomew Fair, i. 42 note
---- Lane, ii. 15 note
Bart'lemy Fair; or, An Enquiry after Wit, by Mr. Wotton, by Mrs. Astell, i. 265 note, 266 note
Bartlet, John, of Goodman's Fields, quack, iv. 148 and note
Bartlet, Christopher, the late, iv. 148 note
---- S., quack, iv. 148 note
Bartolus, Lawyer, in Beaumont and Fletcher's Spanish Curate, iv. 199
Basset Table, The, by Pope, iv. 337 note
Bastile, the, i. 218; iii. 336
Bateman, of the City (Paulo), i. 211 and note
Bath, some account of, i. 138 seq.:
origin of the word Toast, i. 202 seq.:
complaint of the sharpers at, ii. 114 seq.:
referred to, i. 360, 361 note, 365; ii. 111 note, 205, 378; iv. 189
Bathillus, an affected creature, ii. 17
Battle critic, a, ii. 112, 113; iii. 379
Bavaria, i. 269
---- Duke of, ii. 134
---- Elector of, i. 144, 184, 299; ii. 322; iii. 83 note, 333
Bavius, writer of rejected comedies, ii. 291, 292
---- iv. 235
Bay, Marquis de, i. 73, 88, 106, 149, 261
Bayes, in The Rehearsal, i. 63 and note; iv. 7, 309 note
Bayle's Dictionary, iv. 22 note
Bayne, Alexander, ii. 244 and note;
a letter from, on the Beauties of the Royal Exchange, iii. 169, 170
Bayonne, i. 51, 73; iv. 158
Beadlestaff, Ben, letter from, i. 366 seq.; ii. 165, 166
"Bear," to sell the, i. 307, 308
---- -garden in "Hockley in the Hole," i. 234 and note, 256
---- the, at the Bridge Foot, iii. 147
Bearskin, The Tatler's, i. 65 and note
Beatrice, Mrs., iv. 313
Beaufort Buildings, i. 229 note; ii. 298, 309, 323, 351, 359; iii. 71 note, 129
Beaufort, Henry, first Duke of, ii. 35 note
Beaumont and Fletcher, ii. 281: their Maid's Tragedy, iii. 279 note:
a comedy of theirs adapted by Buckingham, iii. 400 note:
The Spanish Curate, iv. 199
Beauty, its influence on every temper, i. 91:
how far should it be considered by women, ii. 85 seq.:
made a new test of character by the Mirror of Truth, ii. 355 seq.:
how to make it last, ii. 368 seq.:
the birth of, ii. 283 seq.
Beaux' Stratagem, by Farquhar, i. 36 and note
Becket, Thomas à, i. 103, 214 note
Bedford Street, i. 219 note
Bedlam (or Bethlem) Hospital, referred to, i. 247 and note, 318; ii. 15; iii. 62, 63, 64, 73, 134, 318, 336, 377; iii. 314 note:
see Moorfields
Bedstaff, Ephraim, letter from, i. 179-181
Beech Lane, i. 335
Beef, defence of, iii. 179 seq., 257
Beefeaters, the order of, iii. 180
Beefsteak Club, i. 169
Beggar's Opera, by Gay, i. 234 note
Belgrave Square, i. 280 note
Belial, his talk, iii. 103 and note
Belinda (i.e. Mary, daughter of Baron Spanheim), an old lady on "Birth," iii. 76
Bell Yard, iii. 147
Bellfrey, Tom (Dr. Blackall), his voice, i. 302:
referred to, i. 300 and note, 301
Bellianis, Don, of Greece, ii. 315; iii. 81
Bellum Grammatical, iv. 196 note
Belvidera in Venice Preserved, i. 16 note
---- a beauty without affectation, iii. 66 seq.
"Ben" in Congreve's Love for Love, created by Doggett, i. 17 note
Bender, ii. 47 note; iii. 219, 247; iv. 186, 187 note
Benjamin, iv. 191
Bennet, Madam, a notorious character, ii. 246 and note
Ben's Club, ii. 215
Benskin, Will, overseer, ii. 43 note
Bentivolio (i.e. Dr. Bentley), i. 66 and note
Bentley, Dr. Richard (Bentivolio), i. 66 and note:
on Barnes' "Homer," iii. 160 and note
Berg, i. 174
Berkeley, i. 343 note:
Earl of, i. 137 and note
Berlin, letters from, i. 27, 72, 129, 236, 304; ii. 47:
referred to, i. 213
Bermuda Mission, i. 343 note
Bernard, M., the banker, i. 36, 50, 88, 246 note
Berne, letters from, i. 76, 94, 204; ii. 47, 100
Berry, Duke of, ii. 54
---- Duchess of, ii. 54
Bertamont, ii. 222
Berwick, Duke of, i. 51, 94, 182, 237, 332; ii. 48; iii. 317
Béthune, i. 19 note
Betony, iv. 353 and note
Betterton, actor, i. 15 note and seq.; ii. 389:
his Hamlet, ii. 163:
some account of, ii. 163 and note, 164 note:
his new theatre, ii. 334 note:
notice of a benefit for, iii. 233:
criticism of, iii. 279 seq.:
some account of his death, iii. 279 note:
referred to, iii.; 384, iv. 42
Betty, ii. 6
---- Mrs., not charming, but very winning, ii. 316; iv. 201
Beuil, Chevalier de, i. 95
Bevis, of Southampton, ii. 316
Bezons, Count de, i. 95, 237, 299
Bickerstaff, Isaac, sometime pen-name of Swift, now adopted by Steele, i. ix, 3, 8:
genealogy of, i. 3 seq.:
his attack on Partridge, 21 and note, 22 note:
playful quarrel between Swift and Steele as to the name, 22 note:
his Vindication, 21 note:
his Predictions for the Year, 22 note:
asks patronage for his cousin John, 36 note:
some account by Mrs. Distaff of the papers in his closet, 89 seq.:
alias Biggerstaff, 103:
his guardian-angel, Mr. Pacolet, 116, 122, 131:
his Difference between Scandal and Admonition, his Prophecy of Things Past, and "choice sentences for the company of masons and bricklayers," 151:
at Merchant Taylors' School, 152:
tragedies in MS., 189:
accredited a doctor, 191:
letter to Lewis XIV., 194 seq.; iii. 394:
the answer, 217 seq.:
hates giving advice, 210, 211:
takes three lads round London, 247 seq.:
his designs for the said lads, his nephews, the scholar, the merchant, the page, 249, 250; iv. 70:
will not tolerate extravagance in dress, 253, 254:
takes universities under his charge, 262:
his "circumspection water," 277:
favourite with the fair sex, 278:
acknowledges his own faults, ii. 102:
a profession of love to, 240, 241:
his reply, 242, 243:
proposed for the chamber of Fame, 232:
receives company, 257 seq.:
his upbringing, 279:
determines to learn fencing, 303, 371; iii. 308, 309:
his own sufferings from a cruel mistress, 385 seq.:
his interest in mankind, iii. 16 seq.:
his early love, 19, 20;
his prescription for grief, iii. 39 seq.:
his reception at the play, 44 seq.:
his letter to Dr. Sacheverell, 140 note:
compared to Cato, 256:
ill with toothache, 320:
promises to be wittier, 118 and note:
grammars issued under his approval, 194 note, 195 note:
his farewell, 374
Referred to, i. 11, 31, 55, 64, 66, 77 note, 80 note, 89 note, 92, 97 note, 101, 106 note, 115, 130, 135 and note, 166, 167, 168, 184 note, 191, 210, 214 note, 247, 253, 261, 262 and note, 314 note, 327, 359, 366, 368, 369, 388; ii. 12, 32, 71, 80, 93, 114, 123, 129, 150, 151, 157, 161, 163, 165, 167, 177, 184, 185, 200, 205, 223 note, 249, 277, 286, 289, 306, 311, 314, 320, 347 note, 359, 368, 377, 381, 389 note, 395, 401, 405; iii. 2 note, 8, 21 note, 27, 67, 71 note, 80, 83, 130, 133, 145, 228, 235, 236, 259, 261, 262, 267 note, 277, 296, 303, 328, 348, 366 note, 374, 375 note, 380; iv. 20, 25, 39, 41, 73, 82, 85 note, 164, 167, 172 note, 189, 206 note, 233, 242, 243, 256, 283, 286, 300, 317, 334, 335, 348, 375 note
Bickerstaff, John, performance for the benefit of, i. 36:
acted Captain in Mrs. Centlivre's A Bickerstaff's Burying; or, Work for the Upholders, i. 36 note
---- Sir Isaac, a Knight of the Round Table, ii. 189, 190
---- Ralph, eldest son of Sir Isaac, ii. 190
---- Philip, in reign of Richard III., ii. 190
Bickerstaff, Sir Walter, ii. 191
---- Maud, the milkmaid, wife of Sir Walter, ii. 191
---- Harry, the facetious, iv. 69
---- William, the prudent, iv. 69
---- Dame Deborah, iii. 27
---- Mrs. Pyramid, iii. 27
---- Sir Jacob, grandfather of I. B., iii. 197
---- Simon, brother of Margery, iii. 198
---- Mrs. Margery, wealthy great-aunt of I. B., the family devices to keep her single, iii. 197, 198, 266
---- Nehemiah, reign of Henry II., ii. 72
---- Frank, on charms of the country and courtesy of his noble landlord, iii. 292, 293
---- Samuel, and his family, a branch of the Bickerstaff family, iii. 387 seq.:
Sam, his son, iii. 388 seq.:
Mary, his daughter, iii. 388 seq.
---- family, their care in alliances, ii. 189 seq.:
their women never change their names, ii. 193 note, 409:
referred to, iv. 206
Bickerstaff’s Burying, A; or, Work for the Upholders, by Mrs. Centlivre, i. 36 note
Bicknell, Mrs. See Mrs. Bignell
Biddy, Mrs., not very commendable, but very desirable, iv. 202
Bignell, Mrs., benefit for, i. 29:
history of, i. 29 note
Billingsgate, "the freshest oysters and the plainest English," ii. 175, 176:
referred to, i. 42; ii. 214; iv. 55
Biographia Britannica, i. 355 note
Birching Lane, i. 232
Birdcage Walk, ii. 420 note
Birmingham, ii. 88
Birth, folly of pride at, i. 101
Bishopsgate, i. 247 note
Bishopsgate Street, iv. 39 and note
Biskett in Shadwell's Epsom Wells, i. 69
Bisset, Brigadier, iii. 9 note
"Bite," A, a new way of being witty, i. 107 and note
Black Horse, the Major at the, iii. 19
---- Lion, iv. 149 note
---- Prince, professed lover of the brisket, iii. 180
Black Raven Court, i. 335
---- Sea, the, iii. 220
Blackall, Dr., Bishop of Exeter (Tom Bellfrey), his controversy with Hoadley on passive obedience, i. 359 note and seq.; ii. 8 seq., 17 seq.:
supported by Oxford, i. 365 and note:
referred to, i. 300 and note, 301 note
Blacking, true Spanish, iv. 153 and note
Blackmore, Sir Richard, his Advice to the Poets, i. 122 and note:
his Instructions to Vanderbank, i. 32 and note
Blaregnies, the battle of, i. 102 note; ii. 269
Blaugies, ii. 107, 108
Blenheim, battle of, Addison's The Campaign on, i. 353 and note:
won on beef, iii. 181:
Prior's poem on, iii. 163 note:
referred to, i. 28 and note, 54 note; ii. 269; iii. 141, 162 note
Blessings, real and imaginary, iii. 173, 174
Blind, a strange cure of the, ii. 41 seq.
Blockheads always secretly admire one another, iv. 22
Bloomsbury, i. 258 note
---- Square, i. 161
Blount (Miss), Pope's epistle to, iv. 336 note
Bluff, Oliver, indicted for duelling, iv. 349
Bluffe, Capt., in Congreve's Old Bachelor, ii. 62 and note
Blunder, Major, a most expert officer, ii. 88, 89
Boccalini, Trajan, his Parnassus, iv. 341, 342 note:
notice of, iv. 341 note, 342 note
Bodegrave, i. 76
Bœotians, i. 285
Bogg, Beau, a sharper, ii. 115, 116
Bohea, dishes of, ii. 210
Boileau, i. 218:
on pedants, iii. 237
Bolingbroke, iii. 2 note
Bolton, Duke of, i. 355 note
---- Duchess of (? Hebe), i. 355 note and seq.
"Bombardier, the," ii. 270, 271
Boneval, General, i. 50, 71
Boniface, Mr. Ezekiel, gallant of Mrs. Will Rosin, ii. 374
Book of Martyrs, the, i. 382
Book for a Corner, by Leigh Hunt, iii. 75 note
Books, a scheme for regulating the price of, ii. 218
Bordeaux, President of, iii. 95 note
---- letters from, i. 96
Boristhenes, ii. 47 and note, 134; iii. 336
"Bos," iv. 363 and note
Bosnage, M., i. 120
Bossiney, ii. 1 note
Bossu, iii. 270
Boston, iii. 299 note
Bosworth, the battle of, ii. 285
Bouchain, iii. 316, 317
Boufflers, Marshal de, i. 88; ii. 105, 204
Bouhours, Dominic, a critic, ii. 265
Bourbon, the House of, i. 88, 246; iv. 87
Bourignon, Antoinette de, foundress of the Pietists, iii. 68 and note
Bournelle, M., author of Annotations on the "Tatler," i. 52 note
Boutheiller, Nicolas de, a bachelor, ii. 54
Bow Street, i. 13 note
Boxing, the noble art of, ii. 303, 304
Boyer, Abel, Whig journalist, i. 157 and note:
his Political State of Great Britain, i. 157 note:
compiled French and English Dictionary, i. 157 note:
the spurious "Tatler," ii. 347 note
Boyle, Mr. Secretary, ii. 106 note
Brabant, i. 229, 354; ii. 254 note
Bracegirdle, Mrs., described by Cibber, i. 16 note, 17 note:
left money for maintenance of decayed wits, i. 173 and note:
referred to, i. 30 note; iii. 282 note
---- Justinian, father of Mrs. Bracegirdle, i. 16 note
Bradfield, i. 32 note
Bradley, Sir Arthur de (i.e. Sir Ambrose Crowley), his address as alderman, ii. 178 note and seq.
Braganza, iv. 158
Bramhall, Bishop, his answer to Eachard, iv. 294 note
Brandenburg, Elector of, iv. 227
Brasenose College, iv. 324
Bray, the Vicar of, iv. 129
Bread, the staff of life, not one of the Staffs, i. 105:
his verses to Louis XIV., i. 206
Breeding, good, supplanted by a little invention, i. 109
Brennoralt, by Suckling, i. 329
Brentford, i. 201 note; iv. 28
Bretagne, i. 73
Brett, Colonel (? Colonel Ramble), i. 68 and note:
arranged reunion of actors, ii. 334 note
Briançon, i. 182, 332, 399; ii. 48
Bribery, i. 340, 341; iii. 53
Bridewell Hospital, ii. 120 note; iii. 42
Bridge Foot, iii. 147 note
Brief Relation, by Luttrell, i. 38 note, 325 note
Brightland, John, author of A Grammar of the English Tongue, &c., iv. 194 note, 196 note
Brightly, Lady, iv. 73
Briseis, i. 58
Brisk, Sir Liberal, and the sharpers, ii. 176 seq.
Bristol, i. 371 note; ii. 171 note
"Bristol, the," a man-of-war, i. 137
Brisac, i. 174
---- New, to be destroyed, i. 174
Britain, Great (Felicia), its prosperity, i. 44 seq.; iii. 89 seq.:
what it owes to Marlborough, i. 54
Referred to, i. 51, 102, 120, 123, 152, 156, 161, 174, 191, 217, 256, 372, 373; ii. 6, 108, 119, 122, 127, 146 note, 150, 151, 155, 189, 291, 304, 327, 331, 351; iii. 2, 44, 81, 84, 170, 259, 264, 276 note, 290, 299, 376, 377, 390; iv. 132, 195, 233, 302, 303, 328, 353 and note
British Apollo, The, i. x, 36 note, 280 note, 293 note; ii. 42 note, 155 note; iii. 26 note
British Mercury, iii. 306 note
British Museum, ii. 156 note
British Perfumer, by Charles Lillie, ii. 20 note; iv. 354 note
British race, the true stock unfit for travel, ii. 302:
character of, iv. 138
Britons, no true, left, ii. 193
Broad, Mr., i. 317
---- Street, i. 334
Bromeo, a rival of Tabio, ii. 99 seq.
Brookfield, site of May Fair, i. 42 note
Broomstaff, i. 102, 104, 290
Broomstick, Nathaniel, i. 97 note
Browbeat, Benjamin, indicted for duelling, iv. 349
Brown, a print-seller, i. 33 note
---- Andrew, a watchmaker, iv. 383
---- Tom, his Amusements, Serious and Comical, ii. 348 note and seq.; iii. 139 note:
quoted, ii. 121 note
---- Will, i. 346
Browne, Sir Thomas, his Religio Medici, i. 267 note
Bruges, i. 28
Brumars, M., died for love of his wife, ii. 54
Brunett, Colonel, a very pretty fellow, i. 199 seq.
Brussels, letter from, i. 19, 88, 97, 151, 183, 197, 213, 229, 236, 290, 332; ii. 34
Brussels Postscript, The, i. 376, 377, 378, 384
Brutus, i. 70; ii. 140, 141, 223 note; iii. 89, 281
---- Junius, ii. 223 note
Bruyère, his satirical account of the French, ii. 59
Bubbleboy, Charles (i.e. Charles Mather), a toyman, i. 228; ii. 418
Buckhurst, Lord, afterwards Earl of Dorset, iv. 235 and note
Buckingham Court, ii. 125 and note
Buckingham, Duke of, his The Rehearsal, i. 63 and note; ii. 300 note, 301 note:
his The Chances, iii. 400:
referred to, i. 145; ii. 16 note, 285
Bucklersbury, iv. 381
Buckley, Sam, printer of London Gazette, &c., i. 157 note
Budgell, Dr. Gilbert, iii. 389 note
---- Eustace, his son, iii. 275 note, 389 note, 390 note
Buen Retiro, i. 51
Bullock, Will, comic actor, his talent for looking like a fool, i. 70:
compared to Will Penkethman, iii, 385:
referred to, i. 67 and note, 68 note; ii. 281
Bull-baiting, i. 235 note; iii. 111 seq.
Bull-beggar, a, iv. 95 and note
Bull Inn, iv. 150 note
Bunhill Row, i. 335, 336
Buononcini, Giovanni, composer of Camilla, ii. 373 and note
---- Giovanni Maria, musician, ii. 373 note
Burgess, merry Daniel, an Independent minister, ii. 121 and note; iv. 172, 222
Burgundy, Duke of, i. 35; ii. 54
---- Duchess of, i. 20, 96
---- i. 354
Burnet, Bishop, his History of his Own Time, ii. 294 note:
referred to, i. 265 note; ii. 154 and note:
his Travels and Letters, ii. 272 note
---- Thomas, his History of Robert Powell the Puppet-Showman, iv. 335 note
Burney, his History of Music, i. 345 note
Burridge (or Borago), a cordial, i. 259 note
Burton, his Anatomy of Melancholy, i. 23 note; iii. 63 note
Business men allowed to look in the "Mirror of Truth," ii. 344
Busy, Benjamin, complaint of interruption, iv. 347 seq.
Busybody, The, by Mrs. Centlivre, i. 135 seq., 163
Butcher Row, ii. 264 and note
Butler's Hudibras quoted, iii. 179 note
Buttler, Captain John, i. 334
Button's Coffee-house, i. 350 note; ii. 277 note
Buzzard, Benjamin, indicted for rudeness, iv. 319
Byng, Admiral, i. 61, 182
Byron, Christopher, ii. 317 note
---- Captain, i. 87 note
Cabe, Sergeant, of the Coldstreams, ii. 264
Cacus, a deer stealer, i. 256
Cadaroque, a fort of the Troquois, iii. 300, 301
Cadiz, ii. 19 note
Cadogan, Lieut.-General, i. 19 and note; ii. 133, 200
Cadwallader, King, iv. 301
Cælia, the history of, iv. 25 seq., 30
----, requests advice in choice between two suitors, iv. 35-37
Cæsar, Julius, his modesty at his death, ii. 263:
in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 228:
and Alexander compared to Marlborough and Prince Eugène, i. 62, 63
Referred to, i. 54, 252, 303 note, 304 note, 345; ii. 7 note, 33 and note, 110, 129, 140, 141, 152, 177, 207, 230, 239; iii. 89, 330, 385
Caius Marius, i. 16 note
Calais, ii. 27; iv. 249 note
Calamanco for the waistcoat, ii. 254 and note, 322
Calamities, real and imaginary, iii. 173, 174
Calatayud, iv. 158
Callicot, Edward, foreman of Cambric's shop, iv. 318
Calpurnia, Pliny's letters to, iii. 187 seq.
Cambric, Charles, indicted for obscene conversation, iv. 317
Cambridge, i. 350 note; iii. 159 note, 160 note
Camilla (Mrs. Tofts), i. 171 and note
Camilla, opera by Buononcini, i. 171 note, 345 note; ii. 373 note; iii. 6 note
Camillo (i.e. Lord John Somers), i. 44
Camomile, Lady, an old fop, iv. 352 seq.
Campaign, The, by Addison, i. 353 and note
Campbell, Duncan, a dumb fortune-teller, i. 126 and note:
Defoe's History of, i. 126 note; iii. 100 note:
referred to, ii. 125 note
Cancaon, i. 253
Cancrum, a very pretty fellow, i. 201
Candaules, King, iv. 238
Canes, not of the family of Staff, i. 104:
commonly hung from buttons by a ribbon, i. 217 and note:
persons permitted to wear them, ii. 221, 222:
clouded canes, ii. 418:
as necessary as a limb, ii. 360:
their use defended, ii. 363:
perfect canes, iii. 153, 154:
referred to, i. 367; ii. 165, 202, 298, 321, 359, 417
Canvy Island, iv. 380
Capitol, the, ii. 263
Card-matches, i. 41 and note
Careless, Frank, a coxcomb, i. 128
---- Jack, a love-letter from, i. 251:
referred to, i. 253
Careless Husband, by Cibber, i. 91 note
Carellis, Captain Robert, i. 334
Carey Street, Lincoln's Inn, ii. 121 note; iii. 98 note
Carignan, Prince de, i. 95
Carlisle, Dean of, ii. 120, 171 note
Carminative Wind-dispelling Pills, iv. 152
Carrol, Mr., i. 136 note
Carry, Joe, a very pretty fellow, i. 201
Cartail, Robert, of Bucks, i. 301
Carthage, ii. 229; iii. 361, 379, 392
Carthaginians, i. 54; ii. 229
Cartwright, Mr., iii. 6 note
Case, Dr., his Compendium Anatomicum, i. 169 note:
referred to, i. 127 note, 168 note; iv. 226
Cash, Tom, i. 218
---- Sir Tristram (i.e. Sir Francis Child), ii. 58 seq., 75, 76, 77
Caska, an impudent fellow, iv. 280
"Cashu," iv. 250 and note
Cassander in the Faërie Queene, iv. 16
Cassio in Othello, iv. 240 note
----, a rich man of excellent understanding, iv. 260
Cassius, i. 70; ii. 140, 141; iii. 281
Castabella, letter to, i. 130, 142
---- a prude, iii. 67
Castel Gandolpho, iii. 375
Castille, iv. 158
Castle Rackrent, by Miss Edgeworth, iv. 261 note
Castle Street, iv. 329
Castlemaine, Earl of, ii. 7 note
---- Lady, Pepys on, iii. 296 note
Caswell (i.e. Dr. Will Taswell), ii. 43 and note
Catalonia, i. 76, 95; ii. 200
Cathcart, Lord Charles, third husband of Elizabeth Malyn, iv. 261 note
Catholic, Roman, a custom in nunneries, ii. 318
---- Majesty, her, i. 213
---- Majesty, his, ii. 19, 188
Catiline, Sallust's History of, i. 75; ii. 94, 95; iv. 97 note
Catinat, i. 234
Cato, i. 54, 98; ii. 51, 413; iii. 89, 274 note, 385:
compared to I. B., iii. 256:
would rather be, than appear good, iii. 132:
the Censor, iv. 194 note
Cato of Utica, the younger, ii. 223 note:
in chamber of Fame, ii. 230
---- junior, iv. 13, 14
Catullus, his "Lesbia," i. 387:
his De Suffeno, iii. 259
Cavaliers on duelling, i. 319, 320
Cavallier, James, leader of French Protestants, i. 244 note
Caya, the, i. 149
"Cebes, the Table of," iii. 250 and note
Cecil Street, ii. 54, 156 note
Celamico, iv. 330
Celania, a shepherdess in Davenant's The Rivals, iv. 140 note
Celia, i. 46
Cenis, Mount, i. 399
Censor, the, of Great Britain (i.e. I. B.), necessity for, in a free nation, iii. 160:
defence of I. B.'s way of acting the part, iii. 255:
accused of partiality, iii. 343:
referred to, iii. 144, 149, 159, 248, 255 seq., 284; iv. 14, 17, 96, 127, 145, 195, 254, 312
Centaur, Lady, in Ben Jonson's Silent Woman, ii. 29 and note
Centlivre, Mrs. Susannah, her A Bickerstaff's Burying, i. 36 note:
her The Busybody performed, i. 135 and note, 163:
notice of her life, &c., i. 136 note
---- Joseph, i. 136 note
Ceres, iii. 341
Cervantes, his Don Quixote, iii. 331 seq.; iv. 279
Cevennes, the, i. 244 and note, 301 note, 332
Chalcas, i. 58
Chalmers quoted, i. 102 note
Chamade, the, defended, i. 362 and note
Chamberlain, Lord, closes theatre, i. 344 note:
referred to, i. 16 note, 37 note, 110 note, 250 note; ii. 334 note
Chamberlayn, Edward and John, authors of Angliæ Notitia; or, The Present State of England, iv. 154 note, 294 note
Chamillard, M., i. 229, 244
Chancery Lane, i. 228 note; iii. 147
Chances, The, by the Duke of Buckingham, iii. 400 and note
Chanticleer, Job, petition from, iii. 110
Chapel Clerk, a, ii. 150, 172, 173
Character of the Present set of Whigs, by J. Trapp, ii. 121 note
Character of Don Sacheverello, Knight of the Firebrand, in a letter to Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., iii. 141
Charing Cross, i. 154, 219 note, 261 note; ii. 125, 126 note, 150; iii. 26 note, 100, 209; iv. 149 note, 150 note, 254, 329 note
Charlemagne, ii. 300
Charles Street, i. 342 note
Charles I., i. 15 note, 83 note; ii. 294 note, 334 note
---- II., i. 83 note, 126 note, 127 note, 153 note, 157, 202, 310 note, 317; ii. 246 note, 320 note, 413 note; iii. 113 note; iv. 109 note, 140 note, 150 note, 207, 372 note
---- XII., ii. 47 note, 135 note
---- King of Spain, i. 49, 60, 61, 67, 71, 73, 94, 174
Charlettus Percivallo Suo, by Edmund Smith, i. 158 note
Charlton, Mr. Thomas, his story, ii. 178 note
Charmont, i. 174
Charon, the ferryman, iii. 212, 223
Charterhouse yard, ii. 156 note
---- school, ii. 331 note; iv. 201 note
Chastity, bequeathed by I. B., i. 66:
to be valued in men as in women, ii. 62:
more difficult for a young man than generosity, ii. 64
Chaucer, ii. 425 note
Cheapside Conduit, ii. 192
---- i. 334; ii. 373; iii. 55; iv. 149 note, 153 note, 370
Chelsea, some account of the coffee-houses, &c., i. 280 seq.:
referred to, i. 349 note; ii. 244, 267; iii. 302; iv. 163
---- Hospital, room for news-writers, i. 159:
referred to, iv. 172
---- fields, i. 389
Chequers, common name for public houses, ii. 264 note
Chesterfield, Lord, i. 100 note
Chetwine, Mrs. (see Clarissa), her history, i. 38 note:
her marriage, ii. 255 seq.:
referred to, i. 259, 286; ii. 62
Chetwynd, William Richard, third Viscount, i. 38 note
Chetwynd, Walter, M. P. for Stafford, Master of the Buckhounds, i. 38 note
Cheyne Walk, i. 280 note
Chicheley, Mrs. Sarah, her beauty and fidelity, ii. 369 and note, 370 note, 379
---- Sir Thomas, her husband, ii. 370
---- Sir John, one of King William's admirals, her son, ii. 369
Chichester, Bishop of, i. 124 note
Child, Sir Francis, banker, i. 349 note; ii. 58
Children in the Wood, iv. 163
Child's Coffee house, iv. 131
China, craze for collecting, i. 192 and note
Chiswell Street, i. 334, 335
Chloe (i.e. Mrs. Hales), her character, i. 38 note and seq., 64, 259
---- advised against the lottery, iv. 53, 72, 73
---- beloved of Philander, ii. 306, seq.
---- asks I. B. whether he is quite as good as he seems, iii. 145:
referred to, ii. 6
Chloes, the, i. 138
Chloris, i. 81
Choice Sentences for the Company of Masons and Bricklayers, by I. B., i. 151
Christchurch, i. 7 note, 281; ii. 171
Christian Man's Vocabulary, The, iv. 308
Christianity not Mysterious, by Toland, ii. 417 note
Christ's Hospital, ii. 97, 156 note; iii. 160 note
Chromius, who sighed for Laura, ii. 37
Chronicle of the Kings of England, by Baker, iv. 342 and note
Chryses, King of Chryseis, i. 58 seq.
Church, bad manners in, iii. 144; iv. 315, 316
---- preferment, a problem in, iv. 167, 168
Churchill, Brigadier-General Charles, i. 90 note, 91 note
Cibber, Caius Gabriel, a sculptor, ii. 14 note; iii. 65 note
---- Colley, acknowledges service of Steele to the stage, i. 15 note:
on Betterton, ibid.:
on Mrs. Barry, ibid. and 16 note:
on Mrs. Bracegirdle, i. 17 note:
on Mrs. Verbruggen, i. 30 note:
on Underhill, i. 188 note:
on Sandford, iii. 113 note:
on John Mills, iv. 42 note:
on Mrs. Oldfield, iv. 94 note:
his Careless Husband, i. 91 note; iii. 357:
his Apology, i. 110 note; iii. 1 note, 355 note:
complains of money given to singers, &c., i. 110 note:
his salary, ii. 164 note:
his Double Gallant; or, Sick Lady's Cure, ii. 201 and note; iv. 262:
on Charles II., ii. 413 note:
his Rival Queens, iii. 399 and note:
his excellences, iii. 355 note and seq.:
manager of Drury Lane, iii. 355 note:
his Love's Last Shift, iii. 356:
his Lives of the Poets, iii. 390 note
Referred to, i. 37 note, 358 note; ii. 334 note; iii. 283 note, 384
Cibber, Mrs., iii. 299 note
Cicereius, his modesty, ii. 262
Cicero, two orations of, ii. 152, 153:
his De Oratore quoted, ii. 155; iv. 219:
De Amicitia, ii. 410, 412 note; iii. 45:
De Officio, ii. 323:
his Disp. Tusc., ii. 231 note; iii. 62, 116 note; iv. 228:
De Sen., iii. 98, 114:
Pro Archia Oratio, iii. 280; in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 229:
letters to his wife, iii. 239 seq.
Referred to, ii. 94, 230; iii. 61, 89, 115, 116; iv. 151, 220, 221, 239, 356
---- the younger, iii. 239, 240, 243
Cineas, the orator, iv. 45
"Cits" distinguished from citizen, i. 211, 212; iii. 256
City, a fine city widow, i. 127, 128
City train-bands subject of ridicule, i. 232 and note
City Shower, The, by Swift, iii. 38 note
"Civil Husband, The," ii. 27 seq.
Civil Wars, the, iv. 267
Civility, injudicious, a nuisance, iv. 74
Clapper, Mr., a great talker, iv. 203
Clare Market, a butcher of, attempts to bribe I. B., iii. 178, 179:
referred to, iii. 110
Clarence, Duke of, ii. 285
Clarendon Press, i. 317
Clarinda, loving Philander, ii. 306 seq.
Clarinda, caught cold at a masquerade, iii. 171
---- beloved of Philander, iii. 297, 298
---- her folly, iv. 260:
referred to, iv. 142
Clarissa (Mrs. Chetwine), her character, i. 39 seq., 48
---- the divine, her cruelty, iii. 170
Clarissas, the, i. 138
Clark, Dr., oculist, iv. 150 and note
---- Joseph, a young posture master, ii. 389 note
Claviger, i. 256
Clay Hill, i. 262 note
Clayton, Thomas, author of Arsinöe, his pastoral masque, iii. 276 and note:
introduced Italian opera into England, iii. 276 note
Clement XI., Pope, ii. 142
---- Thomas, iv. 315, 327 seq.
Cleomilla, "a female miner," ii. 271
Cleomira, an old "fine lady," ii. 86, 87
Cleontes politely ridiculous, ii. 111
Cleopatra, i. 93, 346
---- her eyes more beautiful than any ear-ring, iii. 195
Cleora, friend and rival of Diana Doubtful, ii. 328 seq.
Clergy, the, advised to read celebrated sermons instead of their own, ii. 59:
poor speakers and readers, ii. 119 seq., 151 seq., 170, 171:
their language and subjects complained of, iii. 149, 150:
degradation of, iv. 293 seq., 313, 314:
their periwigs, iv. 372 seq.
Clergy, The Contempt of the, by Dr. John Eachard, ii. 143 note:
appendix to the same, ii. 143
Clerkenwell Green, i. 235 note
Cleveland, Barbara, Duchess of (Villaria), mistress of Charles II., ii. 4, 5 note, 7 note and seq., 14, 87
Clidamira, a pretty lady, i. 278, 279
Clinch of Barnet, imitator, ii. 15 and note
Clod, Colonel, i. 141
Clodius, iii. 62
Clogher, Bishop of, iv. 175 note, 176 note, 215 note, 216 note
Clotilda, rival of Maria, ii. 288
Club, a, some account of, iii. 98 seq.
Clubs and Club Life in London, by Timbs, i. 12 note, 280 note; ii. 260 note
Clubs frequented about 6 P.M., i. 224 note
---- not family of Staffs, i. 104
Clumsy, Sir Tunbelly, in Vanbrugh's Relapse, i. 67 note
Clytus, iii. 399
Cock Hall, iii. 110
---- fighting, Hogarth's picture of, iii. 111 seq., 112 note
Cockpit, the, iii. 127 and note
Codrus, iii. 359, 380
Coell, Sir John, i. 41 note
Coffee-houses, different ones for retailing news of different subjects, i. 12, 13:
the histories of, i. 12 note, 13 note:
natural resort after plays, i. 32:
politicians of the, i. 92; ii. 321; iv. 360 seq.:
frequented at about 6 P.M., i. 224 note:
of Edinburgh, iv. 383
Referred to, ii. 110, 149, 353; iii. 65, 109, 147; iv. 254
See Smyrna, White's, Will's, Button's, Young Man's, the Crown, the Chelsea, the Grecian, Morris's, St. James's, Tom's, Garraway's, Mandoe's, the Rainbow, Dick's, Child's, Jacob's, Denis's, Lloyd's, The Old Man's, Union, Jack's.
Coggan, Henry, translator of Mendez Pinto's travels, iv. 288 note
Coke, Mr., i. 38 note
---- Justice, his Institutes of the Laws of England, iii. 107 note, 389
Colbert, i. 74 note, 174 note
Coldstream Guards, ii. 315 note
Coleman Street, i. 334
Coleridge on Steele, i. xx
Collier, William, M.P., seizes Drury Lane, ii. 334 note:
his struggle with Rich, ii. 336 note and seq.
---- Jeremy, his attack on the immorality of the stage, ii. 336 note:
his Essays upon several Moral Subjects, iv. 275 note:
on fortitude, iv. 275:
referred to, i. viii
Collins, his Discourse of Free-Thinking, iii. 115 note
Colloquies of Luther, iv. 52 note
Colmar, i. 174 note
Cologne, Elector of, i. 339
Colson, John, a punning Cambridge scholar, ii. 39 and note
Colt, Sir Henry (Trick Track), i. 124 and note
"Colt's Tooth," a, iii. 198 and note
Coltstaff, i. 130
Comber, James, a churchwarden, ii. 43 note
Combes, Daniel, second husband of Dorothy Addison, iv. 204 note
Comedians-in-ordinary to his Majesty, i. 16 note
Comedies reflect the taste of the age, i. 341 seq.:
subscription for the encouragement of new, i. 189
Comma, Jack, a man of learning without sense, ii. 65-67
---- Mrs. (Mary Astell). See Astell, Mary
Commachio, i. 50, 61, 72
"Commodes" as head-dresses, iii. 192 and note
Commonwealth, the interests of the, i. 11
Comparison between Two Stages, by Gildon, ii. 334 note
Compendium Anatomicum, &c., by Dr. Case, i. 169 note
Competency, iii. 52
Complacency, iii. 36
Complete Gamester, by Strutt, iv. 250 note
Compostella, iii. 63 note
Compter (or Counter), debtor's prison, i. 233 and note
Comus, Milton's, quoted, ii. 332, 333
Condé, i. 174, 291, 299, 339; ii. 97, 109
Condoling Letter to "The Tatler," A, iv. 172, 173 note
Confederacy, by Vanbrugh, i. 111 note
Congreve, his Love for Love performed, i. 15 and note, 16 note:
his Old Bachelor, i. 81 and note; ii. 62 note:
The Drummer dedicated to, i. 155 note; iii. 227 note, 292 note:
his The Way of the World, iv. 367 and note:
referred to, i. 17 note, 29 note, 395 note; iv. 310 note
Coniers, John, an apothecary, i. 179 note
Conjectura Cabalistica, by Henry More, i. 262 note
Consbruck, i. 95
Conscience, the Court of, iv. 286
Constant, Col., love-letter from, i. 252, 253
Constant Couple, The; or Trip to the
Jubilee, by Farquhar, i. 125, 163; iii. 356 note
Constantia, iii. 400
Constantine, founder of "The Grecian," i. 13 note
Constantinople, i. 61; iii. 222
Contention, iii. 36
Conversation, perplexed by pretenders, i. 7:
the decay of, i. 109:
the art of, iv. 154 seq.
Cook, a fencing-master, i. 42 note
Cooke, translator of A Reprehension of Naked Breasts and Shoulders, iv. 109 note
Cooper, John, a constable, i. 42 note
Copenhagen, i. 72, 112
Copper Office, ii. 84
Coppersmith, Harry, money-lender, his character, ii. 57, 58, 84
---- Will, of great credit among the Lombards, ii. 57
Copswood, Mrs. Alse (Archbishop of York), i. 300 and note
Copyright Act, ii. 217 note
Coquette, a converted, i. 86, 87:
character of, i. 225 seq.:
the humour of a, iii. 69 seq.
Cordwainers' Hall, ii. 339
Corelli, Archangelo, violinist, ii. 373 and note
Coriana, a faithful lover, ii. 40, 41
Corinna, mistress of Limberham (i.e. Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas), i. 55 note, 396 note
---- complains of flatteries in a stage-coach, iv. 107
---- i. 46
Cornhill, i. 387 note, 390; ii. 373; iii 169
"Cornwall, the lovers of," ii. 234
Correggio, iv. 322
Correspondence, all over the world arranged for, i. 12
Correspondents, contributions from unknown, i. 4
Corvix for Cervix, iii. 87 note
Corydon, iv. 250
Cosmelia, the divine, iv. 352
Costume, a cyclopædia of, iii. 192 note
Coulson, Tom (Aurengezebe), i. 371 note and seq.
Country, the lasting pleasures, iii. 337 seq.
---- gentlemen, their strange habits, ii. 321 seq.:
town terms explained to, i. 175 seq., 198 seq., 201 seq., 223 seq.:
the genuine, a fine character, iii. 291:
fashion in coats, iv. 82
Country Wife, The, by Wycherley, performed, i. 29 seq.
Coupler, honest, iv. 31
Couplet, Josiah, letter from, ii. 121
Courage, bequeathed by I. B., i. 66
Courant, The, i. 347. See Daily Courant
---- the Scots, iv. 383
Court of Requests, the, iv. 176
Courtier, a letter from a, ii. 207
Courtley, Will, a model of breeding, i. 250
Courtly, Lady, a fine talker, ii. 93 seq.
---- Tom, the pink of courtesy, iv. 57
Courtray, i. 73, 88, 229, 237
Courts, their effect on character, iii. 259 seq.
Courtwood, Mrs., her visiting list, ii. 397
Covent Garden, i. 42 note, 355, 373; iii. 299 and note, 336:
iv. 327 note, 335 note
Coventry, Earl of, i. 42 note
Coverley, the Roger de, i. 158 note; iv. 342 note
Covetous man, a mad man, iii. 65
Cowley as a critic, iv. 199:
quoted, iv. 278
Cowper, his John Gilpin, i. 232 note
---- Spencer, Judge of Common Pleas, i. 317 and note
---- William Lord, Baron of Wingham, vol. iii. dedicated to, iii. 1 and note, 90
Coxcomb, a, his goods sold by auction, ii. 401, 402, 416 seq.
Coxcombs, a new kind of, ii. 61, 70:
allowed to retain their fashions, ii. 320 seq., 359 seq.:
concerning various, i. 309 seq.:
men saved from being, iv. 24:
a fool of parts, iv. 77:
the worst kind—professed wits, iv. 124 seq.
Crabtree, Captain, haberdasher, i. 232, 233
---- the, iii. 385
"Crack, a," iii. 332 and note
"Crackers," &c., ii. 272; iii. 258
Craftsman, The, iv. 195 note
Crassau, General, i. 71, 204
Crassus, Maria's wealthy suitor, ii. 286 seq.:
his woods and forests, iii. 355
Crawley, his show, i. 140 note
Cream, beautifying, iv. 153 and note
"Creation of the World," a puppet-show, i. 140 and note
Cressy won on beef and mutton, iii. 179
Cripplegate, i. 335 note
Critic, a, character of, i. 241 seq.; iii. 269 seq.:
sort of Puritan in the polite world, i. 242
Critical Specimen, The, iii. 249 note
Cromwell, Henry (Sir Jaffety Trippet, the fortune hunter; Squire Easy, the amorous bard; Sir Timothy Tittle, the critic; and (?) Tom Spindle), i. 380 note and seq., iii. 263 note, 270 seq.
---- Oliver, i. 153 note, 179 note; ii. 14 and note, 279; iv. 268:
his coins, iv. 249 and note, 269 note
Crooked Lane, i. 275
Cross, Thomas, ii. 275
Cross-grain, Nick, a writer of anagrams, ii. 65
Cross-stitch, Mrs. Catherine, inventor of a new fashion in petticoats, ii. 418
Crowdero in Hudibras, i. 377
Crowley, Sir Ambrose (Sir Arthur de Bradley), ii. 179 and note
Crown and Cushion, the, iii. 299 note
---- Coffee house, i. 293 note
Crowther, Colonel Thomas, i. 146 note and seq.:
verses by, i. 377 note
Cudgels not of the family of Staffs, i. 104
Culverin (or Gun) of Wapping, i. 200, 201 and note
Cunning condemned, i. 8
Cupid, i. 46, 225, 395; iii. 36, 78; iv. 223, 250:
a perverse, iv. 321, 322
---- a dog, iii. 39 seq.
Curatii, i. 319
Curll, i. 15 note
Curtius, Quintus, quoted, i. 74; iv. 80 seq.
Custom, force of, i. 239, 240
---- House, i. 390
Cutter, a sharper, ii. 177
Cutts, Lord, his verses quoted, i. 47 and note:
referred to, i. vii
Cyder, by John Philips, iii. 23 note; iv. 270 note
Cymon, a young fellow grown sprightly, ii. 22
Cynthia, a coquette, ii. 382 seq.
Cynthio (i.e. Viscount Hinchinbroke), the story of, i. 14, 15 and note:
absorbed by passion for a lady who passed his window in a coach, i. 14, 15:
the only true lover of the age, i. 47 and note:
on love, i. 184 seq.:
a letter from his mistress, i. 186 seq.:
gives up Clarissa, his letter to Elizabeth Popham (i.e. Steele's to Prue), i. 286, 287:
his passion for Clarissa, ii. 62 seq.:
his reflections on the story of Scipio, ii. 64:
his death and epitaph, ii. 255, 256
Referred to, i. 47, 48
Cyrus the Great, i. 345, 358
Czar, the, ii. 47 and note, 67; iii. 336
Dacier, the critic, iii. 272; iv. 139
Dactile, Little Mr. Jasper, at work on a poem of advice to a young virgin who knits, i. 34, 35:
a wit, i. 243:
on ridicule, ii. 100 seq.
Daily Courant, i. 36 note, 157 note, 159 and note, 293 note; ii. 42 note, 182 note, 211 note; iii. 220, 277 note, 335; iv. 150 note, 152 note, 154 note
Daintry, innkeeper, i. 156 note
Dainty, Lady, refuses to eat, ii. 201
---- Dame Winifred, her reputation, iv. 318
---- Richard, husband of Dame Winifred, iv. 318
---- of Soho, i. 302
Dale, Will, churchwarden, ii. 43 note
Damasippus, a victim of vanity, iii. 372
Damia, a very pretty lady, i. 278, 279
Damon, his courtship, ii. 299:
lover of Clarinda, iv. 260
---- i. 300
Dampier, Will, his fat boatswain, ii. 95, 96
Danae, iv. 216 note
Dancing-master, a, ii. 273 seq.
Daniel, Cromwell's mad porter, ii. 14 and note
---- Samuel, the historian, iii. 180; iv. 180, 181
Danish blood in England, ii. 193
Dantzic, the plague at, ii. 324 and note:
referred to, i. 77, 236
Dapper, Tim, a very inconsiderable fellow, ii. 254
---- a, ii. 321; iii. 256
----, Parson (i.e. Joseph Trapp), his character, ii. 121 seq.
Dares, i. 257
Darius, iii. 400; iv. 78, 79
Dashwell, Nehemiah, i. 162
Dassapas, Tom, his potion, i. 393
Dathan, a peddling Jew, iv. 301 seq.
Dauphin, the, i. 144, 305; ii. 54
Dauphiné, i. 51, 94, 182, 354; ii. 48
Davenant, Sir William, his Siege of Rhodes, i. 172 note:
his alterations of Shakespeare, ii. 141 note:
his theatrical company, ii. 163 note:
his Rivals, iv. 140 note:
referred to, i. 37 note
---- Lady, i. 15 note
Davenport, Major-General Sherington, iii. 9 note; iv. 376 and note
David, iii. 391; iv. 308
Davis, Edward, ii. 179 note
----, Mrs. Mary, dancer, mistress of Charles II., iv. 140 note
Dawks, Ichabod, a news-writer, i. 158 and note:
his Letter printed to imitate handwriting, iii. 334 and note, 335:
his character, iii. 335
De Duello, by Selden, i. 255 note
De Poematum Cantu et Viribus Rhythmi, by Vossus, i. 282 note
De Usu Partium, by Galen, iii. 28
Dean Street, iv. 148 note
Death, considerations on, iii. 350 seq.:
as treated by Swift, Addison, and Steele, iii. 351 note
Decius, the abandoned, i. 364, 365
Dedication, an ideal, i. 348, 349:
some thoughts on, iii. 327 seq.
Defence of the Awkward Fellows against the Smarts, &c., ii. 80
Defoe, Daniel, his Life of Campbell, the fortune-teller, i. 126 note; iii. 100 note:
wrongly supposed author of Memoirs of the Life and Adventures of Signor Rozelli, i. 83 note:
on the storm of 1703, i. 353 note:
his Journey through England, i. 387 note:
regret at Steele answering his critics, iv. 173 note:
his Apparition of Mrs. Veal, iv. 316 note:
his (?) Groans of Great Britain, iv. 335 note
Referred to, i. 31 note; 158 note, ii. 135 note
Delamira (Lady Jane Hamilton?) resigns her fan, ii. 20 seq.
Deleau, Mrs., a widow, ii. 4 note
Delia, ii. 6; iii. 190
----, a beauty within the power of art, ii. 56
Demosthenes, ii. 94, 119, 120, 153; iii. 360; iv. 221
Denham, his Directions to a Painter, i. 34 and note
Denis's Coffee-house, iv. 252 note
Denmark, King of, i. 50, 51, 60, 61, 72, 76, 129, 183, 204, 213, 236, 276, 304; iii. 85 note
Dennis, John (Rinaldo Furioso, "Critic of the Woful Countenance"), his Essay on Operas, i. 40 note:
his invention of stage thunder, i. 346 and note:
his Appius and Virginia, i. 346 note:
referred to, iii. 249 note
Dentifrice, Mrs., i. 118
D'Epingle, Madame, a doubtful character, i. 68 seq., 273 note, 278
Derision. See Ridicule
Derwentwater, Earl of, iv. 140 note
Description of the Morning, by Wagstaff (i.e. Swift), i. 3, 82, 111; iv. 216 note
Desdemona, iii. 281:
her character, iii. 383
D'Estain, Count, i. 73
Deucalion, preserved at the destruction of mankind, iii. 173
Devereux Court, a duel at, i. 13 note
Devil, the Old, at Temple Bar, ii. 215
Devillier (or Duvillier), a hairdresser, iii. 275
D'Harcourt, M., i. 88; ii. 73
Dialogues on Medals, by Addison, i. 152 note
Dialogue, a, on the present wits, i. 107 seq.
Diana, i. 42; iii. 341; iv. 262
Dick's Coffee-house (also called Richard's), ii. 260 and note, 279
Dicky, a cruel boy, ii. 411, 412, 415
Dictinna, her character, i. 116 seq.
Didapper, Mr., persists in red-heeled shoes, ii. 127
Dido, i. 57; iii. 105:
the shade of, iii. 215
Diego, Don. See Don Diego Dismallo
Diego, the sexton in Beaumont and Fletcher's Spanish Curate, iv. 199
Diet of the City considered by Tatler, iii. 179 seq.:
beef and mutton recommended, ibid.:
foolish custom in, iii. 181 seq.
Dieuport assisted to introduce Italian operas to England, iii. 276 note
Difference between Scandal and Admonition, by I. B., i. 151
Dimple, Jack, a pretty fellow, i. 176, 177
---- Mrs. Winifred, betrothed to Mr. Ezekiel Boniface, ii. 374
---- Lady, iii. 273
Dioclesian, i. 346
Diogenes the Laertian, ii. 231
Diomedes, i. 59, 60
Dipple, Mrs., i. 118
Directions to a Painter, by Denham, i. 34 and note
Directions to the Waiting-Maid, by Swift, iv. 294 note
Discourse of Free-Thinking, iii. 115 note
Discourse on Satire, by Dryden, ii. 425 note
Discretion, iii. 36
Disguises of Cunning, Vanity, and Affectation stripped off, by I. B., i. 8
Dismallo, Don Diego (name afterwards given to the Earl of Nottingham), i. 184, 259, 323 and note
Dispensary, The, by Sir Samuel Garth, i. 127 note; ii. 208 note, 376
"Dissertation on Bath Waters," i. 133 note
Dissimulation distinguished from simulation, iv. 97 seq.
Distaff, Mrs. Jenny, half-sister to I. B., letters from, i. 89 seq., 270 seq., 291 seq., 300 seq.; iv. 256:
meaning of the name, i. 104:
her instructive autobiography, i. 272 seq.:
devoted to the interests of her own sex, i. 305:
consulted about the Chamber of Fame, ii. 136:
a husband for, ii. 188 seq.:
her lover Tranquillus, ii. 250 seq.:
as a wife, ii. 366 seq.:
should not be called madam, iii. 143:
a visit from, iii. 155 seq.:
her gay equipage, iii. 156, 157
Distaff, Mrs. Jenny, referred to, i. xvi, 93 note, 97 note, 290, 313, 314 note, 329; ii. 247; iii. 284, 365
"Distress of the News-Writers," by Addison, i. 4
Divination, the gift of, possessed by I. B., i. 14
Divito (i.e. Christopher Rich), his management of the theatre, ii. 336 note:
referred to, i. 110 and note
Dockwra, William, established Penny Post in London, ii. 130
Dodwell, Henry, A. M., the Nonjuror, his Epistolary Discourse, proving that the Soul is a Principle naturally Mortal, iii. 23 and note, 375
Doelittle, Mrs. Mary, her scoured petticoat, iv. 316
Dog, a fine lady's, his illness and cure, iii. 39 seq.
Doggett, Thomas, in Love for Love, i. 17 note:
managed Drury Lane with Steele, i. 17 note:
in the Old Bachelor, iii. 405, 406, 407:
referred to, iii. 38, 282 note
Dogood, Mr., his foolish story, iv. 368
Dogs (or curs), i.e. sharpers, ii. 125 seq., 142, 143, 157 seq., 175 seq.:
of the feminine gender, ii. 137
Doll, i. 89 note
Domestic news from St. James's Coffee-house, i. 13
Domitian, i. 257; iv. 236
Dompre, Lieut.-General, i. 229
Don Diego. See Dismallos
---- de Miranda, in Don Quixote, ii. 148 note
---- John, iii. 400
Don Quixote, Comical History of, i. 36 note:
translated by Jervas, i. 39 note:
the barber in, i. 282:
translated by Motteux, ii. 377 note:
reflections on, iii. 331 seq.:
said to destroy spirit of gallantry, iv. 126:
referred to, i. 239, 258; ii. 148
Don Quixote, by D'Urfey, i. 36 note; iv. 102 note
Donauwerth, battle of, i. 20 note
Donne, his Sermons, iv. 342 note
Dorchester, the coach to, iii. 158
Dorinda and Sylvia, dialogue between, by Mrs. Singer, i. 92 and note
Dorinda (in Spectator), i. 216 note:
referred to, iv. 25 and note
Dorset, Earl of, i. 112 and note:
a dedication to, iv. 102 note
Dorset Gardens, comedians at, i. 36 note, 37 note:
Theatre Royal in, iii. 58 note:
referred to, ii. 163 note
Douay, i. 19 note, 174, 205, 269, 339; iii. 245, 316 and note, 321, 333 note, 379
Double, Peter, indicted for discourtesy, iv. 348, 349
Double Gallant, The; or, The Sick Lady's Cure, by Cibber, ii. 201 and note; iv. 262
Doubt, Mr. Nicholas, of the Inner Temple, ii. 257 seq., 290
Doubtful, Diana, her distresses, ii. 328 seq.:
I. B.'s cure, ii. 329 seq.
Dover, Henry Lord, i. 41 note
Dover Cliff, in Shakespeare's King Lear, iii. 20
Downes, the prompter, an Epistle from, i. 4; iii. 343 note, 408 seq.:
his Roscius Anglicanus; or, Historical Review of the Stage, iii. 408 note:
(? J. Osborne, Duke of Leeds), iii. 407 note
Dozers, the, their character, iv. 61 seq.
Drachm, the learned Dr., i. 383
Dragon, of Wantley, the, i. 239 note
---- a kind of cane, iii. 154 and note
Drake, Sir Francis, iv. 266
Drawcansir, in The Rehearsal, i. 157 note
Dresden, i. 50, 51, 183, 204, 213, 276
Dress, simplicity in, recommended, i. 8:
extravagance in, condemned, i. 253, 254:
in house, rules for, iv. 93 seq.
Driden, John, of Chesterton, Dryden's Epistle to, ii. 166 and note
Drinking, the vice of the country, iii. 289 seq.:
the habit of, iv. 229 seq., 278 seq.
Dromio, a sharper, ii. 51
Drummer, The, dedicated to Congreve, i. 155 note, 292 note; iii. 227 note:
referred to, i. 158 note
Drumstick, Dorothy, iii. 143, 144
Drury Lane, under Steele and Doggett, i. 17 note:
closed, i. 250 and note:
sale of its goods and movables, i. 344 seq., 358:
its monopoly broken, ii. 334 note
Referred to, i. 24 note, 36 note, 42 note, 110 note, 188 note, 373; ii. 336, 420; iii. 276 note
Drybones, Tom, a very pretty fellow, i. 201
Dryden, John, at Will's, i. 13 note:
his state of Innocence and Fall of Man compared to Paradise Lost, i. 55, 56:
referred to, ii. 92 note:
as Bayes in The Rehearsal, i. 63 note:
his Miscellany Poems, i. 92 and note:
his All for Love, i. 93 and note:
his Almanzor and Almahide, i. 114, 115 and note:
translation of Helen's Epistle to Paris (Ovid), i. 117 note:
on a critic, i. 242:
his Of Heroic Plays, i. 367 note:
his The Kind Keeper, i. 396 note:
on Duke of Buckingham, ii. 16 and note:
his definition of art, ii. 92 note and seq.:
note on Bishop Burnet, ii. 154 note:
his Epistle to John Driden of Chesterton, ii. 166 and note:
his Discourse on Satire, ii. 424 note, 425 note:
his Translation of Virgil recommended, iii. 217:
his Hind and Panther parodied by Prior and Montague, iv. 3 note:
his Translation of Juvenal, iv. 136 note
Referred to, i. 7 note, 18, 303 note; ii. 249 note, 334 note; iv. 226
Dublin, theatre at, i. 33 note:
referred to, iv. 208, 209
Duck Island, Governor of, ii. 413 note
Duel over meaning of a Greek word, i. 13 note
Duelling, to be extirpated with gaming, i. 5:
prompted by a false sense of honour, i. 6:
the folly of, i. 207 seq.:
the spirit of, i. 220 seq.:
a subtle question on, i. 230 seq.:
thoughts on, i. 231 seq.:
effect on men of the city, i. 233 seq.:
survival of knight-errantry, i. 239:
kept up by force of custom, i. 239, 240:
history of, i. 254 seq.:
not known in countries of the South or East, i. 255:
a place for, i. 258 and note:
a bloodless duel, i. 307, 308:
a dialogue on, i. 318 seq.:
duellists not men of honour, iii. 256:
opposed, iv. 59 note
Duke (now Sardinia) Street, iii. 410 note
Duke of Marlborough's Head in Fleet Street, iii. 82 note, 83 note
Duke's company, the, ii. 163 note; iii. 408 note
Dull, the art of being, iv. 193 seq.
Dulwich Hospital founded by the actor Alleyn, i. 172 note
Dunciad, The, i. 346 note; ii. 261 note
Dunkirk, i. 20, 173, 206, 362; iii. 336
Dunton quoted, iii. 332 note
D'Urfey, Tom, his character, i. 18, 19 and note:
his Modern Prophets, i. 18 note, 42 note, 100 note, 348 and note:
his Wit and Mirth, a song in, called "The Young Maid's Portion," iii. 192 note:
his The Old Mode and the New; or, Country Miss with her Furbelow, iii. 196 note:
that "ancient lyric," iv. 102 and note:
his "Second Part of Don Quixote," i. 36 note; iv. 102 note
Quoted, iii. 66
Durham Street, i. 219 note
---- Yard, i. 219; iv. 379
Dursley, James, Viscount, i. 137 and note
Dutch, character of the, iii. 82:
mails, iii. 218:
nightingales (i.e. frogs), iv. 207
Duumvir (i.e. Duke of Ormond?), ii. 35 note and seq.
Duvillier, i.e. a full-bottomed wig, i. 238 and note, 239
D'Uzeda, Duke, i. 71
Dyctinna, a country beauty, iv. 262, 263
Dyer's Letter, i. 158 and note; ii. 261; iv. 103
Eachard, Dr. John, his Contempt of the Clergy and Religion Inquired into, ii. 143 note:
referred to, iv. 294 note
Earl of Essex, a play by John Banks, i. 125 and note
Earl's Court, iii. 302
Early hours, in praise of, iv. 336 note and seq.
East India Company founded, iv. 3 note
---- Indies, iii; 154 iv. 204 note
Easy, Dick (? Henry Cromwell), his ambition to be a poet, i. 380 note; iii. 263
---- Lady, her visiting on the wrong days, ii. 397
---- Sir Charles, in Careless Husband, iii. 357 note
Eaters, the, distinguished from swallowers, iv. 61
Eaton Square, i. 280 note
Ebenezer, an ill-used lover, iv. 365 seq.
Eboracensis (i.e. Robert Hunter), a wise governor, ii. 145 seq.
Ecclesiastical thermometer, iv. 128 seq.
Edgeworth, Miss, her Castle Rackrent, iv. 261 note
Edgworth, Colonel Ambrose, a dandy, iv. 254 and note
Edinburgh, fops in, iii. 165: referred to, iv. 260, 382, 383
---- reprint of Tatler, iv. 382
Editions, beautiful, dying out, ii. 351
Edward, Prince, ii. 285
---- IV., his sons, ii. 285
Egerton, his Memoirs of Gamesters, ii. 14 note, 178 note
Eitherside, Bridget, a letter from, ii. 147
Elector, the, ii. 73
---- Palatine, i. 183
Electuary, an, iv. 150 and note, 353 and note
Eleonora would conceal her grey hairs, ii. 131
Elizabeth, Queen, a speech by, quoted, ii. 180;
her maids of honour allowed three rumps of beef at breakfast, iii. 180
Referred to, iii. 149; iv. 103, 180, 266, 267, 305
----, Mrs., her youth, iii. 319
Elliot, Mr., of St. James's Coffee-house, scheme to keep the lottery, iv. 43;
referred to, iv. 48, 52, 72
Elmira, a faithful spouse, ii. 27 seq.
Eloquence and graceful action, ii. 118 seq.
Elow Oh Kaom, Iroquois Chief of River Sachem and the Ganajohhom Sachem, iii. 299 note, 301
Elpenor among the shades, iii. 200
Elscrikius, Dr. Johannes, Professor in Anatomy, iv. 112
Elstob, Elizabeth, author of Anglo-Saxon Grammar, ii. 104 and note
Elvas, i. 106, 150
Elysian Fields, i. 77, 78
Elysium, ii. 308; iii. 216, 226
Elzevir, ii. 218, 347 note; iii. 234, 249
Emilia, a letter from, ii. 55:
a town wit not appreciated in the country, ii. 56 seq.
Emma, Queen, ii. 104
Emmanuel College, iii. 160 note
Emperor, the German, i. 54 note, 70, 72, 95, 145, 174; iv. 148
"Empire of Beauty," an essay contemplated by I. B., i. 90 seq.
Empty, Tom, iii. 154
Encheiridion of Epictetus, ii. 145
Enfield Chase, iv. 261
England, papers published for the use of the people of, i. 11:
duels in, conducted with good breeding, i 235:
mixed blood in, ii. 193:
referred to, iii. 335, 337
---- Sir George, on the victory at Malplaquet, ii. 113, 114
English, the, love blood in their sport, iii. 113 and note:
character of, iv. 97 seq.
English Grammar, an, by M. Maittaire, iv. 196 note
English Mirror, The, by George Whetstone, i. 340
English Post, The, iii. 220
English Rudiments of Grammar for the Anglo-Saxon Tongue, ii. 104 and note
Entellus, i. 257
Entertainment, articles of, under White's Chocolate-house, i. 12:
means of, will never fail The Tatler, i. 14
Envious man, a madman, iii. 65
Envy, its cause and cure, iv. 163 seq.
Epaminondas, ii. 223 note
Epicene gender, the, i. 225
---- (Mrs. Manley), her Memoirs from the Mediterranean, ii. 104:
her Secret Memoirs and Manners of Several Persons of Quality of both Sexes, from the New Atalantis, and her Memoirs of Europe towards the close of the Eighth Century, ii. 104 note
Epictetus, his Encheiridion, ii. 145:
referred to, iii. 346; iv. 363
Epicurus, iv. 21
Epistles of Phalaris, the controversy on, i. 66 note
Epistolarum Obscurorum Virorum, dedicated to Steele, iv. 21 seq.
Epistolary Discourse concerning the Soul's Immortality, by Henry Dodwell, iii. 23 note, 375
Epitaph of Don Alonso, ii. 256
Epithets of Virgil more judicious than those of Homer, i. 57
Epsom, the waters of, i. 293:
news from, i. 379 seq.:
referred to, i. 381; ii. 111
Epsom Wells, by Th. Shadwell, i. 70, 293 note
Equanimity, the virtue of, iii. 321 seq.
Equipages, the folly of gay, iii. 156, 157, 161 seq.
Erasmus, his Adagia, i. 360 note
Eriphyle, iii. 202
"Error," the den of, in the Faërie Queene, iv. 173
Esquire, the title, its uses and abuses, i. 160 seq.; iii. 256
Essay on the Invention of Samplers, by Mrs. Arabella Manly, school-mistress, i. 41 and note
----, concerning the Human Understanding, by Locke, i. 328 and note
----, on Modern Education, by Swift, i. 12 note
Essays, Divine, Moral, and Political, iii. 407 note
Essays upon several Moral Subjects, by J. Collier, iv. 275 note
Essex, Earl of, i. 346
---- manners in, i. 162
---- the Hundreds of, ii. 32
---- Street, i. 161; ii. 132
Estcourt, Richard, comedian (Tom Mirrour), as Sergeant Kite in Farquhar's Recruiting Officer, i. 169 and note:
anecdote of, ii. 15 seq.:
his salary, ii. 164 note:
referred to, iii. 92 note; iv. 20
Este, Marquis d', ii. 34
Esteem of others the principal desire of mankind, iv. 64 seq.
Eucrates, a man of ill-regulated benevolence, iii. 322 seq.
Eugène, Prince, and Marlborough, compared to Cæsar and Alexander, i. 62, 63:
referred to, i. 44, 51, 72, 97, 143, 155, 157, 197, 213, 214, 234, 237, 269, 290; ii. 4, 9, 108, 109; iii. 316
Eugenio, his criticism of bad plays, i. 74, 75:
on pictures, iii. 355
Euphusius, too good-natured, ii. 195 seq.
Euripides, a tragedy of, iii. 47 seq.
Eusebius, understands familiarity, iv. 156, 157
Eustace, Francis, the terrible effects of his passion, iii. 306 note and seq.
Eutrapelus, a humourist mentioned by Horace, iii. 198
Evance, Sir Stephen, banker, i. 349 and note
Evander, iii. 21
Evans, i. 29
Eve, a puppet, i. 140:
tempted by toad, iv. 211:
as a wife, ii. 424; iii. 188, 189; iv. 116, 117, 126, 127:
referred to, i. 56, 330, 381; iv. 249
Everbloom, Lady, compliment to, iv. 319
Every Man out of his Humour, by Ben Jonson, i. 341
Examiner, The, i. 7 note, 84 note, 121 note, 126 note, 184 note, 201 note, 245 note, 300 note; ii. 417 note; iii. 2 note, 71 note, 218 note, 343 note, 366 note, 395 note, 396 note, 407 note; iv. 13 note, 85 note, 118 note, 173 note, 187, 219 note, 222 note
Exchange, the Royal, an angel in, iii. 169:
referred to, i. 65, 170 note, 293 note, 390; ii. 15 note, 42 note, 139, 156 note, 420; iii. 25, 120, 133, 147; iv. 132, 241, 252 note, 259, 300
---- the New, some account of, i. 219 and note:
three goddesses in, iii. 139, 169:
referred to, i. 170 note
Exchange Alley, i. 387 note, 390; ii. 156 note; iii. 178
Exchequer bills, first issue of, iv. 3 note
Exercise at arms, an, i. 333 seq.
Exeter, ii. 389 note; iii. 401
---- College, ii. 187
Exilles, i. 174; ii. 48
Extortion, iii. 53
Fabio, beloved of Diana Doubtful, ii. 328 seq.
"Fable of the Worlds," i. 350, 351
Fabulous histories, moral satisfaction in, iii. 17
Faërie Queene, iv. 7, 14, 16
Fair, Mayfair, i. 41 note, 42 note:
Bartholomew, i. 42 note:
at Southwark, i. 140 note
Fair sex, the, to be entertained in the Tatler, i. 12, 142, 143:
title chosen in their honour, i. 12:
usually love those who look the other way, i. 47:
how to prevail with them, i. 128:
outdone by a lazy fellow, i. 91, 92:
skill in addressing them, i. 117 seq.:
a squire is one born for their service, i. 163:
to be won by graceful ogling, i. 185 seq.:
lesson to the voluntary invalids of, i. 191-193:
love a "very pretty fellow," i. 199 seq.:
Tatler always courteous to, i. 218:
a lady wooed through her parrot, i. 226, 227:
to be "come at" only be "survivorship," i. 240:
letters of gallantry to, i. 250 seq.:
to be won by flattery, i. 264, 364:
their frailties due to men's admiration of coquetry, i. 271 seq.:
folly of their taking snuff, i. 285:
their chief interest, in love, i. 292:
do not talk scandal more than men, i. 300:
their interests in charge of Mrs. Distaff, i. 305:
not won by gravity, i. 251:
of small importance in Shakespeare's days, i. 341 seq.:
always approve those whom their friends abuse, i. 382:
their place in the front box, ii. 6 note:
prevailed on by nonsense, ii. 77 seq.:
how far and to what age should they make beauty their first care, ii. 85 seq.:
letters finding fault with them, ii. 131 seq.:
accomplices of the "sharpers," ii. 137:
being made of men and not of earth have a more delicate humanity, ii. 139:
how moved to tears, ii. 139:
modesty their most becoming quality, ii. 246:
running after puppet-shows, iii. 7:
proper ornaments suitable to, iii. 16:
tendency to lavish affection on animals, iii. 42 seq.:
Virgil translated for, iii. 107 seq.:
amenable to advice, iii. 135:
their vanity encouraged by our foolish style of wooing, iii. 136 seq.:
proper education for, iii. 146, 165 seq.:
proper way to manage them, iii. 156:
how to avoid oglers, iii. 166 seq.:
the attractions of, typified in Venus's girdle, iii. 176:
advice to, on matrimony, iii. 177:
seen at their best in mourning, iii. 194 seq.:
carried away by what is showy, iii. 196:
the shades of the finest women of all ages appeared to Ulysses, iii. 202:
the talkers among them compared to different musical instruments, iii. 228 seq., 248:
difficulties of reducing them to any tolerable order, iii. 256, 257:
at the Government lottery, iii. 296:
at Moorfields, iii. 318 seq.:
a scheme for, iv. 15 seq., 37 seq., 142:
an amicable contribution for raising the fortunes of ten young ladies, iv. 38, 39:
treated with impertinence, iv. 39:
affection and esteem for, generally go together, iv. 68:
abused for fault-finding, &c., iv. 82 seq.:
advice in dress, iv. 93 seq.:
their affectation of nakedness condemned, iv. 109 seq.:
grown political, iv. 187, 188:
a grammar for, iv. 195 note, 196 note:
their conduct in love, iv. 257 seq.:
different education desired for, iv. 261 seq.:
their follies in old age, iv. 351 seq.
Fairlove, Joshua, claims to the title of Esquire, iv. 127, 128
Falstaff, Sir John, i. 67, 102, 103, 156; ii. 264 note; iii. 281
"Fame, a chamber of," the idea started by Swift, ii. 223 note:
a vision of, ii. 223 seq.:
plans changed, ii. 224 note:
the guests in, ii. 228 seq.:
the fabulous apartment, ii. 231 seq.:
a table for the ladies, ii. 247 note:
those whose claims to enter therein may have been overlooked, ii. 248 seq.:
referred to, ii. 128 seq., 135 seq., 175, 186, 206 seq., 239; iii. 159 note
Familiar, I. B.'s., iii. 28.
See Pacolet, Mr.
Familiars, their habits, i. 388 seq.
Fan, the virtues of, ii. 20 seq.:
Gay and Addison on, ii. 21 note:
"Fluttering of the Fan," ii. 22 and note
Farthingale, Lady, a catalogue of her private possessions, iv. 247 seq.
Farloe, Richard, M.A., an acute dissector, ii. 97
Farquhar, his Beaux' Stratagem, i. 36:
his Constant Couple; or, A Trip to the Jubilee, i. 125, 163; iii. 356:
his Recruiting Officer, i. 169 seq.
Farr, James, a barber, of the Rainbow Tavern in Fleet Street, iv. 131 note
Farrier's Dictionary quoted, iii. 157 note
Fashion, Sir Novelty, in Cibber's Love's Last Shift, iii. 350
Fashionable folk, follies of, iii. 343 seq.
"Fat Dogs'," the, ii. 125
Fatal Marriage, Mrs. Barry in, i. 16 note
Father, a wise, ii. 75-77:
a good, his children's truest friend, iii. 385 seq.:
a model, iv. 204, 205
Fault-finding, letters of, sent privately, but published if no heed is taken of their complaints, ii. 130 seq.:
subject of conversation, iv. 252 seq.
Faustus, Dr., the puppet, iii. 8
Favonius (i.e. Dr. Smalridge), a model clergyman, i. 5 and note; ii. 171, 421
Feeble, Mrs., an old fop, iv. 353
---- Tom, of Brasenose, iv. 353
Feilding, Beau Robert (Orlando the Fair), i. 124 note; ii. 4 note, 5 note and seq., 8 and note, 13 seq.
Felicia (i.e. Great Britain), i. 44 seq., 123; ii. 145
"Fellows" different from men, ii. 26:
of a great deal of fire, ii. 81 seq.
See also Pretty Fellows, Very Pretty Fellows, Smart Fellows, Honest Fellows, Merry Fellows
Female Tatler, The, ii. 247 note, 290 note, 387 note:
two papers so named, iv. 172 and note, 173 note
Fenchurch Street, iv. 153 note
Fénélon, his Télémaque, iii. 222 seq.
Fescue, Mrs., iv. 332
Fidelia, her strange passion for an old rake, i. 190
Fidget, Lady, the general visitant, iii. 315 seq.
---- Mrs., i. 118; iv. 332
Filmer, on Patriarchal Government, ii. 10 note
Final, i. 72, 75, 182
Finch Lane, i. 334; iv. 252 note
Fine ladies of the present day very inferior to those of I. B.'s youth, ii. 87, 88
Fire, the quality of, in man, ii. 81 seq., 117, 166:
men of, iii. 256
Firebrand, Lady, her temper, iv. 118
Fits, a story of, i. 191-193
Fitzherbert, Sir Anthony, his Grand Abridgement, i. 255
Five Fields, the, of Chelsea, i. 280 and note
Flambeau, Mrs., indicted for not calling, iv. 334
Flanders, i. 19, 73, 77, 105, 144; ii. 254 note, 348; iii. 265, 320, 334
Flatterer, a knave of parts, iv. 77:
and jester, iv. 107
Flavia, a sonnet on, ii. 377, 378:
an eminent coquette, iii. 167:
loss of her parrot, iii. 171:
not altered by smallpox, iii. 315
---- a young mother, iv. 67
---- (Miss Osborne?) well dressed, iv. 94 and note, 223
Fleet Bridge, ii. 150
---- Street, ii. 88 note, 228 note; iii. 61 note, 82, 126, 152 note; iv. 379, 382
Fleming, General, i. 27
Flora, her character, i. 117
Florence, i. 50, 76
Florimel, a vain creature, i. 69
---- an ambitious lady in the autumn of life, i. 139 seq.
---- Mrs., ii. 196, 197
Florinda, a living woman, ii. 381
Florio, a good talker, i. 369
---- the generous husband, i. 396
Florio, happiness centred in a tulip root, iii. 171
---- John, his Montaigne, ii. 239 note
Florus, his account of Scipio, ii. 62 note
Floyer, Sir John, his Inquiry into the Right Use and Abuses of Hot, Cold, and Temperate Baths, i. 133 note
Flyblow, a coxcomb, i. 312, 313
Flying Post, The, i. 133 note, 156 note, 293 note
Folio, Tom (i.e. Thomas Rawlinson), a broker in learning, iii. 234 seq.:
his protest, iii. 248, 249
"Fondlewife," in Congreve's The Old Bachelor, i. 81 note
Fontive, editor of Postman, iii. 332 note
Fool distinguished from a madman, i. 328, 329
Foote, at "the Grecian," i. 13 note
Foppington, Lord, in the Careless Husband, iii. 357 note
Fops, charming to certain sort of women, i. 381
"For," the particle, its meaning, ii. 65
Forbes, Lord, (Marinus?) ii. 83 and note:
his defence of Steele from the sharpers, iii. 9 note; iv. 377 note
Ford, Edward, his Tewin-Water; or, The Story of Lady Cathcart, iv. 261
----, James, the speaking doctor, ii. 115, 156 and note
Forecast, Diana, eager to see scheme for the fair sex, iv. 37
Foreign news, not musty edicts or dull proclamations, i. 12:
from St. James's Coffee-house, i. 13
Forester, brother-in-law of Vanderbank, i. 33 note
Forster, his Historical and Biographical Essays quoted, i. 49 note; ii. 142 note, 315 note, 349 note, 423 note; iii. 75 note, 407 note; iv. 68 note
Fort George, in India, iv. 204 note
Fortunate Isles, The, masque by Ben Jonson, i. 84 note
Fortune-hunter, a letter from, iii. 75-79
Fortune Hunters, The, a play, i. 311 note
Foster Lane, iv. 149 note
Fountain Tavern, the, ii. 298
Fox, The; or, Volpone, by Ben Jonson, i. 177 seq.
Fox-Hall or Vauxhall, i. 219 and note
Fox-hunters, their voices, i. 301
Foxon, Captain, i. 88
Fracastorius, Hieronymus, physician, his Syphilis, iv. 322 note
Fraga, ii. 188
Frail, Mrs., in Love for Love, i. 16 note
France, i. 27, 28, 51, 61, 76, 88, 120, 121, 129, 130, 154, 164, 173, 174, 184, 204, 213, 214, 219, 237, 240, 244 note, 354; ii. 9, 27, 54, 106, 107, 211, 222, 249; iii. 73, 92, 123, 223, 318, 336, 337
---- King of, i. 155, 194, 214, 237, 244 note, 245; ii. 48
See also Louis XIV.
Frances, Madam, ii. 402, 403
Francis I., iv. 162
Franeker, iii. 68 note
Freedom and ease, the men of, iii. 284
Freeland, Jack, i. 187
Freethinkers not philosophers, ii. 390 seq., 406; iii. 115, 256:
ancient and modern, iii. 114 seq.
Freind, Col., iii. 55 note
French, the History of, i. 19 note:
their valour, i. 54:
their prophets attacked by D'Urfey, i. 100 note:
Bruyère on, ii. 59 seq.:
referred to, ii. 105, 158
---- Elizabeth, wife of Tillotson, ii. 350 note
---- Dr. Peter, father of Elizabeth F., ii. 350 note
Friendly, Mr., a reasonable man of the town, i. 107
Friendly Courier, The, by Way of Letters from Persons in Town to their Acquaintance in the Country, containing whatever is Curious or Remarkable at Home or Abroad, iv. 375 note
Friends, necessity for consideration between, iii. 304 seq.
Friendship, of worthy men a greater benefit than accomplishments, i. 4, 5
Friendship in Death, in Twenty Letters from the Dead to the Living, by Mrs. Singer, i. 93 note
Fringe Glove Club, iii. 197 note
Frise, iii. 68 note
Frisk, Beau, i. 185, 187, 188
---- Betty, iv. 353
Frogs, the migration of, to Ireland, iv. 206 seq.
Frontera, Marquis de, i. 149
Frontinett, Mrs., a good dancer, iv. 203
Frontlet, Mrs., a famous toast, i. 203
Frontley, Tom, a guide for the 'Town,' iv. 189
Frontly, Mrs., iv. 332
Frozen voices, iv. 289 seq.
Fuller, Dr., the facetious divine, iv. 132
---- Samuel Partiger, M.P., author of No. 205, some history of, iv. 58, 59 notes
Fulvius, happiness centred in a blue string, iii. 171
Fulwood's Rents, iii. 99 note
Furbelow, the, iii. 196 and note
Furbish, Mrs., iv. 352
Gad, Lady, i. 278
Gadbury, Job, astrologer, ii. 54 and note
---- John, master of Job G., ii. 54 note
Gainly, Jack, a good fellow, iv. 66, 67
---- Gatty, iii. 67
Gaisford, his Parœmiographia Græci, i. 360 note
Galen, his De Usu Partium (a Hymn to the Supreme Being), iii. 28
Gallantry, account of, from White's Chocolate-house, i. 12:
modern, pretenders to, i. 46:
a low kind, i. 67 seq.:
letters of, i. 250 seq.:
an act of true gallantry, ii. 62 seq.:
the effects of, ii. 305
"Galloon," iv. 371 and note
Gallus, a letter from Pliny to, iii. 338
Galway, Earl of, i. 87, 88, 149, 150
Gambling houses, ii. 89 note and seq.
Gamester, the, determination to extirpate, i. 5:
his evil effects on English gentlemen, i. 6:
"a coward to man and a brave to God," i. 6:
his amusements take the place of songs and epigrams, &c., i. 18:
I. B. no gamester, i. 37:
a day with, i. 119:
a tale of, i. 134, 135:
a pickpocket with the courage of a highwayman, i. 208:
his sense of justice like Louis XIV.'s, i. 218:
sharpers not all gamesters, ii. 57:
Memoirs of Gamesters, by Egerton, ii. 14 note, 178 note:
gets money from men's follies as money-lenders do from their distresses, ii. 57:
to be found in Suffolk Street, ii. 89 and note:
spoken of as dogs or curs, ii. 89 seq.:
a new style of, ii. 143:
madman, iii. 65:
referred to, ii. 50 seq., 159 seq.; iii. 256.
See also Dogs and Sharpers
Gantlett, old, iii. 101, 102
Gardening, strange terms of, iv. 120, 121
Garraway's Coffee-house in Cornhill, i. 137 and note; iii. 178, 352 and note; iv. 184, 300
Garth, Dr. (? Hippocrates), his Dispensary quoted, i. 127 note; ii. 208 and note, 376; iv. 222
Garway, Thomas, founder of Garraway's, i. 387 note
Gascar the painter, i. 32 note
Gascoigne, George, his The Glass of Government, ii. 264 note
Gascon of quality, a, his undoing, iii. 69 seq.
Gastrel, friend of Swift, iv. 294 note
Gatty, Mrs., a famous toast, i. 203; ii. 22
Gay, John, his Present State of Wit, an account of Steele's influence, i. xvi, xvii, xviii:
his Beggar's Opera, i. 234 note:
his Trivia, i. 234 note, 327 note; ii. 204 note; iii. 102 note:
his Mr. Pope's Welcome from Greece, i. 380 note:
on the Fan, ii. 21 note:
his Shepherd's Week, iv. 250 note, 344 note
Gazette, The, iv. 85 note, 148
Gazette à la Mode; or, Tom Brown's Ghost, iv. 172 and note
General Postscript, The, ii. 247 note, 290 note
Geneva, i. 50, 76:
the lake of, iii. 251
Genius, men of, to be esteemed as considerable agents in the world, i. 12:
defined, i. 54 note
Genoa, i. 35, 60, 76; ii. 200
Genteel Conversation, by Swift, iii. 100 note
Gentle, Patience, iv. 374
Gentleman, an English, a prey to gamesters, i. 6:
defined, i. 175 seq.:
the history of a pretty, i. 14, (see Cynthio):
the difficulty of becoming a fine, ii. 122 seq.:
any one may be a, iv. 72
Gentleman's Journal i. x; ii. 134 and note
Gentlemen's Magazine i. 211 note, 343 note, 358 note
George I., i. 39 note, 42 note; ii. 1 note, 35 note, 42 note; iii. 1 note; iv. 85 note
---- Prince of Denmark, a vision of, i. 78, 79:
death of, ii. 164 note:
long mourning for, i. 79 note; iii. 194 and note:
referred to, i. viii
George Court, i. 219 note
"George and the Dragon" at Billingsgate, ii. 176
Gerhumhena, i. 261
Germany, i. 158, 354; ii. 73; iv. 271, 322, 325:
a waxwork of English religions in, iv. 303 seq.
Gertruydenberg, iii. 123, 318
Ghent, i. 20, 28, 43, 73, 77, 78, 144, 205, 214, 229; ii. 90, 91, 158; iii. 162 note, 163 note
Giddy, Mistress, pretty company, i. 260
Gildon, his Comparison between Two Stages, ii. 334 note:
? author of Life of Betterton, iii. 279 note:
quoted, i. 42 note, 67 note
Gimball, Anne, born blind, iv. 379, 380
---- Ezekiel, father of Anne, iv. 379, 380
Gimcrack, Sir Nicholas, a virtuoso, his will, iv. 112, 113, 133
---- Lady, widow of Sir Nicholas, iv. 134 seq.
Gingivistæ, or tooth-drawers, i. 281 and note
Gladiators, i. 256
Glare, Will, the self-conscious man, iii. 131
Glass of Government, The, by George Gascoigne, ii. 264 note
Globe, this, not trodden upon merely by business drudges, i. 12:
interesting news from, i. 12
---- the sign of the, iii. 24
Goathan, petition from the inhabitants of, iii. 149
Goddard, Dr. Jonathan, physician to Cromwell, i. 179 and note
Godolphin, Sidney, Lord (Horatio), i. 7 note, 45 and note
Goes, Count de, i. 61, 95
Golden Ball in Goodman's Fields, iv. 148 note
---- Buck, the, iv. 379
---- Comb, the, iv. 382
---- Cupid in Piccadilly, the, iv. 148 note
---- Half Moon, iv. 150 note
---- Head, iv. 150 note
---- Key, iv. 152
---- Lion, the, near St. George's Church, i. 140 note:
near St. Paul's Church, iii. 133 note
---- Pen, the, iv. 329 note
---- Sugar Loaf, iv. 149 note
---- Unicorn, iv. 150 note
Golden Sayings, by Pythagoras, ii. 392
Goldsmith, Oliver, at the Grecian, i. 13 note:
referred to, iv. 206
Goldsmiths' Hall, i. 334
Goltz, General, i. 183; ii. 47
Good Husband, A, for 5s.; or, Squire Bickerstaff's Lottery for the London Ladies, iii. 277 note
Goodday, Lady, famous for her recipes, iv. 263
Goodenough, Ursula, indicted for libel, iv. 318, 319
Goodly, Lady, a proud mother, iv. 203
Goodman, Cardell, an actor patronised by the Duchess of Cleveland, ii. 7 and note
Goodman's Fields, iv. 148 and note, 150 note
Goosequill, Esq., Degory, i. 162
Gorman, a prize fighter, i. 256
Goths, the, i. 257; ii. 337; iv. 22
Gough, Deputy, ii. 179 note
---- Jeremy, ii. 179 note
Gourdon, Mother, i. 368
Government of the Tongue, ii. 184
Grafton, Isabella, Duchess of, ii. 313 note; iv. 93 note
Graham, Lieutenant-Colonel, ii. 106 and note
Grammar of the English Tongue, a, iv. 194 note
Grammar, a, needed, iv. 195 seq.
Granard, Earl of, iv. 377 note
Grand Abridgement, The, by Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, i. 255
Grand Magazine, The, iii. 390 note
Grand Pensioner, i. 120, 198:
Pensioner of Holland, i. 129, 143
---- Monarch, the, of France, i. 323; iii. 336
Grant, Roger, an oculist, cures a man born blind, ii. 41 note and seq.:
account of his cure from other sources, ii. 43 note
Grave-Airs, Lady, in church, iv. 315
Grave-digger, the, played by Cave Underhill, i. 188 note, 189
Gray, murdered by Richard III., ii. 285
---- George, a prize fighter, i. 234 note, 235 note
---- John, vendor of pills, iv. 149 note
Grayhurst, Captain Will, i. 334
Gray's Inn, iii. 148, 234 note
---- Lane, i. 127 note, 234
Great Bedwyn, i. 371 note
---- Marlborough Street, iii. 61 note
Greber, a German musician, brought over Margarita, iii. 192 note
Grecian, the, learning from, i. 13:
a history of, i. 13 note:
resort of scholars, i. 13 note:
a duel at, i. 13 note:
must drink Spanish wine there, i. 13:
referred to, i. 161; iv. 131
Greeks, the, i. 59; ii. 1, 2, 52; iii. 104, 125:
their patriotism, iii. 358:
wedding, the ceremonial at, iii. 364:
poetry of their language, iv. 178
Green, Sir Benjamin (Sir Humphry Greenhat), ii. 179 note
Greenhat, Obadiah (i.e. Swift), a letter from, ii. 70, 71:
a design by, ii. 125:
on Hamlet, ii. 163:
referred to, ii. 103, 112, 113, 121, 123, 193
---- Zedekiah, his character, ii. 71 seq.
---- Tobiah, a letter from, ii. 102 seq.
---- Sir Humphry (Sir Benjamin Green), alderman, ii. 179 note, 180
Greenhats, the, a family with small voices and short arms, ii. 71, 72:
related to the Staffs, ii. 72
Greenhouse, a winter Paradise, iii. 338 seq.:
criticisms on, iii. 380, 381
Greenland, iii. 14, 221; iv. 140
Greenwich, a theatre at, i. 42 and note; iii. 327
---- Hospital, ii. 19 note
Greenwood, James, a letter from, iv. 194 seq.:
his Essay towards a Practical English Grammar, iv. 195 note:
some notice of, iv. 196 note:
his The London Vocabulary, iv. 196 note:
his Virgin Muse, iv. 196 note
Gregg, Will, detected in treasonable correspondence with the French, ii. 198 and note
Gregorian computation of time, i. 316
Gregory, Mr. (Major Touchhole), a train-band major, ii. 79 and note
Gresham College, i. 179 note; ii. 309; iv. 39 note
Grey, Zachary, his Hudibras, ii. 317 note
Griffin, the, iv. 153 note, 381
Grimaldi, Cavalier Nicolini, singer, i. 171 note; iii. 5 note and seq., 6 note, 150:
benefit for, iii. 129
Grimani, Cardinal, i. 75
Grimston, William, Lord Viscount, his Love in a Hollow Tree; or, The Lawyer's Fortune, i. 178 and note
Grissel, the patient, i. 42
Groaning Board, the, i. 360 and note; iv. 304 and note
Groans of Great Britain, by Defoe (?), iv. 335 note
Groggram, Jeffery, surrenders as one of the walking dead, ii. 381
Grounds and Occasion of the Contempt of the Clergy and Religion Inquired into, by Dr. John Eachard, ii. 143
Grub Street, i. 334, 335 and note; iv. 172, 176
Gruel, Miss, i. 89 note:
must not wear her hair in modern fashion, iv. 94
Guam, ii. 95 note
Guardeloop, M., I. B.'s tailor, i. 68 seq.
Guardian, The, quoted, i. 29 note, 84 note, 184 note, 201 note, 268 note, 279 note, 348 note; iii. 115 note, 395 note, 407 note; iv. 62 note
Gubbin, Sir Harry, in Steele's Tender Husband, iv. 32 note
Guicciardini, Francis, his History of Italy, iv. 342 and note
Guildhall, the, i. 325:
the lottery at, iii. 55 and note
Guinea, an elephant from, i. 170 and note
Guiscard, Marquis, i. 244 and note
Guiscard Abbé, his attack on Harley, i. 244 note
Gules, Hon. Thomas, his case against Peter Plumb, merchant, iv. 298 seq.
Gun of Wapping, iv. 85 note.
See Musket
Gunner, a, the term explained, ii. 269 seq.
Gunster, a, the term explained, ii. 269 seq., 272, 273
Gutter Lane, i. 334
Guy of Warwick, ii. 315; iii. 179 and note
Gyges and his ring of invisibility, iii. 131, 137; iv. 238 seq.
Habits and Cries of the City of London, by Lauron, i. 41 note
Hackney, ii. 244
Hæredipetes, i.e. usurers who rob minors, ii. 126 and note
Hague, the, letters from and referred to, i. 19, 20, 43, 44, 51, 72, 76, 79 note, 83 note, 88, 96, 97, 120, 129, 143, 155, 173, 183, 197, 198, 205, 206, 213, 229, 269, 276, 331, 354, 398, 399; ii. 96, 244; iii. 318
Hair, a fine lady entreated not to wear it natural, ii. 131
Hal, Prince, iii. 198 note
Hales, Mrs. (Chloe), her history, i. 38 note
Halifax, Lord, ii. 85 note:
an epigram by, iii. 192 note:
as Philander, i. 45 note, 117 note and seq.
Hall, Sergeant, of the Foot Guards, ii. 264 seq.; iv. 100 note
---- Mr., an auctioneer, i. 358
Hallet, James, ii. 179 note
Hamburg, i. 77, 204, 236
Hamilcar, father of Hannibal, iii. 392
Hamilton, Col. Fred., i. 52
---- Lord Archibald (Archibald), ii. 20 and note
---- William, Duke of, ii. 20 note
---- Lady Jane (Delamira), wife of Archibald, ii. 20 note and seq.
Hamlet on acting, i. 288:
quoted, with criticism, ii. 379 seq.:
a performance of, ii. 163 seq.:
referred to, i. 18, 188 note; ii. 138 note, 406; iv. 42, 378
Hamond, John, a letter from, iii. 60, 61
Hampstead as a health resort, ii. 61 and note:
a raffling-shop at, ii. 68
Hampton Court, iv. 251 note
Hand and Star, the, iii. 61 note
Hanmer, Sir T., his Correspondence, ii. 313 note; iv. 93 note
Hannibal in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 229:
a very pretty fellow in his day, ii. 62 note:
referred to, iii. 378 and note, 379 and note, 392
---- Sir (i.e. Sir James Baker), iii. 9 note and seq.
Hanno, iii. 378 and note, 379 and note
Hanover, Elector of, i. 43
---- i. 72, 105, 129
Happiness, a name claimed for herself by Pleasure, ii. 325:
to be found in a cottage, iii. 173:
true sources of, iv. 274 seq.
Harcourt, Mareschal, i. 51
Hard words not to be spoken in good company, ii. 65
Hark, Deborah, a waiting-maid, iii. 124
Harley, Robert, Earl of Oxford, stabbed by Guiscard, i. 245 note:
as Polypragmon (?), iii. 395 note, 396 note:
an elaborate ridicule of his ministry, iii. 406 note and seq.:
satirised as Powell, iv. 335 note:
referred to, i. 8 note; ii. 198 note; iv. 177 note
---- Thomas, cousin of Robert H., iv. 177 note
Harper, Robin, iv. 366 note
Harrack, Count, i. 95
Harris, Benjamin, compiler of almanacs, ii. 319 note
---- James, prize-fighter, i. 235 note
Harrison, William, his The Medicine, i. 23 seq.:
friend of Swift and Addison, i. 22 note:
he and Swift continue The Tatler, iii. 406 note
---- & Lane, Messrs., iii. 352 note
Hart, Charles, actor, ii. 334 and note:
a rule for actors, iii. 130
Harwich, iii. 128
Hastings, Lord, ii. 285
---- Lady Elizabeth (Aspasia), her life and character, i. 342 note and seq.:
"to love her is a liberal education," i. 395:
referred to, i. xxi, 265 note, 394; iii. 283 note
Hastings, Charles, her brother, i. 342 note
---- George, her brother, i. 343 note
---- Theophilus, her father, i. 342 note, 343
Haughty, Lady, her strange conduct, ii. 218, 219:
an explanation of the same, ii. 220, 221
---- Jack, his ways, ii. 117,118
"Haut Brion," iii. 95 note
Havre, ii. 107, 133, 199
Hawes, W., iv. 169 note
Hawkers forbidden to take more than 1d. for The Tatler, i. 12
Hawkins, Sir John, his History of Music, i. 311 note; ii. 275 note, 294 note, 372 note; iii. 192 note
Hawksly, Signior, keeper of a raffling-shop at Hampstead, ii. 68, 69
Haym, assisted to introduce Italian opera into England, iii. 276 note
Haymarket, the theatre at, built by Vanbrugh, i. 110 note:
referred to, i. 40, 358; ii. 90 note, 310, 334 note, 420; iii. 45, 233; iv. 335, 348
Hazzard, Will, iv. 177, 184
Heathcote (Avaro) of the City, i. 211 and note
Hebe (i.e. the Duchess of Bolton, or Miss Tempest), i. 355 note and seq.
Hebrews, the, ii. 318
Hector, i. 59, 256; ii. 129, 232; iii. 299
Hedington, near Oxford, scene of King's Joan of Hedington, i. 368 and note:
referred to, ii. 166
Heedless, Henry, Esq., indicted for assault, iv. 346 seq.
Heidegger, John James, director of opera-houses, i. 111 and note, 154; ii. 118
Heinsius, M., i. 97
---- Daniel, his edition of Virgil, iii. 235
Heirs, concerning, i. 132
Heister, Marshall, i. 71, 183, 236
Helchin, i. 155, 229
Helen, i. 117; iv. 249 note
Helen's Epistle to Paris (Ovid), translated by Mulgrave and Dryden, i. 117 and note
Hellebore, iii. 63 and note
Henin-Lietard, iii. 320
Henley, Anthony, i. 83 note, 99 note:
probable author of a letter on "Pretty Fellows," i. 215 note and seq.,
and of part of No. 193, iii. 406 note and seq.
Henry II., i. 103; ii. 72
---- IV., i. 83 note
---- VII., ii. 190
---- VIII., i. 84 note; ii. 190; iii. 127 and note; iv. 128
Henry IV., Shakespeare's, i. 125 note, 385; ii. 315; iii. 198 note
Henry V., Shakespeare's, iii. 128 note, 356
Henry VI., Shakespeare's, ii. 285
Henry VIII., Shakespeare's, i. 18, 345; iii. 198 note
Heralds' Office, the, i; 101, 105, 130, 162; ii. 40; iv. 254
Hercules, i. 256, 352; ii. 5, 129, 231, 293:
courted by Virtue and Pleasure, ii. 324 seq.
Heroic Plays, Of, by Dryden, i. 367 note
Heroic virtue possible to every one, iv. 47
Herod, i. 288; ii. 375
Hesiod, his Works and Days, ii. 326; iv. 58
Hesse, Prince of, ii. 107, 108
Hessen, M. Van, i. 204
Hewson, said to be real name of Partridge, ii. 320 note
Heyday, Jack, a sharper, ii. 52
Heylin, his Little Description of the Great World, iv. 289 note
Heywood, Mrs. Elizabeth, i. 55 note
---- Thomas, on marriage, quotation from, i. 398
Hibernians, the, great takers of snuff, i. 285
Hiddaspes, the opera, iv. 382
Hickathrift, John (usually called Thomas), ii. 316 and note
High Holborn, iv. 150 note
---- life, a short skit on, i. 131 seq.
Hill, Captain, i. 30 note
---- Sir Scipio (Africanus), i. 296 note and seq.
Hills, H., bookseller in Blackfriars, ii. 347 note
Hinchinbroke, Viscount (Cynthio), his character, i. 14, 15:
only true lover, i. 47 and note:
history of, i. 47 note:
his marriage, i. 286 note:
referred to, ii. 255 note
Hind and Panther, by Dryden, iv. 3 note
Hinksey, near Oxford, ii. 166
Hippocrates (? Sir Samuel Garth), ii. 153, 208, 209; iv. 122, 162
Historians to act as ushers in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 130
Historical Character, An, &c., being the Life of the Right Hon. Lady Elizabeth Hastings, by Thomas Barnard, i. 343 note
Historical and Biographical Essays, by Forster, ii. 315 note, 349 note, 423 note
History and poetry compared, ii. 392, 393
History of England in Eighteenth Century, by Lecky, iii. 112 note; iv. 294 note
History of Hannibal and Hanno, &c., by Arthur Maynwaring, iii. 379 note
History of his Own Time, by Bishop Burnet, ii. 294 note
History of Lilly's Life and Times, by himself, iv. 226 note
History of Robert Powell, by Thomas Burnet, iv. 335 note
History of the Civil War, by Clarendon, i. 87 note
History of the Life and Adventures of Mr. Duncan Campbell, &c., by Defoe, i. 126 note
Hive, Rebecca, iv. 372
Hoadly, Benjamin (Bishop of Winchester), advocate for episcopacy of the Church and liberty of the people, i. 5 and note:
controversy with Dr. Atterbury, i. 5 and note:
controversy with Dr. Blackall on Passive Obedience, i. 359 note and seq.; ii. 8 note and seq.:
probably wrote the letter in No. 50, ii. 9
---- Dr. John, son of the above, i. 361 note
Hochsted, Scene of Battle of Blenheim, i. 28, 266 note
Hockley-in-the-Hole, its Bear-garden, i. 234 note, 235 note, 255, 256
Hogarth, his Rake's Progress, i. 12 note, 247 note:
his picture of a theatre at Oxford, i. 366 note:
his picture of a cock-fight, iii. 112 note
Hogshead (or Tun) of Wapping, i. 200, 201 and note
Holborn, i. 335; iii. 119; iv. 44
---- Bars, iv. 152
Holland, i. 80 note, 89, 105, 106, 120, 151, 154, 174, 200, 205, 229, 269, 299, 354, 362; ii. 222; iii. 81, 101, 123, 246, 316, 318
Holt, Sir John (Verus), magistrate, i. 123 and note, 158 note
---- Lady, iv. 381
Homer compared to Virgil, i. 57 and note:
the action of the Iliad related in form of a journal, i. 58 seq.:
in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 228:
his "Works," by Barnes, iii. 159 note, 160 note:
on Immortality, iii. 199 seq.:
referred to, ii. 52, 70, 71, 230, 412, 424 note; iii. 159, 222, 223, 270; iv. 288:
Iliad, iii. 103, 104, 172, 175 seq.:
Odyssey, iii. 104
Honest Fellows, i. 368, 369
Honest Ned, i. 99 and note
Honey Lane Market, i. 235 note, 334
Honeycomb, Will, iv. 339 note
Honour, a false sense of, leads to duels, i. 6:
the temple of, iii. 49, 50:
a court of, iv. 271 seq., 281 seq., 283 seq., 293, 298 seq., 312, 315 seq., 331 seq., 364 seq., 371
Honour and titles, the historical origin of, iii. 298 seq.
Hood, Robin, ii. 232
Hoods, the fashion of, iv. 93 and note
Hooker, a model of style, iv. 180
Hopson, Charles, Esq., i. 334
Horace, a master of satire, iv. 235 seq.:
Ep. quoted, ii. 125, 241, 293, 333; iii. 21, 198 note, 273, 298, 308, 353; iv. 17, 44, 49, 110, 119, 128, 154, 189, 201, 242, 369:
Odes quoted, i. 93; ii. 94, 175, 212, 382; iii. 198, 293, 303, 311 and note, 362, 385, 400; iv. 139, 171, 196, 278, 287, 341:
Sat., ii. 366, 377, 394; iii. 32, 49, 61, 72, 87, 120, 140, 218, 264, 289, 312, 327; iv. 54, 123, 166, 228, 252, 274, 364:
Ars Poetica quoted, ii. 141, 153, 154, 359; iii. 160, 261, 279, 358, 405; iv. 219, 225, 365:
Ode to Pyrrha, iii. 309, 310:
referred to, i. 77; ii. 296 note; iii. 270, 309; iv. 220, 222 235
Horatio (i.e. Sidney Lord Godolphin), i. 45 and note
Horner, a character in Wycherley's Country Wife, i. 30
Horse Guards, the, i. 235 note; iv. 283, 377 note
Hotspur, iii. 281
Howard, the Hon. Edward, i. 178 and note
How'-d'-Call, Mr., i. 184
Howd'ee, Bridget, iv. 247
Howdees, ii. 396 and note
Hows, J., apothecary, iv. 153 note
Howth, the Hill of, iv. 207
Hoyden, Miss, in Vanbrugh's The Relapse, played by Mrs. Bignell, i. 29 note
Hudibras, ii. 317 note; iii. 100, 101 and note, 179 note; iv. 142, 289, 320, 324
Huet, Lord George, iii. 162 note
Hughes, Jabez (brother of John H.), his Miscellanies in Verse and Prose, i. 97 note:
verses by, i. 98 seq.:
as "Sam Trusty," iv. 351
---- John, his Correspondence, ii. 9 note; iii. 5 note:
letters from (?), ii. 125, 126, 197 seq.:
a letter from, as Will Trusty, ii. 175 seq.:
his edition of Spenser, iv. 7 note:
perhaps author of No. 113, ii. 416,
of No. 194, iv. 7,
under name Cælicola, iv. 90:
his Siege of Damascus, iv. 90 note:
referred to, i. 97 note; ii. 402 note; iii. 1; iv. 351 note
Human instinct a most important quality for success, i. 248
Human nature, its proper dignity, ii. 263, 390:
its three chief passions, iii. 32:
a vision of, iii. 33 seq., 49 seq.
Humdrum, Nicholas, iii. 210, 211
Hungarian twins, iii. 26 and note
Hungary, i. 51, 71, 95, 183, 204, 236
---- water, iii. 63 and note; iv. 354 and note
Hunger considered, iv. 60 seq.
Hunt, Leigh, his The Town, i. 136 note:
his Book for a Corner, iii. 75 note
Hunter, Col. Robert (Eboracensis), Governor of New York, ii. 146 and note:
(? Col. Ramble), i. 68 and note
Hunting, the folly of, iii. 289 seq.
Hunting Cock, The, iv. 372
Huntingdon, Earl of, father of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, i. 342 note, 343 note
"Husband, the Civil," ii. 27 seq.
Husbands, ill-natured, the barbarous cruelty of, iii. 184 seq.
Hyde, Lord, ii. 35 note
Hyde Park, fine equipages in, ii. 125:
referred to, i. 258 note; iii. 207
Hymn to the Supreme Being, by Galen, iii. 28
"I die," meaning of the phrase in love-letters, ii. 401
Iago, iv. 240 note
Ida, Mount, iii. 175, 177
Idleness a destructive distemper, ii. 323, 324:
the virtue of, ii. 412 seq.:
the hurry of, iii. 325, 326
Iliad of Homer, its actions told in form of a journal, i. 58 seq.
Immortality of the soul, iii. 199 seq.:
Homer on, iii. 199 seq.:
Virgil on, iii. 211 seq.:
Fénélon on, iii. 222 seq.
Impudence, to mankind what action is to orators, iii. 285:
its value, iii. 285 seq.
Impudent and absurd, the, much alike, iii. 285
Inamoratos not rakes, i. 225
Incense, the Rev. Ralph, iv. 374
Index Expurgatorius, suggested, iv. 179
India Company, the, ii. 4
Indian kings, an anecdote of, iii. 299 seq.
Indibilis, the lover of Scipio's fair captive, ii. 63, 64
Infallible Astrologer, The, iv. 169 note
Infidelity, the spread of, ii. 407 seq.
Infland, General, i. 183
Inglish, J., vendor of pills, iv. 150 note
Inner Temple Gate, iv. 131 note
Innocence, iii. 54
Inoff, Baron, i. 273
Inquiry into the Right Use and Abuses of Hot, Cold, and Temperate Baths in England, by Sir John Floyer, i. 33 note
Insipids, the Order of, iii. 274
Institutes of the Laws of England, by Justice Coke, iii. 107
Instructions to a Painter, by Waller, i. 34 and note
Instructions to Vanderbank, &c., by Blackmore, i. 32 and note
Intelligence, letters of, i. 7
"Inventory of the Playhouse," by Addison, i. 4
Iphimedia, iii. 202
Ipres, i. 174; ii. 34
Ireland, I. B.'s natural affection for, iv. 206:
referred to, i. 244 note; ii. 122 note
Irishtown, iv. 208 note
Iroquois chiefs, iii. 299 note
Isaac, a dancing-master, i. 279 note; ii. 394
Isaacstaff, i. 104
Isabella, in A Fatal Marriage, played by Mrs. Barry, i. 16 note
Isez-Esquerchien, iii. 317
Islington, ii. 289; iii. 8
Isobel, the, boat, of Kinghorn, iv. 382
Israel (Jacob), iv. 190 seq.
Issachar, iv. 301
Italy, letters from and references to, i. 49, 60, 72, 95, 110 note, 129; ii. 9:
serenades originate from, iv. 140
Ithuriel, his spear, iv. 211, 213:
needed by a lady, iv. 312, 313
Ivy Bridge, iii. 299 note
Ix, an older family than the Staffs, i. 290:
a catalogue of their members, i. 290
"Jack," nephew of I. B., i. 247 seq.
----, ii. 241
Jacks, Harry, ii. 92, 93
---- the, iv. 177
Jack's Coffee-house, iv. 369
Jacob's Coffee-house, iv. 149 note
Jacobstaft, an astronomer, i. 102, 104
---- Dorothy, his wife, i. 102
Jacques in As You Like It, i. 338, 339
Jaffier in Venice Preserved, iii. 105
Jamaica, i. 234 note; ii. 146 note; iv. 208 note
Jambee, a kind of cane, iii. 154 and note
James I., ii. 126 note; iv. 103, 104
---- II., i. 41 note, 188 note; iv. 150 note
Jansart, ii. 108, 109, 127
Janus of the age (i.e. Swift), i. 268
Jealousy, iii. 36
Jeffery, old Sir, iv. 77
Jennings, Admiral Sir John, ii. 19 and note
Jervas, Charles, portrait-painter, i. 39 and note, 64
Jessamine Hair Powder, ii. 20 and note
Jesting, an abuse of, iv. 366-368
Jesuits break down bashfulness in their disciples, iii. 287:
their statement that Christ was born in France and crucified in England, and that all nations were vassals to France, iii. 299 note:
referred to, iii. 274
Jesuits' Powder, iii. 40
Jesus College, Oxon., ii. 187
Jew of Venice, The, i. 256 note
Jingle, Will, coachman, his invention of a new chair, ii. 418, 419
Joan of Hedington, by Dr. William King, i. 368 note
Joannes de Peyrareda completed Virgil, ii. 281 note
Jocelyn, Colonel, iv. 376 note
John Gilpin, by Cowper, i. 232 note
Johnson, Mrs. (Stella), i. 107 note; iv. 93 note
---- Samuel, on Lady Elizabeth Hastings, i. 343 note:
on William Walsh, ii. 249 note:
his Poets, iv. 217 note
Jones, William, a young man born blind, ii. 41 seq., 42 note
Jonson, Ben, his masque The Fortunate Isles, i. 84 note:
his Alchemist, i. 125, 126:
his Bartholomew Fair, i. 280 and note:
his Every Man out of his Humour, i. 341:
his Volpone, or, The Fox, i. 177 seq.:
his Silent Woman, ii. 29 note; iii. 92:
his Leges Convivales, ii. 215 and note:
at the "Devil" Tavern, ii. 215:
referred to, i. 83 note, 84 note, 110
Joseph, Sir, in Congreve's Old Bachelor, ii. 62 note
---- of Holy Writ, the story of, iv. 190 seq.
Journal of a Modern Lady, by Swift, iv. 338 note
Journey through England, by Defoe, i. 387 note
Judicium Vocalium, by Lucian, iv. 339 and note
Julian computation, the, i. 316
Julius Cæsar, Shakespeare's, iii. 128
Juno, i. 57, 59; iii. 175 seq.
Jupiter, i. 58, 351; ii. 283, 412; iii. 172 seq., 175 seq., 204; iv. 221
Just and Reasonable Reprehension of Naked Breasts and Shoulders, translated by Ed. Cooke, iv. 109 note
Justice, a vision of, ii. 341 seq., 353 seq.:
her edicts, ii. 357
Juvenal, a master of satire, iv. 235 seq.:
Sat. quoted, i. 11; ii. 346; iii. 39, 55, 77, 81, 135, 170, 179, 255, 321, 395; iv. 73, 87, 215, 234, 310, 315, 336:
Dryden's translation of, ii. 424; iv. 146 note
Katherine in Taming of the Shrew, iv. 181 note
Kaye, Lady, a letter to, iii. 9 note, 10 note
Kensington, gravel-pits at, iii. 163 note: referred to, ii. 155; iv. 317
Kent, a yeoman of, on the folly of love matches, iii. 382, 383
Kidney, Mr., a waiter, i. 1, 13, 20, 93, 214; ii. 55, 149, 150; iii. 316; iv. 360 and note
Killigrew's company, ii. 334 note
Kind Keeper, The, by Dryden, i. 396 note
King, Dr., his Works, ii. 15 note:
his Anecdotes, i. 13 note:
his Joan of Hedington, i. 368 note:
his Voyage to the Island of Cajamai, iv. 208 note
---- the, actor, i. 301
---- picture-seller, iv. 379
---- Sir P., iv. 142 note
---- Street, iii. 299; iv. 329 note
---- Edward's Stairs, iv. 154 note
King's Bench Walk, i. 161
---- at Arms, i. 130
---- Company, theatrical, ii. 163 note
---- Head Stairs, i. 42
---- Head Court, i. 334, 335
Kingston, Duke of, ii. 1 note
Kirleus, Dr. Thomas, the unborn doctor, i. 126 and note, 127 note, 169 note, 337, 338; iv. 159, 226
---- Susannah, his widow, i. 126 note
Kirleus, John, his son, i. 126 note
---- Mary, widow of John, i. 126 note
Kit, Isabella, iii. 248, 288
Kit Cat Club, Arthur Maynwaring admitted to, i. 7 note:
founded by Tonson, i. 92 note:
a dedication to, i. 266 note:
toasts at, i. 203 note; iii. 76 note
Kite, Sergeant, in Farquhar's Recruiting Officer, played by Estcourt, i. 169 note
Kneller, Sir Godfrey, portrait-painter, ii. 370 note
Knight-errant, story of an, iii. 18, 19
Knight-errantry, the ideal of, survives in duelling, i. 239
---- of the Peak, iii. 9 note
Knights in romance, the Tatler compared to, in his crusade against gamblers and duellists, i. 5
Knightsbridge, iv. 317
Knocking at doors, the art of, ii. 376
Knowledge, men of, allowed to look in the "Mirror of Truth," ii. 344
Konsbruch, Van, i. 61
La Bassée, i. 269, 399
La Bruyère, i. 84
La Hogue, i. 45 note; iii. 84 note
Labyrinth of Coquettes, the, iii. 34
Lacker, Harry, to become a dancing-master, ii. 124
Lad Lane, i. 334
Ladies, letters from, will be inserted, i. 106 note:
who love their dogs better than men, i. 331:
the design of two ladies to cement their friendship by marrying the same man, ii. 147 seq.
Ladies' Library, by Steele, i. 266 note
Læelius, Sapiens, his friendship for Scipio, ii. 412 and note:
authority on rural life, iii. 292
Lais, victim to the tyranny of false sense of honour, i. 392, 393
Lake, Mr., i. 124 note
"Lake of Love," i.e. Rosamond's Pond, ii. 79 note
Lalage, iii. 311
Lalo, Colonel, ii. 109
Lamoignon, M. Chrestien de, ii. 54
Lampoons, strange delight to mankind, ii. 294:
their authors condemned, ii. 295, 296
Landbadernawz (i.e. ? Llanbadarn Vawr), i. 254 and note
Landlord, Alexander, his wooing, ii. 181, 182
Land's End, ii. 236 note:
a journey to, iii. 400 seq.
Lane & Harrison, Messrs., iii. 352 note
Langbaine, Giles, i. 346 note
Langham, Dr., an astrologer, his prices, iii. 313
Languages, Swift on the abuse of, iv. 175 seq.:
reply to, iv. 194 seq.
"Langteraloo," iv. 249 and note
Lanistræ, the people chiefly employed in the Roman Bear-garden, i. 257
Lansdowne, Lord, his Epilogue to the Jew of Venice, i. 256 note
Laplanders, a custom of theirs in dwelling, i. 255
Lately, Sarah, her humble petition, iii. 287
Latinus, King, iii. 167
Latius, ii. 293
Laughter, some considerations on, ii. 101 seq.
Laura, the wife of Duumvir, ii. 36 seq.
Lauron, his Habits and Cries of the City of London, i. 41 note
Lavender, an advertisement of, iv. 152
Lavinia, her marriage with Æneas, ii. 281 note
---- reduced to despair, iii. 170
Law, a point of, iii. 393
Law Courts, the New, iii. 99 note
Lawrence's Toy Shop, iv. 153 note, 381
Lawyer, a, consulted on duelling, i. 254, 255
Lawyer's Fortune; or, Love in a Hollow Tree, by Viscount Grimston, i. 178 and note
Lawyers, resort to the Grecian, i. 13 note
Le Brun, Charles, some account of, i. 74 and note, 75
Leadenhall Street, ii. 377 note
Leake, Sir John, i. 362
Lear, Winifred, in a Breach of Promise, iv. 334, 335
Learned Annotations on "The Tatler," iv. 154 and note
Learning, from the Grecian, i. 13:
I. B.'s left to the Royal Society, i. 67 and note:
only improves our natural endowments, ii. 67:
the cause of, betrayed by pirates, ii. 349
Lecky, his History of England in the Eighteenth Century, iii. 112 note; iv. 294 note
"Led friend, a," iv. 73 seq., 74 note
Ledger, Lemuel, a citizen, ii. 208
Lee, Nathaniel, his Alexander the Great, i. 17 note, 139:
his verses on Dryden, i. 56 note:
referred to, ii. 334 note
Leeds, i. 343 note; iii. 112 note
Leeward Islands, iii. 221
Leges Convivales, by Ben Jonson, ii. 215 and note
Leghorn, i. 50, 61, 72, 182
Leicester, Robert, Earl of, ii. 87 note
Lely, Sir Peter, iv. 109 note
Lemon Street, iv. 150 note
Lens, i. 197, 205, 229, 269, 299, 332, 399; iii. 317, 320 333
Lerida, i. 73; iv. 85, 87
Lesbia, i. 46
---- of Catullus, i. 387
Lethe, ii. 104, 211; iii. 217
Letter of intelligence, the form adopted by the Tatler, i. 7
Letter to I. B., A, by Lord Cowper, iii. 2 note
Letter to the Examiner, by Bolingbroke, iii. 2 note
Letter to the Rev. Dr. Henry Sacheverell, by I. B., iii. 140 note
Letter writing, the civilities of, ii. 210, 211
Letters, the study of, commended, iii. 142, 143
Letters describing the Character and Customs of the English and French Nations, by Murault, iii. 112 note
Letters of gallantry, i. 251 seq.
---- men of, become men of business, iv. 4, 5
Letters Moral and Entertaining, by Mrs. Singer, i. 93 note
Letters sent to "The Tatler" and "Spectator." See Original Letters, &c.
Levis, of a mercurial disposition, iv. 254 seq.
Levity, iii. 36
Lewenhaupt, General, ii. 47 and note
Liar, said by South to be a coward to man and a brave to God, i. 6
Liberty, iii. 54: a vision of, iii. 251 seq.
Liberties, of the Tower, iii. 264:
of Westminster, iii. 283
Lichenstein, Prince of, i. 183
"Lie," the word, its use and abuse, iv. 302
Life, on the enjoyment of, ii. 98:
the true philosophy of, iii. 293 seq.
Life in the English Church, by Overton, iv. 293 note
Lightfoot, Nokes, to be a huntsman, ii. 124
Lights, great effect of, on temper, ii. 388
Lille, or Lisle, i. 19 note, 34, 73, 77, 174, 237, 299, 354; iii. 68 note, 317
Lillie, Charles, perfumer, on Snuff, i. 299 note:
printer of Original Letters to "Tatler" and "Spectator," i. 89 note, 136 note; ii. 314 note; iii. 113 note, 130 note, 264 note, 375 note; iv. 13 note, 366 note:
his British Perfumer, ii. 20 note; iv. 354 note:
I. B. not his partner, ii. 322, 323:
his assistance in dealing with coxcombs, ii. 359 seq., 399 seq.:
his desire to be exposed, ii. 298:
recommended, ii. 351, 352:
his perfumed lightning, iii. 129:
his Reports of "The Court of Honour," iv. 271, &c.:
referred to, iii. 71 note, 82, 133, 140, 152, 277; iv. 38, 101, 287, 303, 319, 345, 349, 372
Lilly, William, astrologer, his History of Lilly's Life and Times, iv. 266 and note, 249
Lilly's Head, i. 169 note
Limbard, his Mirror, iii. 99 note
Limberham, the kind keeper, i. 396 seq.
Lincoln's Inn Fields, i. 119; ii. 163 note, 334 note; iii. 410 and note
---- Walks, i. 115; iv. 66
---- Gardens, ii. 340
Lindamira, i. 86, 185
Linen must be clean at St. James's, i. 13
Linger, Harry, a man of expectations, iv. 19
Lintott, Bernard, bookseller, i. 52 note; iii. 249 and note; iv. 154 and note
Lions at the Tower, i. 247 and note
Lis, i. 198, 205
Lisbon, letters from, i. 106, 149, 253, 261; ii. 19, 187
Little Description of the Great World, by Heylin, iv. 289 note
Little Piazza, Covent Garden, i. 42 note
---- Britain, iv. 381
---- Turnstile, iv. 150 note
---- St. Bernard, ii. 48
Littleton, Coke on, iii. 107, 389
Liverpool, iv. 209
Livy, ii. 63 note; iii. 329
Llanbadern Vawr, i. 254 note
Lloyd, Edward, founder of Lloyd's Coffee-house, iv. 359 and note
Locke, John, his Essay Concerning Human Understanding, i. 328 and note:
referred to, i. 316; iv. 166
Lofty, Colonel, iv. 68
Lombard Street, iii. 323, 352 note; iv. 359 note, 381
Lombards, the, ii. 57, 84
London, i. 7 note, 12 note, 31 note, 362, 371, 392; ii. 12 note, 91, 150, 209, 236; iii. 92, 95, 110, 162, 257; iv. 95, 339 note
---- Bridge, a test of a man's fitness for travel, ii. 301
---- Daily Post, ii. 15 note
---- House, iii. 234 note
---- cries, i. 41 and note
---- Vocabulary, The, by Greenwood, iv. 196 note
---- Cuckolds, by Edward Ravenscroft, i. 73 and note
---- Gazette, i. 83 note, 157 note; ii. 260 note; iii. 112 note; iv. 154 note
---- Wall, i. 247 note
Long, Major, his wine vaults, iii. 178
Long Acre, iii. 345; iv. 380
Longinus, i. 148; ii. 70; iii. 105
Longstaff, i. 102, 103, 104
Longtail, Anthony, of Canterbury, i. 214 note
Long-tails, i. 103
Lord, Rev. Mr., curate, iv. 380
Lord Mayor's Day, i. 73 note
Lorio, beloved of Maria, ii. 287 seq.
Lorrain, Paul, the Ordinary of Newgate, ii. 102 and note
Lothbury, i. 334
Lottery, the Million, ii. 268 and note
---- scheme for getting ladies fortunes, iv. 38 seq., 48, 49 seq.:
the first state, iii. 55, 296 seq.:
I. B.'s help requested, iii. 59, 60:
the penny, iii. 58 and note:
referred to, iii. 77
Lottume, General, i. 362
Lotius, inconsistencies of his character, iv. 90
Lotus, the, iii. 177 and note
Louis, Duke of Bourbon, son of the Dauphin, iii. 194 note
Louis XIII., ii. 54
---- XIV., his character, i. 193 seq.:
a letter to, i. 194; iii. 394:
verses to, i. 206:
a letter from, i. 217:
referred to, i. 20 note, 54 note, 74 note, 165, 197, 219, 244 note, 246, 313, 322, 332, 372; ii. 166, 204, 322; iii. 23, 33 note; iv. 187
Love, its power over Cynthio, i. 14, 15 and note, 184 seq.:
now in disgrace, i. 46:
not blind but squinting, and a thief, i. 47, 48:
a story of rivalry in, i. 52 seq.:
resolutions always inspired by, i. 90 seq.:
its power illustrated by Dryden's All for Love, i. 93 and note:
craft in, natural to woman, i. 163:
safety in following the judgment of others, i. 187:
the tyranny of, i. 371 seq.:
compared to lust, i. 394 seq.:
the passion of, ii. 281 seq.:
a parable of, ii. 283 seq.:
grows in marriage, ii. 312 seq.:
a victim of unrequited, ii. 382 seq.:
disappointments in, iii. 368 seq.:
an allegory of, from Spenser, iv. 7-12:
the passion condemned in every aspect, iv. 15 seq.:
case of heroic love in the city, iv. 99 seq.
Love for Love, by Congreve, i. 15 and note, 16 note, 17 note, 29 note; ii. 163 note; iii. 38
Love in a Hollow Tree; or, The Lawyer's Fortune, by Viscount Grimston, i. 178 and note
Love in a Wood, by Wycherley, i. 311 note
Love's Last Shift, by Cibber, iii. 356
Lovely, Lady, iv. 71
Lovemore, a happy husband, iii. 193 seq.
Lover, The, Steele's, quoted, i. 192 note; ii. 255 note; iii. 161 note
Lovers, plain language recommended in place of usual perplexity and rapture, i. 287:
advice to, ii. 250 seq.:
difficulties in classing, iii. 257
Low Countries, the, i. 156, 205, 229, 299
Lucca, i. 50, 61, 72
Lucia, jealous of her mother, iv. 67
Lucian, his Judicium Vocalium, iv. 339 and note
Lucinda, the charming, iv. 352
Lucippe, admired of the fops, i. 395, seq.
Lucius, a play by Mrs. Manley, iv. 242 note
Lucretia, worthy of a place in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 246, 247:
her character, ii. 247:
the story of, iii. 19
Lucy, Mrs. (i.e. Mrs. Warren), i. 286 note
Ludgate Church, i. 168 note
---- Hill, iii. 72
---- Street, iv. 169 note
Lust compared to love, i. 394 seq.:
the Temple of, iii. 36
Luther, his Colloquies quoted, iv. 52 note
Luttrell, his Brief Relation, i. 38 note, 124 note, 325 note:
his Diary, ii. 5 note, 19 note
Luxemburg, Chevalier de, ii. 200
Lydia, beloved of one born blind, ii. 46
---- a finished coquette, iii. 66 seq.
---- on manners in church, iii. 144
---- the plains of, iv. 238, 239
Lydians, the, ii. 53
Lying Lover, Steele's, quoted, i. 219 note; ii. 145 note
Lyons, i. 35, 94, 154
Lysander, a faithful lover, ii. 40, 41
---- his happiness spoilt by flattery, iv. 105 seq.
Lysetta, iv. 142
Macbeth, i. 125 note, 346 note; ii. 140; iii. 282, 334 note; iv. 277
Macguire, Colonel Hugh, fourth husband and gaoler of Elizabeth Malyn, iv. 261 note
Machiavel, iii. 51; iv. 103
Mackinnon, his History of the Coldstream Guards, ii. 315 note
Mackworth, Sir Humphrey, wrongly taken for Coppersmith, ii. 84 and note
Macrinus, ii. 423
M'Swiney, Owen (King Oberon), translated Pyrrhus and Demetrius from Italian of Scarlatti, i. 40 note:
manager of Drury Lane and Haymarket, i. 110 and note; ii. 334 note
"Madam," used by town ladies, i. 89 note:
its use complained of, iii. 143
Madmen distinguished from fools, i. 328, 329:
proposals for dealing with them, iii. 61 seq.
Madonella (Mary Astell), founder of a nunnery for single women, i. 265 seq.:
and of a college for young damsels, ii. 103 seq.
Madonnas, the lodgings of, iii. 153
Madrid, i. 50, 51, 73, 106, 332; iv. 148, 158
Mæcenas, a second, iv. 4 note
Mævius, a vain author, ii. 291
----, iv. 235
Magdalen College, Oxford, iv. 204 note
Maggot, Major-General, cheesemonger, i. 232, 233
Mahon, Port, i. 50, 61, 72
Maids, beautiful, in the "Mirror of Truth," ii. 356 seq.
Maid's Tragedy, by Beaumont and Fletcher, iii. 279 note
Maintenon, Madame, an imaginary letter from, i. 164 seq.
Maittaire, Michael, his edition of Epistles to Ortuinus, &c., iv. 22 note:
his English Grammar, iv. 196 note
Makebate, Elizabeth, indicted for theft, iv. 315 seq.
Malacca, Straits of, iii. 154 note
Mall, the, i. 311 note; ii. 322; iii. 220, 246; iv. 185
Malplaquet, battle of, i. 19 note, 378 note; ii. 105, 106, 113, 149, 265
Malyn, Elizabeth, the unfortunate, iv. 261 and note
Man, every worthless man a dead man, ii. 317 seq.:
above all things, should respect himself, ii. 392:
desire for esteem, iv. 64 seq.
---- Mrs., vendor of pills, iv. 150 note
Manchester, first Earl of, iv. 3 note
Mandeville, Sir John, his Travels, iv. 288:
pretended additions to, iv. 288 seq.
Manilius (Lord Cowper), iii. 1 note
Mankind, the pleasurable and busy part to be noticed in Tatler, i. 7
Manley, Mrs. de la Rivière (Epicene and Sappho?), her New Atalantis, i. 55 note; iv. 172, 173 note, 242:
her Narrative of Guiscard's Examination, i. 245 note:
her Memoirs, &c., ii. 104 and note; iii. 330 note:
her apologies to Steele, iv. 242 note:
her Lucius, iv. 242 note:
referred to, i. 285 note
Manly, Mrs. Arabella, school-mistress at Hackney, on samplers, i. 41 and note
Manners, insisted on in the Tatler, i. 7:
societies for the reform of, i. 31 and note:
of the age influenced by the theatre, i. 111:
discussions on, i. 336 note
Mansion House, i. 153 note
Manufactures, suggested improvement in, i. 34
Mapheus Vegius continued the Æneid, ii. 281 and note
Margarita de l'Epine, Francesca, of Tuscany, a famous singer, iii. 191 and note
Margery, the milkmaid, on May Day, iii. 275 note
Maria (? Duchess of Montagu), sorrow for loss of her lap-dog, i. 386, 387:
her profession of love to I. B., ii. 240, 241:
I. B.'s answer, ii. 242, 243:
one of the "top toasts" of the town, ii. 286 seq.
Mariana, letter from, i. 330, 331
Marines, an honest lieutenant of the, ii. 216, 217
Marinus (? Lord Forbes), a naval officer of lively intelligence, ii. 83 and note
Mark, Sir, in dialogue on duelling, i. 318 seq.
---- Antony, i. 18
Marlborough, Duke of, his character, i. 54 and note:
and Prince Eugène compared to Cæsar and Alexander, i. 62, 63
Referred to, i. 19 note 20, 44 51, 62, 72, 80 note, 88, 89, 91 note, 97, 106, 120, 143, 151, 155, 166, 183, 198, 205, 213, 214, 229, 236, 269, 290, 299, 305 note, 353, 379, 399; ii. 48, 49, 96, 106 note, 107, 108, 109, 110, 113 note, 126, 127, 133; iii. 1 note, 6 note, 89, 129, 162 note, 316, 320, 378 note; iv. 271
Marlborough, Duchess of, ii. 178 note; iii. 2 note, 6 note
Marow, Lady, a letter from, iii. 9, 10 note
Marriage, married persons to be avoided, i. 69:
a miserable, i. 68:
verses on, by Heywood, i. 398:
happiness of, is in our own hands, ii. 212:
beware of small provocations in, ii. 213; iii. 402, 403, 404:
the duties of, ii. 251 and seq.:
its blessings and its distresses, iii. 189 seq.:
not a fit subject for ridicule, iii. 238 seq.:
the proper conduct of, iii. 304 seq.:
old customs in, iii. 362 seq.:
indifference, happiness, or misery in, iii. 382, 383 seq.
Mars, i. 42, 59, 232, 351, 352; iv. 321
Mars Triumphant; or, London's Glory, ii. 79, 80
Marseilles, i. 60, 182
Marshalsea, the, ii. 315 note
Marston Moor, iii. 99
Marten, Mr. John, i. 215 and note
Martial, an epigram of, ii. 169:
the death of, iii. 329:
quoted, iii. 44, 86, 92; iv. 163, 320
Martio (i.e. Earl of Oxford), i. 45 and note
Martius, a brisk entertaining fool, ii. 65-67
---- (? Cornelius Wood), a brave invalid, iii. 324, 325
Marvell, Andrew, his Satires, i. 153 note
Mary, Queen (and William), i. 188 note
---- (or Miss Molly), her attentions to I. B., ii. 289 seq.:
recommended to I. B., ii. 311:
a fine, but scornful woman, iv. 201
Marylebone, a house in, described, i. 154:
referred to, i. 234 note; iv. 54 note
---- Gardens, iv. 54 and note
Massey, his Origin and Progress of Letters, iii. 133 note; iv. 329 note
Massy, Dame Claude de, ii. 54
Match, a, expected, but will not come off, i. 69 seq.:
made for the sake of estates, iv. 31 seq.
Matchlock, Major, of the Club, iii. 99
Mather, Charles (Charles Bubbleboy), a toyman, i. 228 note; ii. 418:
some account of his stock in trade, iii. 152 seq.
Matrimony, a letter on, i. 330, 331
Maubeuge, i. 174; ii. 109
Maud, the milkmaid, who spoilt the blood but mended the constitutions of the Bickerstaffs, ii. 191; iii. 266
Maudlin, ancestress of the Greenhats and left-hand wife of Nehemiah Bickerstaff, ii. 72
Maurice, Edward, of Nassau, iv. 86, 87
Maximilian, Prince of Lichenstein, i. 95
Mayfair abolished, i. 41 and note:
its history, i. 41 note:
referred to, i. 169, 170, 228 note; ii. 416
Maynwaring, Arthur, vol. i. dedicated to, i. 7:
his descent and life, i. 7 note:
his contempt for fame, i. 8:
his Life and Posthumous Works, published by Oldmixon in 1715, i. 8 note:
his History of Hannibal and Hanno, &c., collected from the best authors, iii. 379 note:
a letter from (?), iii. 407 note, 408 seq.
"Maypole," the, iv. 150 note
Mazeppa, General, i. 213
Medals, Addison on, i. 152 and note
Meddle, Mrs., a confidante, i. 48
Medical science, a discovery in, i. 384
Medicine, The, poem by Harrison, i. 23 seq.
Medley, The, paper set up by Maynwaring in opposition to the Examiner, i. 7 note; ii. 372 note
Medlicot, Mr., i. 124 note
Melantius, in The Maid's Tragedy, played by Betterton, iii. 279 note
Mellos, Count de, i. 94
Memoirs of Gamesters, by Egerton, ii. 14 note; iii. 100 note
Memoirs of British Learned Ladies, iii. 274 note
Memoirs from the Mediterranean, by Mrs. Manley, ii. 104
Memoirs of Europe towards the close of the Eighth Century, by Mrs. Manley, ii. 104 note, 330 note
Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair, by Henry Morley, ii. 313
Memoirs of what passed in Christendom from 1672 to 1679, by Temple, ii. 351 note
Memoirs of the Life and Adventures of Signor Rozelli, i. 83 note
Memoirs of the Wars of the Cevennes, by Cavallier, i. 244 note
Men, would rather be in pain and appear happy, than happy and thought miserable, ii. 99
Menelaus, i. 59
Menmius on the passion of love, ii. 282 seq.
Menzikoff, Prince, ii. 47 and note; iii. 85 note, 221
Mercer, a young, so spruce he fears he shall never be genteel, ii. 122 seq.
Mercers' Company, iii. 133 note
Mercett, Tom (i.e. Thomas Tickell), a professed wit, iv. 123 note, 124 seq.
Merchant, the, nephew of I. B., iv. 70 seq., 99 seq.
Merchant Taylors' School, i. 152
Merci, Count de, i. 129, 144; ii. 73
Mercure Galant, ii. 134 and note; iii. 336
Mercure Scandale, i. xi
Mercury, God of thieves, ii. 53, 281; iii. 51, 223:
his endeavours to teach Cupid, iv. 322
Meriden, Mr., a sword cutler, ii. 156 note
Merlinus Liberatus, Partridge's Almanac, ii. 319 note, 320 note; iv. 153 note
Merlinus Redivivus, ii. 320 note
Merry Christ Church Bells, by Dr. Aldrich, i. 281 and note
"Merry Fellows" the saddest fellows in the world, i. 371:
described, i. 368, 369, 370; ii. 166
Merry Wives of Windsor quoted, ii. 264 note
Mesgrigny, M. de, i. 399
Messalina, professed mistress of mankind, i. 397
"Mettled fellow, a," ii. 321
Meursius, iii. 376
Meyerfeldt, General, ii. 135 note
Microscopes, the wonders of, iii. 28 seq.
Middle age devoted to ambition, iii. 32
Middle Temple, i. 161; iii. 192 note
---- Gateway, ii. 260 note
Middlesex, bribery in, ii. 19 note:
referred to, ii. 91
Midgley, John, ii. 179 note
Midriffe, Rebecca, a letter from, iv. 108, 109
Milan, i. 35, 76, 182; iv. 85
Mildenheim, Prince of, title given to the Duke of Marlborough after battle of Blenheim, i. 54 note
Mile End, iv. 44
Milk Street, iv. 370
Millamant, played by Mrs. Bracegirdle, i. 17 note
Miller's Herbal, iv. 353 note
Mills, John, the actor, his salary, ii. 164 note; iv. 42 and note
Milo, ii. 152
Milton, his Paradise Lost compared to Dryden's State of Innocence and Fall of Man, i. 55, 56:
on love, i. 329, 330:
Paradise Lost quoted, ii. 7 and note; iii. 103 note, 188, 189; iv. 116, 117, 119, 210 note and seq., 140, 141, 340, 341:
quoted at a wedding, ii. 216:
Comus quoted, ii. 332, 333:
referred to, i. 263 and note; iv. 166
Milton Street, formerly Grubb Street, i. 335 note
Minas, Marquis des, i. 261
"Miner, the," defined, ii. 271
Minerva, i. 59; ii. 294
Mint, the, i. 229
Minucio, a small philosopher, iii. 301
Mirandola, Duchess of, iii. 221
Mirrour, Tom (i.e. Estcourt), comic actor, ii. 15 seq.
Mirtillo, a learned "ogler," iii. 167 seq.
Miscellanies in Verse and Prose, by Jabez Hughes, i. 97 and note
Miscellany Poems, ed. by Dryden, i. 92 and note, 112, 380 note
"Miss," title confined to young girls under twenty-one, or "giddy women," i. 89 note
Mision, his Travels in England, iii. 275 note
Mitre Tavern, i. 188 note
Modely, Tom, on the fashions, iii. 273 seq.
Moderator, The, iii. 378 note; iv. 187
Modern Poets, projected by D'Urfey, i. 100
Modern Prophets, by D'Urfey, i. 18 note, 42 note, 100 and note
Modesty not pretended to by Tatler, i. 4:
a conversation on, ii. 23 seq., 261 seq.:
in a man should be as a shade in a picture, ii. 24:
a modest fellow and a modest man, ii. 26, 27:
becomes a woman, ii. 246:
true and false, iv. 114, 115
Modish, Lady Betty, character in Cibber's Careless Husband drawn for and acted by Mrs. Oldfield, i. 90 and note, 91 note; iii. 357 note; iv. 94 note
---- Cornet, an anecdote of, i. 320 seq.
Mohocks, the, i. 327 note:
the Emperor of, iii. 299 note, 300, 301
Mohun, Michael, actor, a notice of, ii. 334 and note
---- Lord, i. 30 note
Molière, his L'Avare, ii. 126 note:
referred to, iv. 162
Molly, Miss. See Mary
Monceaux, Peter de, ii. 54
Monck, General, ii. 267 and note
Monimia, in The Orphan, played by Mrs. Barry, i. 16 note
Monmouth, Duke of, iii. 100 note; iv. 372 note
Monoculus (i.e. Sir Humphrey Monoux), a sharper, i. 298 and note; ii. 51, 206:
letters to and from, ii. 173-175
Monoux, Sir Humphrey. See Monoculus
Mons, i. 4, 19 note, 144, 174, 184, 269, 291; ii. 97, 106, 107, 133, 134, 199, 222, 232, 244, 266 note
Monstrosities noticed, iv. 159 seq.
Montagu, Edward Wortley, Esq., second volume Tatler dedicated to, ii. 1 and note, 2 note:
supplied material for No. 223, iv. 142 note
Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, letters of, ii. 2 note:
referred to, i. 38 note; ii. 1 note
---- Edward, first Earl of Sandwich, ii. 1 note
---- Edward W., junior, ii. 1 note
---- Mary, ii. 1 note
---- Duke of, i. 47 note
---- Duchess of (? Maria), i. 386 and note
Montague, Charles, a second Mæcenas, vol. iv. dedicated to, iv. 3 and note, 4 note:
referred to, i. vii
---- Mr. Chancellor, i. 124 note
Montague House, i. 258: fields behind it a favourite place for duelling, iv. 349
Montaigne quoted, ii. 239; iv. 320
Montandre, Marquis de, iii. 76 note
Monthly Chronicle, iv. 195 note
Monthly Miscellany; or, Gentleman's Journal, ii. 134 and note
Montpellier, iii. 63; iv. 204 note
Monument, the, i. 233
Moore, T., apothecary, iv. 152 note, 382
Moorfields, French prophets in, i. 100 note:
plans for a college at, i. 247 note; iii. 64, 73 seq., 134, 149, 258, 313 seq., 318 seq., 336:
candidates for, iii. 313 seq.
Moorgate, i. 334
Mopsa, a young country wench, iii. 58, 77, 78, 79
---- in despair at neglect at a masquerade, iii. 171
Mopstaff, Humphrey, Bachelor of Queen's College, Oxon., i. 153
----, i. 102, 104
Morality, life without its rules is a wayward, uneasy being, i. 398
More, Sir Thomas, ii. 223 note
---- Henry, the Platonist, his Conjectura Cabalistica, i. 262 and note
---- Mr., writing-master, iv. 329 and note
Morforio, iii. 87, 91
Morley, Professor Henry, his Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair, ii. 313 note:
his Life of Girolamo Cardano, iv. 103 note
---- John, on Guicciardini, iv. 342 note
Morning, Swift's lines on, i. 111.
See Description of the Morning
---- gowns, iv. 149 and note
Morocco, ambassador of, iii. 38 and note
Morphew, John, printer of the Tatler, referred to, i. 64 and note, 106 note, 218, 222 note, 261, 299 note; ii. 129, 167, 207, 222, 248, 360, 365; iii. 57, 71 note, 77, 133, 249, 255, 277, 336, 346, 374; iv. 13, 14, 38, 128, 186, 233, 380
Morris' Coffee-house, i. 161
Mortagne, i. 290, 299
Mortar, Hon. Colonel, ii. 88
Mortlake, ii. 320 note
Motteux, Peter Anthony, dramatist, ii. 377 note and seq.:
published Gentleman's Journal, ii. 134 and note
"Mount of Restitution," the, ii. 343, 353 seq.
Mountford, the actor, i. 30 note
----, Mrs, i. 30 note
Mourning, the æsthetic advantages of, iii. 194 seq.
Moving pictures, iii. 82 and note, 83 and note, 283
Mr. Pope's Welcome from Greece, by Gay, i. 380 note
"Mrs.," title used for country gentlewomen, i. 89 note
Muffen, Mr., keeper of a china shop, i. 83 note
Mulgrave, Earl of, i. 117 note
Mum, a bottle of, ii. 261; iii. 23 and note
Mundon, Admiral, i. 280 note
Muralt, his Letters describing the Character and Customs of English and French Nations, iii. 112 note
Musæus, ii. 232; iii. 216
Muscovites, i. 72, 236; ii. 67; iii. 220, 246
---- Czar of, iii. 221; iv. 153 note, 186, 227
Museum Tradescantianum, a collection of rarities preserved at South Lambeth, near London, by John Tradescant, i. 282 note
Muses' Mercury, i. x
"Musical Instruments," by Addison, i. 4:
male characters illustrated by, iii. 206 seq., 258:
female characters illustrated by, iii. 228 seq., 248
Musket (or Pistol) of Wapping, i. 200, 201 and note
Musty, a kind of snuff, i. 229; ii. 214, 352
Myrmidons, the, of Homer, ii. 52, 74, 81, 117
Nab, Ralph, haberdasher, humble petition of, iv. 371
Naboharzon, King of Babylon, iii. 223
Naked Boy, the, iv. 148 note
Naked Truth, The, by Colonel Crowther (?), sarcasms on, i. 146 note and seq., 178 seq.
Nakedness, an affectation of, iv. 109 seq.
Namur, i. 52, 174
Nando's Coffee-house, i. 228 note; iii. 152, 348
Naples, i. 50, 75, 94, 213; iii. 86; iv. 321
Narrative of Guiscard's Examination, by Mrs. Manley, i. 245 note
Nassau, Prince of, i. 105, 290; ii. 149
Nations led to revolution by extraordinary genius, not by general bent of feeling, i. 54
Naturalisation, act of, i. 84 and note, 121 note, 162
Naunton, Sir Robert, iv. 180
Nayler, James, the Quaker, a place claimed for him in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 207 and note
Nectar and ambrosia, iv. 153 and note
Nero, Life of, by Suetonius, i. 257 and note:
referred to, ii. 167, 168
Nestor, i. 59, 60:
the talk of, iii. 103
---- (Sir Christopher Wren), ii. 24 and note, 25 and note
Neuhausel, i. 183, 236
Neverout, Mr., ii. 6 note
New Atalantis, by Mrs. Manley, whom see
Newcomb, Ellin, iv. 381
Newgate, iii. 306 note
---- Market, i. 235 note; iv. 304 note
---- Street, ii. 97
Newington, ii. 41, 42 note
---- Green, ii. 156 note
Newman, Richard, indicted for the use of the word "perhaps," iv. 302
Newmarket, ii. 181 note
News from Parnassus, by Boccalini, iv. 341, 342 note
News, foreign and domestic, from St. James's Coffee-house, i. 13:
the news in the Tatler is for most part only of slight interest, i. 19 note:
Tatler will supply such news as has escaped public notice, i. 52:
to be given up in the Tatler, i. 182 note
"News-writers, the Distress of," by Addison, i. 4, 156 seq.:
helped by a knowledge of astrology, i. 28:
shifts they are reduced to, i. 347:
excluded from the Chamber of Fame, ii. 187
Newspapers as pernicious to people of England as books of chivalry to those of Spain, iii. 335 seq.
Newton, Sir Isaac, his philosophy, i. 350 note:
referred to, iv. 121
Nice, Will, a fop, i. 128
Nicholas, Master, barber in Don Quixote, i. 282 and note
Nichols, his Select Collection of Poems, i. 47 note, 203 note:
quoted, i. 126 note, 146 note, 201 note, 245 note, 265 note, 283 note, 291 note, 305 note, 310 note, 343 note, 350 note; ii. 3 note, 5 note, 19 note, 25 note, 43 note, 102 note, 187 note, 199 note, 201 note, 223 note, 264 note, 272 note, 317 note, 410 note; iii. 21 note, 26 note, 58 note, 76 note, 84 note, 85 note, 87 note, 100 note, 163 note, 192 note, 278 note, 343 note, 390 note; iv. 123 note, 138 note, 201 note, 210 note, 376 note
"Nickers," their habits, ii. 204
Nicknack, Jeffry, a letter from, i. 228
Nicolini, Cavalier Grimaldi, his benefit-night delayed at request of ladies of quality, iii. 150:
referred to, i. 171 note; iii. 5 note and seq., 6 note, 129
"Night-cap wig," i. 216 and note
Night-cap presented to I. B., iii. 130, 148, 149
"No," the difficulty of saying, ii. 243
No Duke, by Nahum Tate, iii. 409
Noah's Flood, in puppet-show, i. 140 note
Noailles, Duke of, i. 95
Nobilis, his unsuccessful attempts to be a rake, i. 224, 225
Noble Street, i. 334
"Nock," iv. 320 and note
Nocturnus, the keeper of Messalina, i. 397
Nonsense the prevailing part of eloquence, ii. 77
Norfolk Street, i. 161
Norris, John, the divine, his Theory and Regulation of Love, i. 262 and note, 263 note
---- Admiral Sir John, i. 205 and note
North Briton, Mr., or Mr. William Scott, iv. 310, 311
Norton, Richard (? the gentleman of Hampshire), the author of Pausanias, i. 358 and note
Norwich crape, ii. 195 note
Noses, a paper on, iv. 320 seq.
Notch, Sir Jeffrey, a foreman of the Club, iii. 99
Nottingham, Daniel, Earl of, called Don Diego Dismallo, i. 184 and note; iii. 192 note
Nova Zembla, iv. 289, 314
Novel, a coxcomb, in the Plain Dealer, i. 243 and note
"Novelists," iii. 327, 332 note
Nowhere, Lord, a coxcomb, i. 310
Noye, William, his strange will, i. 87 and note
---- Edward, i. 87 note
Numps, i. 82
Oberon, Platonne's footman, i. 263
---- King (i.e. Owen M'Swiney), i. 110 and note
Observator, The, iii. 377 note
Oceanus, iii. 176
Ogle, Jack, iii. 100 and note
Ogling, the art of, i. 86; iii. 166 seq.
Oh Nee Zeath Ton No Prow, Iroquois chief of the River Sachen and the Ganajohhom Sachen, iii. 299 note, 301
Old age, the follies of, i. 376; iv. 350 seq.:
devoted to avarice, iii. 32
Old Bachelor, The, by Congreve, i. 81 and note; ii. 62 note
Old Bailey, The, ii. 4 note, 244 seq.; iii. 42
Old Devil, the, ii. 299
Old Fox Inn, the, iv. 317
Old Man's Coffee-house, iv. 150 note
Old Mode, The, and the New; or, Country Miss with her Furbelow, by D'Urfey, iii. 196 note
Old Southampton Buildings, iv. 150 note
Oldfield, Mrs., contention with Mrs. Bracegirdle, i. 17 note:
as Lady Betty Modish, i. 90, 91 note; iii. 357 note; iv. 94 note:
her salary, ii. 164 note:
executress to Arthur Maynwaring, i. 7 and 8 note:
not as Flavia, iv. 94 note
Oldfox, Major, in The Plain Dealer, i. 243 and note
Oldham, his Satire addressed to a friend that is about to leave the University, iv. 296, 297:
his translation of Horace, iv. 364
Oldmixon, published Maynwaring's Life and Posthumous Works in 1715, i. 8 note:
(? the unborn poet), ii. 97 and note
Oldys, i. 346 note
"Olive Tree and Still," iv. 149 note
Olivenza, i. 253, 261, 332; ii. 19
Oliver (Cromwell), his porter, ii. 14 and note; iii. 65
Oliver, William, M.D., F.R.S., his Dissertation on Bath Waters, i. 133 note
"Ombre," a game of cards, ii. 29 and note
Omicron (? John Oldmixon), the unborn poet, ii. 97 note, 161
"One Bell" Inn, the, iii. 158
Open-breasted waistcoats, a fashion, ii. 314 note; iii. 197
Opera, the, discouraged by supporters of the theatres, i. 40 seq.:
Addison and Dennis on, i. 40 note:
one in which hero sang Italian and the heroine English, i. 171 note:
given up to acrobats, ii. 388 seq.; iii. 5
Orange, Prince of, i. 174; ii. 105, 133; iii. 162 note
Oranienburg, i. 72; iv. 57
Oraison, M. d'André, Marquis d', ii. 54
Oratory, the art of, ii. 155: graceful, iii. 373
Orestea, the friend of Piledea, ii. 148
Origin and Progress of Letters, by Massey, iii. 133 note; iv. 329 note
Original Letters to the "Tatler" and "Spectator," i. 89 note, 136 note; ii. 314 note; iii. 113 note, 130 note, 264 note, 375 note; iv. 13 note, 366 note
Orkney, Lord, i. 290, 291; ii. 109
Orlando the Fair (i.e. Beau Feilding), ii. 3 note and seq., 4, 13 seq.
Ormond, James Butler, Duke of, supposed original of Lord Timon, i. 84 note:
as Duumvir, ii. 35 note and seq.:
referred to, iii. 163 note, 299 note
Orontes, a letter from, iii. 375 note
Orphan, The, Monimia in, played by Mrs. Barry, i. 16 note:
the Page in, played by Mrs. Bracegirdle, i. 17 note
Orrery, Roger Boyle, Earl of, i. 145 and note
Ortuinus Gratius, a doctor of divinity, iv. 21 note
Osborne, Th., Duke of Leeds (? Downes), iii. 407 note and seq.
---- Miss (? Flavia), afterwards wife of Bishop Atterbury, iv. 94 and note, 222 note
Oscitation, very different from laughter, ii. 102
Osmyn, a civil husband, ii. 27 seq.
Ostend, i. 244; ii. 105
Osyris, correspondent from Scotland, iii. 165
Othello, his handkerchief, i. 345:
referred to, ii. 344 note, 375; iii. 281, 380, 383, 384; iv. 42
Otway, his Venice Preserved, iii. 105
Oudenarde, i. 19, 34, 378 note
Overdo, Mr. Justice, in Bartholomew Fair, i. 280 and note
---- Mrs. Arabella, her low dresses, iv. 109, 110
Overton, Mr., his Life in the English Church, iv. 293 note
---- Mr., picture seller, iv. 379
Ovid, Met. quoted, i. 359; ii. 388; iii. 238, 375, 367; iv. 147, 210, 219, 224, 290, 291:
Ep. quoted, i. 117 and note; iv. 206:
Rem. Am. quoted, iii. 12, 189; iv. 25, 181:
Amor. El., iv. 324:
Ars Am., iii. 175:
referred to, i. 77; iii. 19, 310
Oxenstern, Count of, ii. 109
Oxford, helps a man to find his level, i. 249:
superior way of reckoning time at, i. 315, 316:
home of virtue and knowledge, i. 314 seq.:
almanac of, i. 315 seq., 351:
supports Powell or Dr. Blackall, i. 365 and note:
Terræ-Filius; or, The Secret History of, i. 366 note:
Hogarth's "Theatre at," i. 366 note:
a letter from, ii. 165:
bad manners at, ii. 165, 166:
an Oxford scholar, ii. 363:
a habit at, iv. 24:
referred to, i. 7 note, 210, 281 note, 282 note; ii. 171 note, 187, 269; iii. 357; iv. 130, 204 note, 237, 324
Oxford, Earl of (Martio), i. 45, 305 note
Packington, Sir John, i. 325 note
Pacolet, Mr., I. B.'s "familiar," his history, i. 131 seq.:
referred to, i. 115, 116, 122, 135, 186, 219, 220, 221, 222, 235, 327, 355, 357, 375, 387; ii. 16, 107, 157, 176, 206, 225 seq.; iii. 283
Pætus and Arria, two notable lovers, ii. 167 seq.
Page, the, I. B.'s nephew, iv. 70 seq.
Paget, Colonel, iv. 376 note
Painter, Advice to a, by Waller, i. 34 and note
Painter, Directions to a, by Denham, i. 34 and note
Painter, Instructions to a, by Waller, i. 34 and note
Palace Yard, iii. 127
Palamede of the Temple, lover of Cælia, iv. 26 seq.
Palatinates, i. 43, 337; ii. 19, 146 note, 410; iii. 57
Palatine, Elector of, i. 183
Palestris, a victim of the spleen, iv. 263
Pall Mall, i. 14, 82, 92; ii. 91 note, 111, 210
Pallas, i. 336, 352
Pall-bearers chosen for I. B.'s funeral, i. 66, 67
Palmer, Roger, made Earl of Castlemaine, ii. 7 note
Palmes, Major-General, i. 61
Pandarus, a purveyor, i. 374
---- a myrmidon, ii. 52 seq.
Pantheon, the, "The Temple of the Heathen Gods," i. 42 note
Panton, Brigadier, iv. 376 note
Paradise, iv. 166, 340
Paradise Lost compared to Dryden's State of Innocence, i. 55, 56:
referred to, i. 263 note, 330; ii. 7 note; iii. 103 and note; iv. 116, 117, 119, 140, 141, 210 seq., 340, 341:
quoted, ii. 216, 358, 424, 425; iii. 188, 189
Parents, their foolish preferences, iv. 201 seq.
Paris, want of bread in, i. 95, 96, 154, 206:
referred to, i. 28, 73, 74, 85, 95, 105, 121, 144, 183, 204, 229, 237, 305; ii. 12 note, 54, 90, 158, 275 note, 322; iii. 333; iv. 207
---- Helen's epistle to, i. 117 and note
Parisatis, her cure of a coquette, i. 86
Parker, Richard, ii. 410 note
Parmenian, ii. 135 note
Parœmiographia Græci, by Gaisford, i. 360 note
Parrot, Michael, his advertisement, iv. 152 and note
Parsimony, iii. 52
Parsons, the Jesuit, a model of style, iv. 180
Parthenope in The Rehearsal, i. 72 and note
Partlett, Mrs., a widow, iv. 332
Partridge, John, his supposed death and defence, i. 21 and note, 22 and note:
his Almanac, i. xi. 21 note; ii. 319 note and seq.:
some account of, ii. 320 note:
news from the dead, iii. 23:
the genuine is dead, iv. 113:
Tit for Tat issued under his name, iv. 172 note:
referred to, i. 64, 102, 126, 127 note, 168 note, 298, 361; ii. 54, 72, 127, 200, 323, 339; iii. 59; iv. 153 note
Party does not influence I. B. so much as opinion, i. 5:
impartiality shown by his treatment of all parties, ibid.
Pasquin of Rome, letters to I. B, iii. 83 seq., 375 seq.:
referred to, iii. 82 note, 91, 379 note, 391 note
Passion, its dangers, iii. 303, 305 seq.
Passive obedience, the doctrine of, i. 359 note and seq.; ii. 8 seq., 17 seq.
Pastor Fido, by Tasso, iii. 236
Pastorals, by Philips and by Pope, i. 112 note:
the season and place for writing, iii. 157, 158
Pastorella, her conversion for coquetry, i. 85, 86, 87:
called "Miss," i. 89 note:
referred to, i. 117, 196
Patches, concerning, ii. 132
Paté, General, i. 75
Patience, Mrs., i. 89 note
Patkul, Jean Reinhold de, of Livonia, ii. 135 and note
Patricia (i.e. Ireland) i. 45
Patriotism, the decay of, iii. 358 seq.
Patroclus, iii. 203
Patrons, iv. 17 seq.
Paulo (i.e. Bateman) of the City, his character, i. 211
Paulucci, Cardinal, i. 49
Pausanias, by Richard Norton, i. 358 note
Peace means death to news-writers, i. 158 seq.:
the terms of, i. 173
Peachum, Mrs., in The Beggar's Opera, i. 234 note
Peak, Knight of the, iii. 9 note, 10
Pedant, a learned idiot, ii. 65 seq.; iii. 234, 235, 256, 269 seq.; iv. 246, 247
Peggy, Mrs. (Dr. Young), iii. 160
Pendergrass, Sir Thomas, ii. 109
Penny Post, some account of, ii. 130 note
Pensioner, the Grand, i. 51
Pepin, Betty, a kept mistress, i. 201 and note; ii. 19 and note
---- King, ii. 300
Pepusch, Dr., married Margareta, iii. 192 note
Pepys quoted, i. 219 note:
on Lady Castlemaine, iii. 296 note
Percival, Miss. See Mrs. Verbruggen, i. 31 note
Percy, his Reliques of Ancient Poetry, i. 239 note
----, his Anecdotes quoted, i. 244 note, 310 note
Peregrine, Will, ii. 22
Persia, ii. 412 note; iii. 196; iv. 78
Pert, Beau, a sharper, ii. 115, 116
Peskad, Madge, a bonnet-maker near Bedford, i. 283
"Pestle and Mortar," the, iv. 170, 381
Peter, in The Tale of a Tub, i. 209
Petruchio in Taming of the Shrew, iv. 181 note and seq.
Petticoats, a fashion in, ii. 404:
invented by Mrs. Cross-stitch, ii. 418:
"chairs" must be accommodated to, ii. 418, 419:
attempt to reform, iii. 12 seq., 257:
a scoured, iv. 316 and note
Petticum, M., iii. 123
Petty, Sir William, iii. 12
Petulant, Betty, i. 141
---- Mrs., i. 141
---- Lady, i. 278
Phædra and Hippolitus, by Edmund Smith, i. 158 note
Phædrus quoted, iv. 284
Phæton, i. 99
Phalaris, Epistles of, the controversy on, i. 66 note:
referred to, ii. 232
Phidias, ii. 281
Philander, a brave lover, ii. 306 seq.
---- a faithful lover, iii. 367 seq.
---- threatens suicide, iii. 297
---- suitor to Cælia, iv. 35-37
---- (i.e. Lord Halifax), i. 45 and note:
his skill in address towards women, i. 117 seq.
Philanders, overstocked with, iii. 382; iv. 44:
referred to, iii. 190; iv. 250, 251
Philanthropes (John Hughes?), a letter from, ii. 125, 126
Philip, King of Spain, i. 246
Philips, Ambrose, a poem by, i. 112 seq.:
notice of, i. 112 note:
his Pastorals, i. 112 note
---- John, his Cyder, iii. 23:
his Splendid Shilling, iv. 270 and note
Philippus, Alexander's physician, iv. 78 seq.
Phillis, i. 81
Philolaus, iii. 250 note
Philomath, his Almanac, iv. 168, 169, 253
Philosophers, a wise sect of, iii. 61 seq.
Philotas, general of Alexander, ii. 135 and note
Phyllis, mistress of Duumvir, ii. 36 seq.
Phys, King, in the Rehearsal, iv. 160
Physicians, the most useful members of a community, ii. 209:
the College of, appealed to, iv. 39:
usually poets, iv. 224 seq.
Piazza, the, of Covent Garden i. 355; iv. 335 note
Piccadilly, i. 41, 346;
ii. 182 note;
iii. 302;
iv. 148 and note
Picket, Col., an admirer of Florimel, his character, i. 69
Picture, subject for an historical, iv. 78 seq.:
an allegorical, iii. 82:
a moving, iii. 83 note, 283
Pierre, in Venice Preserved, iii. 105
Pierrepoint, Lady Mary, ii. 1 note
Piety characteristic of all the greatest men, iv. 356 seq.
Pikestaff, Timothy, i. 89 note, 102, 104
Piledea, the friend of Orestea, ii. 148
Pilgrim's Progress, The, i. 382
Pilgrimstaff, i. 104
Pimlico, iii. 302
Pincent, Captain, i. 52
Pindarics, a receipt for, ii. 378
Pindust, Mrs. Rebecca, for whom many lovers have died, ii. 400 seq.
Pinkethman, his company of strollers, i. 42 and note:
compared to Bullock, iii. 384, 385:
referred to, i. 67, 68 note, 70, 170, 346;
ii. 281;
iii. 327
Pin-money, the curse of, iv. 32 and note
Pinto, Ferdinand Mendez, a Portuguese traveller, iv. 288 and note
Pip, a man made at cards, i. 107
Piper, Count, i. 399; ii. 67
Pipestaff, i. 104
Pippe, Mrs. Mary, iv. 332
Pirates, literary, ii. 347 note and seq.
Pistol of Wapping, iv. 85 note. See Musket
Plagius, a preacher, iv. 368
Plain Dealer, The, by Wycherley, i. 243 note;
ii. 246 note
Plain English, letters from, iv. 92 seq., 158
Plaistow, Mr., iii. 61 note
Planché, his Cyclopædia of Costume, iii. 192 note
Plantwell, Lady, ii. 87
Plato, conductor of Socrates in Chamber
of Fame, ii. 228: a parable on love by, ii. 283 seq.:
a fable of, iii. 131;
iv. 238, 239: on suicide, iii. 214:
referred to, ii. 70, 71, 390;
iii. 116 and note;
iv. 21, 221
Platonne, a professed, i. 262 seq.
Plautus, iv. 326
Playhouse, the inventory of, by Addison, i. 4
Plays, will revive and drive out the present passion for dress and noise, i. 18:
the morality of, defended, i. 31:
immoral ones condemned, i. 74
Pleasure, accounts of, directed from White's Chocolate-house, i. 12:
and virtue, a fable of, ii. 324 seq.:
claims to be called happiness, ii. 325:
or vice, ii. 327:
depraved men of, i. 107:
true art of, not understood, i. 136
Plenty, the god of, ii. 283
Pliny, ii. 80, 169 note:
on a good husband, ii. 189:
Epistles of, quoted, ii. 420, 423:
letters to his wife, iii. 186 seq., 238:
letters to Gallus, iii. 338:
referred to, iii. 87, 186, 326, 329
Plow Yard, i. 127 note
"Plum," a, i. 326; ii. 57; iii. 56
Plumb, Peter, a merchant, his case against the Hon. Thomas Gules, iv. 298 seq.
Plumbeus, iv. 254 seq.
Plume, Colonel, in dialogue on duelling, i. 318 seq.
---- Sir, his clouded cane, iii. 154 note
Plutarch, ii. 228, 412 note;
iv. 45, 220, 221
Pluto, King of Shades, iii. 213, 224
Poetical vapours, i. 384
---- justice destroys moral effect of tragedies, ii. 233
Poetry, accounts of, from Will's Coffee-house, i 12:
its influence for virtue, ii. 331 seq.:
for sale, ii. 377 seq.:
compared to history, ii. 392, 393:
faults and virtues of English poets, iii. 260
Poets, advice to young, an essay on the methods of work, i. 33, 34, 35
"Point of war," a, ii. 315 and note
Pointer, his Chronicle History, i. 147 note
Poland, i. 43, 183, 204; ii. 47, 133;
iii. 218, 219:
---- King of, i. 213
Polite Conversation, by Swift, ii. 6 note
Political Barometer. See State weather-glass
Political State of Great Britain, by Abel Boyer, i. 157 note
Politicians, of the Mall, iii. 220 seq.:
of the coffee-house, iv. 360 seq.:
referred to, i. 327; iii. 256
Politics, complaint of I. B.'s incursions into, iv. 13 note
Poluglossa, her character, i. 344
Polybius, a just historian, ii. 229
Polyglottes, a pedant, iv. 25
Polypragmon (? Harley), his character, iii. 395 note and seq.
Pompey in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 229:
his modesty, ii. 262:
referred to, iii. 89
---- a blackamoor boy, iv. 251
Pontack, son of President of Bordeaux, iii. 95 note
Pontius Pilate, his wife's chambermaid's sister's hat, i. 283
Poor Robin's Almanac, i. 169; iv. 169 and note
Pope, Alex., his Pastorals, i. 112 note:
his Epitaph on Withers, i. 378 note:
his Rape of the Lock, ii. 29 note, 79 note; iv. 353:
his Epistle to Miss Blount on her leaving the town after the Coronation, iv. 336 note:
his The Basset Table, iv. 337 and note:
referred to, i. 8 note, 38 note, 112 note, 380 note; ii. 6 note, 249 note
---- the, i. 49, 50, 60, 61, 71, 73, 94, 102, 155, 316; iii. 85, 86, 375; iv. 128
---- Clement XI., ii. 142
Popham, Elizabeth, wife of Viscount Hinchinbroke, i. 47 note, 286 note
---- Alexander, of Littlecot, father of Elizabeth, i. 47 note, 286 note
Poplar, ii. 372 note
Porcia, ii. 141
Portland, Duchess of, ii. 104 note
Portocarrero, Cardinal, i. 51, 88
Portugal, i. 87, 149, 253; iv. 323
---- Row, iii. 410 note
---- King of, i. 94, 106, 149, 261
"Porus," battle of, by Le Brun, i. 74
---- an Indian king, i. 74 note
Pory, Dr. Robert, a pluralist, iv. 169 note, 382
"Posnet," a, iv. 284 and note
Post, days of leaving London, i. 11, 12 and note
Post-Boy, The, i. 156 and note, 347; ii. 211 note, 347 note; iii. 112 note, 220, 279 note; iv. 151 note, 152 note, 187
Postman, The, i. 293 note, 347, 349 note; ii. 156 note, 211 note, 272 note; iii. 83 note, 218, 220, 332 and note, 333; iv. 56, 57, 96, 97, 148 note, 149 note, 150 note, 169 note, 186
Posture-master, ii. 389 seq.
Potatrix, Elizabeth, letter from, i. 290
Potsdam, i. 72, 213, 276, 305
Poultry, the, iv. 153 note, 379, 381
Poverty, an unhappy female, ii. 283:
referred to, iii. 53, 54
Povey, Charles, started halfpenny post in London, ii. 130 note
Powell, George, i. 36 and note, 37 note; iii. 409
---- Martin, the puppet-show man, i. 100 note, 140 note, 359 seq., 365, 366; ii. 8 note and seq., 205; iii. 7, 158, 335 and note:
letters from, ii. 9 seq., 17 seq.
Prælections Physicæ Mathematicæ, by Whiston, i. 350 note
Pre-Adamite, a, ii. 150; iv. 301
Precedence, the difficulties of, ii. 258 seq.:
among women in Vision of Justice, ii. 353 seq.
Predictions for the Year 1712, by I. B., i. 22 note
Predictions of Bickerstaff (i.e. Swift), i. 8, 102
Pretender, the, i. 35, 173, 206, 371 note; iii. 377
Pretty Fellow, a, imitation gentleman, i. 175:
not a rake, i. 225:
Hannibal and Scipio, in their days, ii. 62 and note:
Virgil translated for, iii. 107 seq.:
referred to, i. 239, 322, 366; ii. 398, 399; iii. 256:
Very Pretty Fellow (which see), i. 198 seq.
Priam, iii. 172
Pride, some thoughts on, iii. 72 seq.:
examples of, iii. 74 seq.
Prie, Marquis de, i. 49, 71, 94
Prim, Mrs., i. 118
---- Beau, ii. 72
---- Penelope, a clear-starcher, petition of, iii. 25
Prior, Mat., at the Smyrna, i. 92 note:
his poem on Blenheim, iii. 163 note:
referred to, iv. 216, 249 note, 310 note
Privy Garden, the, iii. 296 and note
Proctorstaff, of Clare Hall, kinsman of I. B., iv. 374
Prodicus, a fable by, ii. 324 seq.
Professions, the lower the understanding, the greater the capacity for success in, ii. 58
Project for the Advancement of Religion; by a Person of Quality, dedicated to the Countess of Berkeley (by Swift), i. 48 and note, iv. 294 note
Properties of Drury Lane on sale, i. 344 seq., 358
Prophecy, I. B. will use his powers of, sparingly, i. 14
—— of Things Past, &c., by I. B., i. 151
"Prophets, the French," attacked by D'Urfey, i. 100 note:
referred to, i. 244 note, 301 note
Prospect of Peace, The, by Tickell, i. 382 note
Protestants, French, struggle against Louis XIV., i. 244 note
Provence, i. 94; ii. 48
Prudely, Lady, her defence, iv. 333
Prudence, the goddess of, ii. 283
Prudentia, an ambitious lady, in the autumn of life, i. 139 seq.
Prudes, their true character, ii. 357; compared to coquettes, iii. 67 seq.
Prue, Mrs., i. 89 note
---- i.e. a prude, i. 141 and note
---- Steele's wife, i. 141 note, 142 note
Prussia, King of, i. 27, 174, 213, 236, 304
---- Queen of, i. 129
---- Prince Royal of, i. 105, 151
Public good, those interested in, profess disinterestedness, i. 37
Public-spirited persons, newspapers designed for, i. 11:
their characteristics, of strong zeal and weak intellects, ibid.:
none in this age, i. 152:
their difficulties, ii. 127
Pudding, Jack, the mountebank, i. 163
Pultowa, battle of, ii. 47 and note
"Punch Nag," a, iii. 157 and note
Punch turned prophet, i. 100 and note:
a pretty fellow, i. 366:
his scandalous behaviour, i. 170:
out of place in the Ark, i. 140, 141:
referred to, ii. 10, 11; iv. 335 note
Punchinello, i. 366, 367; iii. 7
Punning, letter from an expert in the art of, i. 268, 289 seq.
Punto, Major, his indictment against Richard Newman, iv. 302
Purbeck, Countess of, ii. 5 note
Puzzlepost, Ned, his handwriting, iii. 153
Pylades, iii. 46
Pylades and Corinna, by Mrs. Thomas, i. 380 note; ii. 19; iii. 263 note
Pyrrha, preserved at the destruction of mankind, iii. 173
----, in Horace, iii. 309
Pyrrhus and Demetrius, opera, translated from the Italian of Scarlatti, i. 40 and note
Pythagoras, his theory reversed, i. 369:
turned out of the Chamber of Fame, ii. 231 and note:
his school, ii. 317 seq.:
his Golden Sayings quoted, ii. 392:
referred to, ii. 239; iii. 109; iv. 228
Quacks to be exposed, iv. 15:
she-quacks, iv. 160 seq.:
concerning, iv. 327
Quakers, letters from, ii. 170, 206:
protest from, iii. 390:
their speech defended, iv. 57
Quarterstaff, Mr., i. 80 note, 102, 103
Queenhithe, ii. 178, 187 note
Queen's Bagnio, iv. 380
Queen's College, Humphry Mopstaff, a scholar at, i. 152; referred to, ii. 187
Quesne, Marquis de, ii. 129
"Questions and Commands," the game of, iii. 161 and note
Quickset, Sir Harry, of Staffordshire, ii. 228
---- young, a handsome heir, ii. 383
Quintus Curtius, a false guide, ii. 228; iv. 130
Rabelais, translated by Motteux, ii. 377 note:
a paper suggested by, iv. 289 note:
referred to, ii. 153
Raby, Lord, Earl of Strafford, i. 146 note, 293 note, 297 note, 325 note, 343 note, 371 note, 377 note, 386 note; ii. 5 note; iv. 204 note
Radcliffe, Dr. (Æsculapius), crossed in love at sixty, i. 355 note and seq., 376, 384
"Raffling shop" at Hampstead, ii. 68 seq.
Raggedstaff, i. 102, 104
Rainbow Coffee-house, ii. 156 note; iv. 131
---- and Dove, the, iii. 299 note
Rake, a, character of, i. 223 seq.
---- (a sharper), his attack on a nunnery, i. 265 seq.:
referred to, ii. 115
Rakes, natural and affected, iii. 256
"Rake's Progress," by Hogarth, i. 12 note; 247 note
Ralph, James, his Touchstone quoted, ii. 335 note
Ram-Head Inn Yard, iv. 153 note
Ramble, Colonel (i.e. Colonel Hunter), i. 67 seq.
Ramilies, i. 20 note, 28, 266 note, 378 note; iii. 162 note:
won on beef, iii. 181, 334
Ranter, Colonel, i. 90
Rape of the Lock, by Pope, ii. 29 note, 79 note; iv. 353 note
Rape, women should be on the juries for trials of, ii. 245
Rapin, Nicholas, ii. 265; iii. 112, 270, 272:
on the English, iii. 112, 113 note
Rapine, iii. 52
Rascals, ii. 49, 114 seq.
Ratcliff, in the city, ii. 372 note
Ratcliffe, Francis Lord, Earl of Derwentwater, iv. 140 note
Ravenscroft, Edward, author of London Cuckolds, i. 73
Ravignan, Major-General, ii. 34, 48
Ravilliac, i. 96
Rawlinson, Tom (Tom Folio), book collector, iii. 234 note and seq.
Rayner, writing-master of St. Paul's, iii. 133 and note
Read, Sir William (Queen's Oculist), i. 83 and note; ii. 42 note; iii. 169; iv. 150, 379, 380
Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body, iii. 175
Reasons for an English Education, by teaching the youths of both sexes the arts of grammar, rhetoric, poetry, and logic, in their own mother tongue, iv. 195 note
Recruiting Officer, by Farquhar, i. 169
Red Cross, the Knight of, in Faërie Queene, iv. 173, 222, 288
Red Cross Street, i. 334
Red Lettice (or Lattice), a public-house, ii. 264 and note
Red Lion Court, i. 334
---- Square, iv. 148 note, 382
---- Market, i. 334, 335
Reflections on Aristotle's Treatise of Poetry, by Rapin, quoted, iii. 113 note
Reformers of manners, societies of, i. 31 and note
"Refreshment," a, iii. 335 and note
Rehearsal, The, by the Duke of Buckingham, i. 63 and note, 157 note; ii. 300, 301 note; iv. 7, 160, 309 and note:
Parthenope in, i. 172 and note
Relapse, The, by Vanbrugh, i. 29 note
Religio Medici, by Thomas Browne, i. 267 note
Religion, considerations on, i. 48, 49; ii. 340 seq., 405; iv. 87 seq.:
a waxwork of English, iv. 303 seq.
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, by Percy, i. 239 note
Remarks on several parts of Italy, by Addison, i. 152 note
Remorse, iii. 37
Renault, old, i. 327
Renne, General, i. 72
Rentfree, Thomas, Esq., J.P., ii. 257 seq.
Reptile, Honest Dick, on abuse of language, iii. 125:
referred to, iii. 100; iv. 19, 52, 256
"Restitution, the Mount of," ii. 343 seq., 353 seq.
Reynard, character adopted by Partridge, ii. 54
Rhebindar, General, ii. 48
Rheinsfeldt, Count, ii. 67
Rhine, i. 43, 129, 183, 304 note; ii. 134:
Lower, i. 183:
Upper, i. 71, 183
Rich, Christopher (Divito), manager of Drury Lane, i. 100 and note; ii. 336 seq.:
referred to, i. 250 note, 345, 358 and note; iii. 408 note and seq., 410 note
Richard III., ii. 190
----, Shakespeare's, ii. 284 seq.; iii. 356
Richards, Major-General, i. 184
Riches usually given to asses, iv. 52 and note
Ridicule, of offenders, defended, ii. 83 seq.:
the dangers of, ii. 100 seq.:
a letter of, ii. 131 seq.
Ridpath, George, publisher of the Flying Post, i. 156 note
Rigadoon, the dance described, i. 279 and note
Rights of the Christian Church, by Dr. Tindal, ii. 12 note
"Rigid men," the, iv. 101 seq.
Rinaldo Furioso, "Critic of the Woful Countenance," iii. 249 note
Ring, the, in Hyde Park, ii. 125 and note
"Ring's End Car," an Irish, iv. 208 and note
Rival Queens; or, Alexander the Great, i. 17 note, 139 and note
Rivals, The, by Sir William Davenant, iv. 140 note
Rivet, Colonel, killed at Malplaquet, ii. 113 and note
Roarers, the, i. 327 and note
Robinson, Jonathan, bookseller, iii. 133 note
Rochefoucault, a modish French author, ii. 391
Rochester, Earl of, patron of Mrs. Barry, i. 16 note; iv. 235 and note, 295
---- Dean of, iv. 294 note
Rochford, Earl of, iv. 85 note, 86
Roger de Caubly (Coverley), dance tune, i. 281 and note
Roman, causes of greatness, i. 54:
triumphs, ii. 98, 99, 106:
patriotism of, iii. 358:
purity of language, iv. 178
Romana chooses Careless rather than Constant, i. 253
Romans never fought duels, i. 255, 309
Rome, Emperor of, esteem for his horse, iii. 43:
news from, iii. 83, 84, 375:
referred to, i. 27, 49, 60, 71, 73, 94; ii. 337, 373 note; iii. 62, 87, 89, 243, 257, 258, 359, 361, 364, 378, 380, 392
Romeo, the father of Chloe, ii. 306
Ronquillo, Don Pedro, i. 95
Rope-dancing popular in the theatres, ii. 335
Roper, Abel, publisher of the Post-Boy, i. 156 note
Roquelaure, Duke of, i. 332
Rosamond's Pond or Pool, "Lake of Love," a favourite place of assignation, ii. 79 and note, 420; iii. 297; iv. 99
Roscius, iii. 280
Roscius Anglicanus; or, An Historical Review of the English Stage, by Downes, iii. 408 note
Roscommon, his translation of Horace's Ars Poetica, iii. 261
Rose, the sign of the, iii. 310; iv. 169 note
Rose tavern i. 24 note
Rosehat, Jonathan, on orators, ii. 154, 155
Roses, the town, i. 173
Rosicrucian lore, iv. 239
Rosin, Will, the Corelli of Wapping, ii. 372 seq.
Rotherhithe, iii. 265
Rotterdam, i. 43, 120, 205
Rough Diamond, an honest blunt wit, ii. 243
Rouillé, M., i. 20 and note, 44, 51, 76, 96, 120, 197, 204, 213, 305
Rowe, i. 83 note; iv. 310 note
Roxana, her nightgown, i. 345
Royal pastime of cock-fighting, &c., by R. H., iii. 112 note
Royal Society, members of, resort to "the Grecian", i. 13 note:
I. B.'s learning bequeathed to, i. 66 and note:
their Philosophical Transactions, iii. 26 note:
referred to, i. 349; ii. 309 note; iii. 30; iv. 39, 134, 135, 207, 210 and note, 321
Rozelli, M., his cure for the gout, i. 83 note:
his adventures at the Hague, i. 83 note
Rubicon, the, i. 303 note, 304 note
Russell Street, i. 12 note, 13 note, 24 note; iv. 327 and note
----, Admiral, iii. 84 note
Rycant, Sir Paul, on the Ottoman Empire, iii. 111 note
Ryves, Jerome, Dean of Killaloe, iv. 206 note
S.P.C.K. founded by Mackworth, ii. 85 note
Sa Ga Zean Qua Prah Ton, an Iroquois chief of the Maquas, iii. 299 note, 301
Saar, ii. 105
Sabbath, the advantages of, iv. 87 seq.
Saccharissa (i.e. Lady Dorothy Sidney), ii. 87 and note
----, i. 46
Sacheverell, Dr., his trial, i. 317 note; ii. 121 note; iii. 140 note, 145 note; iv. 4 note:
cause of ladies' early rising, iii. 151:
a popular subject, iii. 228:
his handkerchief, iii. 376:
ovations for, iii. 377 and note, 378 note
Sacred College, the, i. 71
Saffold, Dr., i. 168 note, 169 note; iv. 226 and note
Sage, Mr., in the "Dialogue on Duelling," i. 318 seq.
Sagissa betrayed by snuff, i. 285, 286
St. Alban's, i. 156 note, 178 note
St. Anne's Lane, i. 334
St. Botolph, i. 247 note
St. Catherine by the Tower, ii. 372 and note
St. Catherine's Dock, ii. 372 note
St. Christopher's Court, ii. 42 note
----, Fort, i. 149
St. Clement's, ii. 264 note; iii. 127, 389
St. David's, celebration of, iii. 140
St. Dunstan's in the West, ii. 171 note
----, in Fleet Street, iv. 379, 382
St. Evremond, Governor of Duck Island, ii. 413 note
St. Gall, Abbot of, ii. 48
St. George, i. 257; ii. 316
St. George's Church, i. 140 note
St. Gile's i. 335
St. James', too refined for rope-dancing, ii. 335 note:
referred to, ii. 91
St. James's Coffee-house, foreign and domestic news, i. 13:
history of, i. 13 note:
clean linen required at i. 13:
referred to, i. 91, 92, 93, 214, 216; ii. 123, 277, 419; iii. 9 note, 276; iv. 43 and note, 131
----, Park, duel in, i. 124 note:
Rosamond's Pond in, ii. 79 and note:
referred to, ii. 126 note, 413 note; iii. 219, 244, 271; iv. 370
---- Street, i. 12 note, 13 note; iii. 276
---- Church, iv. 335
St. James, patron saint of Spain, i. 323 note
St. John, convent of, i. 76
St. Juan, Conte de, i. 150
St. Margaret's Westminster, ii. 104 note
St. Martin's, i. 334
---- Westminster, i. 42 note
St. Mary's, i. 71
---- at Oxford, i. 315
St. Patrick as rat-catcher, iv. 207:
his well, iv. 209
St. Paul's Alley, i. 336
---- Cathedral, ii. 24 and note, 38, 39, 40, 85; iii. 13; iv. 26, 169 note, 232, 233
---- Churchyard, ii. 39; iii. 133 note; iv. 329 note
---- School, iii. 133 and note; iv. 196 note
St. Pear, Colonel, iii. 55 note
St. Peter de Albigni, ii. 48
St. Peter's, i. 71; ii. 85
Salisbury Street, iii. 24
Sallust, his Bell. Cat., i. 53 and note, 76, 273 note; ii. 94, 95, 229, 317; iii. 128, 347; iv. 97 note
Salsine, Abbey of, i. 53
Salter, a barber, founder of Chelsea Coffee-house, the Don Saltero of the British Apollo, i. 280 note and seq.; iv. 15, 163
Saltzburg, Archbishop of, i. 95
Sampler, Will, ii. 22
Samplers, an essay on, by Mrs. Manly, i. 41 and note
San Diego, i.e. Santiago, i.e. St. James, i. 323 note
Sandford, Sam., iii. 113 and note, 384
Sands, Lord, iii. 198 note
Sandwich, Edward, Earl of, i. 47 note
Santiago (i.e. St. James), i. 323 note
Sapho (? Mrs. Manley), character and anecdotes of, i. 55 note:
referred to, i. 329, 331
Sapicha, the, a Polish family, i. 305
Saraband, Mrs., her puppet-show, i. 170
Sarkey, Major-General, i. 150
Sart, ii. 108, 109, 127
Sartre, M., first husband of Dorothy Addison, iv. 204 note
Satire addressed to a friend that is about to leave the University, by Oldham, iv. 296, 297
Satire, best friend to Reformation, ii. 197:
true and false, iv. 234 seq.
Satires, by Marvell, i. 153 note
"Satisfaction," defined, i. 208:
not a case for, i. 231:
demanded from Bickerstaff, ii. 303
Saturæ, by Petronius Arbiter, ii. 14 note
Saturn, i. 290, 351; iv. 129
Saunderson, Maria, wife of Betterton, iii. 282 and note, 283
Savile, George, Marquis of Halifax, his Advice to a Daughter, iv. 363 and note
Savoy, Duke of, i. 71, 174, 182, 229, 337, 400; ii. 96, 108
---- ii. 48, 73, 200
Saxe-Zeits, Cardinal of, i. 183
Saxony, i. 43, 44, 51, 73, 204, 255; ii. 193
Scævola, iii. 329, 359
Scarecrow, Humphrey, Recorder to the Bear-garden, i. 256
Scarlatti, an opera of, translated, i. 40 and note
Scarp, the, i. 291; ii. 49; iii. 245, 317, 320
Scawen, Sir William, i. 348 and note
Schelt, the, i. 198, 205, 291, 299, 313
Scholar, the, I. B.'s nephew, iv. 70 seq.
Scholars made from men of barren geniuses and fertile imaginations, iv. 23
Schomberg, Marshal, iii. 162 note
School for Scandal, Sheridan's, quoted, ii. 315 note
Schottus, Andrew, i. 360 note
Schuylenburg, General, i. 339, 362
Scipio Africanus, his self-restraint and generosity illustrated, ii. 62 seq.:
his friendship for Lælius, ii. 412 and note:
an authority on the charms of country life, iii. 292
Scipio, Cneius, preferred by his rival, ii. 262
Scoggan, or Skogan, Mr., M.A., some account of, i. 83 and note
Scolds, iv. 114 seq., 136 seq.
Scotland, decay of simplicity in, iii. 165:
referred to, i. 43
Scots Pills, iv. 149 note
Scotus, his divisions of mankind, iii. 312
Scourge of Venice and Mercury, by Sintelaer, i. 215 note
Scowrers, the, i. 327
Scowrers, The, a play, by Shadwell, i. 327 note
Scrape, Tom, the Buononcini of Redriffe, ii. 373
"Screens" defined, iii. 303
Scrip, Sir William, i. 248
Scudamore, Sir, his courtship of Amoret, iv. 7, 14
Scurlock, Miss, i. viii, 286, 287
Sea-ball, a, ii. 372 seq.
Secret Memoirs and Manners of several persons of quality of both sexes, from the New Atalantis, by Mrs. Manley, ii. 104 note
Sefachoe, a singer, iii. 6 note
Segra, the, ii. 200; iv. 85
Selden, his De Duello, i. 255 note
Select Collection of Poems, by Nichols, i. 47 note, 203 note
Seleucus, a generous father, iii. 369, 370
Self-defence, the noble art of, i. 234 and note
Sempronia (i.e. Madame d'Epingle), her deceitful conduct, i. 273, 394
Seneca, ii. 375; iii. 46, 57, 64, 115, 294, 295, 323
Senecio, a good-natured old man, i. 370, 371
Seraglio of Great Britain, i. 373 seq.
Serenading, the custom of, iv. 138 seq.
Sergeant, Thomas, letter from, quoted, ii. 9 note
Serious Proposal to the Ladies, by Mrs. Astell, i. 265 note
Serpentine, the, ii. 125 note
"Serpents," ii. 272
Sesotris, his dwelling among the shades, iii. 226
Settlements, the invention and history of, iv. 32, 142 seq.:
a model settlement, iv. 34
Seven Champions, the, ii. 315
Sexes, both to be attended to by the Tatler, i. 7:
the unfair difference between, i. 271:
separation between, at public assemblies, ii. 22
Seymour, Sir Edward, i. 371 note
Shadwell, his Epsom Wells, i. 70, 293 note:
his The Scowrers, i. 327 note
----, ii. 372 note
Shaftesbury, Lord, his letter on Enthusiasm answered, i. 266 note
Shakespeare, wholesome influence of, i. 74:
his women trivial, i. 341:
a master of tragedy, i. 385; ii. 33:
of the race of Staffs, ii. 4:
criticised by Steele, ii. 141 and note, 142 note:
I. B.'s Quotations from Davenant's alterations, ii. 141 note:
his The Taming of the Shrew retold, iv. 181 seq.:
his As You Like It, i. 338, 339:
his Hamlet, i. 18, 188 note, 288; ii. 138 note, 163 seq., 379 seq., 406; iv. 42, 378:
his Henry IV., i. 125 note, 385; ii. 315; iii. 198 note:
his Henry V., iii. 128 note, 356:
his Henry VI., ii. 285:
his Henry VIII., i. 18, 345; iii. 198 note:
his Julius Cæsar, ii. 140; iii. 128:
his King Lear, iii. 20:
his Othello, i. 345; ii. 334 note, 375; iii. 281, 380, 383 seq.; iv. 42, 240:
his Richard III., ii. 284 seq.; iii. 356:
his The Tempest iii. 409:
referred to, i. 110; ii. 334 note; iii. 212, 281
---- Joan, ii. 334 note
Shallow, Sir Timothy, and his cane, iii. 154
---- Justice, an ignoramus, iv. 318
---- Ralph, a clever talker on nothing, iv. 23
Shapely, Rebecca, indicted for scandal, iv. 332, 333
Sharpe, Dr. John (Mrs. Alse Copswood) Archbishop of York, i. 300 and note
Sharpers defined, ii. 49 seq.:
to be exposed by fables, ii. 68:
referred to, ii. 74, 111, 115 seq., 137 seq., 159 seq., 175 seq.; iii. 9 seq.
See also Rascals, Dogs, and Curs
Shayles, Elinor, mother of Steele, iii. 350 and note
Sheer (Shire) Lane, ii. 259, 260 and note, 279; iii. 75 note, 209, 357; iv. 375 note
Shelton, Lady, of Norfolk, i. 15 note
Shepherd's Week, by Gay, iv. 250 note, 344 note
Sherburne Lane, iv. 381
Sheridan, his School for Scandal, ii. 315 note
Shilling, the autobiography of a, iv. 265 note, 266 seq.
Ship, John, overseer, ii. 43 note
Ship tavern, iv. 148 note
Shipton, Mother, ii. 281
Shipyard, the, ii. 264 note
"Shock," iv. 353 and note
Shoes, high red heels, i. 217 and note, 388; ii. 127, 165, 166, 321, 417; iii. 197, 257:
ladies' shoes not to be exposed in shop windows, iii. 159
Shoestring, Will (Sir W. Whitlocke), a coxcomb, i. 310, 311
Shoe Lane, i. 179 note
Shorey, Major John, i. 334
Short-sight, the fashion of, ii. 201
Shoulder-knots, the fashion of, iii. 197
Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, i. 102 note
Shrewsbury, Duchess of, iii. 6 note
Sibourg, Colonel, i. 184
Sichæus, Dido's first husband, iii. 105, 215
Sid Hamet's Rod, by Swift, i. 228 note
Side-boxes, seats for men and wenches, ii. 6 note, 201; iii. 168; iv. 114
Sidney, Lord Godolphin (Horatio), i. 45 and note; iii. 90
---- Lady Dorothy (Saccharissa), ii. 87 note
---- Sir Philip, his Arcadia, ii. 313 note
Siege of Rhodes, by Davenant, i. 172 note
—— of Damascus, by John Hughes, iv. 90 note
Signior, the Grand, iv. 186
Sign-posts, the bad spelling on, leads schoolboys and others astray, i. 152 seq.
Silence, the virtues of, iii. 103, 104
Silent Woman, by Jonson, ii. 29 and note; iii. 92
Silvia courted by Damon, ii. 299:
her letter acknowledged, iv. 189
Silvius, suitor to Cælia, iv. 35-37
Simmonds, John, his mezzotints of the Indian kings, iii. 299 note
Simplicity recommended in dress, discourse, and behaviour, i. 8
Simplicius, ii. 293
Simulation distinguished from dissimulation, iv. 97 seq.:
Bacon on, iv. 97 note
Singer, Mrs. Elizabeth, her works and life, i. 92 note, 93 and note
Sintelaer, the pearl-driller, his Scourge of Venus and Mercury, i. 215 and note
Sippet, Harry, the famous, iii. 96
Sisly, the maid of Signor Hawksly, in whose name the raffling shop is taken, ii. 68
Skelton, poet-laureate to Henry VIII., i. 84 note
Skinners' Hall, iv. 382
Slaughterford, a murderer, i. 337 and note
Slender, Elizabeth, spinster, a petition from, iv. 372
Slim, Mrs., a lady of understanding, i. 260
Slimber, Beau, a Londoner, i. 301
Sloane, Sir Hans, his museum, i. 280 note:
brings frogs to Ireland, iv. 208 and note, 209:
referred to, ii. 156
Sly, Richard, in a breach of promise, iv. 334, 335
Slyboots, Humphrey, a careful laugher, ii. 101, 102
Smack, Mrs. Sarah, her complaint of scandal, iv. 332, 333
Smagge, Mr. Jan, farmer, iv. 380
Smalridge, Dr., Bishop of Bristol (Favonius), a Jacobite, i. 5 and note:
tutor of Maynwaring, i. 7 note:
his character and life, ii. 171 and note, 421
Smart, Captain, his duel, i. 320 seq.
Smart fellow, not a pretty fellow, i. 217, 230 seq., 367; ii. 79, 166, 321, 323; iii. 256:
a defence of the awkward fellows against the smarts, ii. 80
Smith, Edmund, author of Phædra and Hippolitus, his Charlettus Percivallo Suo, i. 158 note
---- Joseph, married to Mrs. Tofts, i. 171 note
---- Dr. Thomas, of King Street, Westminster, cures corns, teeth, &c., ii. 362 and note; iv. 15
---- Thomas, M. P., iii. 343 note
Smithfield Bars, iv. 43
"Smyrna, The," coffee-house in Pall Mall, i. 92 and note; ii. 210
Snapdragon, to be avoided in married life, ii. 252, 253
Snuff, history of, by Charles Lillie, i. 229 and note:
folly of taking, i. 284 seq.:
worse for ladies, i. 285:
the best Barcelona, ii. 309:
snuff-takers not "whetters," iii. 147:
taking it no sign of wit, iii. 256:
referred to, ii. 192, 298, 401
Snuff-box, its shape determines character, i. 229:
lost, i. 349 note:
a new, at eighty guineas, iii. 155:
referred to, ii. 214, 359, 401, 418
Sobieski, John, King of Poland, i. 153 note
Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne, by Ashton, iii. 56 note
Socrates, questions the spirit of a duellist, i. 220 seq.:
in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 228:
an anecdote of, iii. 47:
referred to, ii. 223 note, 231, 324; iii. 115, 116 note, 250 note
Softly, Ned, iii. 259 seq.
Soho Square, i. 161
Soilett, Mr., i. 218
Somers, John, Lord (Camillo), i. vii, 44 and note; iii. 90
Somerset, Lady Mary, ii. 35 note
---- Duke of, iii. 6 note
Somerset House Yard, auction at, iii. 303
Son, a, who would be wiser than his father, ii. 391
Sophronius, i. 176; ii. 17, 50
Sorrow, the benefits of, iii. 349 seq.:
consolations for, iv. 189 seq.
Sotus, the learned, his tongue loosed by snuff, i. 285
Sound, the, i. 72
South, Dr. Robert, his saying that a liar is "a coward to man and a brave to God," i. 6:
on the Ways of Pleasantness, iv. 62 seq.:
on religion, iv. 91 seq.:
referred to, ii. 85 note
South British, Mr., or Mr. English, iv. 310, 311
South Sea mania, i. 349 note
Southgate, iv. 95
Southwark Fair, i. 140 note
Sowerby, not fond of being laughed at, ii. 102
Spain, i. 49, 51, 88, 105, 197, 235, 237, 299, 323 note, 332; ii. 9; iii. 86, 335; iv. 85, 87, 145, 158
Spanheim, Baron, Bavarian Ambassador, iii. 76 note
---- Mary Anne, his daughter, iii. 76 note
Spanish snuff, i. 229; ii. 352
—— Curate, The, by Beaumont and Fletcher, iv. 199
---- wine required at the "Grecian," i. 13
Sparta, ii. 412
Speech, perfection of, in an accomplished woman, ii. 93:
the abuse of, iii. 125 seq.:
the proper dignity of, iv. 55 seq.
Spence's Anecdotes, i. 8 note
Spenser, ii. 284, 425 note; iv. 7, 14, 16 note, 173, 288
Spindle, Tom (Henry Cromwell, or possibly Thomas Tickell), a disappointed poet, i. 382 seq.; ii. 378 note
Spleen, a sufferer from, ii. 220, 221
Splendid Shilling, by John Philips, iv. 270 note
Spondee, Harry, in praise of nonsense, ii. 77 seq.
---- a critic, i. 243; ii. 92
Sprightly, Mrs., iii. 273
---- Mr., turned sulky, iii. 401
Spring Gardens, new, at Vauxhall, i. 219 note
---- old, at Charing Cross, some account of, ii. 126 and note:
referred to, i. 219 note, 261 and note; ii. 125
Springly, Lady, of Epsom, i. 293 seq.
---- Tom, a pretender to vice, iv. 98, 99
Spruce, Jack, driven mad by a smile, ii. 6
Spy, Mrs., cured of ogling, i. 277
Spyer, Anth., iv. 152 note
Squibs, ii. 272
"Squir," to, iv. 268 and note
Squire Easy (Henry Cromwell) the amorous bard, i. 380 note; iii. 263
Squires, some account of, i. 160 seq.
Staffian race, the history of, i. 102:
the staffs of another family, i. 104, 105, 179:
related to Greenhats, ii. 72:
Shakespeare is of the clan, ii. 4:
referred to, i. 240, 289 seq.; ii. 110, 162, 184, 215
Staffordshire, a drinking county, iii. 289
Stage, audience on, at Betterton's benefit, i. 16, 17
Stanhope, James, first Earl of, i. 37 note, 72, 95, 213; ii. 19 and note; iv. 85 and note, 86, 87
Stanilaus, King, i. 43, 71
Stanley, Dr. Will. (Stentor), Canon of St. Paul's, his loud voice in church, ii. 39 and note, 55, 127, 154
---- Sir John, ii. 336 note
Stanyon, Temple, perhaps author of part of No. 193, iii. 407 note and seq.
Staremberg, Count, ii. 19, 187, 200; iv. 158
Stars, ladies' eyes no longer to be compared to, ii. 309
State of Innocence and Fall of Man, by Dryden, compared to Paradise Lost, i. 55, 56:
referred to, ii. 92 note
State weather-glass, a, described, iv. 103 seq., 128
States-General, the, i. 72, 143, 173, 197, 198, 213, 229, 399; ii. 108, 127, 133; iii. 123, 318
Stationers' Hall, i. 64; iii. 71 note, 102 note
Statira, in Lee's Alexander the Great, played by Mrs. Bracegirdle, i. 17 note:
referred to, i. 139, 141; iv. 81
---- the victim of treachery in love, iii. 79 seq.
Steele, his age and position at starting of The Tatler, i. vii, viii:
originator and chief author of The Tatler, i. xiv:
his character, i. xx:
service to stage, i. 15 note:
with Doggett in control of Drury Lane, i. 17 note:
watch bequeathed to, by D'Urfey, i. 18 note, 19 note:
his Apology, i. 48 note; ii. 118 note:
discovered by Addison as author of Tatler, i. 57 note:
his dedication of The Drummer to Congreve, i. 155 note, 292 note; iii. 227 note:
his Lying Lover, i. 219 note; ii. 145 note:
his Ladies' Library, i. 266 note; iv. 264 note:
at Christ Church, i. 281 note:
letter to Miss Scurlock, i. 286, 287:
his Correspondence, i. 286 note:
criticisms by, ii. 141, 142 note:
his regiment the Coldstream, ii. 264 note, 267:
his Funeral, ii. 335 note:
governor of Theatre Royal, iii. 1:
his Lover, i. 192 note; ii. 255 note; iii. 161 note:
Life of Betterton dedicated to him, iii. 279 note:
Eucrates partly drawn from, iii. 322 seq.:
origin of his unmanly tenderness, iii. 350, 351:
his treatment of death, iii. 351 note:
Epistles of Obscure Writers to Ortuinus dedicated to him, iv. 21 seq.:
his Tender Husband, iv. 32 note, 249 note:
his Theatre quoted, i. 209 note; ii. 6 note:
Some English Grammars of his Time, iv. 196 note:
acknowledges authorship of Tatler, iv. 375
Author of Nos. 1-4, 6-17, 19-23, 25-31, 33-35, 39-41, 43-49, 51, 52, 55-62, 64, 65, 67, 69, 71-74, 76, 79, 80, 82, 83, 87-89, 91, 92, 94, 98, 99, 104, 105, 106, 115, 124, 125, 127, 128, 132, 134, 135, 137-141, 143-145, 149, 150, 159, 164, 166-182, 184-191, 195-198, 200-204, 206-208, 210-213, 215, 217, 225, 228, 231-234, 241, 242, 244-248, 251, 252, 258, 261, 263, 264, 266, 268-271
? Author of Nos. 36, 37, 38, 50, 53, 54, 68, 77, 78, 118, 136, 151, 194, 219, 235, 237
Steele and Addison, authors of Nos. 18, 42, 63, 75, 81, 86, 93, 101, 103, 110, 111, 114, 147, 160, ? 214, 253, 254, 256, 257, 259, 260, 262, 265
and Swift, authors of Nos. 32, 66, 230, 238
Part of Nos. 59, 193, 223, 236
---- Richard, father of Steele, iii. 350 and note
Stella (Mrs. Johnson), i. 92 note, 107, 285 note; iii. 407
Stentor (i.e. Dr. Will Stanley), his loud voice in church, ii. 39 and note, 55, 127, 154
Stephen, toyshop-man, iv. 382
Stepney Churchyard, iv. 44 seq.
Sterne, his Tristram Shandy, ii. 316 note
Stevenson, Mrs. Anne, iii. 282 note
Stick, Lieutenant Jeffry, i. 232, 233
Stiffrump, Ezekiel, a Quaker, ii. 206, 207
Stockbridge, i. 298 note; iii. 158
Stocking, the ceremony of throwing, ii. 217
Stockjobbers of the Exchange, heirs to I. B.'s real estate, his bearskin, &c., i. 65
Stocks Market, statues in, i. 153 and note
Story-tellers, the Order of, iv. 44
Story's Gate in the Park, ii. 420
Stout, Richard, vendor of ass's milk, iv. 151 and note
Strand, the, i. 13 note, 170 note, 219 and note, 229 note; ii. 54, 264 note, 298; iii. 26 note, 158, 276 note, 299 note; iv. 150 note 372, 379
Stratonica, Queen, beloved of Antiochus, iii. 369, 370
Strephon, a master in the art of persuasion, ii. 78 seq.
---- a man of sense, iv. 260
---- his love-letters, iv. 250, 251
Strops for razors, iv. 149 and note
Strutt, his Complete Gamester, iv. 250 note
Stuart, John, Earl of Bute, ii. 1 note
Sturdy, honest Mr., i. 262 note, 268
Styx, iii. 24, 213, 214, 223
Sublime, the true, i. 351 seq.
Such-an-one, Jack, his character, iv. 65, 66
---- Lady, iv. 67
Suckling, Sir John, on love, i. 329:
his tragedy of Brennoralt, i. 329:
his Poems, iv. 240:
referred to, ii. 61, 70, 256
Suffenus, his happiness centred on a gilded chariot, iii. 171
Suffolk, Henry, fifth Earl of, i. 179 note
---- Street, resort of gamblers, ii. 89 and note, 91, 157 seq.
Summer-house, a covered, iii. 337 seq., 380 seq.; iv. 53
Sunderland, Lord (? Horatio), i. 45 and note
---- Robert, Earl of, ii. 87 note
"Supple men," iv. 101 seq.
Surville, M. de, i. 199
"Swallowers" distinguished from the "Eaters," iv. 61
Swan, Captain, ii. 95 note
Swash, Sir Paul, Knight, indicted for discourtesy, iv. 348, 349
Swearers, iii. 126 seq.
Swearing, a cunning cure for, i. 118, 119
Sweden, King of, i. 72, 213, 399; ii. 67, 134, 135; iii. 85 note, 336
Sweething's Lane, iii. 352 note
Swift, his age and position at starting of The Tatler, i. vii, viii:
his contributions, i. xiv:
his coldness towards Steele and others, i. xxiv:
acknowledgements to, i. 3:
his verses on a Shower, ibid.:
his Description of the Morning, ibid., i. 81, 82, 111 seq.; iv. 216 note:
made name of Bickerstaff famous, i. 8, 22 note:
his Essay on Modern Education, i. 12 note:
described as Wagstaff, i. 81 seq.:
his Journal to Stella, i. 83 note, 92 note, 107, 285 note; ii. 122 note, 396 note; iii. 55 note, 299 note, 407 note; iv. 175 note, 211 note, 215 note, 254 note, 265 note, 294 note, 310 note, 320 note, 374 note:
hatred of Boyer, i. 157 note:
his Tale of a Tub, i. 209 and note; iv. 320 note:
the "Janus of the Age," i. 268:
his Polite Conversation, ii. 6 note:
his City Shower, iii. 58 note; iv. 215 note:
his Genteel Conversation, iii. 100 note:
on Mary Astell, iii. 274 note:
his treatment of Death, iii. 351 note:
his continuation of the Tatler, iii. 406 note:
his The Importance of the Guardian considered, iii. 407 note:
his Project for the Advancement of Religion, iv. 294 note:
his Directions to the Waiting-Maid, iv. 294 note:
his Journal of a Modern Lady, iv. 338 note
Referred to, i. 13 note, 22 note, 48 note, 49 note, 99 note, 112 note, 156 note, 228 note, 245 note, 263 note; ii. 4 note, 85 note, 146 note, 320 note; iii. 12, 390 note, 407 note; iv. 43 note, 93 note, 149 note, 194 note, 204 note, 206 note, 315 note, 343 note
Letters by (signed Obadiah or Tobiah Greenhat, Elizabeth Potatrix, Cato junior, and Aminadab), i. 259 and note, (?) 289; ii. 70 seq., 102 seq., 151 (?), 162, 163 (?); iii. 391, 392 (?); iv. 13 seq.
Part author of Nos. 32, 66, 67, 68 (?), 230, 238
Hawkesworth claims for him Nos. 66, 67, 74, 81; ii. 223 note:
an article not by him, ii. 186 note
Swiss, the (Heidegger), ii. 118
Switch, Tom, a letter from, i. 240
Switzerland, i. 50, 61, 62, 76:
described by Addison, ii. 300
Sylvia and Dorinda, dialogue by Mrs. Singer, i. 92 and note
Sylvia, her hard case, iii. 367 seq., 382 seq.
Sylvius (General Cornelius Wood), iii. 162 and note
Symes, Thomas, first husband of Steele's mother, iii. 350 note
Synge, Captain R., i. 334
T. R., a Welshman, iv. 301 seq.
Tabio, a rival of Bromeo, ii. 99 seq.
"Table of the Titles and Distinctions of Women," i. 89 note
Tacitus, his Annals quoted, i. 145; iii. 361
"Talc," iv. 250 and note
Tale of a Tub, i. 209 note; iv. 320 note
Talgol (in Hudibras), iii. 179 note
Talicotius, Gaspar, iv. 314, 320, 322 note and seq., 327
Talking, the art of, iv. 242 seq.:
the abuse of, iv. 342 seq.
Tallboy, a sharper, ii. 115, 116
Taming of the Shrew retold, iv. 181 seq.
Tapestry described, i. 32, 33
Taplash, John, a singing clerk, i. 337
Tarantula, its poison cured by dancing or music, i. 383 and note
Tasso, his Pastor Fido, iii. 236
Taswell (i.e. Caswell), Dr. William, minister, ii. 43 note
Tate, Nahum, his No Duke, iii. 409
Tatler, its forerunners, i. x, xi:
its origin, i. xi; its methods, i. xi-xiv, xviii seq.:
characters in, i. xvi:
Gay on, i. xvi seq.:
its teachings, i. xxii seq.:
causes of its discontinuance, i. xxiv:
its popularity, i. xxv-xxvii:
imitators and continuations, i. xxvii:
some account of the design of, i. 3 seq.:
contributions by Addison, i. 4 seq.:
subscribed to by every one eminent for wit, power, beauty, valour, or wisdom, i. 9:
title chosen in honour of the fair sex, i. 12:
price to be 1d., i. 12, 13, 46 note:
foreign news made interesting, i. 12:
service to stage, i. 15 note, 31:
French translation of, i. 34 note:
Annotations on, i. 52 note, &c.:
wit of, exhausted, i. 64:
will, burial and funeral, i. 65-67:
devoted to the fair sex, i. 142, 143; ii. 218:
increase of advertisements, i. 182 and note:
hush-money for, i. 219:
advice to, ii. 183 seq.:
defended, ii. 197 seq.:
the Female Tatler, ii. 247 note, &c.:
pirated Tatler, ii. 347 and note:
the censor of Great Britain, iii. 160, &c.:
the continuation of, by Swift and Harrison, iii. 406 note:
its rivals and critics, iv. 171 seq., 219 seq.:
Edinburgh reprint of, iv. 382
Tatler, Martha, a letter from, i. 293 seq.
Tattle, Jasper, a talkative fellow, iv. 247 seq.
Taylor, Jeremy, his Art of Living and Dying, iv. 350
Tears, cause for shedding, ii. 138 seq.
Tearshift, an unjust judge i. 124
Tee Zee Neen Ho Ga Prow, an Iroquois chief of the Maquas, Emperor of the Mohocks, iii. 299 note, 301
Telemachus among the shades in Fénélon's Télémaque, iii. 222 seq.
Tempest, Miss (? Hebe), maid of honour, i. 355 note and seq.
Tempest, The, iii. 409
Temple, the i. 161; ii. 363
---- Sir Richard, i. 102 note, 291
---- Sir William, his Memoirs of what passed in Christendom from 1672 to 1679, ii. 351 and note
---- Bar, i. 348; ii. 156 note, 215, 260; iii. 98 note, 127, 264; iv. 372
---- Gates, iii. 61 note
Tender Husband, The, by Steele, iv. 31 note, 249 note
Tenoe, Mr., a music-master of Hampstead, ii. 61 note
Teraminta, i. 66:
the reigning toast of I.B.'s youth, ii. 311
Teraminta, her unhappy fate, i. 363, 364, 365
Terence quoted, ii. 322:
Hecyra quoted, iii. 5; iv. 256:
Eunuchus, iii. 73; iv. 77:
Andria, iii. 234:
Phorm, iii. 194
Terentia, wife of Cicero, iii. 239 seq.
Terms, different, at Oxford and Westminster, i. 315 seq.
Terræ filius, i.e. undergraduate who makes extempore speeches at degree-giving, i. 366 note
—— or, The Secret History of the University of Oxford, by Amherst, i. 366 note
Terrour, Tom, a gamester, i. 128
"Tetrachymagogon," a physician's sign, iv. 225 seq.
Tewin-water; or, The Story of Lady Cathcart, by Edward Ford, iv. 261 note
Texel, the, i. 20, 198, 276
Thackeray quoted, i. xxi; iii. 351 note; iv. 74 note
Thais, iv. 81
Thalestris, i. 270
---- a plain woman set off by jewels and colours, iii. 195, 196
Thames, the, i. 158, 219 note; iv. 268 note
---- Street, i. 232, 390; ii. 29 note
Thatched House, ii. 118
Thaun, General, i. 70
---- Count Henry, i. 71, 182, 399; ii. 48, 73, 200
Theatre, lamentable history of the, i. 109, 110:
its effect on manners of the age, i. 111:
at Amsterdam, i. 171, 172:
moral influence of, ii. 334; iii. 353 seq.:
fair sex in front boxes, gentlemen of wit and leisure in side-boxes, substantial cits in pit, ii. 6 note:
visited for effects of light, ii. 388:
evil effects of having two, ii. 335:
at Oxford, Hogarth's picture of, i. 366 note
Theatre, The, quoted, i. 209 note; ii. 6 note; iv. 58 note, 91 note
Themistocles, a repartee of, iii. 197
Theory and Regulations of Love, by John Norris, i. 262 and note
"Thermometer," description of, by Addison, i. 4
Theron, his happiness centred on a running horse, iii. 171
Thersites, a myrmidon, ii. 52 seq.
Theseus, i. 256; ii. 129, 232
Thesse, Marshal de, i. 35, 94, 95
Thickett, Orson, a savage huntsman, ii. 330
Thiers, his treatise on perukes, iv. 372 note
Thimble, Rachael, a waiting-maid, iii. 124
Thomas, Sir, a waiter at White's, i. 138, 141, 214, 298, 379
---- Mrs. Elizabeth (? Sappho), known as Corinna, i. 55 note:
her Pylades and Corinna, i. 380 note; ii. 19 note; iii. 263; iv. 194:
her conquest of Henry Cromwell, i. 380 note
Thoresby, Ralph, his Diary quoted, i. 13 note, 345 note
Thorold, Sir Charles, i. 106
---- Sir George, i. 106
Thouy, Marquis de, ii. 34
Threadneedle Street, iv. 149 note
Threadpaper, Sarah, waiting-maid, iii. 124
Thrifty, John, a letter from, ii. 257
Thumb, Tom, history of, ii. 351
Thungen, General, i. 71
Tickell, Thomas, his The Prospect of Peace, i. 382 note:
as Tom Mercett, iv. 123 note:
referred to, ii. 3 note, 178 note, 223 note, 257 note, 317 note, 346 note, 405 note; iii. 178 note; iv. 283 note, 287 note
Tillotson, John, Archbishop of Canterbury, ii. 350 and note
Tilney Churchyard, Norfolk, ii. 316 note
Tiltyard, i. 318
Timbs, his Clubs and Club Life in London, i. 12 note, 280 note; ii. 260 note
Timoleon on the origin of titles, iii. 298 seq.:
referred to, iii. 300, 301
Timon, Lord, i. 84 seq.; iii. 369 note
Timothy and Philatheus, by Oldisworth, ii. 9 note, 12 note
Timothy [Tittle], Sir (Henry Cromwell), the critic, i. 380 note; iii. 270 seq.
Tinbreast, Mr., of Cornwall, i. 301
Tindal, Dr., on Rights of the Christian Church, ii. 12 and note
Tintoret, Tom, a notable vintner, iii. 95, 134
Tipstaff, i. 102, 103, 104
Tiptoe, Mr., his dancing-school, iii. 348
Tiresias, iii. 200 seq.
Tit for Tat, iv. 172 and note
Titles, historical origin of, iii. 298 seq.
Tittle, Sir Timothy (i.e. Henry Cromwell), i. 380 note; iii. 270 seq.
To a Lady on her Parrot, i. 226, 227
Toast, a, history and definition of, i. 201 seq., 259:
visit from a top toast, ii. 286 seq.:
referred to, ii. 166, 315; iii. 42, 76 note
Tobacco, iii. 63 note
Tockenburg, i. 62, 76, 204; ii. 47
Tofts, Mrs. Catherine (Camilla), singer, i. 171 and note, 346; iii. 6 note:
rival of Margerita, iii. 191 note
Toilet, Mrs., tirewoman, ii. 214
Torcy, M., i. 88, 96, 97, 120, 121, 130, 143, 144, 155, 164, 173, 174 note, 184, 197, 204; iii. 123
---- and Mme. Maintenon, i. 165, 166
Toland, John, his Christianity not Mysterious, ii. 417
Toledo, the sword-blades of, i. 282 and note
Tom Brown's Ghost; or, Gazette à la Mode, iv. 172 and note
Tom's Coffee-house, ii. 277 and note; iv. 327 and note
Tombs in Westminster Abbey, i. 247 and note
Tompion, watchmaker, iii. 60 note
"Tongue pad," countryfolks' name for the witty Emilia, ii. 56
Tonson, Jacob, publisher of Miscellany Poems, i. 92 note:
founder of Kit-Cat Club, i. 92 note:
his edition of Hudibras, iv. 314:
referred to, i. 112, 380 note; iii. 249 note
Tooke, Ben., Swift's bookseller, ii. 223, 260 and note
Tooly, Deputy, ii. 179 note
"Top," the, a dice trick, ii. 143
"Topping" fellows, i. 321, 322
Toricellius, inventor of common weather-glass, iv. 129
"Torner" (i.e. Turner), Richard, founder of Dick's Coffee-house, ii. 260 note
Torrington, Lord, iii. 85 note
Toss, Mrs., a great coquette, i. 225 seq.
Tothill-Fields, i. 232 and note
----, Chapel, ii. 171 note
Touchhole, Major (i.e. Mr. Gregory), a train-band major, ii. 79 and note, 80
Touchstone, The, by James Ralph, ii. 335 note
Touchwood, Lady Penelope, her delicacy, iv. 317
Touchy, Colonel, complains of assault, iv. 346 seq.
Toulon, i. 182, 372, 400
Tournay, i. 19 note, 43, 174, 269, 290, 291, 299, 304, 313, 331, 332, 337, 339, 354, 362, 377, 378, 399; ii. 34, 48, 67 note, 73, 92, 96, 97, 108; iii. 317
Tower of London, i. 19; ii. 372 note:
lions at, i. 247 and note
---- Hill, i. 387
---- Street, iv. 359 note
Town, The, by Leigh Hunt, i. 136 note
Town, the, inclined to Periodical Essays, by Swift, i. 3:
Tatler to reform, i. 7:
low amusements of, i. 107:
popularity in, i. 199:
terms of, explained to country gentlemen, i. 175, 198 seq., 201 seq., 223 seq.:
celebrated characters in, i. 241 seq.
Townly, Lady, claims a call from Mrs. Flambeau, iv. 334
Townshend, Lord, i. 89, 129, 143, 155, 166
Tradescant, John, senior, founder of the Ashmolean, i. 282 note
---- John, junior, founder of the Ashmolean, i. 282 note
Traffic, Richard, a letter from, iv. 99-101
"Tragedian," iv. 277 and note
Tragedy, decline of, i. 385:
how to write, ii. 32 seq.:
the source of, ii. 139 seq., 233 seq.
Tranquillus, honest Felix, lover of Jenny Distaff, ii. 212, 250 seq., 366; iii. 365; iv. 369, 370
Transition, the art of, ii. 134
Trapp, Professor Joseph (Parson Dapper), his character, ii. 121 note and seq.:
his A Character of the Present Set of the Whigs, ii. 121 note
Travels in England, by Misson, iii. 275 note
Treatise by an Elephant against receiving Foreigners into the Forest, ii. 80
Treatall, Timothy, indicted for madness, iv. 331 seq.
Trelooby, Humphrey, iv. 233
Trencher-caps, the, ii. 172, 173
Trick-track (Sir Henry Colt), an unjust judge, i. 123, 124 and note
Trimalchio, the banquet of, ii. 14 and note
Trimmer, a man undone by cards, i. 107
Trinculo in The Tempest, iii. 409
Trinity College, Cambridge, iv. 3 note
Trip to the Jubilee; or, The Constant Couple, i. 125 note:
performed, i. 163 and note
Trippet, Sir Taffety (i.e. Henry Cromwell), the fortune-hunter, his history and conduct at Epsom, i. 380 note and seq.
---- Mrs. Sissy, iv. 127
Trippit, Simon, a puny coxcomb, his petition, ii. 360, 361
---- William, gentleman-usher to the play-house, iv. 333
Tristram, little Sir (Sir Francis Child), a banker whose folly will do him good service, ii. 58 seq., 75
Tristram Shandy, ii. 316 note
Triumph, a flaw in the Roman, ii. 98, 99, 106
Triumph of Love, an Italian opera, i. 110 note
Trivia, by Gay, i. 234 note, 327 note; ii. 204 note; iii. 102 note
Trojans, the, i. 58, 59, 60, 256; ii. 52; iii. 104
Tron Church, Edinburgh, iv. 383
Trosse, Francis, overseer, ii. 43 note
Trot, Tom, the penny-post, iv. 373
Trotter, Dr., an astrologer, iii. 313
Trouin, Mons. du Guy, i. 137
Troy, i. 59, 64; ii. 231; iii. 202, 215
Truby, Will, always ready to laugh, ii. 101, 102, 138
Trueman, Charles, hero of domestic life, iv. 100, 101
Truepenny, old, giveth excellent advice, ii. 56
Truman, Mr., i. 241, 331: letter from, i. 270: on tragedy, ii. 32 seq.
Trump, Tom, in defence of gamesters, ii. 57 seq.
Trumpet, the, in Shire Lane, account of, iii. 98 note and seq.:
the society at, iv. 47:
referred to, ii. 260 note, 279; iii. 75
Truncheon, Col. Alexander, a hero of invincible stupidity, ii. 82:
foreman of jury in the Court of Honour, iv. 283
Trusty, Will (John Hughes), on dogs, ii. 175 seq.
---- Sam (? Jabez Hughes), iv. 351
Truth, the mirror of, ii. 341 seq., 353 seq.
"Tube" for the eye, ii. 364
Tudor, Mary, daughter of Charles II. and Mary Davis, iv. 140 note
Tulliola, daughter of Cicero, iii. 239, 240, 243
Tully (Cicero), ii. 390, 412; iii. 103, 142, 280, 347; iv. 220:
on the Fable of Gyges, iii. 131; iv. 238
Tumbril, ridden by Orlando, ii. 13 and note
"Tun" of Wapping. See Hogshead, iv. 85
Tunbridge, i. 380; ii. 111, 378
Turin, i. 35, 70, 182; ii. 133
Turnbull, Andrew, iv. 382
Turkey, a merchant of, whose Greek servant founded the "Grecian," i. 13 note:
the Emperor of, his gratitude to his horse, iii. 43:
referred to, iii. 111, 220, 222, 246
Turners, the, city ladies (Lady Autumn and Lady Springly), i. 293 and note
Tuscany, Duke of, iv. 227
Tusculan Disputations, Dr. Bently on, i. 66 note
Tutchin, John, tried for libel, i. 158 note
"Tutty," iv. 353 and note
"Twelvepence a peck, oysters," a London cry, i. 41 note
Twicestaff, another name for Distaff, i. 104
Twig, Mrs. Biddy, ii. 247
---- Offspring, a letter from, ii. 88, 89
Two Crowns and Cushion, Thomas Arne's sign, iii. 301
Twoshoes, Giles, a monied wag, ii. 58, 59
Twysden, Heneage, author of genealogy of the house of Bickerstaff, i. 4:
his death and monument, ibid.:
referred to, i. 101 note, 102 seq.
---- Sir William, i. 101 note
---- Josiah, i. 102 note
---- John, i. 102 note
Typhonus, a giant, i. 256
Ubi, Will, company for anybody, ii. 56
Ukrania, i. 71, 236
Ulysses, i. 59, 60; ii. 53, 232; iii. 104, 222; iv. 288:
his voyage to the regions of the dead, iii. 200 seq.
Umbra, a coxcomb, i. 311, 312
---- the genius of credit, i. 391 seq.
Umbratilis, a pretender, iv. 245
"Umbrello," an, iii. 12 and note
Under a Lady's Picture, by Waller, verses in which every woman thinks herself described, iii. 137, 138
Underhill, Cave, a famous comedian, i. 188 and note:
as the grave-digger, i. 188 note, 189
Union Coffee-house, iv. 154 note
Unnion, a corporal, his story, i. 52 seq.
Upholders, the Company of, claim to bury all the dead, ii. 337:
a letter from, ii. 338, 339:
referred to, ii. 352, 365, 381, 399 seq., 402, 416, 419; iii. 45, 257; iv. 327.
See "Walking Dead"
"Upholsterer, the political," iii. 218, 244, 332 seq., 336, 343; iv. 18, 185 seq.
Urbanus, an excellent companion, iv. 244
Ursula, Mrs., iv. 353
Urwin, Will, proprietor of Will's Coffee-house, from whom it was named, i. 12 note
Vafer, Will, a sharper, ii. 51
Vainglorious Glutton, The, by Mr. Fuller, iv. 59 note
Valenciennes, i. 174, 339; ii. 200; iii. 317
Valentia, an esteemed woman, ii. 46
Valentine, a sentinel, i. 52 seq.
----, in Love for Love, ii. 163 note
----, I. B.'s, iii. 149:
referred to, iii. 130 and note
Valentini Urbani, Signior, singer, i. 345 and note
Valerius Maximus, ii. 62 note, 262 note
---- honest, iii. 241
Van Konsbruch, i. 61
Vanbrugh, Sir John, architect of the Haymarket, i. 110 note, ii. 334 note:
his Confederacy, i. 111 note:
his Relapse, i. 29 note, 67 note:
locked in Bastille, i. 218 and note
Vandals, i. 257; ii. 337; iv. 22
Vanderbank, Peter, his tapestries, i. 32 note, 33 note
---- William, son of Peter, i. 33 note
---- Instructions to, i. 32 and note
Vandyck, iv. 109 note
Vanity, condemned, i. 8:
the Temple of, iii. 50, 54
Vanity Fair quoted, iv. 74 note
Varick, the widow, her advertisement, iv. 148 note
Varillus, his true modesty, ii. 26
Varnish, Tom, a talker, iv. 243:
his history; iii. 120 seq.
Vauxhall (or Fox-Hall), originally the new Spring Gardens, i. 219 and note; ii. 126 note
Vegetable, a reverend, ii. 258
Vellum, in The Drummer, i. 158 note
Venice, Doge of, i. 95:
all soldiers from, are mercenaries, i. 231:
letter from, i. 27:
referred to, i. 171 note, ii. 301
Venice Preserved, by Otway, Belvidera in, played by Mrs. Barry, i. 16 note:
referred to, iii. 105, 409
Venus, i. 59, 138, 227; ii. 79 note, 281, 294; iii. 341; iv. 7, 261, 262:
her help sought by Juno, iii. 176, 177:
her girdle or cestus, iii. 176:
a tale of, iv. 321
Vendôme, Duke of, i. 20, 229; iv. 158
Verbruggen, Mrs., Cibber on, i. 30 and note:
Aston on, i. 31 note
---- Mr., i. 16 note, 30 note, 31 note
Verdier, Mr., iv. 380
Verelst, John, his pictures of the Indian kings, iii. 299 note
Verisimilis, guardian-spirit of Honour, i. 389 seq.
Vernon, Mr. Secretary, i. 124 note
Verono (i.e. the Earl of Wharton), i. 45 and note
Verses on His own Death, by Swift, ii. 396 note
Verus (Sir John Holt), magistrate, his character, i. 123 and note
"Very Pretty Fellow," a character of a, i. 198 seq.:
a true woman's man, i. 199: referred to, i. 322, 324, 366; iii. 256
Very pretty gentleman, a, i. 14
Vickers, Mr., iv. 381
Vienna, i. 27, 49, 61, 70, 95, 182, 213, 236; ii. 133
Vignolles, Major, i. 184
Villaria (i.e. Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland), ii. 7 note and seq., 14, 87 and note
Villars, Marshal, i. 19 note, 197, 205, 229, 244 note, 269, 290, 291, 299, 313, 339; ii. 49, 105; iii. 316 note, 317, 333
---- Mrs., a bad woman, ii. 4 note
Villiers, Will., Viscount Grandison, father of Duchessof Cleveland, ii. 7 note
---- George, Duke of Buckingham, Dryden on, ii. 16 note
Vincent, Dr. Nathaniel, his long wig, iv. 372 note
Vindication of Isaac Bickerstaff, i. 21 note, 22 note
Viner, Sir Robert, i. 153 note
Virgil, compared to Homer, i. 57 and note:
in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 229:
Æneid continued by Mapheus Vegius, ii. 281 note:
on a future life, iii. 211 seq., 235
his Æneid, i. 215, 257; ii. 142, 146, 399, 405; iii. 16, 22, 105, 107, 108, 109, 125, 129, 130, 199, 211, 222, 236, 348, 380, 390; iv. 104, 159, 238, 262, 283, 293, 362
his Georgics, i. 137, 336; ii. 276; iii. 27, 337; iv. 101, 106, 141
his Eclogues, iii. 93, 165; iv. 114, 197, 235, 298
Referred to, i. 77, 136; ii. 100; iii. 44, 234, 236, 309; iv. 220, 222, 234, 261
Virgin Muse, by Greenwood, iv. 296 note
Virginity, time of reckoning, iv. 84, 96
Virgulta, receives Delamira's fan, ii. 20 seq.
Virtue and pleasure, a fable of, ii. 324 seq.:
effectively recommended by poetry, ii. 331 seq.:
men of, allowed to look in the "Mirror of Truth," ii. 344:
the Temple of, iii. 49
Virtuoso, complaints of, iii. 152 seq.:
the whims of, iv. 110, 111:
the will of a, iv. 112, 113
Visits, unseasonable, ii. 279 seq.:
the art of paying, ii. 394 seq.
Vitry, ii. 317, 320
Vivarez, the, i. 332, 337
Voisin, M., i. 229
Volpone; or, The Fox, by Ben Jonson, i. 172 note
Volscius, Prince, in The Rehearsal, i. 172 note
Voluble, Will, a fine talker, iii. 315 seq.
Von Hutten, Ulrich, author of Epistles to Ortuinus, &c., iv. 22 note
Vossus, his De Poematum Cantu et Viribus Rhythmi, i. 282 note
Voyage to the Island of Cajamai, by Dr. W. King, iv. 208 note
Vulgar, the truly, ii. 144 seq.
Wadsworth, Mary, spinster, ii. 4 note
Wag, a tiresome, ii. 216, 217:
the class, iii. 365
Wager, Admiral Charles, iii. 84 note, 85 note
Wagg, Mr., Lord Steyne's toady, iv. 74 note
Wagstaff, Walter, translator of Bournelle's Annotations on the "Tatler," i. 52 note; ii. 211 note
---- Humphrey (i.e. Swift), of the Staffs, a new and original writer, i. 81 seq., 89 note; iv. 216 seq., 343
---- Lepidus, his suitable discourse, ii. 215, 216
---- Mrs. Rebecca, i. 89 note, 130
Wagstaffs, i. 102, 103
Waldeck, Prince, i. 156
Wales, ii. 193; iv. 53
Walker, Obadiah, Master of University College, Oxford, ii. 171 note
---- Dr. Thomas, Headmaster of Charterhouse, ii. 331 note
Walking dead, the, allowed in certain places at certain times, ii. 420:
resurrection of, iii. 24:
referred to, ii. 318 seq., 352, 353, 381, 399 seq.; iii. 21, 313
Wall, Dr., a celebrated quack, i. 215 and note; iv. 323
Waller, his Instructions to a Painter, and his Advice to a Painter, i. 34 note:
his Under a Lady's Picture, iii. 137, 138:
referred to, iii. 260 seq.
Walloon Guards, i. 106, 120, 269
Walpole, Horatio, quoted, i. 33 note, 34 note; iv. 109 note:
Secretary at the Hague, i. 164:
referred to, ii. 182 note
---- Sir Robert, i. 164 note
Walsh, Will, critic and man of fashion, ii. 249 and note
Wands not of the family of the Staffs, i. 105
Wapping, i. 170; ii. 372 note; iii. 147, 265; iv. 154 note:
the beauties of, iv. 291
Warren, Mrs. (Mrs. Lucy), i. 286 note
Wartenberg, Count, iv. 56, 57
Warton's Court, iv. 152
Warwick Street, ii. 339
---- Lane, iv. 169 note:
the College of Physicians in, iv. 39 and note
Watson, James, printer, iv. 383
Way of the World, by Congreve, iv. 367
Wealth, iii. 54
Wealthy, Lady, ii. 87
Webb, Lieutenant-General, ii. 109, 113
Wedding, a Grecian, iii. 364
Wedlock may be a most impudent prostitution, ii. 289
Weekly Packet, The, iv. 376 note
Wenman, Viscount, an idiot, i. 325
---- Lady, his mother, i. 325
Wentworth, Peter, letters from, i. 146 note, 293 note, 297 note, 325 note, 371 note, 377 note, 386 note
Papers quoted, i. 147 note, 293 note, 297 note, 323 note, 325 note, 343 note, 355 note, 371 note, 377 note, 386 note; ii. 5 note, 313 note; iii. 6 note, 55 note; iv. 84 note, 204 note
---- Lady, letter from, ii. 5 note; iii. 6 note, 151
---- Lady Anne, ii. 313 note
Wentworth, Lady Hariot, ii. 313 note
Wesell, General, iv. 85
West, of Chelsea, ii. 267
West Indies, i. 234 note; iii. 221, 277
Westminster, i. 31 note, 232 note, 371, 392; ii. 8, 12 note, 150, 163 note, 171 note, 180, 209; iii. 126, 162, 164; iv. 3 note
Westminster Abbey, monument to Mr. Twysden in, i. 4:
tombs in, i. 247 and note:
Betterton's funeral in, iii. 279 note and seq.:
referred to, iii. 149
---- Hall, shop-keepers' stalls in, iii. 139 note:
two shepherdesses in, iii. 139, 169:
as a dining-room, iii. 151:
referred to, iv. 176, 267, 338
---- a Prebendary of, iv. 204 note
Westmorland, the lovers of, ii. 236
Westphalia, Treaty of, i. 174
Wexford, Earl of, ii. 315 note
Wharton, Thomas, Earl of (Verono), i. 45 and note, 57 note; iii. 90
Whatdee'call, Mr., his buttons, i. 184; ii. 127
Wheat Sheaf, the, iv. 327 and note
Wheel of Fortune, The; or, Nothing for a Penny, iii. 58 note
Wheelbarrow, Sir Giles, knight, ii. 257 seq.
Whetstone, George, his English Mirror, i. 340
"Whetters," iii. 133, 134, 147 seq.
Whipstaff, i. 130
"Whisperer," iv. 172 and note
Whiston, his Prælections Physicæ Mathematicæ sive Philosophia clarissimi Newtoni Mathematica illustrata, i. 350 note
White Cross Street, i. 334
"White pots," iv. 250 and note
Whitaker, Admiral, i. 50
---- Sir Edward, i. 182
Whitefriars, refuge for debtors, ii. 126 note
Whitehall, iii. 127 and note, 295
---- Gardens, iii. 296 note
White's Chocolate-house, accounts of gallantry and pleasure from, i. 12 and note:
costs a man 6d. a day, i. 13:
referred to, i. 107, 119, 134, 138, 214, 216, 297 note, 300; ii. 123, 277, 297, 419
Whitestaff, i. 102, 103
Whitlocke, Sir William (Will Shoestring), i. 310 note, 311
Whittington, Alderman Dick, in the Chamber of Fame, ii. 208:
referred to, iv. 207
Whittlestick, Lady, the virtuous, ii. 246 seq.
Whole Art of Life, The; or, The Introduction to Great Men, illustrated in a pack of cards, i. 37
Whole Duty of Man, The, ii. 184
Why-not, Will, a questioner, i. 336 seq.
Widows, beautiful, in the Mirror of Truth, ii. 356 seq.
Wife, the case of a distressed, i. 167 seq.:
her virtue, like the merits of a poet, never rightly valued till after death, ii. 38
Wig, combing it, an act of gallantry, i. 310 and note, 311 note
Wildacre, Sir Geoffrey, iv. 281
Wildair, Tom, of the Inner Temple, his reformation, ii. 74 seq.
---- Humphrey, the wise father of Tom W., ii. 75 seq.
---- Sir Harry, in Farquhar's Constant Couple, i. 163 note; iii. 356; iv. 42
Wildfire, Sir Harry, i. 248
Wilks, Robert, actor, as Wildair, i. 163 note, 164:
as Macbeth, ii. 140:
his salary, ii. 164 note:
should not imitate Betterton, iv. 42 and note:
head of the stage, iii. 355 seq.:
as Othello, iii. 380, 384:
referred to, i. 125 and note; iii. 282 note, 365
William III., i. 31 note, 188 note; ii. 272 note, 285, 351 note; iv. 3 note, 93 note, 251 note
---- nephew of I. B., i. 247 seq.
---- his youth compared to that of his sister Mrs. Elizabeth, iii. 319
Willit, Sir Harry, his quarrel with his wife, ii. 213 seq.
Will's Coffee-house, accounts of new poetry dated from, i. 12 and note:
resort of Dryden, i. 13 note:
costs a man 2d. a day, i. 13:
referred to, i. 373; ii. 110, 277; iii. 209, 270, 275, 336; iv. 131
Winchester House, i. 349 note
Windmill, Andrew, Esq., ii. 257 seq.
Wine-brewers, complaints against, iii. 92 seq.
Winifred, a country girl, i. 375
---- daughter of a Kentish yeoman, iii. 382
Winstanley, Henry, his water theatre, ii. 181, 182 note
---- Hamlet, father of Henry W., i. 181 note
Wirtemberg, i. 44, 73
Wisdom, Walter, a new "fortune," ii. 330
Wit, a new way of, i. 107 seq.:
men of, used to be men of virtue, i. 136:
a character of, i. 241 seq.:
and breeding are wholly local, ii. 56:
made useful, ii. 110:
defined by Dryden, ii. 92 note and seq.:
a determined wit, iv. 246:
bequeathed by I. B., i. 66
Wit and Mirth, by D'Urfey, iii. 192 note
Witches, satire on the belief in, i. 180, 181
Withers, General Henry, at Tournay, i. 378 note:
Pope's Epitaph on, i. 378 note
Wits, the, The Tatler appeals to, i. 5 seq.:
absorbed in frivolous affairs, i. 151, 152:
a hospital for the decayed, i. 173 and note:
wits to be discouraged, i. 347 seq.:
the manners of possessed, iv. 123 seq.
Wives, beautiful, in the Mirror of Truth, ii. 356 seq.
Woffington, Mrs., i. 110 note
Wolfembuttel, i. 44, 73
---- Duke of, iv. 271
Wolstenholm, Sir John, ii. 19 note
Woman, destroying fiend or guardian angel, iv. 40:
a beautiful romantic animal, iii. 16
Wood, Anthony, his Athenæ Oxonienses quoted, i. 87 note:
his Fasti, iv. 169 note:
referred to, iv. 372 note
---- Gen. Cornelius (Sylvius), his life and distinction, iii. 1628 note, 163 note:
referred to, i. 20 and note; iv. 376 note:
? as "Martius," a brave invalid, iii. 324, 325
---- Rev. Seth, father of Gen. W., iii. 162 note
Wood, Walter, overseer, ii. 43 note
Woodby, Lady, the learned, i. 342
Woodford, a school at, iv. 196 note
Wooing, the extravagances of, iii. 136 seq.
Woolfe, Sir Joseph, knight, i. 333 seq.
Woollen Act, iii. 22
Woolsack, the sign of the, iv. 304 note
Wootton, Sir Henry, iv. 180
Works and Days, by Hesiod, ii. 326 note; iv. 58
Works of the Learned, iv. 194 note, 195 note
World, The, quoted, iv. 109 note
Wouldbe, Lady Betty, accused of painting, iv. 318, 319
Wrathful, Justice, i. 42
Wren, Sir Christopher (Nestor), ii. 24 and note, 25 and note
Writers, strange scarcity of, i. 32:
their skill in transition, ii. 133, 134
Writing-masters, iv. 329 seq.
Wroughton, Susannah, i. 325 note
---- Seymour, i. 325 note
---- Francis, i. 325 note
Wycherley, his Country Wife, i. 29 seq:
his Plain Dealer, i. 243 note; ii. 246 note:
his Love in a Wood, i. 311 note:
on easy writers, i. 81:
his definition of a coxcomb, i. 309:
referred to, i. 380; ii. 334 note
Wynendale, victory at, ii. 113 note
Xenophon, conductor of Socrates, ii. 228
Xerxes, his robes, i. 346:
he weeps, ii. 323
Yalden, his verses to Mackworth, ii. 84 note
Yes, when a young virgin should say "yes," ii. 244
Yokefellow, Bridget, question on the education of her children, iv. 282
---- Ralph, question on the education of his children, iv. 282
Young, Mrs., i. 29 note
---- Boorwit in Steele's Lying Lover, i. 219 note
Young Man's Coffee-house, i. 261 and note; iii. 276
---- Dr. Margery (alias John), a kind of Amazon in physic, iv. 159 seq.
"Young Maid's Portion, The," a song in D'Urfey's Wit and Mirth, iii. 192 note
Youth, I. B.'s kindness for, i. 247:
devoted to lust, iii. 32
York Buildings, ii. 61 note; iii. 192 note, 276 note, 299 note
---- Duke of, iii. 100 note
Zealand, i. 20, 129
Zinzendorf, Count, i. 61, 95

THE END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME

Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.

London & Edinburgh

Transcriber's Notes:

Corrected errors listed in CORRIGENDA on p. 384.

Added table of contents.

Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors.

Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

The Tatler Edited with Introduction & Notes

To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Halifax. [1] — FOOTNOTES:

CONTENTS

No. 194. [ Steele. [2] From Tuesday, July 4 , to Thursday, July 6, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 5. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 195. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 6 , to Saturday, July 8, 1710 . — Grecian Coffee-house, July 7. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 196. [ Steele. From Saturday, July 8 , to Tuesday, July 11, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 10. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 197. [ Steele. From Tuesday, July 11 , to Thursday, July 13, 1710 . — Grecian Coffee-house, July 12. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 198. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 13 , to Saturday, July 15, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 14. The History of Cælia. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 199. [ Steele. [14] From Saturday, July 15 , to Tuesday, July 18, 1710 . — FOOTNOTES:

No. 200. [ Steele. From Tuesday, July 18 , to Thursday, July 20, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 19. — The Amicable Contribution for raising the Fortunes of Ten Young Ladies. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 201. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 20 , to Saturday, July 22, 1710 . — White's Chocolate-house, July 21. — From my own Apartment, July 21. — Advertisement. From the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, July 20. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 202. [ Steele. From Saturday, July 22 , to Tuesday, July 25, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 24. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 203. [ Steele. From Tuesday, July 25 , to Thursday, July 27, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 26. — Grecian Coffee-house, July 26. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 204. [ Steele. From Thursday, July 27 , to Saturday, July 29, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 28. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 205. [ Fuller. [31] From Saturday, July 29 , to Tuesday, Aug. 1, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, July 31. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 206. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 1 , to Thursday, Aug. 3, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 2. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 207. [ Steele. From Thursday, Aug. 3 , to Saturday, Aug. 5, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 4. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 208. [ Steele. From Saturday, Aug. 5 , to Tuesday, Aug. 8, 1710 . — From my own Apartment Aug. 7. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 209. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 8 , to Thursday, Aug. 10, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 9. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 210. [ Steele. From Thursday, Aug. 10 , to Saturday, Aug. 12, 1710 . — Sheer Lane, Aug. 10. — St. James's Coffee-house, Aug. 11. [41] — FOOTNOTES:

No. 211. [ Steele. From Saturday, Aug. 12 , to Tuesday, Aug. 15, 1710 . — Sunday, Aug. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 212. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 15 , to Thursday, Aug. 17, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 16. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 213. [ Steele. From Thursday, Aug. 17 , to Saturday, Aug. 19, 1710 . — Sheer Lane, Aug. 16. — Sheer Lane, Aug. 17. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 214. [ Steele. [56] From Saturday, Aug. 19 , to Tuesday, Aug. 22, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 21. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 215. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Aug. 22 , to Thursday, Aug. 24, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 23. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. " The humble Petition of the Company of Linendrapers residing within the Liberty of Westminster; — FOOTNOTES:

No. 216. [ Addison. From Thursday, Aug. 24 , to Saturday, Aug. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 25. — The Will of a Virtuoso. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 217. [ Steele. From Saturday, Aug. 26 , to Tuesday, Aug. 29, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 28. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 218. [ Addison. From Tuesday, Aug. 29 , to Thursday, Aug. 31, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Aug. 30. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 219. [ ? Steele. [70] From Thursday, Aug. 31 , to Saturday, Sept. 2, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 1. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. " The humble Petition of Joshua Fairlove of Stepney: — FOOTNOTES:

No. 220. [ Addison. From Saturday, Sept. 2 , to Tuesday, Sept. 5, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 4. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 221. [ ? Addison. [75] From Tuesday, Sept. 5 , to Thursday, Sept. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 6. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 222. [ ? Addison. [79] From Thursday, Sept. 7 , to Saturday, Sept. 9, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 8. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 223. [ ? Steele. [85] From Saturday, Sept. 9 , to Tuesday, Sept. 12, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 11. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 224. [ Addison. From Tuesday, Sept. 12 , to Thursday, Sept. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 225. [ Steele. From Thursday, Sept. 14 , to Saturday, Sept. 16, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 15. — St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 15. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 226. [ Addison. From Saturday, Sept. 16 , to Tuesday, Sept. 19, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 18. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 227. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Sept. 19 , to Thursday, Sept. 21, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 20. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 228. [ Steele. From Thursday, Sept. 21 , to Saturday, Sept. 23, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 22. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 229. [ Addison. From Saturday, Sept. 23 , to Tuesday, Sept. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 25. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 230. [ Steele and Swift . From Tuesday, Sept. 26 , to Thursday, Sept. 28, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Sept. 27. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 231. [ Steele. — From my own Apartment, Sept. 29. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 232. [ Steele. From Saturday Sept. 30 , to Tuesday, Oct. 3, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 2. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 233. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Oct. 3 , to Thursday, Oct. 5, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 4.

No. 234. [ Steele. From Thursday, Oct. 5 , to Saturday, Oct. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 6. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 235. [ Steele. [133] From Saturday, Oct. 7 , to Tuesday, Oct. 10, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 9. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 236. [ Steele. [136] From Tuesday, Oct. 10 , to Thursday, Oct. 12, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 11. — To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., at his House in Great Britain. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 237. [ ? Steele. [141] From Thursday, Oct. 12 , to Saturday, Oct. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 238. [ Steele and Swift . [143] From Saturday, Oct. 14 , to Tuesday, Oct. 17, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 16. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 239. [ Addison. From Tuesday, Oct. 17 , to Thursday, Oct. 19, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 18. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 240. [ Addison. From Thursday, Oct. 19 , to Saturday, Oct. 21, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 20. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 241. [ Steele. From Saturday, Oct. 21 , to Tuesday, Oct. 24, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 23. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 242. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Oct. 24 , to Thursday, Oct. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 25. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 243. [ Addison. From Thursday, Oct. 26 , to Saturday, Oct. 28, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Oct. 27. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 244. [ Steele. From Saturday, Oct. 28 , to Tuesday, Oct. 31, 1710 . — Will's Coffee-house, Oct. 30.

No. 245. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Oct. 31 , to Thursday, Nov. 2, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 1. — Advertisement. — Postscript. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 246. [ Steele. From Thursday, Nov. 2 , to Saturday, Nov. 4, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 3. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 247. [ Steele. By Jenny Distaff, Half-Sister to Mr. Bickerstaff . From Saturday, Nov. 4 , to Tuesday, Nov. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 6.

No. 248. [ Steele. By Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. From Tuesday, Nov. 7 , to Thursday, Nov. 9, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 8. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 249. [ Addison. From Thursday, Nov. 9 , to Saturday, Nov. 11, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 10. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 250. [ Addison. From Saturday, Nov. 11 , to Tuesday, Nov. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 251. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Nov. 14 , to Thursday, Nov. 16, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 15. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 252. [ Steele. From Thursday, Nov. 16 to Saturday, Nov. 18, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 17. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 253. [ Addison and Steele . [195] From Saturday, Nov. 18 , to Tuesday, Nov. 21, 1710 . — FOOTNOTES:

No. 254. [ Addison and Steele . [200] — From my own Apartment, Nov. 22. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 255. [ Addison. From Thursday, Nov. 23 , to Saturday, Nov. 25, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 24. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 256. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday, Nov. 25 , to Tuesday, Nov. 28, 1710 . — The Proceedings of the Court of Honour, held in Sheer Lane, on Monday, the 20th of November, 1710, before Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., Censor of Great Britain. [211] — FOOTNOTES:

No. 257. [ Addison and Steele . From Tuesday, Nov. 28 , to Thursday, Nov. 30, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Nov. 29. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 258. [ Steele. From Thursday, Nov. 30 , to Saturday, Dec. 2, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 1. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq. [217] — FOOTNOTES:

No. 259. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday, Dec. 2 , to Tuesday, Dec. 5, 1710 . — FOOTNOTES:

No. 260. [ Addison and Steele . From Tuesday, Dec. 5 , to Thursday, Dec. 7, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 6. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 261. [ Steele. From Thursday, Dec. 7 , to Saturday, Dec. 9, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 8. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 262. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday, Dec. 9, to Tuesday, Dec. 12, 1710 . — Journal of the Court of Honour, &c. [241] — FOOTNOTES:

No. 263. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Dec. 12 , to Thursday, Dec. 14, 1710 . — From my own Apartment Dec. 13. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 264. [ Steele. From Thursday, Dec. 14 , to Saturday Dec. 16, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 15. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 265. [ Addison and Steele . From Saturday Dec. 16 , to Tuesday, Dec. 19, 1710 . — Continuation of the Journal of the Court of Honour, &c. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 266. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Dec. 19 , to Thursday, Dec. 21, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 20. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 267. [ Addison. From Thursday, Dec. 21 , to Saturday, Dec. 23, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 22. — A Prayer or Psalm made by my Lord Bacon, Chancellor of England. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 268. [ Steele. From Saturday, Dec. 23 , to Tuesday, Dec. 26, 1710 . — From my own Apartment. — "To Isaac Bickerstaff , Esq., Censor of Great Britain. Lloyd's Coffee-house, Lombard Street, Dec. 23. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 269. [ Steele. From Tuesday, Dec. 26 , to Thursday, Dec. 28, 1710 . — From my own Apartment, Dec. 27. — Advertisement. — FOOTNOTES:

No. 271. [ Steele. [284] From Saturday, Dec. 30, 1710 , to Tuesday, Jan. 2, 1710-1 . — FOOTNOTES: