himself dismounted, weltering in his own blood;
and in the agonies of despair, before he is
thoroughly awake, starts up with the following
speech:

'Give me another horse-Bind up my wounds!
Have mercy, Jesu-Soft! I did but dream.
Oh! coward conscience! how dost thou afflict me?
The lights burn blue! is it not dead midnight?
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh:
What do I fear? myself! &c.

A scene written with so great strength of imagination indisposed me from further reading, and threw me into a deep contemplation. I began to reflect upon the different ends of good and bad kings; and as this was the birth day of our late renowned monarch, I could not forbear thinking on the departure of that excellent prince, whose life was crowned with glory, and his death with peace. I let my mind go so far into this thought, as to imagine to my self what might have been the vision of his departing slumbers. He might have seen confederate kings applauding him in different languages; slaves that had been bound in fetters lifting up their hands, and blessing him; and the persecuted in their several forms of worship imploring comfort on his last moments. The reflection upon this excellent prince's mortality had been a very melancholy entertainment to me, had I not been relieved by the consideration of the glorious reign which succeeds it.

but I am at present under much perplexity how to act in a great conjuncture. I have two lovers, Crassus and Lorio: Crassus is prodigiously rich, but has no one distinguishing quality; though at the same time, he is not remarkable on the defective side. Lorio has travelled, is well bred, pleasant in discourse, discreet in his conduct, agreeable in his person; and with all this, he has a competency of fortune without is filled with an idea of the great satisfactions superfluity. When I consider Lorio, my mind of a pleasant conversation. When I think of Crassus, my equipage, numerous servants, gay liveries, and various dresses, are opposed to the charms of his rival. In a word, when I cast my eyes upon Lorio, I forget and despise fortune; when I behold Crassus, I think only of pleasing my vanity, and enjoying an uncon. trolled expence in all the pleasures of life except love.' She paused here.

'Madam,' said I, I am confident you have not stated your case with sincerity, and that there is some secret pang which you have concealed from me: for I see by your aspect the generosity of your mind; and that open ingenuous air lets me know, that you have too great a sense of the generous passion of love, to prefer the ostentation of life in the arms of Crassus, to the entertainments and conveniences of it in the company of your beloved Lorio; for so he is indeed, madam; you speak his name with a dif. We now see as great a virtue as ever was on ferent accent from the rest of your discourse. the British throne, surrounded with all the The idea his image raises in you gives new life beauty of success. Our nation may not only to your features, and new grace to your speech. boast of a long series of great, regular, and Nay, blush not, madam; there is no dishonour well-laid designs, but also of triumphs and vic-in loving a man of merit; I assure you I am tories; while we have the happiness to see our Sovereign exercise that true policy which tends to make a kingdom great and happy, and at the same time enjoy the good and glorious effect

of it.

་

I was very much surprised this evening with a visit from one of the top Toasts of the town, who came privately in a chair, and bolted into my room, while I was reading a chapter of Agrippa upon the occult sciences; but, as she entered with all the air and bloom that nature ever bestowed on woman, I threw down the conjurer, and met the charmer. I had no sooner placed her at my right hand by the fire, but she opened to me the reason of her visit. Mr. Bickerstaff,' said the fine creature, I have been your correspondent some time, though I never saw you before; I have writ by the name of Maria. You have told me, you were too far gone in life to think of love. Therefore, I am answered as to the passion I spoke of; and,' continued sho, smiling, I will not stay until you grow young again, as you men never fail to do in your dotage; but am come to consult you about disposing of myself to another. My person you see; my fortune is very considerable;

King William III.

grieved at this dallying with yourself, when you put another in competition with him, for no other reason but superior wealth.'-'To tell you, then,' said she, 'the bottom of my heart, there is Clotilda lies by, and plants herself in the way of Crassus, and I am confident will snap him if I refuse him. I cannot bear to think that she will shine above me. When our coaches meet, to see her chariot hung behind with four footmen, and mine with but two: her's powdered, gay, and saucy, kept only for show; mine, a couple of careful rogues that are good for something; I own, I cannot bear that Clotilda should be in all the pride and wantonness of wealth, and I only in the case and affluence of it.

Here I interrupted: Well, madam, now I see your whole afiliction; you could be happy but that you fear another would be happier. Or rather, you could be solidly happy, but that another is to be happy in appearance. This is an evil which you must get over, or never know happiness. We will put the case, madam, that you married Crassus, and she Lorio.' She answered, Speak not of it. I could tear her eyes out at the mention of it.'-Well, then I pronounce Lorio to be the man; but I must tell you that what we call settling in the world, is, in a kind, leaving it; and you must at once resolve to keep your thoughts of happiness within the reach of your fortune, and not measure it by comparison with others.-But indeed, madam, when I behold that beauteous form of yours, and consider the generality of your sex, as to their disposal of themselves in marriage, or their

parents doing it for them without their own approbation, I cannot but look upon all such matches as the most impudent prostitutions. Do but observe, when you are at a play, the familiar wenches that sit laughing among the men. These appear detestable to you in the boxes. Each of them would give up her person for a guinea; and some of you would take the worst there for life for twenty thousand. If so, how do you differ but in price? As to the circumstance of marriage, I take that to be hardly an alteration of the case; for wedlock is but a more solemn prostitution, where there is not a union of minds. You would harldy believe it, but there have been designs even upon me.

I do not doubt but the more intelligent of my readers found it, before this jackanapes, I can call him no better, took upon him to observe upon my style and my basket-hilt. A very pleasant gentleman of my acquaintance, told me one day a story of this kind of falsehood and vanity in an author.

Mævius showed him a paper of verses, which he said he had received that morning by the penny-post from an unknown hand. My friend admired them extremely. Sir,' said he, 'this must come from a man that is eminent: you see fire, life, and spirit, run through the whole, and at the same time a correctness, which shows he is used to writing. Pray, sir, read them over again.' He begins again, title and all; 'To Mævius, on his incomparable poems.' The second reading was performed with much more vehemence and action than the former; after which, my friend fell into downright rapturesWhy, they are truly sublime! there is energy in this line! description in that! Why! it is the thing itself! this is perfect picture" Mævius could bear no more; but, Faith,' says he, Ned, to tell you the plain truth, I writ them

A neighbour in this very lane, who knows I have, by leading a very wary life, laid up a little money, had a great mind to marry me to his daughter. I was frequently invited to their table: the girl was always very pleasant and agreeable. After dinner, miss Molly would be sure to fill my pipe for me, and put more sugar than ordinary into my coffee; for she was sure I was good-natured. If I chanced to hem, the mother would applaud my vigour; and has often said on that occasion, "I wonder, Mr. Bicker-myself.' staff, you do not marry; I am sure you would have children." Things went so far, that my mistress presented me with a wrought night-cap and a laced band of her own working. I began to think of it in earnest; but one day, having an occasion to ride to Islington, as two or three people were lifting me upon my pad, I spied her at a convenient distance laughing at her lover, with a parcel of romps of her acquaintance. One of them, who I suppose had the same design upon me, told me she said, 'Do you see how briskly my old gentleman mounts?" This made me cut off my amour, and to reflect with myself, that no married life could be so unhappy, as where the wife proposes no other advantage from her husband, than that of making herself fine, and keeping her out of the dirt.'

My fair client burst out a-laughing at the account I gave her of my escape, and went away seemingly convinced of the reasonableness of my discourse to her.

As soon as she was gone, my maid brought up the following epistle, which, by the style, and the description she gave of the person, I suppose was left by Nick Doubt. 'Hark you,' said he, girl, tell old Basket-hilt, I would have him answer it by the first opportunity.' What he says is this.

ISAAC-You seem a very honest fellow; therefore, pray tell me, did not you write that letter in praise of the squire and his lucubra tions yourself,' &c.

The greatest plague of coxcombs is, that they often break upon you with an impertinent piece of good sense, as this jackanapes has hit me in a right place enough. I must confess, I am as likely to play such a trick as another; but that letter he speaks of was really genuine. When I first set up, I thought it fair enough to let myself know from all parts, that my works were wonderfully inquired for, and were become the diversion as well as instruction, of all choice spirits in every county of Great Britain. I

There goes just such another story of the same paternal tenderness in Bavius, an ingenious contemporary of mine, who had writ several comedies, which were rejected by the players. This, my friend Bavius took for envy, and therefore prevailed upon a gentleman to go with him to the play-house, and gave him a new play of his, desiring he would personate the author, and read it, to baffle the spite of the actors. The friend consented, and to reading they went. They had not gone over three similes, before Roscius the player made the acting author stop, and desired to know, 'what he meant by such a rapture? and how it came to pass, that in this condition of the lover, instead of acting according to his circumstances, he spent his time in considering what his state was like?-That is very truc,' says the mock author; I believe we had as good strike these lines out.'-' By your leave,' says Bavius, you shall not spoil your play, you are too modest; those very lines, for aught I know, are as good as any in your play, and they shall stand.' Well, they go on, and the particle' and' stood unfortunately at the end of a verse, and was made to rhyme to the word 'stand.' This, Roscius excepted against. The new poet gave up that too, and said, 'he would not dispute for a monosyllable.'—' For a monosyllable,' says the real author, I can assure you, a monosyllable may be of as great force as a word of ten syllables. I tell you, sir,

"and" is the connection of the matter in that place; without that word, you may put all that follows into any other play as well as this. Besides, if you leave it out, it will look as if you had put it in only for the sake of the rhyme.' Roscius persisted, assuring the gentleman, 'that it was impossible to speak it, but the "and" must be lost, so it might as well be blotted out.' Bavius snatched his play out of their hands, said, they were both blockheads,' and went off; repeating a couplet, because he would not make his exit irregularly. A witty man of these days compared this true and feigned poet to the

ness of temper, which is naturally an enemy to extraordinary merit. It is from this, that libel and satire are promiscuously joined together in the notions of the vulgar, though the satirist and libeller differ as much as the magistrate and the murderer. In the consideration of human life, the satirist never falls upon persons who are not glaringly faulty, and the libeller on none but who are conspicuously commendable. Were I to expose any vice in a good or great man, it should certainly be by correcting it in some one where that crime was the most distinguishing part of the character; as pages are chastised for the admonition of princes.* When it is performed otherwise, the vicious are kept in credit, by placing men of merit in the same accusation. But all the pasquils, lampoons, and libels we meet with now-a-days are a sort of playing with the four-and-twenty letters, and throwing them into names and characters, without sense, truth, or wit. In this case, I am in great perplexity to know whom they mean, and should be in distress for those they abuse, if I did not see their judgment and ingenuity in those they commend. This is the true way of examining a libel; and when men consider, that no one man living thinks the better of their heroes and patrons for the panegyric given them, none can think themselves lessened by their invective. The hero or patron in a libel is but a scavenger to carry off the dirt, and by that very employment is the filthiest creature in the street. Dedications and panegyrics are frequently ridiculous, let them be addressed where they will; but at the front, or in the body of a libel, to commend a man, is saying to the persons applauded, 'My Lord, or Sir, I have pulled down all men that the rest of the world think great and honourable, and here is a clear stage; you may, as you please be valiant or wise; you may choose to be on the military or civil list; for there is no one brave who commands, or just who has power. You may rule the world now it is empty, which exploded you when it was full: I have knocked out the brains of all whom mankind thought good for any thing; and I doubt not but you will regard that invention, which found out the only expedient to make your lordship, or your worship, of any consideration.'

I KNOW no manner of speaking so offensive as that of giving praise, and closing it with an exception; which proceeds (where men do not do it to introduce malice, and make calumny more effectual) from the common error of considering man as a perfect creature. But, if we rightly examine things, we shall find that there is a sort of economy in providenc, that one shall excel where another is defective, in order to make men more useful to each other, and mix them in society. This man having this talent, and that man another, is as necessary in conversation, as one professing one trade, and another another, is beneficial in commerce. The happiest climate does not produce all things; and it was so ordered, that one part of the earth should want the product of another, for uniting mankind in a general correspondence and good understanding. It is, therefore, want of good sense as well as good nature, to say Simplicius has a better judgment, but not so much wit as Latius; for that these have not each other's capacities is no more a diminution to either than if you should say, Simplicius is not Latius, or Latius not Simplicius. The heathen world had so little notion that perfection was to be expected amongst men, that among them any one qual. ity or endowment in an heroic degree made a god. Hercules had strength; but it was never objected to him that he wanted wit. Apollo presided over wit, and it was never asked whether he had strength. We hear no exceptions against the beauty of Minerva, or the wisdom of Venus. These wise heathens were glad to immortalize any one serviceable gift, and overlook all imperfections in the person who had it. But with us it is far otherwise, for we reject many eminent virtues, if they are accompanied with one apparent weakness. The reflecting after this manner made me account for the strange delight men take in reading lampoons and scandal, with which the age abounds, and of which I receive frequent complaints. Upon mature consideration, I find it is principally for this reason, that the worst of mankind, the libellers, receive so much encouragement in the world. The low race of men take a secret pleasure in finding an eminent character levelled to their condition by a report of its defects; and keep themselves in countenance, though they are excelled in a thousand virtues, if they believe they have in common with a great person any one fault. The libellor of whipping the royal children by proxy. The curious falls in with this humour, and gratifies this base.

But

Had I the honour to be in a libel, and had escaped the approbation of the author, I should look upon it exactly in this manner. though it is a thing thus perfectly indifferent who is exalted or debased in such performances, yet it is not so with relation to the authors of them; therefore, I shall, for the good of my country, hereafter, take upon me to punish these wretches. What is already passed may die away according to its nature, and continue in its present oblivion; but, for the future, I shall take notice of such enemies to honour and virtue, and preserve them to immortal infamy. Their names shall give fresh offence many ages hence, and be detested a thousand years after the commission of their crime. It shall

*This alludes to a practice, long prevalent in England, may find an account of this custom, in sir John Haw'kin's Hist. of Music.

not avail, that these children of infamy publish | very moderate ambition in this particular. His their works under feigned names; or under name, it seems, is Charles Lillie, and he recom none at all; for I am so perfectly well acquainted mends himself to my observation as one that with the styles of all my contemporaries, that I sold snuff, next door to the Fountain tavern, in shall not fail of doing them justice, with their the Strand, and was burnt out when he began to proper names, and at their full length. Let have a reputation in his way. those miscreants, therefore, enjoy their present act of oblivion, and take care how they offend hereafter.

But, to avert our eyes from such objects, it is, methinks, but requisite to settle our opinion in the case of praise and blame. I believe, the only true way to cure that sensibility of reproach, which is a common weakness with the most virtuous men, is to fix their regard firmly upon only what is strictly true, in relation to their advantage, as well as diminution. For, if I am pleased with commendation which I do not deserve, I shall, from the same temper, be concerned at scandal I do not deserve. But he that can think of false applause with as much contempt, as false detraction, will certainly be prepared for all adventures, and will become all occasions. Undeserved praise can please only those who want merit, and undeserved reproach frighten only those who want sincerity.'* I have thought of this with so much attention, that I fancy there can be no other method in nature found for the cure of that delicacy which gives good men pain under calumny, but placing satisfaction no where but in a just sense of their own integrity, without regard to the opinion of others. If we have not such a foundation as this, there is no help against scandal but being in obscurity, which to noble minds is not being at all. The truth of it is, this love of praise dwells most in great and heroic spirits; and those who best deserve it have generally the most exquisite relish of it. Methinks I see the renowned Alexander, after a painful and laborious march amidst the

heats of a parched soil and a burning climate, sitting over the head of a fountain, and, after a draught of water, pronounce that memorable saying, 'Oh! Athenians! How much do I suffer that you may speak well of me?" The Athenians were at that time the learned of the world, and their libels against Alexander were written, as he was a professed enemy of their state. But how monstrous would such invectives have appeared in Macedonians!

As love of reputation is a darling passion in great men, so the defence of them in this particular is the business of every man of honour and honesty. We should run on such an occasion, as if a public building was on fire, to their relief; and all who spread or publish such detestable picces as traduce their merit, should be used like incendiaries. It is the common cause of our country to support the reputation of those who preserve it against invaders; and every man is attacked in the person of that neighbour who deserves well of him.

From my own Apartment, November 9. The chat I had to-day at White's about fame and scandal, put me in mind of a person who has often writ to me unregarded, and has

* A translation of the motto prefixed to the paper.

a

MR. BICKERSTAFF,-I suppose, through a hurry of business, you have either forgot me, or lost my last of this nature, which was to beg the favour of being advantageously exposed in your paper, chiefly for the reputation of snuff. Be pleased to pardon this trouble from, Sir, your C. L. very humble servant,

'I am a perfumer, at the corner of Beaufortbuildings, in the Strand.'

This same Charles leaves it to me to say what I will of him; and I am not a little pleased with the ingenious manner of his address. Taking snuff is what I have declared against; but, as his holiness the pope allows whoring for the taxes raised by the ladies of pleasure; so I, to repair the loss of an unhappy trader, indulge all persons in that custom who buy of Charles. There is something so particular in the request of the man, that I shall send for him before me, and I believe I shall find he has a genius for bawbles. If so, I shall, for aught I know, at his shop, give licensed canes to those who are really lame, and tubes to those who are unfeign. edly short-sighted; and forbid all others to vend the same.

No. 93.]

Saturday, November 12, 1709. Will's Coffee-house, November 11. .

THE French humour of writing epistles, and
publishing their fulsome compliments to each
place. It is, methinks, from the prevalence of
other, is a thing I frequently complain of in this
this silly custom, that there is so little instruc
tion in the conversation of our distant friends.
For which reason, during the whole course of
my life, I have desired my acquaintance, when
should make me wish myself with them, than
they write to me, rather to say something which
make me compliments that they wished them-
selves with me.
a collection of letters from most parts of the
By this means, I have by me
world, which are as naturally of the growth of
the place, as any herb, tree, or plant, of the soil.
This I take to be the proper use of an epistolary
commerce. To desire to know how Damon

goes on with his courtship to Sylvia, or how the
wine tastes at the Old Devil, are thread-bare
subjects, and cold treats, which our absent
friends might have given us without going out
of town for them. A friend of mine, who went
to travel, used me far otherwise; for he gave me
a prospect of the place, or an account of the
people, from every country through which he
passed.. Among others which I was looking
with this which follows:
over this evening, I am not a little delighted

'DEAR SIR,-I believe this is the first letter that was ever sent you from the middle region,