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Title: The Tatler, Volume 4

Author: Sir Richard Steele
        Joseph Addison

Editor: George Atherton Aitken

Release date: May 21, 2015 [eBook #49009]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Richard Tonsing, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TATLER, VOLUME 4 ***




Produced by Richard Tonsing, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






  The Tatler

  Edited by
  George A. Aitken

                                                        In Four Volumes
                                                        Volume Four

[Illustration: _B. Lens Senʳ delineavit_

_Isaac Bickerstaff Esq._

_Engraved by Wm. H. Ward &amp; Co. L'd. from the Original by Sturt after
Lens._]




                              The Tatler

                   Edited with Introduction &amp; Notes


                                  by

                           George A. Aitken

                              _Author of_

                   "The Life of Richard Steele," &amp;c.

                       [Illustration: DESORMAIS]

                                VOL. IV

                               New York
                           Hadley &amp; Mathews
                           156 Fifth Avenue
                        London: Duckworth &amp; Co.
                                 1899

                  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON &amp; CO.
                        At the Ballantyne Press




_To the_ Right Honourable

Charles Lord Halifax.[1]


                                         _From the Hovel at Hamptonwick,
                                                         April 7, 1711._

  MY LORD,

When I first resolved upon doing myself this honour, I could not but
indulge a certain vanity in dating from this little covert, where I
have frequently had the honour of your Lordship's company, and received
from you very many obligations. The elegant solitude of this place,
and the greatest pleasures of it, I owe to its being so near those
beautiful manors wherein you sometimes reside: it is not retiring from
the world, but enjoying its most valuable blessings, when a man is
permitted to share in your Lordship's conversations in the country.
All the bright images which the wits of past ages have left behind
them in their writings, the noble plans which the greatest statesmen
have laid down for administration of affairs, are equally the familiar
objects of your knowledge. But what is peculiar to your Lordship above
all the illustrious personages that have appeared in any age, is, that
wit and learning have from your example fallen into a new era. Your
patronage has produced those arts, which before shunned the commerce
of the world, into the service of life; and it is to you we owe, that
the man of wit has turned himself to be a man of business. The false
delicacy of men of genius, and the objections which others were apt
to insinuate against their abilities for entering into affairs, have
equally vanished. And experience has shown, that men of letters are not
only qualified with a greater capacity, but also a greater integrity
in the despatch of business. Your own studies have been diverted from
being the highest ornament, to the highest use to mankind, and the
capacities which would have rendered you the greatest poet of your
age, have to the advantage of Great Britain been employed in pursuits
which have made you the most able and unbiassed patriot. A vigorous
imagination, an extensive apprehension, and a ready judgment have
distinguished you in all the illustrious parts of administration, in
a reign attended with such difficulties, that the same talents without
the same quickness in the possession of them would have been incapable
of conquering. The natural success of such abilities has advanced
you to a seat in that illustrious House where you were received by a
crowd of your relations. Great as you are in your honours and personal
qualities, I know you will forgive a humble neighbour the vanity of
pretending to a place in your friendship, and subscribing himself,

  My Lord,
          Your Lordship's most obliged
                    and most devoted Servant,
                                         RICHARD STEELE.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Charles Montague, grandson of the first Earl of Manchester, was
born in 1661, at Horton, in Northamptonshire, and was educated at
Westminster, and at Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1687 he joined
with Prior in writing the "County and the City Mouse," a burlesque on
Dryden's "Hind and Panther." Montague was amongst those who signed
the invitation sent to William of Orange. After the Revolution, he
was made a Lord of the Treasury (March 1692), Chancellor of the
Exchequer (1694), and First Lord of the Treasury in 1698. These last
two offices he held together until 1699. Among the important schemes
which he carried out were a re-coining of the money, the founding of
the Bank of England and the new East India Company, and the issue of
Exchequer bills. In 1700 he was made Auditor of the Exchequer, and was
created Baron Halifax. A Tory House of Commons twice attacked him, but
without success. In 1706 he took a leading part in the negotiations
which led to the Union with Scotland. He voted for the sentence upon
Dr. Sacheverell in 1710, and in the subsequent peace negotiations he
opposed the terms of the Treaty of Utrecht. In October 1714 he again
became First Lord of the Treasury, and was created Viscount Sunbury and
Earl of Halifax; but he died in May 1715. He was the patron of numerous
men of letters, and was lauded by many as a second Mæcenas. Pope says
he was "fed with soft dedication all day long." In 1711 Steele and
Addison dedicated the second volume of the _Spectator_ to Lord Halifax.




THE TATLER

BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESQ.




                =No. 194.=                   [STEELE.[2]

From _Tuesday, July 4_, to _Thursday, July 6, 1710_.

              Militat omnis amans.--OVID, Amor. El. ix. 1.


_From my own Apartment, July 5._

I was this morning reading the tenth canto in the fourth book of
Spenser, in which Sir Scudamore relates the progress of his courtship
to Amoret under a very beautiful allegory, which is one of the most
natural and unmixed of any in that most excellent author. I shall
transprose it, to use Mr. Bayes's term,[3] for the benefit of many
English lovers who have by frequent letters desired me to lay down some
rules for the conduct of their virtuous amours; and shall only premise,
that by the shield of love is meant a generous, constant passion for
the person beloved.

When the fame, says he, of this celebrated beauty first flew abroad, I
went in pursuit of her to the Temple of Love. This temple, continues
he, bore the name of the goddess Venus, and was seated in a most
fruitful island, walled by nature against all invaders. There was
a single bridge that led into the island, and before it a castle
garrisoned by twenty knights. Near the castle was an open plain, and
in the midst of it a pillar, on which was hung the shield of love; and
underneath it, in letters of gold, was this inscription:

    _Happy the man who well can use his bliss;
    Whose ever be the shield, fair Amoret be his._

My heart panted upon reading the inscription: I struck upon the shield
with my spear. Immediately issued forth a knight well mounted, and
completely armed, who, without speaking, ran fiercely at me. I received
him as well as I could, and by good fortune threw him out of the
saddle. I encountered the whole twenty successively, and leaving them
all extended on the plain, carried off the shield in token of victory.
Having thus vanquished my rivals, I passed on without impediment, till
I came to the outermost gate of the bridge, which I found locked and
barred. I knocked and called, but could get no answer. At last I saw
one on the other side of the gate, who stood peeping through a small
crevice. This was the porter; he had a double face resembling a Janus,
and was continually looking about him, as if he mistrusted some sudden
danger. His name, as I afterwards learned, was Doubt. Over against him
sat Delay, who entertained passengers with some idle story, while they
lost such opportunities as were never to be recovered. As soon as the
porter saw my shield, he opened the gate; but upon my entering, Delay
caught hold of me, and would fain have made me listen to her fooleries.
However, I shook her off, and passed forward till I came to the second
gate, the Gate of Good Desert, which always stood wide open; but in
the porch was a hideous giant, that stopped the entrance: his name
was Danger. Many warriors of good reputation, not able to bear the
sternness of his look, went back again. Cowards fled at the first sight
of him, except some few, who watching their opportunity, slipped by
him unobserved. I prepared to assault him; but upon the first sight of
my shield, he immediately gave way. Looking back upon him, I found his
hinder parts much more deformed and terrible than his face; Hatred,
Murder, Treason, Envy, and Detraction lying in ambush behind him, to
fall upon the heedless and unwary.

I now entered the Island of Love, which appeared in all the beauties
of art and nature, and feasted every sense with the most agreeable
objects. Amidst a pleasing variety of walks and alleys, shady seats and
flowery banks, sunny hills and gloomy valleys, were thousands of lovers
sitting, or walking together in pairs, and singing hymns to the deity
of the place.

I could not forbear envying this happy people, who were already in
possession of all they could desire. While I went forward to the
temple, the structure was beautiful beyond imagination. The gate stood
open. In the entrance sat a most amiable woman, whose name was Concord.

On either side of her stood two young men, both strongly armed, as if
afraid of each other. As I afterwards learned, they were both her sons,
but begotten of her by two different fathers; their names, Love and
Hatred.

The lady so well tempered and reconciled them both, that she forced
them to join hands; though I could not but observe, that Hatred turned
aside his face, as not able to endure the sight of his younger brother.

I at length entered the inmost temple, the roof of which was raised
upon a hundred marble pillars, decked with crowns, chains, and
garlands. The ground was strewn with flowers. A hundred altars, at each
of which stood a virgin priestess clothed in white, blazed all at once
with the sacrifice of lovers, who were perpetually sending up their
vows to heaven in clouds of incense.

In the midst stood the goddess herself, upon an altar, whose substance
was neither gold nor stone, but infinitely more precious than either.
About her neck flew numberless flocks of little Loves, Joys, and
Graces; and all about her altar lay scattered heaps of lovers,
complaining of the disdain, pride, or treachery of their mistresses.
One among the rest, no longer able to contain his grief, broke out into
the following prayer: "Venus, queen of grace and beauty, joy of gods
and men, who with a smile becalmest the seas, and renewest all nature;
goddess, whom all the different species in the universe obey with joy
and pleasure, grant I may at last obtain the object of my vows."

The impatient lover pronounced this with great vehemence; but I in a
soft murmur besought the goddess to lend me her assistance. While I was
thus praying, I chanced to cast my eye on a company of ladies, who were
assembled together in a corner of the temple waiting for the anthem.

The foremost seemed something elder and of a more composed countenance
than the rest, who all appeared to be under her direction. Her name
was Womanhood. On one side of her sat Shamefacedness, with blushes
rising in her cheeks, and her eyes fixed upon the ground: on the other
was Cheerfulness, with a smiling look, that infused a secret pleasure
into the hearts of all that saw her. With these sat Modesty, holding
her hand on her heart; Courtesy, with a graceful aspect, and obliging
behaviour; and the two sisters, who were always linked together, and
resembled each other, Silence and Obedience.

    _Thus sat they all around in seemly rate,
    And in the midst of them a goodly maid
    Even in the lap of Womanhood there sat,
    The which was all in lily-white arrayed,
    Where silver streams among the linen strayed;
    Like to the morn, when first her shining face
    Hath to the gloomy world itself bewrayed.
    That same was fairest Amoret in place,
    Shining with beauty's light, and heavenly virtue's grace._

As soon as I beheld the charming Amoret, my heart throbbed with hopes.
I stepped to her, and seized her hand; when Womanhood immediately
rising up, sharply rebuked me for offering in so rude a manner to lay
hold on a virgin. I excused myself as modestly as I could, and at
the same time displayed my shield; upon which, as soon as she beheld
the god emblazoned with his bow and shafts, she was struck mute, and
instantly retired.

I still held fast the fair Amoret, and turning my eyes towards the
goddess of the place, saw that she favoured my pretensions with a
smile, which so emboldened me, that I carried off my prize.

The maid, sometimes with tears, sometimes with smiles, entreated me to
let her go: but I led her through the temple-gate, where the goddess
Concord, who had favoured my entrance, befriended my retreat.

       *       *       *       *       *

This allegory is so natural, that it explains itself. The persons in it
are very artfully described, and disposed in proper places. The posts
assigned to Doubt, Delay, and Danger, are admirable. The Gate of Good
Desert has something noble and instructive in it. But above all, I am
most pleased with the beautiful group of figures in the corner of the
temple. Among these, Womanhood is drawn like what the philosophers call
a universal nature, and is attended with beautiful representatives of
all those virtues that are the ornaments of the female sex, considered
in its natural perfection and innocence.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] This paper may be by John Hughes, who published an edition of
Spenser in 1715.

[3] In the "Rehearsal," Act I.




       =No. 195.=                                        [STEELE.

         From _Thursday, July 6_, to _Saturday, July 8, 1710_.


_Grecian Coffee-house, July 7._

The learned world are very much offended at many of my ratiocinations,
and have but a very mean opinion of me as a politician. The reason
of this is, that some erroneously conceive a talent for politics to
consist in the regard to a man's own interest; but I am of quite
another mind, and think the first and essential quality towards being a
statesman is to have a public spirit. One of the gentlemen who are out
of humour with me, imputes my falling into a way wherein I am so very
awkward to a barrenness of invention, and has the charity to lay new
matter before me for the future. He is at the bottom my friend, but is
at a loss to know whether I am a fool or a physician, and is pleased
to expostulate with me with relation to the latter. He falls heavy
upon licentiates, and seems to point more particularly at us who are
not regularly of the faculty. But since he has been so civil to me as
to meddle only with those who are employed no further than about men's
lives, and not reflected upon me as of the astrological sect, who
concern ourselves about lives and fortunes also, I am not so much hurt
as to stifle any part of his fond letter.[4]

       *       *       *       *       *

  "SIR,

"I am afraid there is something in the suspicions of some people, that
you begin to be short of matter for your Lucubrations. Though several
of them now and then did appear somewhat dull and insipid to me, I was
always charitably inclined to believe the fault lay in myself, and that
I wanted the true key to uncipher your mysteries, and remember your
advertisement upon this account. But since I have seen you fall in an
unpardonable error, yea, with a relapse: I mean, since I have seen you
turn politician in the present unhappy dissensions, I have begun to
stagger, and could not choose but lessen the great value I had for the
censor of our isle. How is it possible that a man, whom interest did
naturally lead to a constant impartiality in these matters, and who
hath wit enough to judge that his opinion was not like to make many
proselytes; how is it possible, I say, that a little passion (for I
have still too good an opinion of you to think you was bribed by the
staggering party) could blind you so far as to offend the very better
half of the nation, and to lessen off so much the number of your
friends? Mr. Morphew will not have cause to thank you, unless you give
over, and endeavour to regain what you have lost. There is still a
great many themes you have left untouched; such as the ill-managements
of matters relating to law and physic, the setting down rules for
knowing the quacks in both professions. What a large field is there
left in discovering the abuses of the College, who had a charter and
privileges granted them to hinder the creeping in and prevailing of
quacks and pretenders; and yet grant licences to barbers, and write
letters of recommendation in the country towns, out of the reach of
their practice, in favour of mere boys; valuing the health and lives of
their countrymen no further than they get money by them. You have said
very little or nothing about the dispensation of justice in town and
country, where clerks are the counsellors to their masters.

"But as I can't expect that the censor of Great Britain should publish
a letter, wherein he is censured with too much reason himself; yet I
hope you will be the better for it, and think upon the themes I have
mentioned, which must certainly be of greater service to the world,
yourself, and Mr. Morphew, than to let us know whether you are a Whig
or a Tory. I am still

  "Your Admirer and Servant,
                "CATO JUNIOR."

       *       *       *       *       *

This gentleman and I differ about the words "staggering" and "better
part"; but instead of answering to the particulars of this epistle, I
shall only acquaint my correspondent, that I am at present forming my
thoughts upon the foundation of Sir Scudamore's progress in Spenser,[5]
which has led me from all other amusements, to consider the state of
love in this island; and from the corruptions in the government of
that, to deduce the chief evils of life. In the meantime that I am thus
employed, I have given positive orders to Don Saltero,[6] of Chelsea,
the tooth-drawer, and Dr. Thomas Smith,[7] the corn-cutter, of King
Street, Westminster (who have the modesty to confine their pretensions
to manual operations), to bring me in, with all convenient speed,
complete lists of all who are but of equal learning with themselves,
and yet administer physic beyond the feet and gums. These advices I
shall reserve for my future leisure; but have now taken a resolution
to dedicate the remaining part of this instant July to the service
of the fair sex, and have almost finished a scheme for settling the
whole remainder of that sex who are unmarried, and above the age of
twenty-five.

In order to this good and public service, I shall consider the passion
of love in its full extent, as it is attended both with joys and
inquietudes; and lay down, for the conduct of my lovers, such rules as
shall banish the cares, and heighten the pleasures, which flow from
that amiable spring of life and happiness. There is no less than an
absolute necessity that some provision be made to take off the dead
stock of women in city, town, and country. Let there happen but the
least disorder in the streets, and in an instant you see the inequality
of the numbers of males and females. Besides that the feminine crowd on
such occasions is more numerous in the open way, you may observe them
also to the very garrets huddled together, four at least at a casement.
Add to this, that by an exact calculation of all that have come to town
by stage-coach or waggon for this twelvemonth last, three times in four
the treated persons have been males. This over-stock of beauty, for
which there are so few bidders, calls for an immediate supply of lovers
and husbands; and I am the studious knight-errant who have suffered
long nocturnal contemplations to find out methods for the relief of
all British females who at present seem to be devoted to involuntary
virginity. The scheme upon which I design to act, I have communicated
to none but a beauteous young lady (who has for some time left the
town), in the following letter:

       *       *       *       *       *

"To AMANDA, in Kent.

  "MADAM,

"I send with this, my discourse of ways and means for encouraging
marriage, and repeopling the island. You will soon observe, that
according to these rules, the mean considerations (which make beauty
and merit cease to be the objects of love and courtship) will be fully
exploded. I have unanswerably proved, that jointures and settlements
are the bane of happiness; and not only so, but the ruin even of their
fortunes who enter into them. I beg of you, therefore, to come to
town upon the receipt of this, where I promise you, you shall have as
many lovers as toasters; for there needed nothing but to make men's
interests fall in with their inclinations, to render you the most
courted of your sex. As many as love you will now be willing to marry
you: hasten then, and be the honourable mistress of mankind. Cassander,
and many others, stand in the Gate of Good Desert[8] to receive you. I
am,

  "Madam,
           "Your most obedient,
                      "Most humble Servant,
                                  "ISAAC BICKERSTAFF."


FOOTNOTES:

[4] It has been suggested that this letter is by Swift. The _Examiner_,
vol. iv. No. 43, said that Steele's friends "acquainted him with many
little incidents and corruptions in low life which he has not touched
upon; but, instead of a favourable answer, he has rejected all their
hints for mirth and waggery, and transcribed scraps of politics, &amp;c."
Another protest against Steele's incursion into politics is printed in
Lillie's "Original Letters sent to the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_" i. 56.

[5] See No. 194.

[6] See Nos. 34 and 221.

[7] See No. 103.

[8] "Faërie Queene," Book iv. c. 10. See No. 194.




       =No. 196.=                                        [STEELE.

         From _Saturday, July 8_, to _Tuesday, July 11, 1710_.

    Dulcis inexperto cultura potentis amici:
    Expertus metuit----

                                                  HOR., I Ep. xviii. 86.


_From my own Apartment, July 10._

The intended course of my studies was altered this evening by a visit
from an old acquaintance, who complained to me, mentioning one upon
whom he had long depended, that he found his labour and perseverance in
his patron's service and interests wholly ineffectual; and he thought
now, after his best years were spent in a professed adherence to him
and his fortunes, he should in the end be forced to break with him,
and give over all further expectations from him. He sighed, and ended
his discourse by saying, "You, Mr. Censor, some time ago, gave us your
thoughts of the behaviour of great men to their creditors. This sort
of demand upon them, for what they invite men to expect, is a debt of
honour, which, according to custom, they ought to be most careful of
paying, and would be a very worthy subject for a lucubration."

Of all men living, I think, I am the most proper to treat of this
matter; because in the character and employment of censor, I have had
encouragement so infinitely above my desert, that what I say cannot
possibly be supposed to arise from peevishness, or any disappointment
in that kind which I myself have met with. When we consider patrons
and their clients, those who receive addresses, and those who are
addressed to, it must not be understood that the dependants are such as
are worthless in their natures, abandoned to any vice or dishonour,
or such as without a call thrust themselves upon men in power; nor
when we say patrons, do we mean such as have it not in their power,
or have no obligation, to assist their friends; but we speak of such
leagues where there are power and obligation on the one part, and merit
and expectation on the other. Were we to be very particular on this
subject, I take it that the division of patron and client may include a
third part of our nation. The want of merit and real worth will strike
out about ninety-nine in the hundred of these, and want of ability in
the patron will dispose of as many of that order. He who out of mere
vanity to be applied to will take up another's time and fortune in his
service, where he has no prospect of returning it, is as much more
unjust as those who took up my friend the upholder's[9] goods without
paying him for them. I say, he is as much more unjust as our life and
time is more valuable than our goods and movables. Among many whom you
see about the great, there is a contented, well-pleased set, who seem
to like the attendance for its own sake, and are early at the abodes
of the powerful, out of mere fashion. This sort of vanity is as well
grounded as if a man should lay aside his own plain suit, and dress
himself up in a gay livery of another's.

There are many of this species who exclude others of just expectation,
and make those proper dependants appear impatient, because they are
not so cheerful as those who expect nothing. I have made use of the
penny post for the instruction of these voluntary slaves, and informed
them, that they will never be provided for; but they double their
diligence upon admonition. Will Afterday has told his friends, that he
was to have the next thing these ten years; and Harry Linger has been
fourteen within a month of a considerable office. However the fantastic
complaisance which is paid to them may blind the great from seeing
themselves in a just light, they must needs (if they in the least
reflect) at some times have a sense of the injustice they do in raising
in others a false expectation. But this is so common a practice in all
the stages of power, that there are not more cripples come out of the
wars than from the attendance of patrons. You see in one a settled
melancholy, in another a bridled rage, a third has lost his memory,
and a fourth his whole constitution and humour. In a word, when you
see a particular cast of mind or body, which looks a little upon the
distracted, you may be sure the poor gentleman has formerly had great
friends. For this reason, I have thought it a prudent thing to take a
nephew of mine out of a lady's service, where he was a page, and have
bound him to a shoemaker.

But what of all the humours under the sun is the most pleasant
to consider, is, that you see some men lay as it were a set of
acquaintance by them, to converse with when they are out of employment,
who had no effect of their power when they were in. Here patrons and
clients both make the most fantastical figure imaginable. Friendship
indeed is most manifested in adversity; but I do not know how to behave
myself to a man who thinks me his friend at no other time but that.
Dick Reptile of our club had this in his head the other night, when
he said, "I am afraid of ill news when I am visited by any of my old
friends." These patrons are a little like some fine gentlemen, who
spend all their hours of gaiety with their wenches, but when they fall
sick, will let no one come near them but their wives. It seems, truth
and honour are companions too sober for prosperity. It is certainly
the most black ingratitude to accept of a man's best endeavours to be
pleasing to you, and return it with indifference.

I am so much of this mind, that Dick Estcourt[10] the comedian, for
coming one night to our club, though he laughed at us all the time he
was there, shall have our company at his play on Thursday. A man of
talents is to be favoured, or never admitted. Let the ordinary world
truck for money and wares, but men of spirit and conversation should
in every kind do others as much pleasure as they receive from them.
But men are so taken up with outward forms, that they do not consider
their actions; else how should it be, that a man shall deny that to
the entreaties and almost tears of an old friend, which he shall
solicit a new one to accept of? I remember, when I first came out of
Staffordshire, I had an intimacy with a man of quality, in whose gift
there fell a very good employment. All the town cried, "There's a
thing for Mr. Bickerstaff!" when, to my great astonishment, I found my
patron had been forced upon twenty artifices to surprise a man with it
who never thought of it. But sure it is a degree of murder to amuse
men with vain hopes. If a man takes away another's life, where is the
difference, whether he does it by taking away the minutes of his time,
or the drops of his blood? But indeed, such as have hearts barren of
kindness are served accordingly by those whom they employ, and pass
their lives away with an empty show of civility for love, and an
insipid intercourse of a commerce in which their affections are no way
concerned. But on the other side, how beautiful is the life of a patron
who performs his duty to his inferiors? a worthy merchant who employs
a crowd of artificers? a great lord who is generous and merciful to
the several necessities of his tenants? a courtier who uses his credit
and power for the welfare of his friends? These have in their several
stations a quick relish of the exquisite pleasure of doing good. In a
word, good patrons are like the guardian angels of Plato, who are ever
busy, though unseen, in the care of their wards; but ill patrons are
like the deities of Epicurus, supine, indolent, and unconcerned, though
they see mortals in storms and tempests even while they are offering
incense to their power.

FOOTNOTES:

[9] See No. 180.

[10] See Nos. 51 and 130.




       =No. 197.=                                        [STEELE.

From _Tuesday, July 11_, to _Thursday, July 13, 1710_.

              Semper ego auditor tantum?--JUV., Sat. i. I.


_Grecian Coffee-house, July 12._

When I came hither this evening, the man of the house delivered me a
book very finely bound. When I received it, I overheard one of the boys
whisper another, and say, "It was a fine thing to be a great scholar!
What a pretty book that is!" It has indeed a very gay outside, and is
dedicated to me by a very ingenious gentleman, who does not put his
name to it. The title of it (for the work is in Latin) is, "Epistolarum
Obscurorum Virorum, ad Dm. M. Ortuinum Gratium, Volumina II. &amp;c."[11]
("The Epistles of the Obscure Writers to Ortuinus, &amp;c."). The purpose
of the work is signified in the dedication, in very elegant language,
and fine raillery. It seems this is a collection of letters which
some profound blockheads, who lived before our times, have written in
honour of each other, and for their mutual information in each other's
absurdities. They are mostly of the German nation, whence from time
to time inundations of writers have flowed, more pernicious to the
learned world than the swarms of Goths and Vandals to the politic. It
is, methinks, wonderful, that fellows could be awake, and utter such
incoherent conceptions, and converse with great gravity like learned
men, without the least taste of knowledge or good sense. It would have
been an endless labour to have taken any other method of exposing such
impertinences, than by an edition of their own works, where you see
their follies, according to the ambition of such _virtuosi_, in a most
correct edition.

Looking over these accomplished labours, I could not but reflect upon
the immense load of writings which the commonalty of scholars have
pushed into the world, and the absurdity of parents, who educate crowds
to spend their time in pursuit of such cold and sprightless endeavours
to appear in public. It seems therefore a fruitless labour to attempt
the correction of the taste of our contemporaries, except it was in
our power to burn all the senseless labours of our ancestors. There
is a secret propensity in nature from generation to generation in the
blockheads of one age to admire those of another; and men of the same
imperfections are as great admirers of each other, as those of the same
abilities.

This great mischief of voluminous follies proceeds from a misfortune
which happens in all ages, that men of barren geniuses, but fertile
imaginations, are bred scholars. This may at first appear a paradox;
but when we consider the talking creatures we meet in public places,
it will no longer be such. Ralph Shallow is a young fellow, that has
not by nature any the least propensity to strike into what has not
been observed and said every day of his life by others; but with
that inability of speaking anything that is uncommon, he has a great
readiness at what he can speak of, and his imagination runs into all
the different views of the subject he treats of in a moment. If Ralph
had learning added to the common chit-chat of the town, he would
have been a disputant upon all topics that ever were considered by
men of his own genius. As for my part, I never am teased by an empty
town-fellow, but I bless my stars that he was not bred a scholar. This
addition, we must consider, would have made him capable of maintaining
his follies. His being in the wrong would have been protected by
suitable arguments; and when he was hedged in by logical terms, and
false appearances, you must have owned yourself convinced before you
could then have got rid of him, and the shame of his triumph had been
added to the pain of his impertinence.

There is a sort of littleness in the minds of men of wrong sense, which
makes them much more insufferable than mere fools, and has the further
inconvenience of being attended by an endless loquacity. For which
reason, it would be a very proper work, if some well-wisher to human
society would consider the terms upon which people meet in public
places, in order to prevent the unseasonable declamations which we meet
with there. I remember, in my youth it was a humour at the University,
when a fellow pretended to be more eloquent than ordinary, and had
formed to himself a plot to gain all our admiration, or triumph over
us with an argument, to either of which he had no manner of call; I
say, in either of these cases, it was the humour to shut one eye. This
whimsical way of taking notice to him of his absurdity, has prevented
many a man from being a coxcomb. If amongst us on such an occasion
each man offered a voluntary rhetorician some snuff, it would probably
produce the same effect. As the matter now stands, whether a man will
or no, he is obliged to be informed in whatever another pleases to
entertain him with, though the preceptor makes these advances out of
vanity, and not to instruct, but insult him.

There is no man will allow him who wants courage to be called a
soldier; but men who want good sense are very frequently not only
allowed to be scholars, but esteemed for being such. At the same time
it must be granted, that as courage is the natural part of a soldier,
so is a good understanding of a scholar. Such little minds as these,
whose productions are collected in the volume to which I have the
honour to be patron, are the instruments for artful men to work with,
and become popular with the unthinking part of mankind. In courts,
they make transparent flatterers; in camps, ostentatious bullies;
in colleges, unintelligible pedants; and their faculties are used
accordingly by those who lead them.

When a man who wants judgment is admitted into the conversation of
reasonable men, he shall remember such improper circumstances, and draw
such groundless conclusions from their discourse, and that with such
colour of sense, as would divide the best set of company that can be
got together. It is just thus with a fool who has a familiarity with
books, he shall quote and recite one author against another, in such
a manner as shall puzzle the best understanding to refute him; though
the most ordinary capacity may observe, that it is only ignorance which
makes the intricacy. All the true use of that we call learning, is to
ennoble and improve our natural faculties, and not to disguise our
imperfections. It is therefore in vain for folly to attempt to conceal
itself by the refuge of learned languages. Literature does but make a
man more eminently the thing which nature made him; and Polyglottes,
had he studied less than he has, and written only in his mother tongue,
had been known only in Great Britain for a pedant.

Mr. Bickerstaff thanks Dorinda, and will both answer her letter,[12]
and take her advice.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] Steele was apparently unaware that the letters in this famous book
were a satire, directed against the clergy of the Catholic Church. The
letters, written by Ulrich von Hutten and his friends, purported to
be from certain monks and theologians to Ortuinus Gratius, doctor of
theology. They were intended to ridicule the bad Latin of the clergy,
and in every way to satirise the anti-reform party. (See Bayle's
"Dictionary," Arts. Hochstrat and Hutten; and _Retrospective Review_,
v. 56.) The elegant edition of this book published in London in 1710,
in 12mo, was dedicated to Steele by the editor, Maittaire.

[12] No mention is afterwards made of Dorinda.




       =No. 198.=                                        [STEELE.

        From _Thursday, July 13_, to _Saturday, July 15, 1710_.

    Quale sit id quod amas celeri circumspice mente,
    Et tua læsuro substrahe colla jugo.

                                            OVID, Rem. Amor., i. 89.[13]


                   _From my own Apartment, July 14._

                         THE HISTORY OF CÆLIA.

It is not necessary to look back into the first years of this young
lady, whose story is of consequence only as her life has lately met
with passages very uncommon. She is now in the twentieth year of her
age, and owes a strict, but cheerful education, to the care of an
aunt, to whom she was recommended by her dying father, whose decease
was hastened by an inconsolable affliction for the loss of her mother.
As Cælia is the offspring of the most generous passion that has been
known in our age, she is adorned with as much beauty and grace as the
most celebrated of her sex possess; but her domestic life, moderate
fortune, and religious education gave her but little opportunity, and
less inclination, to be admired in public assemblies. Her abode has
been for some years a convenient distance from the Cathedral of St.
Paul's, where her aunt and she chose to reside, for the advantage of
that rapturous way of devotion which gives ecstasy to the pleasures of
innocence, and, in some measure, is the immediate possession of those
heavenly enjoyments for which they are addressed.

As you may trace the usual thoughts of men in their countenances, there
appeared in the face of Cælia a cheerfulness, the constant companion of
unaffected virtue, and a gladness, which is as inseparable from true
piety. Her every look and motion spoke the peaceful, mild, resigning,
humble inhabitant that animated her beauteous body. Her air discovered
her body a mere machine of her mind, and not that her thoughts were
employed in studying graces and attractions for her person. Such
was Cælia when she was first seen by Palamede at her usual place of
worship. Palamede is a young man of two-and-twenty, well-fashioned,
learned, genteel, and discreet, and son and heir of a gentleman of a
very great estate, and himself possessed of a plentiful one by the
gift of an uncle. He became enamoured with Cælia, and after having
learned her habitation, had address enough to communicate his passion
and circumstances with such an air of good sense and integrity, as
soon obtained permission to visit and profess his inclinations towards
her. Palamede's present fortune and future expectations were no way
prejudicial to his addresses; but after the lovers had passed some time
in the agreeable entertainments of a successful courtship, Cælia one
day took occasion to interrupt Palamede in the midst of a very pleasing
discourse of the happiness he promised himself in so accomplished a
companion, and assuming a serious air, told him, there was another
heart to be won before he gained hers, which was that of his father.
Palamede seemed much disturbed at the overture, and lamented to her,
that his father was one of those too provident parents, who only
place their thoughts upon bringing riches into their families by
marriages, and are wholly insensible of all other considerations. But
the strictness of Cælia's rules of life made her insist upon this
demand; and the son, at a proper hour, communicated to his father the
circumstances of his love, and the merit of the object. The next day
the father made her a visit. The beauty of her person, the fame of her
virtue, and a certain irresistible charm in her whole behaviour on so
tender and delicate an occasion, wrought so much upon him, in spite of
all prepossessions, that he hastened the marriage with an impatience
equal to that of his son. Their nuptials were celebrated with a privacy
suitable to the character and modesty of Cælia, and from that day, till
a fatal one of last week, they lived together with all the joy and
happiness which attend minds entirely united.

It should have been intimated, that Palamede is a student of the
Temple, and usually retired thither early in a morning, Cælia still
sleeping.

It happened a few days since, that she followed him thither to
communicate to him something she had omitted in her redundant fondness
to speak of the evening before. When she came to his apartment, the
servant there told her, she was coming with a letter to her. While
Cælia in an inner room was reading an apology from her husband, that
he had been suddenly taken by some of his acquaintance to dine at
Brentford, but that he should return in the evening, a country girl,
decently clad, asked, if those were not the chambers of Mr. Palamede?
She was answered, they were, but that he was not in town. The stranger
asked, when he was expected at home? The servant replied, she would
go in and ask his wife. The young woman repeated the word "wife," and
fainted. This accident raised no less curiosity than amazement in
Cælia, who caused her to be removed into the inner room. Upon proper
applications to revive her, the unhappy young creature returned to
herself, and said to Cælia, with an earnest and beseeching tone, "Are
you really Mr. Palamede's wife?" Cælia replies, "I hope I do not look
as if I were any other in the condition you see me." The stranger
answers, "No, madam, he is my husband." At the same instant she threw
a bundle of letters into Cælia's lap, which confirmed the truth of
what she asserted. Their mutual innocence and sorrow made them look at
each other as partners in distress, rather than rivals in love. The
superiority of Cælia's understanding and genius gave her an authority
to examine into this adventure as if she had been offended against, and
the other the delinquent. The stranger spoke in the following manner:

"Madam, if it shall please you, Mr. Palamede having an uncle of a good
estate near Winchester, was bred at the school there, to gain the more
his good-will by being in his sight. His uncle died, and left him the
estate, which my husband now has. When he was a mere youth he set his
affections on me: but when he could not gain his ends he married me,
making me and my mother, who is a farmer's widow, swear we would never
tell it upon any account whatsoever; for that it would not look well
for him to marry such a one as me; besides, that his father would cut
him off of the estate. I was glad to have him in an honest way, and he
now and then came and stayed a night and away at our house. But very
lately he came down to see us, with a fine young gentleman his friend,
who stayed behind there with us, pretending to like the place for the
summer; but ever since Master Palamede went, he has attempted to abuse
me; and I ran hither to acquaint him with it, and avoid the wicked
intentions of his false friend."

Cælia had no more room for doubt, but left her rival the same agonies
she felt herself. Palamede returns in the evening, and finding his wife
at his chambers, learned all that had passed, and hastened to Cælia's
lodgings.

It is much easier to imagine than express the sentiments of either the
criminal or the injured at this encounter.

As soon as Palamede had found way for speech, he confessed his
marriage, and his placing his companion on purpose to vitiate his wife,
that he might break through a marriage made in his nonage, and devote
his riper and knowing years to Cælia. She made him no answer; but
retired to her closet. He returned to the Temple, where he soon after
received from her the following letter:

       *       *       *       *       *

  "SIR,

"You, who this morning were the best, are now the worst of men who
breathe vital air. I am at once overwhelmed with love, hatred, rage,
and disdain. Can infamy and innocence live together? I feel the weight
of the one too strong for the comfort of the other. How bitter, Heaven,
how bitter is my portion! How much have I to say; but the infant which
I bear about me stirs with my agitation. I am, Palamede, to live in
shame, and this creature be heir to it. Farewell for ever."

FOOTNOTES:

[13] This quotation is attributed erroneously to Horace in the early
editions.




                    =No. 199.=          [STEELE.[14]

         From _Saturday, July 15_, to _Tuesday, July 18, 1710_.


When we revolve in our thoughts such catastrophes as that in the
history of the unhappy Cælia, there seems to be something so hazardous
in the changing a single state of life into that of marriage, that (it
may happen) all the precautions imaginable are not sufficient to defend
a virgin from ruin by her choice. It seems a wonderful inconsistence
in the distribution of public justice, that a man who robs a woman of
an ear-ring or a jewel, should be punished with death; but one who by
false arts and insinuations should take from her her very self, is only
to suffer disgrace. This excellent young woman has nothing to console
herself with, but the reflection that her sufferings are not the effect
of any guilt or misconduct, and has for her protection the influence of
a power which, amidst the unjust reproach of all mankind, can give not
only patience, but pleasure to innocence in distress.

As the person who is the criminal against Cælia cannot be sufficiently
punished according to our present law, so are there numberless unhappy
persons without remedy according to present custom. That great ill
which has prevailed among us in these latter ages, is the making even
beauty and virtue the purchase of money. The generality of parents, and
some of those of quality, instead of looking out for introducing health
of constitution, frankness of spirit, or dignity of countenance, into
their families, lay out all their thoughts upon finding out matches
for their estates, and not their children. You shall have one form a
plot for the good of his family, that there shall not be six men in
England capable of pretending to his daughter. A second shall have a
son obliged, out of mere discretion, for fear of doing anything below
himself, follow all the drabs in town. These sage parents meet; and
as there is no pass, no courtship, between the young ones, it is no
unpleasant observation to behold how they proceed to treaty. There is
ever in the behaviour of each something that denotes his circumstance;
and honest Coupler the conveniencer says, he can distinguish upon sight
of the parties, before they have opened any point of their business,
which of the two has the daughter to sell. Coupler is of our club, and
I have frequently heard him declaim upon this subject, and assert, that
the marriage-settlements which are now used have grown fashionable even
within his memory.

When the theatre in some late reigns owed its chief support to those
scenes which were written to put matrimony out of countenance,
and render that state terrible, then it was that pin-money[15]
first prevailed, and all the other articles inserted which create
a diffidence; and intimate to the young people, that they are very
soon to be in a state of war with each other: though this had seldom
happened, except the fear of it had been expressed. Coupler will tell
you also, that jointures were never frequent till the age before his
own; but the women were contented with the third part of the estate the
law allotted them, and scorned to engage with men whom they thought
capable of abusing their children. He has also informed me, that those
who were the oldest benchers when he came to the Temple told him, the
first marriage-settlement of considerable length was the invention of
an old serjeant, who took the opportunity of two testy fathers, who
were ever squabbling to bring about an alliance between their children.
These fellows knew each other to be knaves, and the serjeant took hold
of their mutual diffidence, for the benefit of the law, to extend the
settlement to three skins of parchment.

To this great benefactor to the profession is owing the present
price current of lines and words. Thus is tenderness thrown out of
the question; and the great care is, what the young couple shall do
when they come to hate each other? I do not question but from this
one humour of settlements, might very fairly be deduced not only our
present defection in point of morals, but also our want of people. This
has given way to such unreasonable gallantries, that a man is hardly
reproachable that deceives an innocent woman, though she has never so
much merit, if she is below him in fortune. The man has no dishonour
following his treachery; and her own sex are so debased by force of
custom, as to say in the case of the woman, "How could she expect he
would marry her."

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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.


_The Amicable Contribution for raising the Fortunes of Ten Young
Ladies._

"_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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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."


_From my own Apartment, July 21._

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.


                             ADVERTISEMENT.

               _From the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, July 20._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                                ----Est hic,
    Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus.

                                                     HOR., 1 Ep. xi. 30.


_From my own Apartment, July 24._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

   Ut tu fortunam, sic nos te, Celse, feremus.--HOR., 1 Ep. viii. 17.


_From my own Apartment, July 26._

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]


_Grecian Coffee-house, July 26._

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, &amp;c."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    ----Gaudent prænomine molles
    Auriculæ.----

                                                     HOR., 2 Sat. v. 32.


_From my own Apartment, July 28._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] See No. 155.




                     =No. 205.=       [FULLER.[31]

         From _Saturday, July 29_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 1, 1710_.

    Νήπιοι, οὐδὲ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ἥμισυ παντός,
    Οὐδ' ὅσον ἐν μαλάχῃ τε καὶ ἀσφοδέλῳ μέγ' ὄνειαρ.

                                             HESIOD, Works and Days, 20.


_From my own Apartment, July 31._

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!"

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

            Metiri se quemque suo modulo ac pede verum est.

                                                    HOR., 1 Ep. vii. 98.


_From my own Apartment, Aug. 2._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[34] See No. 203.




       =No. 208.=                                        [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Aug. 5_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 8, 1710_.

Si dixeris "æstuo," sudat.----

                                                    JUV., Sat. iii. 103.


_From my own Apartment Aug. 7._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[38] Q. Curtius, "Hist.," iii. 6, &amp;c.




       =No. 210.=                                        [STEELE.

        From _Thursday, Aug. 10_, to _Saturday, Aug. 12, 1710_.


_Sheer Lane, Aug. 10._

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, &amp;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]


_St. James's Coffee-house, Aug. 11._[41]

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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, &amp;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_.

                 ----Nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum.

                                                     JUV., Sat. vii. 56.


_Sunday, Aug. 13._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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, &amp;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, &amp;c."

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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.


_Sheer Lane, Aug. 17._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

              ----Soles et aperta serena
    Prospicere, et certis poteris cognoscere signis.

                                                   VIRG., Georg. i. 393.


_From my own Apartment, Aug. 21._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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.


"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.

     "_The humble Petition of the Company of Linendrapers residing
                  within the Liberty of Westminster;_

"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, &amp;c."

Before I answer this petition, I am inclined to examine the offenders
myself.

FOOTNOTES:

[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,
&amp;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_.

              --Nugis addere pondus.--HOR., 1 Ep. xix. 42.


_From my own Apartment, Aug. 25._

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:


_The Will of a Virtuoso._

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]


ADVERTISEMENT.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[62] See No. 221.




       =No. 217.=                                        [STEELE.

From _Saturday, Aug. 26_, to _Tuesday, Aug. 29, 1710_.

              Atque deos atque astra vocat crudelia mater.

                                                    VIRG., Eclog. v. 23.


_From my own Apartment, Aug. 28._

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._


ADVERTISEMENT.

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]

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

           Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus et fugit urbes.

                                                     HOR., 2 Ep. ii. 77.


_From my own Apartment, Aug. 30._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                            ----Solutos
    Qui captat risus hominum famamque dicacis,...
    Affectat, niger est, hunc tu, Romane, caveto.

                                                    HOR., 1 Sat. iv. 82.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 1._

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."


"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.

         "_The humble Petition of Joshua Fairlove of Stepney:_

"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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_," &amp;c. (see No. 5).




       =No. 220.=                                       [ADDISON.

         From _Saturday, Sept. 2_, to _Tuesday, Sept. 5, 1710_.

    Insani sapiens nomen ferat, æquus iniqui,
    Ultra quam satis est, virtutem si petat ipsam.

                                                     HOR., I Ep. vi. 15.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 4._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                  ----Sicut meus est mos,
    Nescio quid meditans nugarum; totus in illis.

                                                     HOR., 1 Sat. ix. 1.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 6._

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, &amp;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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                        ----Chrysidis udas
    Ebrius ante fores extincta cum face cantat.

                                                   PERSIUS, Sat. v. 165.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 8._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    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.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 11._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

              Materiam superabat opus.--OVID, Met. ii. 5.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 13._

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, &amp;c.[99]
  The Beautifying Cream for the Face, &amp;c.[100]
  Pease and Plaisters, &amp;c.
  Nectar and Ambrosia, &amp;c.[101]
  Four Freehold Tenements of £15 per Annum, &amp;c.[102]
  ⁂ "The Present State of England," &amp;c.[103]
  †‡† "Annotations upon the _Tatler_," &amp;c.[104]

A Commission of Bankrupt being awarded against B. L., Bookseller,
&amp;c.[105]

FOOTNOTES:

[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, &amp;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_.

          ----Si quid novisti rectius istis,
    Candidus imperti; si non, his utere mecum.

                                                     HOR., 1 Ep. vi. 67.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 15._

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."


_St. James's Coffee-house, Sept. 15._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[106] See No. 217.




       =No. 226.=                                       [ADDISON.

        From _Saturday, Sept. 16_, to _Tuesday, Sept. 19, 1710_.

    ----Juvenis quondam, nunc femina, Cænis,
    Rursus et in veterem fato revoluta figuram.

                                                     VIRG., Æn. vi. 448.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 18._

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, &amp;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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Omnibus invideas, Zoile,[110] nemo tibi.--MARTIAL, Epig. i. 40.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 20._

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]

FOOTNOTES:

[110] "Livide" (Martial).

[111] "Paradise Lost," iv. 358 seq.




       =No. 228.=                                        [STEELE.

       From _Thursday, Sept. 21_, to _Saturday, Sept. 23, 1710_.

    ----Veniet manus, auxilio quæ
    Sit mihi----

                                                   HOR., 1 Sat. iv. 141.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 22._

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.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[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, &amp;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_.

        ----Sume superbiam
    Quæsitam meritis----

                                                    HOR., 3 Od. xxx. 14.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 25._

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]

FOOTNOTES:

[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, &amp;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._

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,' &amp;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, &amp;c."

FOOTNOTES:

[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, &amp;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.

                          Principiis obsta----

                                                    OVID, Rem. Amor. 91.

       From _Thursday, Sept. 28_, to _Saturday, Sept. 30, 1710_.


_From my own Apartment, Sept. 29._

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, &amp;c."

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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, &amp;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.


ADVERTISEMENT.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    ----Sunt certa piacula, quæ te
    Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello.

                                                      HOR., 1 Ep. i. 36.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 4._

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._

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, &amp;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, &amp;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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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,"
&amp;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_.

             Scit Genius, natale comes qui temperat astrum.

                                                    HOR., 2 Ep. ii. 187.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 9._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine mentem
    Tangit, et immemorem non sinit esse sui.

                                              OVID, Ep. ex Pont. 1. iii.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 11._

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.


To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., at his House in Great Britain.

                                                               _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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas
    Corpora.----

                                                        OVID, Met. i. 1.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 13._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

        ----Poetica surgit
    Tempestas----

                                                     JUV., Sat. xii. 23.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 16._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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," &amp;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_.

           ----Mecum certasse feretur.--OVID, Met. xiii. 20.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 18._

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, &amp;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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

               Ad populum phaleras.--PERS., Sat. iii. 30.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 20._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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._

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."


ADVERTISEMENT.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[156] See Nos. 56, 61, 67, and 70.




       =No. 242.=                                        [STEELE.

         From _Tuesday, Oct. 24_, to _Thursday, Oct. 26, 1710_.

                        ----Quis iniquæ
    Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se?

                                                       JUV., Sat. i. 30.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 25._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Infert se septus nebula, mirabile dictu,
    Per medios, miscetque viris; neque cernitur ulli.

                                                      VIRG., Æn. i. 439.


_From my own Apartment, Oct. 27._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,
    Qui sapere et fari possit quæ sentiat?----

                                                      HOR., I Ep. iv. 8.


_Will's Coffee-house, Oct. 30._

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._

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:


ADVERTISEMENT.

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.


POSTSCRIPT.

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    ----Vitiis nemo sine nascitur, optimus ille est
    Qui minimis urgetur.----

                                                   HOR., 1 Sat. iii. 68.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 3._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Ædepol, næ nos sumus ... æque omnes invisæ viris,
    Propter paucas; quæ omnes faciunt dignæ ut videamur malo.

                                            TER., Hecyra, act ii. sc. 3.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 6._

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, &amp;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_.

            ----Media sese tulit obvia silva,
    Virginis os habitumque gerens----

                                                      VIRG., Æn. i. 314.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 8._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum,
    Tendimus----

                                                      VIRG., Æn. i. 204.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 10._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Scis etenim justum gemina suspendere lance
    Ancipitis libræ.----

                                                     PERS., Sat. iv. 10.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 13._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    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.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 15._

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]

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Narratur et prisci Catonis
      Sæpe mero caluisse virtus.

                                                    HOR., 3 Od. xxi. 11.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 17._

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, &amp;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 }

FOOTNOTES:

[194] No. 241.




           =No. 253.=               [ADDISON and STEELE.[195]

         From _Saturday, Nov. 18_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 21, 1710_.

    ----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]

FOOTNOTES:

[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]

                         Splendidè mendax.----

                                                     HOR., 3 Od. xi. 35.

         From _Tuesday, Nov. 21_, to _Thursday, Nov. 23, 1710_.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 22._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    ----Nec te tua plurima, Panthu,
    Labentem pietas, nec Apollinis infula texit.

                                                     VIRG., Æn. ii. 429.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 24._

"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, &amp;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]

FOOTNOTES:

[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," &amp;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," &amp;c. (folio).




           =No. 256.=                   [ADDISON and STEELE.

From _Saturday, Nov. 25_, to _Tuesday, Nov. 28, 1710_.

                 --Nostrum est tantas componere lites.

                                            VIRG., Eclog. iii. 108.[210]


    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]

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]

FOOTNOTES:

[210] Virgil's words are, "Non nostrum inter vos tantas," &amp;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_.

    In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas
    Corpora: Di, cœptis (nam vos mutastis) et illac
    Aspirate meis.----

                                                        OVID, Met. i. 1.


_From my own Apartment, Nov. 29._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                  Occidit miseros crambe repetita----

                                                    JUV., Sat. vii. 154.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 1._

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.


"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq.[217]

       *       *       *       *       *

                                                        _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, &amp;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, &amp;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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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,' &amp;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_.

            ----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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                 Non cuicunque datum est habere nasum.

                                                     MART., Epig. i. 41.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 6._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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, &amp;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._

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, &amp;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.


ADVERTISEMENT.

"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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Verba togæ sequeris juncturâ callidus acri,
    Ore teres modico, pallentes radere mores
    Doctus et ingenuo culpam defigere ludo.

                                                      PERS., Sat. v. 14.


JOURNAL OF THE COURT OF HONOUR, &amp;C.[241]

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                 ----Minimâ contentos nocte Britannos.

                                                      JUV., Sat ii. 161.


_From my own Apartment Dec. 13._

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]

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                  Favete linguis.----HOR., 3 Od. i. 2.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 15._

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

               Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite jocosâ.

                                                    OVID, Met. iii. 332.


CONTINUATION OF THE JOURNAL OF THE COURT OF HONOUR, &amp;C.

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

                Rideat et pulset lasciva decentius ætas.

                                                    HOR., 2 Ep. ii. 216.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 20._

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."

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    Qui genus humanum ingenio superavit, et omnis
    Restinxit, stellas exortus ut aetherius sol.

                                                        LUCR. iii. 1043.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 22._

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]


A PRAYER OR PSALM MADE BY MY LORD BACON, CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND.

"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."

FOOTNOTES:

[270] Christmas.




       =No. 268.=                                        [STEELE.

         From _Saturday, Dec. 23_, to _Tuesday, Dec. 26, 1710_.

                  ----"O te, Bolane, cerebri
    Felicem!" Aiebam tacitus; quum quidlibet ille
    Garriret.----

                                                    HOR., 1 Sat. ix. 11.


_From my own Apartment._

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:


"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., Censor of Great Britain.

_Lloyd's Coffee-house, Lombard Street, Dec. 23._

"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.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

    ----Hæ nugæ seria ducent
    In mala.----

                                                    HOR., Ars Poet. 451.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 27._

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.


ADVERTISEMENT.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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_.

           Cum pulchris tunicis sumet nova consilia et spes.

                                                  HOR., 1 Ep. xviii. 33.


_From my own Apartment, Dec. 29._

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."


"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:_

"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, &amp;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.


"To ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, Esq., Censor of Great Britain.

"_The humble Petition of Elizabeth Slender, spinster:_

"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, &amp;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.


"To the Rev. Mr. RALPH INCENSE, Chaplain to the Countess-Dowager of
Brumpton.

  "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."


ADVERTISEMENTS.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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, &amp;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_.


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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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," &amp;c.

[285] Addison.

[286] See No. 56, &amp;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"

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, &amp;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,
&amp;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.)


FROM THE FOLIO EDINBURGH REPRINT OF THE "TATLER."

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, &amp;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_, &amp;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_, &amp;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_, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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_, &amp;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," &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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_

  ---- &amp; 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, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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_, &amp;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 &amp; 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_, &amp;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, &amp;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_, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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, &amp;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_, &amp;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_, &amp;c.:
    pirated _Tatler_, ii. 347 and _note_:
    the censor of Great Britain, iii. 160, &amp;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_, &amp;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 &amp; CO.

                           London &amp; Edinburgh





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    Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

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