FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[244]Tickell included the article "From my own Apartment" in his edition of Addison's Works, but stated that Steele assisted in this paper. Upon which pompous Bishop Hurd adds, "One sees this by the pertness of the manner in which many parts of it are composed. The scene described is, however, pleasant enough." No doubt Addison was the chief, if not sole author of the first article.[245]"The upper part [of Shire Lane] hath good old buildings, well inhabited; but the lower part is very narrow and more ordinary" (Strype, Book IV.). A view of the Trumpet in Shire Lane is given in Timbs' "Clubs and Club Life in London," p. 176.[246]Tooke, Swift's bookseller, died in 1723. His shop was at the Middle Temple Gateway.[247]Dick's Coffee-house, in Fleet Street, was named after Richard Tornor or Turner, to whom the house was let in 1680. It is called Richard's in theLondon Gazettefor 1693, No. 2939.[248]See No. 18.[249]A thick ale, brewed from wheat.Cf."Dunciad," ii. 385.[250]See Valerius Maximus, iv. 5.

[244]Tickell included the article "From my own Apartment" in his edition of Addison's Works, but stated that Steele assisted in this paper. Upon which pompous Bishop Hurd adds, "One sees this by the pertness of the manner in which many parts of it are composed. The scene described is, however, pleasant enough." No doubt Addison was the chief, if not sole author of the first article.

[245]"The upper part [of Shire Lane] hath good old buildings, well inhabited; but the lower part is very narrow and more ordinary" (Strype, Book IV.). A view of the Trumpet in Shire Lane is given in Timbs' "Clubs and Club Life in London," p. 176.

[246]Tooke, Swift's bookseller, died in 1723. His shop was at the Middle Temple Gateway.

[247]Dick's Coffee-house, in Fleet Street, was named after Richard Tornor or Turner, to whom the house was let in 1680. It is called Richard's in theLondon Gazettefor 1693, No. 2939.

[248]See No. 18.

[249]A thick ale, brewed from wheat.Cf."Dunciad," ii. 385.

[250]See Valerius Maximus, iv. 5.

FromThursday, Oct. 27, toSaturday, Oct. 29, 1709.

There is nothing which I contemplate with greater pleasure than the dignity of human nature, which often shows itself in all conditions of life: for notwithstanding the degeneracy and meanness that is crept into it, there are a thousand occasions in which it breaks through its original corruption, and shows what it once was, and what it will be hereafter. I consider the soul of man as the ruin of a glorious pile of building; where, amidst great heaps of rubbish, you meet with noble fragments of sculpture, broken pillars and obelisks, and a magnificence in confusion. Virtue and wisdom are continually employed in clearing the ruins, removing these disorderly heaps, recovering the noble pieces that lie buried under them, and adjusting them as well as possible according to their ancient symmetry and beauty. A happy education, conversation with the finest spirits, looking abroad into the works of nature, and observations upon mankind, are the great assistances to this necessary and glorious work. But even among those who have never had the happiness of any of theseadvantages, there are sometimes such exertions of the greatness that is natural to the mind of man, as show capacities and abilities, which only want these accidental helps to fetch them out, and show them in a proper light. A plebeian soul is still the ruin of this glorious edifice, though encumbered with all its rubbish. This reflection rose in me from a letter which my servant dropped as he was dressing me, and which he told me was communicated to him, as he is an acquaintance of some of the persons mentioned in it. The epistle is from one Sergeant Hall of the Foot Guards. It is directed to Sergeant Cabe, in the Coldstream Regiment of Foot Guards,[251]at the Red Lettice[252]in the Butcher Row,[253]near Temple Bar.

I was so pleased with several touches in it, that I could not forbear showing it to a cluster of critics, who, instead of considering it in the light I have done, examined it by the rules of epistolary writing: for as these gentlemen are seldom men of any great genius, they work altogether by mechanical rules, and are able to discover no beauties that are not pointed out by Bouhours and Rapin.[254]The letter is as follows:

From the Camp before Mons,September 26."Comrade,"I received yours, and am glad yourself and your wife are in good health, with all the rest of my friends. Our battalion suffered more than I could wish in the action;[255]but who can withstand Fate? Poor Richard Stephenson had his fate with a great many more: he was killed dead before we entered the trenches. We had above 200 of our battalion killed and wounded: we lost 10 sergeants; 6 are as followeth: Jennings, Castles, Roach, Sherring, Meyrick, and my son Smith. The rest are not your acquaintance. I have received a very bad shot in my head myself, but am in hopes, and please God, I shall recover. I continue in the field, and lie at my colonel's quarters. Arthur is very well; but I can give you no account of Elms; he was in the hospital before I came into the field. I will not pretend to give you an account of the battle, knowing you have a better in the prints. Pray give my service to Mrs. Cook and her daughter, to Mr. Stoffet and his wife, and to Mr. Lyver, and Thomas Hogsdon, and to Mr. Ragdell, and to all my friends and acquaintance in general who do ask after me. My love to Mrs. Stephenson:I am sorry for the sending such ill news. Her husband was gathering a little money together to send to his wife, and put it into my hands. I have seven shillings and threepence, which I shall take care to send her. Wishing your wife a safe delivery, and both of you all happiness, rest"Your assured Friend and Comrade,John Hall."

From the Camp before Mons,September 26.

"Comrade,

"I received yours, and am glad yourself and your wife are in good health, with all the rest of my friends. Our battalion suffered more than I could wish in the action;[255]but who can withstand Fate? Poor Richard Stephenson had his fate with a great many more: he was killed dead before we entered the trenches. We had above 200 of our battalion killed and wounded: we lost 10 sergeants; 6 are as followeth: Jennings, Castles, Roach, Sherring, Meyrick, and my son Smith. The rest are not your acquaintance. I have received a very bad shot in my head myself, but am in hopes, and please God, I shall recover. I continue in the field, and lie at my colonel's quarters. Arthur is very well; but I can give you no account of Elms; he was in the hospital before I came into the field. I will not pretend to give you an account of the battle, knowing you have a better in the prints. Pray give my service to Mrs. Cook and her daughter, to Mr. Stoffet and his wife, and to Mr. Lyver, and Thomas Hogsdon, and to Mr. Ragdell, and to all my friends and acquaintance in general who do ask after me. My love to Mrs. Stephenson:I am sorry for the sending such ill news. Her husband was gathering a little money together to send to his wife, and put it into my hands. I have seven shillings and threepence, which I shall take care to send her. Wishing your wife a safe delivery, and both of you all happiness, rest

"Your assured Friend and Comrade,

John Hall."

"We had but an indifferent breakfast, but the mounseers never had such a dinner in all their lives.

"My kind love to my comrade Hinton, and Mrs. Morgan, and to John Brown and his wife. I sent two shillings, and Stephenson sixpence, to drink with you at Mr. Cook's; but I have heard nothing from him. It was by Mr. Edgar.

"Corporal Hartwell desires to be remembered to you, and desires you to inquire of Edgar, what is become of his wife Peg; and when you write, to send word in your letter what trade she drives.

"We have here very bad weather, which I doubt will be a hindrance to the siege;[256]but I am in hopes we shall be masters of the town in a little time, and then I believe we shall go to garrison."

I saw the critics prepared to nibble at my letter; therefore examined it myself, partly in their way, and partly my own. "This is," said I, "truly a letter, and an honest representation of that cheerful heart which accompanies the poor soldier in his warfare. Is not there in this all the topic of submitting to our destiny as well discussed as if a greater man had been placed, like Brutus, in his tent at midnight, reflecting on all the occurrences of past life, and saying fine things on "being" itself? What Sergeant Hall knows of the matter, is, that he wishes there had not been so many killed, and he had himself a very bad shot in the head, and should recover if it pleased God. But be that as it will, he takes care, like a man of honour, as he certainly is, to let the widow Stephenson know, that he had seven and threepence for her; and that if he lives, he is sure he shall go into garrison at last. I doubt not but all the good company at the Red Lettice drank his health with as much real esteem as we do any of our friends. All that I am concerned for, is, that Mrs. Peggy Hartwell may be offended at showing this letter, because her conduct in Mr. Hartwell's absence is a little inquired into. But I could not sink that circumstance, because you critics would have lost one of the parts which I doubt not but you have much to say upon, whether the familiar way is well hit in this style or not? As for myself, I take a very particular satisfaction in seeing any letter that is fit only for those to read who are concerned in it, but especially on such a subject: for if we consider the heap of an army, utterly out of all prospect of rising and preferment, as they certainly are, and such great things executed by them, it is hard to account for the motive of their gallantry. But to me, who was a cadet at the battle of Coldstream, in Scotland, when Monck charged at the head of the regiment, now called Coldstream from the victory of that day;[257](I remember it as well as if it were yesterday) I stood on the left of old West, who I believe is now at Chelsea: I say, to me, who know very well this part of mankind, I take the gallantry of private soldiers to proceed from the same, if not from a nobler, impulse than that of gentlemen and officers. They have the same taste of being acceptable to their friends, and go through the difficulties of that profession by the same irresistible charm of fellowship, and the communication of joys and sorrows, which quickens the relish of pleasure, and abates the anguish of pain. Add to this, that they have the same regard to fame, though they do not expect so great a share as men above them hope for; but I will engage, Sergeant Hall would die ten thousand deaths, rather than a word should be spoken at the Red Lettice, or any part of the Butcher Row, in prejudice to his courage or honesty. If you will have my opinion then of the sergeant's letter, I pronounce the style to be mixed, but truly epistolary; the sentiment relating to his own wound, is in the sublime; the postscript of Peg Hartwell, in the gay; and the whole, the picture of the bravest sort of men, that is to say, a man of great courage and small hopes."

When I came home this evening, I found, after many attempts to vary my thoughts, that my head still ran upon the subject of the discourse to-night at Will's. I fell therefore into the amusement of proportioning the glory of a battle among the whole army, and dividing it into shares, according to the method of the Million Lottery.[258]In this bank of fame, by an exact calculation, and the rules of political arithmetic, I have allotted ten hundred thousand shares; five hundred thousand of which is the due of the general, two hundred thousand I assign to the general officers, and two hundred thousand more to all the commissioned officers, from colonels to ensigns; the remaining hundred thousand must be distributed among the non-commissioned officers and private men: according to which computation, I find Sergeant Hall is to have one share and a fraction of two-fifths. When I was a boy at Oxford, there was among the antiquities near the theatre a great stone, on which were engraven the names of all who fell in the battle of Marathon. The generous and knowing people of Athens understood the force of the desire of glory, and would not let the meanest soldier perish in oblivion. Were the natural impulse of the British animated with such monuments, what man would be so mean as not to hazard his life for his ten-hundred-thousandth part of the honour in such a day as that of Blenheim or Blaregnies?

FOOTNOTES:[251]This had been Steele's own regiment.[252]In the address of Sergeant Hall's letter the Red Lettice is spelt according to the original, but this is a corruption of Red Lattice; it signifies a chequered or reticulated window of this colour, no uncommon sign of a public-house. A house with a red lattice is mentioned in "The Glass of Government," a tragi-comedy by Geo. Gascoigne, 1575.The Chequers, at the date of this paper a very common sign of a public-house, was the representation of a kind of draught-board called "tables," signifying that that game might be played there. From their colour, which was red, and their similarity to a lattice, it was corruptly called the Red Lattice, which word is frequently used by ancient writers to signify an ale-house (Nichols). Mr. Dobson points out that Falstaff speaks of "red-lattice phrases" ("Merry Wives of Windsor," Act ii. sc. 2.), and Staunton says, "Ale-houses in old times were distinguished byred lattices, as dairies have since been bygreenones."[253]A narrow street between the back side of St. Clement's and Shipyard, in the Strand. There were butchers' shambles on the south side, and a market for meat, poultry, fish, &c. The Row was pulled down in 1813.[254]Dominic Bouhours (1628-1702) and Nicholas Rapin (1535-1608), French critics.[255]The bloody battle of Malplaquet, September 11, 1709.[256]Mons was taken on October 21.[257]On January 1, 1660, General Monck quitted his headquarters at Coldstream, to restore the monarchy. As Gumble puts it in his "Life of Monck," "This town hath given title to a small company of men whom God made the instruments of great things." See Mackinnon's "Origin and Services of the Coldstream Guards" (1833).[258]The first of a long series of Government lotteries was started in 1709. There were 150,000 tickets at £10 each, making £1,500,000. Three thousand seven hundred and fifty tickets were prizes from £1000 to £5 a year for thirty-two years. There was a great demand for the tickets. See No. 124, and theSpectator,No. 191.

[251]This had been Steele's own regiment.

[252]In the address of Sergeant Hall's letter the Red Lettice is spelt according to the original, but this is a corruption of Red Lattice; it signifies a chequered or reticulated window of this colour, no uncommon sign of a public-house. A house with a red lattice is mentioned in "The Glass of Government," a tragi-comedy by Geo. Gascoigne, 1575.The Chequers, at the date of this paper a very common sign of a public-house, was the representation of a kind of draught-board called "tables," signifying that that game might be played there. From their colour, which was red, and their similarity to a lattice, it was corruptly called the Red Lattice, which word is frequently used by ancient writers to signify an ale-house (Nichols). Mr. Dobson points out that Falstaff speaks of "red-lattice phrases" ("Merry Wives of Windsor," Act ii. sc. 2.), and Staunton says, "Ale-houses in old times were distinguished byred lattices, as dairies have since been bygreenones."

The Chequers, at the date of this paper a very common sign of a public-house, was the representation of a kind of draught-board called "tables," signifying that that game might be played there. From their colour, which was red, and their similarity to a lattice, it was corruptly called the Red Lattice, which word is frequently used by ancient writers to signify an ale-house (Nichols). Mr. Dobson points out that Falstaff speaks of "red-lattice phrases" ("Merry Wives of Windsor," Act ii. sc. 2.), and Staunton says, "Ale-houses in old times were distinguished byred lattices, as dairies have since been bygreenones."

[253]A narrow street between the back side of St. Clement's and Shipyard, in the Strand. There were butchers' shambles on the south side, and a market for meat, poultry, fish, &c. The Row was pulled down in 1813.

[254]Dominic Bouhours (1628-1702) and Nicholas Rapin (1535-1608), French critics.

[255]The bloody battle of Malplaquet, September 11, 1709.

[256]Mons was taken on October 21.

[257]On January 1, 1660, General Monck quitted his headquarters at Coldstream, to restore the monarchy. As Gumble puts it in his "Life of Monck," "This town hath given title to a small company of men whom God made the instruments of great things." See Mackinnon's "Origin and Services of the Coldstream Guards" (1833).

[258]The first of a long series of Government lotteries was started in 1709. There were 150,000 tickets at £10 each, making £1,500,000. Three thousand seven hundred and fifty tickets were prizes from £1000 to £5 a year for thirty-two years. There was a great demand for the tickets. See No. 124, and theSpectator,No. 191.

FromSaturday, Oct. 29, toTuesday, Nov. 1, 1709.

I have lately received a letter from a friend in the country, wherein he acquaints me, that two or three men of the town are got among them, and have brought down particular words and phrases which were never before in those parts. He mentions in particular the words "gunner" and "gunster," which my correspondent observes they make use of when anything has been related that is strange and surprising; and thereforedesires I would explain those terms, as I have many others, for the information of such as live at a distance from this town and court, which he calls the great mints of language. His letter is dated from York; and (if he tells me truth) a word in its ordinary circulation does not reach that city within the space of five years after it is first stamped. I cannot say how long these words have been current in town, but I shall now take care to send them down by the next post.

I must in the first place observe, that the words "gunner" and "gunster" are not to be used promiscuously; for a gunner, properly speaking, is not a gunster: nor is a gunster,vice versâ, a gunner. They both indeed are derived from the word "gun," and so far they agree. But as a gun is remarkable for its destroying at a distance, or for the report it makes, which is apt to startle all its hearers, those who recount strange accidents and circumstances, which have no manner of foundation in truth, when they design to do mischief are comprehended under the appellation of gunners; but when they endeavour only to surprise and entertain, they are distinguished by the name of gunsters. Gunners therefore are the pest of society; but the gunsters often the diversion. The gunner is destructive, and hated; the gunster innocent, and laughed at. The first is prejudicial to others, the other only to himself.

This being premised, I must in the next place subdivide the gunner into several branches: all or the chief of which are I think as follow:

And first, of the first. The bombardier tosses his ballssometimes into the midst of a city, with a design to fill all around him with terror and combustion. He has been sometimes known to drop a bomb in a Senate-house, and to scatter a panic over a nation. But his chief aim is at several eminent stations, which he looks upon as the fairest marks, and uses all his skill to do execution upon those who possess them. Every man so situated, let his merit be never so great, is sure to undergo a bombardment. It is further observed, that the only way to be out of danger from the bursting of a bomb, is to lie prostrate on the ground; a posture too abject for generous spirits.

Secondly, the Miner.

As the bombardier levels his mischief at nations and cities, the miner busies himself in ruining and overturning private houses and particular persons. He often acts as a spy, in discovering the secret avenues and unguarded accesses of families, where, after he has made his proper discoveries and dispositions, he sets sudden fire to his train, that blows up families, scatters friends, separates lovers, disperses kindred, and shakes a whole neighbourhood.

It is to be noted, that several females are great proficients in this way of engineering. The marks by which they are to be known, are a wonderful solicitude for the reputation of their friends, and a more than ordinary concern for the good of their neighbours. There is also in them something so very like religion as may deceive the vulgar; but if you look upon it very nearly, you see on it such a cast of censoriousness, as discovers it to be nothing but hypocrisy. Cleomilla is a great instance of a female miner; but as my design is to expose only the incorrigible, let her be silent for the future, and I shall be so too.

Thirdly, the Squib.

The squibs are those who in the common phrase of the world are called libellers, lampooners, and pamphleteers. Their fireworks are made up in paper; and it is observed, that they mix abundance of charcoal in their powder, that they may be sure to blacken where they cannot singe. These are observed to give a consternation and disturbance only to weak minds; which, according to the proverb, are always more afraid than hurt.

Fourthly, Serpents.

The serpents are a petty kind of gunners, more pernicious than any of the rest. They make use of a sort of white powder, that goes off without any violent crack, but gives a gentle sound, much like that of a whisper; and is more destructive in all parts of life than any of the materials made use of by any of the fraternity.

Come we now to the Gunsters.

This race of engineers deals altogether in wind-guns,[259]which, by recoiling often, knock down those who discharge them, without hurting anybody else; and according to the various compressions of the air, make such strange squeaks, cracks, pops, and bounces, as it is impossible to hear without laughing. It is observable, however, that there is a disposition in a gunster to become a gunner; and though their proper instruments are only loaded with wind, they often, out of wantonness, fire a bomb, or spring a mine, out of their natural inclination to engineering; by which means they do mischief when they don't design it, and have their bones broken when they don't deserve it.

This sort of engineers are the most unaccountable race of men in the world: some of them have received above a hundred wounds, and yet have not a scar in their bodies; some have debauched multitudes of women who have died maids. You may be with them from morning till night, and the next day they shall tell you a thousand adventures that happened when you were with them, which you know nothing of. They have a quality of having been present at everything they hear related; and never heard a man commended who was not their intimate acquaintance, if not their kinsman.

I hope these notes may serve as a rough draught for a new establishment of engineers, which I shall hereafter fill up with proper persons, according to my own observations on their conduct, having already had one recommended to me for the general of my artillery. But that, and all the other posts, I intend to keep open, till I can inform myself of the candidates, having resolved in this case to depend no more upon their friend's word than I would upon their own.

I was this morning awakened by a sudden shake of the house; and as soon as I had got a little out of my consternation, I felt another, which was followed by two or three repetitions of the same convulsion. I got up as fast as possible, girt on my rapier, and snatched up my hat, when my landlady came up to me, and told me, that the gentlewoman of the next house begged me to step thither; for that a lodger she had taken in was run mad, and she desired my advice; as indeed everybody in the whole lane does upon important occasions. I am not like some artists, saucy because I can be beneficial, but went immediately. Our neighbour told us, she had the day before let her second floor to a very genteel youngish man, who told her, he kept extraordinary good hours, and was generally at home most part of the morning and evening at study; but that this morning he had for an hour together made this extravagant noise which we then heard. I went upstairs with my hand upon the hilt of my rapier, and approached this new lodger's door. I looked in at the key-hole, and there I saw a well-made man look with great attention on a book, and on a sudden, jump into the air so high, that his head almost touched the ceiling. He came down safe on his right foot, and again flew up, alighting on his left; then looked again at his book, and holding out his right leg, put it into such a quivering motion, that I thought he would have shaken it off. He used the left after the same manner, when on a sudden, to my great surprise, he stooped himself incredibly low, and turned gently on his toes. After this circular motion, he continued bent in that humble posture for some time, looking on his book. After this, he recovered himself with a sudden spring, and flew round the room in all the violence and disorder imaginable, till he made a full pause for want of breath. In this interim my woman asked what I thought: I whispered, that I thought this learned person an enthusiast, who possiblyhad his first education in the peripatetic way, which was a sect of philosophers who always studied when walking. But observing him much out of breath, I thought it the best time to master him if he were disordered, and knocked at his door. I was surprised to find him open it, and say with great civility and good mien, that he hoped he had not disturbed us. I believed him in a lucid interval, and desired he would please to let me see his book. He did so, smiling. I could not make anything of it, and therefore asked in what language it was written. He said, it was one he studied with great application; but it was his profession to teach it, and could not communicate his knowledge without a consideration. I answered, that I hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himself; for his meditation this morning had cost me three coffee-dishes and a clean pipe. He seemed concerned at that, and told me, he was a dancing-master, and had been reading a dance or two before he went out, which had been written by one who taught at an academy in France.[261]He observed me at a stand, and went on to inform me, that now articulate motions, as well as sounds, were expressed by proper characters, and that there is nothing so common as to communicate a dance by a letter. I besought him hereafter to meditate in a ground room, for that otherwise it would be impossible for an artist of any other kind to live near him; and that I was sure, several of his thoughts this morning would have shaken my spectacles off my nose, had I been myself at study.

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

FOOTNOTES:[259]In thePostmanfor August 19, 1702, the person mentioned in Dr. Burnet's Travels from Basel, in Switzerland, advertises his arrival, and his having brought several sorts of wind-guns and horse-pistols, made for the late K. William, to be shown at the price of sixpence apiece; but he hopes the nobility will be induced to give more, as he has some curiosities besides, not mentioned."There is in Basel a gunsmith that maketh wind-guns, and he showed me one, that as it received at once air for ten shot, so it had this peculiar to it, which he pretends is his own invention, that he can discharge all the air that can be parcelled out in ten shot at once to give a home blow. I confess those are terrible instruments, and it seems the interest of mankind to forbid them quite." (Burnet's "Letters," &c., 1687, page 236, quoted by Nichols.)[260]This article is by Addison.[261]Thoinet Arbeau, a dancing-master at Paris, who was the inventor of the art of writing dances in characters, called orchesography. Music, about the year 1709, was generally printed in most countries, as well as in England, on letterpress types. Engravings on copperplates were used almost eighty years before in Italy, and the music of many single songs was engraved here about the year 1700, by one Thomas Cross. (See Hawkins's "History of Music," 1776, ii. 132-133, v. 107.)

[259]In thePostmanfor August 19, 1702, the person mentioned in Dr. Burnet's Travels from Basel, in Switzerland, advertises his arrival, and his having brought several sorts of wind-guns and horse-pistols, made for the late K. William, to be shown at the price of sixpence apiece; but he hopes the nobility will be induced to give more, as he has some curiosities besides, not mentioned."There is in Basel a gunsmith that maketh wind-guns, and he showed me one, that as it received at once air for ten shot, so it had this peculiar to it, which he pretends is his own invention, that he can discharge all the air that can be parcelled out in ten shot at once to give a home blow. I confess those are terrible instruments, and it seems the interest of mankind to forbid them quite." (Burnet's "Letters," &c., 1687, page 236, quoted by Nichols.)

"There is in Basel a gunsmith that maketh wind-guns, and he showed me one, that as it received at once air for ten shot, so it had this peculiar to it, which he pretends is his own invention, that he can discharge all the air that can be parcelled out in ten shot at once to give a home blow. I confess those are terrible instruments, and it seems the interest of mankind to forbid them quite." (Burnet's "Letters," &c., 1687, page 236, quoted by Nichols.)

[260]This article is by Addison.

[261]Thoinet Arbeau, a dancing-master at Paris, who was the inventor of the art of writing dances in characters, called orchesography. Music, about the year 1709, was generally printed in most countries, as well as in England, on letterpress types. Engravings on copperplates were used almost eighty years before in Italy, and the music of many single songs was engraved here about the year 1700, by one Thomas Cross. (See Hawkins's "History of Music," 1776, ii. 132-133, v. 107.)

FromTuesday, Nov. 1, toThursday, Nov. 3, 1709.

Rura mihi placeant, riguique in vallibus amnes,Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius.

Virg., Georg. ii. 485.

I have received this short epistle from an unknown hand:[262]

"Sir,"I have no more to trouble you with, than to desire you would in your next help me to some answer to the enclosed concerning yourself. In the meantime I congratulate you upon the increase of your fame, which you see has extended itself beyond the bills of mortality.

"Sir,

"I have no more to trouble you with, than to desire you would in your next help me to some answer to the enclosed concerning yourself. In the meantime I congratulate you upon the increase of your fame, which you see has extended itself beyond the bills of mortality.

"'Sir,"'That the country is barren of news, has been the excuse time out of mind for dropping a correspondence with our friends in London; as if it were impossible out of a coffee-house to write an agreeable letter. I am too ingenuous to endeavour at the covering of my negligence with so common an excuse. Doubtless, amongst friends bred as we have been, to the knowledgeof books as well as men, a letter dated from a garden, a grotto, a fountain, a wood, a meadow, or the banks of a river, may be more entertaining than one from Tom's,[263]Will's, White's, or St. James's. I promise therefore to be frequent for the future in my rural dates to you: but for fear you should, from what I have said, be induced to believe I shun the commerce of men, I must inform you, that there is a fresh topic of discourse lately risen amongst the ingenious in our part of the world, and is become the more fashionable for the ladies giving into it. This we owe to Isaac Bickerstaff, who is very much censured by some, and as much justified by others. Some criticise his style, his humour, and his matter; others admire the whole man: some pretend, from the informations of their friends in town, to decipher the author; and others confess they are lost in their guesses. For my part, I must own myself a professed admirer of the paper, and desire you to send me a complete set, together with your thoughts of the squire and his lucubrations.'"

"'Sir,

"'That the country is barren of news, has been the excuse time out of mind for dropping a correspondence with our friends in London; as if it were impossible out of a coffee-house to write an agreeable letter. I am too ingenuous to endeavour at the covering of my negligence with so common an excuse. Doubtless, amongst friends bred as we have been, to the knowledgeof books as well as men, a letter dated from a garden, a grotto, a fountain, a wood, a meadow, or the banks of a river, may be more entertaining than one from Tom's,[263]Will's, White's, or St. James's. I promise therefore to be frequent for the future in my rural dates to you: but for fear you should, from what I have said, be induced to believe I shun the commerce of men, I must inform you, that there is a fresh topic of discourse lately risen amongst the ingenious in our part of the world, and is become the more fashionable for the ladies giving into it. This we owe to Isaac Bickerstaff, who is very much censured by some, and as much justified by others. Some criticise his style, his humour, and his matter; others admire the whole man: some pretend, from the informations of their friends in town, to decipher the author; and others confess they are lost in their guesses. For my part, I must own myself a professed admirer of the paper, and desire you to send me a complete set, together with your thoughts of the squire and his lucubrations.'"

There is no pleasure like that of receiving praise from the praiseworthy; and I own it a very solid happiness, that these my lucubrations are approved by a person of so fine a taste as the author of this letter, who is capable of enjoying the world in the simplicity of its natural beauties. This pastoral letter, if I may so call it, must be written by a man who carries his entertainment wherever he goes, and is undoubtedly one of those happy men who appear far otherwise to the vulgar. I daresay, he is not envied by the vicious, the vain, the frolic, and the loud; but is continually blessed with that strong and serious delight which flows from a well-taught and liberal mind. With great respect to country sports, I may say, this gentleman could pass his time agreeably if there were not a hare or a fox in his county. That calm and elegant satisfaction which the vulgar call melancholy, is the true and proper delight of men of knowledge and virtue. What we take for diversion, which is a kind of forgetting ourselves, is but a mean way of entertainment, in comparison of that which is considering, knowing, and enjoying ourselves. The pleasures of ordinary people are in their passions; but the seat of this delight is in the reason and understanding. Such a frame of mind raises that sweet enthusiasm which warms the imagination at the sight of every work of nature, and turns all around you into picture and landscape. I shall be ever proud of advices from this gentleman; for I profess writing news from the learned as well as the busy world.

As for my labours, which he is pleased to inquire after, if they can but wear one impertinence out of human life, destroy a single vice, or give a morning's cheerfulness to an honest mind; in short, if the world can be but one virtue the better, or in any degree less vicious, or receive from them the smallest addition to their innocent diversions, I shall not think my pains, or indeed my life, to have been spent in vain.

Thus far as to my studies. It will be expected I should in the next place give some account of my life. I shall therefore, for the satisfaction of the present age, and the benefit of posterity, present the world with the following abridgment of it.

It is remarkable, that I was bred by hand, and ate nothing but milk till I was a twelvemonth old; from which time, to the eighth year of my age, I was observed to delight in pudding and potatoes; and indeed I retain a benevolence for that sort of food to this day. I do not remember that I distinguished myself in anything at those years, but by my great skill at taw, for which I was so barbarously used, that it has ever since given me an aversion to gaming. In my twelfth year, I suffered very much for two or three false concords. At fifteen, I was sent to the university, and stayed there for some time; but a drum passing by (being a lover of music), I listed myself for a soldier.[264]As years came on, I began to examine things, and grew discontented at the times. This made me quit the sword, and take to the study of the occult sciences, in which I was so wrapped up, that Oliver Cromwell had been buried, and taken up again, five years before I heard he was dead. This gave me first the reputation of a conjurer, which has been of great disadvantage to me ever since, and kept me out of all public employments. The greater part of my later years has been divided between Dick's Coffee-house, the Trumpet in Sheer Lane, and my own lodgings.

The evil of unseasonable visits has been complained of to me with much vehemence by persons of both sexes; and I am desired to consider this very important circumstance, that men may know how to regulate their conduct in an affair which concerns no less than life itself. For to a rational creature, it is almost the same cruelty to attack his life, by robbing him of so many moments of his time, or so many drops of his blood. The author of the following letter has a just delicacy on this point, and has put it into a very good light.

"Mr. Bickerstaff,

Oct. 29.

I am very much afflicted with the gravel, which makes me sick and peevish. I desire to know of you, if it be reasonable that any of my acquaintance should take advantage over me at this time, and afflict me with long visits, because they are idle, and I am confined. Pray, sir, reform the town in this matter. Men never consider whether the sick person be disposed for company, but make their visits to humour themselves. You may talk upon this topic, so as to oblige all persons afflicted with chronic distempers, among which I reckon visits. Don't think me a sour man, for I love conversation and my friends; but I think one's most intimate friend may be too familiar, and that there are such things as unseasonable wit and painful mirth."

It is with some so hard a thing to employ their time, that it is a great good fortune when they have a friend indisposed, that they may be punctual in perplexing him, when he is recovered enough to be in that state which cannot be called sickness or health; when he is too well to deny company, and too ill to receive them. It is no uncommon case, if a man is of any figure or power in the world, to be congratulated into a relapse.

I was very well pleased this evening to hear a gentleman express a very becoming indignation against a practice which I myself have been very much offended at. "There is nothing," said he, "more ridiculous than for an actor to insert words of his own in the part he is to act, so that it is impossible to see the poet for the player: you willhave Pinkethman and Bullock helping out Beaumont and Fletcher. It puts me in mind," continued he, "of a collection of antique statues which I once saw in a gentleman's possession, who employed a neighbouring stone-cutter to add noses, ears, arms, or legs, to the maimed works of Phidias or Praxiteles. You may be sure this addition disfigured the statues much more than time had. I remember a Venus that, by the nose he had given her, looked like Mother Shipton; and a Mercury with a pair of legs that seemed very much swelled with a dropsy."

I thought the gentleman's observations very proper; and he told me, I had improved his thought, in mentioning on this occasion those wise commentators who had filled up the hemistichs of Virgil;[265]particularly that notable poet, who, to make the "Æneid" more perfect, carried on the story to Lavinia's wedding.[266]If the proper officer will not condescend to take notice of these absurdities, I shall myself, as a censor of the people, animadvert upon such proceedings.

FOOTNOTES:[262]See No. 112.[263]Tom's Coffee-house, in Russell Street, opposite Button's, was named after the landlord, Captain Thomas West. Macky ("A Journey through England," 1722, i. 172) says, "After the play the best company generally go to Tom's and Will's Coffee-houses, near adjoining, where there is playing at piquet, and the best of conversation till midnight. Here you will see blue and green ribbons and stars sitting familiarly."[264]Here and elsewhere Steele describes his own life.

[262]See No. 112.

[263]Tom's Coffee-house, in Russell Street, opposite Button's, was named after the landlord, Captain Thomas West. Macky ("A Journey through England," 1722, i. 172) says, "After the play the best company generally go to Tom's and Will's Coffee-houses, near adjoining, where there is playing at piquet, and the best of conversation till midnight. Here you will see blue and green ribbons and stars sitting familiarly."

[264]Here and elsewhere Steele describes his own life.

FromThursday, Nov. 3, toSaturday, Nov. 5, 1709.

----Amoto quæramus seria ludo.—Hor., 1 Sat. i. 27.

The passion of love happened to be the subject of discourse between two or three of us at the table of the poets this evening; and among other observations, it was remarked, that the same sentiment on this passion had run through all languages and nations. Menmius, who has a very good taste, fell into a little sort of dissertation on this occasion. "It is," said he, "remarkable, that no passion has been treated by all who have touched upon it with the same bent of design but this. The poets, the moralists, the painters, in all their descriptions, allegories, and pictures, have represented it as a soft torment, a bitter sweet, a pleasing pain, or an agreeable distress, and have only expressed the same thought in a different manner. The[267]joining of pleasure and pain together in such devices, seems to me the only pointed thought I ever read which is natural; and it must have proceeded from its being the universal sense and experience of mankind, that they have all spoken of it in the same manner. I have in my own reading remarked a hundred and three epigrams, fifty odes, and ninety-one sentences tending to this sole purpose. It is certain, there is no other passion which does produce such contrary effects in so great a degree: but this may be said for love, that if you strike it out of the soul, life would be insipid, and our being but half animated. Human nature would sink into deadness and lethargy, if not quickened with some active principle; and as for all others, whether ambition, envy, or avarice, which are apt to possess the mind in the absence of this passion, it must be allowed that they have greater pains, without the compensation of such exquisite pleasures as those we find in love. The great skill is to heighten the satisfactions, and deaden the sorrows of it, which has been the end of many of my labours, and shall continue to be so for the service of the world in general, and in particular of the fair sex who are always the best or the worst part of it. It is pity that a passion which has in it a capacity of making life happy, should not be cultivated to the utmost advantage. Reason, prudence, and good-nature, rightly applied, can thoroughly accomplish this great end, provided they have always a real and constant love to work upon. But this subject I shall treat more at large in the history of my married sister; and in the meantime, shall conclude my reflection on the pains and pleasures which attend this passion with one of the finest allegories which I think I have ever read. It is invented by the divine Plato, and to show the opinion he himself had of it, ascribed by him to his admired Socrates, whom he represents as discoursing with his friends, and giving the history of love in the following manner:

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

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

I came home this evening in a very pensive mood; and to divert me, took up a volume of Shakespeare, where I chanced to cast my eye upon a part in the tragedy of "Richard the Third," which filled my mind with a very agreeable horror. It was the scene in which that boldbut wicked prince is represented as sleeping in his tent the night before the battle in which he fell. The poet takes that occasion to set before him in a vision a terrible assembly of apparitions, the ghosts of all those innocent persons whom he is said to have murdered. Prince Edward, Henry VI., the Duke of Clarence, Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan, Lord Hastings, the two young princes, sons to Edward IV., his own wife, and the Duke of Buckingham rise up in their blood before him, beginning their speeches with that dreadful salutation, "Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow;" and concluding with that dismal sentence, "Despair and die." This inspires the tyrant with a dream of his past guilt, and of the approaching vengeance. He anticipates the fatal day of Bosworth, fancies himself dismounted, weltering in his own blood; and in the agonies of despair (before he is thoroughly awake), starts up with the following speech:

Back to Index Next